Into Africa Page 32

  After an hour and a half of worry and fear, Stanley found the strength to sort through the mailbag again. He came upon a letter from the Herald and opened it. Inside was the telegram from London, the one Bennett had authorized before his hunting trip with Buffalo Bill, dated September 25, 1871—Bennett had changed his mind. All Stanley's expenses were covered. A relieved Stanley cast off his gloom and spent the rest of the day chatting with Livingstone about all the news from the outside world.

  They left Ugunda the next morning and arrived in Tabora on February 18, 1872. “Doctor,” Stanley told Livingstone as they walked into Stanley's old house arm in arm, still unaware of the stir they were creating in the outside world, “we are at last home.” Livingstone learned that a man named Shaw had died there some months before. His grave was two hundred yards to the left of the front door, in a cradle of trees, dried scrub, and low hills.

  Stanley remained at Livingstone's side for another month. On the morning of March 14, they bade one another farewell. Livingstone was devastated, and Stanley had to turn away so Livingstone wouldn't see him crying. When Stanley began marching out of town toward Zanzibar, Livingstone had insisted on accompanying him for a ways. They walked side by side, singing. Stanley kept looking over at Livingstone, trying to imprint the aged explorer's features upon his memory. Finally, when he could bear the anguish of parting no longer, Stanley begged Livingstone to go back.

  “You have done what few men could do,” Livingstone told his young protégé. In their time together, Livingstone had paid Stanley the ultimate compliment by asking the journalist to return to Africa one day and carry on the explorer's work. It was an implicit acknowledgment that death would likely intrude on Livingstone finding the source. “And I am grateful for what you have done for me. God guide you for what you have done for me. God guide you safe home and bless you, my friend. Farewell.”

  Livingstone watched Stanley walk into the rising sun, then turned back to the house in Tabora that had once provided Stanley refuge and a place to rest, and now would do the same for him. Livingstone was alone once again with the powerful Chuma and lighthearted Susi.

  “My Dear Doctor,” Stanley wrote in a letter to Livingstone the next day. “I have parted from you too soon. I am entirely conscious of it from being so depressed . . . In writing to you, I am not writing to an idea now, but to an embodiment of warm good fellowship, of everything that is noble and right, of sound common sense, of everything practical and right-minded . . . Though I am not present with you bodily you must think of me daily, until the caravan arrives. Though you are not before me visibly, I shall think of you constantly, until your least wish has been attended to. In this way the chain of remembrance will not be severed.”

  The focus of Stanley's mission changed as he turned away from Livingstone. No longer was he racing into the unknown. Africa was not an obstacle in that sense anymore. Now it was an impediment to sharing the news about Livingstone. The travails between him and Zanzibar—the Ugogo, the Makata Swamp, fevers, thorns, and the rainy season—were no less than before. If anything the journey would be more daunting, for Stanley planned to travel at breakneck speed.

  He carried Livingstone's journals and a packet of sealed letters from the explorer. They were Livingstone's communiqués to the outside world, and the key to unlocking the mysteries about his whereabouts those many years. To Stanley, however, they were something just as vital and important: Proof.

  • CHAPTER 38 •

  Uproar

  May 6, 1872

  Bagamoyo

  525 Miles from Livingstone

  On April 25, 1872, with Stanley bearing down on Bagamoyo, Mount Vesuvius erupted in Italy. An immense explosion of lava, mud, and smoke poured from the long-dormant volcano. The eruption continued for a solid week. Newspapers the world over ran stories about the thick black plumes billowing from the crater, turning the day into night.

  Then, just as Vesuvius grew quiet, another explosion rocked the newspaper world. It was Thursday, May 2. “Dr. Livingstone,” the Times reported, “is safe with Stanley.”

  Stanley's dispatch about the meeting, sent by special messenger from Ujiji the previous November, had arrived in Zanzibar in March. By sheer coincidence, the British steamer Abydos was in port, offloading the second Livingstone search and relief expedition. Abydos then raced from Zanzibar, eager to be away before the April monsoons. Even as Webb sent Stanley's dispatches back to New York via merchant ship—transporting them to either Bombay or Aden for transmittal via the British-run telegraph network being far too risky—the British steamer carried the verbal message about Stanley and Livingstone into Bombay. Their news soon flashed around the world by telegraph wire.

  Ironically, the Herald wasn't alone in breaking the story in America. The New York Times pounced on the news out of Bombay. Hidden in a thicket of lengthy stories about the recently concluded Republican national convention in Philadelphia, where New York Tribune owner Horace Greeley was selected to run against President Grant in the coming national election, was a small, hopeful item about Livingstone. “A telegram has been received in this city from Bombay announcing the safety of Dr. Livingstone. The steamer Abydos, which carried the Livingstone Search Expedition to Zanzibar, had arrived at Bombay from that place with the intelligence that the great traveler was safe with the American Stanley,” the story declared. “The report is brought by negroes and believed there.”

  The Herald soon regained the upper hand, however, publishing column after column boasting about the “Grand Triumph of American Enterprise.” So many Livingstone stories were published in the Herald on May 3 and 4 that one reader—in a letter published May 5—asked the paper to let up, suggesting that Livingstone's heirs had a financial interest in the newspaper.

  On the evening of May 6, 1872, the day after the Herald printed a brand new Kirk letter (in which Kirk promised British officials that Stanley would fail), Stanley arrived safely in Bagamoyo. Since leaving Tabora, he had marched 525 miles in fifty-two days—a swift thirty-two days less than on the outbound journey to Tabora. Thirteen months after marching away to the fanfare of the local people and the a cappella singing of his men, Stanley strode into town. He was tanned, thin, and toughened by Africa—almost unrecognizable as the unsure young man he was when he left. Against all odds, he was returning alive to the little town on the Indian Ocean with the white sand beach and sensual trade winds. A red-headed Englishman called out to him as he strolled down the street, which was muddy and puddle-ridden from the most devastating monsoon season on record. It was Lieutenant Henn of the RGS's Livingstone search and relief expedition, freshly arrived on the African continent. “Won't you walk in?” he cried out from the door of a small, fly-infested bar. “What will you have to drink—beer, stout, brandy? By George, I congratulate you on your splendid success!”

  Stanley sat down with Henn, and told of Livingstone. Stanley was glad for the drink, and thankful for the warm welcome, but he didn't stay in Bagamoyo long. On May 7, 1872, after just one night in the beachfront town, Stanley sailed for Zanzibar. His now-tattered American flag flew high above his dhow as he turned his back on Africa. It was a moment filled with more emotion than he ever could have imagined during those times when he first arrived on its shores, suffering nightmares and pondering suicide. “Farewell,” he had written in his journal two nights before, thinking of what it would be like to leave the continent behind, “Oh Wagogo with their wild effrontery and noisy culture. Farewell to you Arabs and your sinful work—your lying tongues and black hearts. Farewell to fever remittent and intermittent, to the Makata Swamps and crocodiles, to brackish waters and howling plains . . . Above all, fare thee well Oh Livingstone, hero and Christian. Be thou healthy and prosperous wheresoever though goest . . .”

  “That bright flag whose stars have waved over inner Africa,” Stanley then wrote of the American flag Mrs. Webb had sewn for him, “which promised relief to the harassed Livingstone when in dire need in Ujiji. Which though not so rich, yet
vied in beauty with America's flag. Return once more to the sea, its proper domain. Torn it is, but not dishonored, tattered but not disgraced—as well are.”

  News of Stanley's return to Zanzibar had spread throughout the island, and the harbor was awash in celebration as his dhow nosed into port. “It was certainly a great sight,” reported an eyewitness. “When the dhow neared Zanzibar, the gun fired and the American colors were soon visible, proudly flying from the gaff. The beach was lined with people, native and white, who testified their delight by increasing discharges of small arms. The guns in the sultan's batteries fired repeated salutes. And, in fact, the enthusiasm was something unparalleled. There was certainly never anything seen like it in Zanzibar. The Americans in particular were joyful in the extreme . . . the English were somewhat chagrined that the Americans had carried off the honors attached to the discovery.”

  John Kirk was perhaps the least joyous about Stanley's arrival. The American had placed him in the middle of a controversy that might ruin his career and forever damage his reputation as a valued friend of Livingstone. When Stanley approached the wary British Consul and asked for his help in expediting the shipment of supplies to Livingstone in Tabora, Kirk immediately refused. “I am not going to do anything more for Dr. Livingstone,” he coolly told Stanley.

  Stanley pressed Kirk to elaborate, but Kirk merely explained that he was through being insulted. Knowing that Stanley was eager to race back to England, Kirk told Stanley that if he wished to send new supplies to Livingstone he would have to stay in Zanzibar long enough to purchase the goods and hire the porters himself.

  Stanley did. Three long weeks later, Stanley was done. His last act before leaving Zanzibar on May 29 was to meet with the fifty-seven men who would carry the goods inland to Livingstone. Many of them had been with Stanley during his journey into the interior. The moment when they finally went their separate ways was a surprisingly emotional time for Stanley. “You are now about to return to Unyayembe, to the Great Master. You know him,” Stanley said to the assemblage. He was standing in front of the American Consulate as he spoke. A dhow bobbed at anchor, waiting to load the men and their supplies on board for yet another journey to Africa. “He is a good man and has a kind heart. He is different from me; he will not beat you as I have done.”

  Then, in a whirl of nostalgia and long-hidden respect, the racist aspect of his character slipped momentarily aside. Stanley paid homage to the men who made his expedition possible. “There is one thing more,” he said in conclusion. “I want to shake hands with you all before you go—and we part forever.”

  Stanley wrote later that “they all rushed up, and vigorous shake was interchanged with each man.”

  On May 29, aboard the German ship Africa, Stanley finally sailed from Zanzibar, en route to London.

  He envisioned a glorious return to England, but it was not to be. In London, even before Stanley sailed, the first seeds of doubt about his accomplishment were being sown. In a May 7 letter to the Times, the RGS's expert on Ethiopia, Charles Beke, publicly professed his skepticism that Stanley had truly found the missing explorer. Less than a week later, at an RGS meeting on May 13, Sir Henry Rawlinson joined the anti-Stanley chorus, scoffing at the journalist's supposed accomplishment. “It had been generally inferred that Mr. Stanley had discovered and relieved Dr. Livingstone,” the Manchester Guardian quoted Rawlinson the following day. “But if there had been any discovery and relief it was Dr. Livingstone who found and succoured Mr. Stanley, as the latter was without supplies, whereas Dr. Livingstone had large depots and stores at Ujiji, and was in a position to relieve the American on his reaching that place.”

  The debate raged through the summer. The RGS and British press lined up to attack Stanley's integrity. Thanks to Bennett's tail twisting, Stanley had no allies in Britain. On July 12, Grant altered his allegiance to Stanley, saying to a friend, “I see by the Times that Stanley has arrived with Livingstone's son at Aden in Suez—and feel much disappointed young Livingstone has left his father to his fate . . . no one believes Stanley found Livingstone.”

  Sir Henry Rawlinson was proving to have an even sharper tongue, demeaning America and the Herald—“our transatlantic cousins, among whom the science of advertising has reached a higher stage of development than in this benighted country”—while continuing to insist that Livingstone came to Stanley's aid, instead of it being the other way around. “Dr. Livingstone,” he said in late July, “indeed, is in clover while Mr. Stanley is nearly destitute.”

  When Stanley finally arrived on British soil the first of August, clinging to Livingstone's journal as proof as he stepped ashore in Dover, the British public was still unswayed. One newspaper, the Echo, even argued that the letters were written by a clairvoyant who channeled Livingstone's words, thoughts, and handwriting.

  The matter moved toward settlement on August 2, when Stanley presented Tom Livingstone with his father's journals. As Oswell had already done, Tom announced the journals authentic. “We have not the slightest reason to doubt that this is my father's journal, and I certify that the letters he has brought home are my father's letters, and no others.”

  Earl Granville wrote a glowing thank you letter to Stanley that same day. “I cannot omit this opportunity of expressing to you my admiration of the qualities which have enabled you to achieve the object of your mission, and to attain a result which has been hailed with so much enthusiasm both in the United States and in this country.”

  Despite that official blessing, and the international outpouring of interest, doubt about the journals' veracity lingered as the contents became public. The primary reason was Livingstone's writings about the women of Nyangwe. In an era in which Victorian sexual mores meant that female masturbation was considered the root of lust (with clitoridectomies a popular remedy), and where it was never discussed that many upper-class men found their sexual satisfaction with prostitutes instead of their wives, Livingstone's journal entries about African women being beautiful and vivacious—an unthinkable notion at a time when the English still regarded Africans as pagan savages—were considered proof that the journals were forgeries. Such a venerated missionary as Livingstone would never look at a woman—whether African or European—in that manner, it was considered.

  Stanley seethed at the abuse, but endured it stoically, even as the truth about his childhood became public, and as Lewis Noe sold his tale of their Turkish imprisonment to the New York Sun. Stanley was shocked by the criticisms he was enduring, but felt impotent to speak out about them.

  In New York, meanwhile, Bennett let Stanley suffer the slanders and accusations, knowing it would continue to keep Livingstone's name in the news. Stories about Africa had been appearing in the Herald throughout the summer, averaging one every four days. The term “Dr. Livingstone, I presume,” first appeared in print in the July 15, 1872, edition, and soon became world famous. Throughout August, Bennett continued the Livingstone news cycle, focusing his attacks on the RGS for their myopia and anti-American feelings—ironically, the very feelings he had fostered.

  Despite Bennett's taunts, British opinion slowly began turning in Stanley's favor. On August 27, Granville wrote a letter that officially endorsed Stanley's accomplishment—and in a most grandiose fashion. “I have great satisfaction in conveying to you, by command of the Queen,” Granville wrote, “her Majesty's high appreciation of the prudence and zeal which you have displayed in opening a communication with Dr. Livingstone, and relieving her Majesty from the anxiety which, in common with her subjects, she had felt in regard of that distinguished traveler.”

  Stanley's transition from scoundrel to savior was complete on September 8, 1872, when the bastard from Wales was formally introduced to the Queen of England. Sir Henry Rawlinson presented Henry Morton Stanley to Queen Victoria at Dunrobin Castle, making it clear to one and all that Stanley was the true discoverer of David Livingstone. “The geographers as a body,” Rawlinson confided to Stanley, speaking of the RGS, “rejoice in the honors
you are receiving.”

  Stanley's exploration pedigree reached its fruition in November of 1872. He was paid $10,000 to write a book about his African travels. How I Found Livingstone answered all Stanley's critics (to the RGS's earlier proclamation that “Livingstone was in clover,” he responded in the book: “May I ask, if you believed that . . . why you sent an expedition out to find him?”). It became an immediate best-seller. Henry Morton Stanley was, after a lifetime of well-intentioned mediocrity, a success.

  • CHAPTER 39 •

  Chitambo's Village

  January–April 1873

  Near Lake Bangweolo

  Livingstone rested in Tabora until late August of 1872. The supplies Stanley had arranged reached him earlier in the month, and as Livingstone marched away from the Arab enclave, he led a fully stocked caravan for the first time since 1867. He traveled southwest, away from Mirambo and his ongoing war, around the southernmost tip of Lake Tanganyika, then into the highlands three hundred miles due west of Lake Nyassa to explore once again for the source. Months passed. By January of 1873, the most miserable month of the rainy season, food was again short and his health again began to fail. He was skeletal. A crimson blossom on the seat of his threadbare trousers advertised bleeding hemorrhoids and chronic dysentery, adding humiliation to Livingstone's discomfort. The venerable Scot stepped off the trail to relieve himself so often his porters knew the curvature of his scrawny buttocks in detail.

  Day by day, through means visible and concealed, the continent in which he felt most content whittled the world's greatest explorer to a nub. Hundreds of miles from relief supplies, and with a second rescue a delirious fantasy, Livingstone was fated to die an anonymous death and be lowered into an anonymous wilderness grave, like Cook and Franklin before him. For the people back home there would be curiosity about where his bones were turning to dust, but only for a time. That's the way it was with exploration. The curiosity would fade as his explorations were surpassed. Over time he would be forgotten. There was no romance in the dying, only the reality that it would be slow and painful. It would almost have been easier if Livingstone's lion attacker had finished what it started so many years before.