In early July 1871, Stanley caught up with the same Royal Geographical Society-funded caravan detailed to find Livingstone which he had stumbled across lazing in Bagamoyo. This time they were lazing in Unyanyembe, where they had arrived a month earlier, filling every waking hour with the arduous activities of sleeping, dozing or merely resting. In addition to carrying a packet of registered letters from family, friends and the RGS dated 1 November 1870, other essential supplies were waiting to be delivered to Livingstone, including bales of cloth, twelve boxes of wine (a strange item to send to a man who rarely drank alcohol), provisions and luxuries including tea and coffee.
In order to keep watch on the doctor’s goods, Stanley suggested that the Society caravan join his own. Seeing how well fed men in the white man’s caravan appeared to be, they agreed. But it was impossible for the enlarged group to continue. A feared tribal warlord called Mirambo, head of a confederation of mercenaries known as the ‘Ruga-Ruga’ and named by Europeans as ‘the African Bonaparte’, had been mounting attacks on caravans between Unyanyembe and Ujiji, stealing goods and butchering men. Stanley’s proposed route passed directly through Mirambo’s country and no other recognised pathways led to Ujiji.
Unyanyembe’s Arabs were united in thinking that Mirambo’s mercenary forces, then just twenty-seven hours’ journey away, would be easy to conquer. They told Stanley that a combination of his Zanzibaris and their own fighting men would see the tyrant off in a couple of weeks and ‘I was tempted in an unlucky moment to promise them my aid, hoping that by this means I would be enabled to reach Livingstone sooner than by stopping at Unyanyembe awaiting the turn of events.’
Stanley hand-picked fifty men, loaded them with bales, beads and wire, and told them to head off towards Ujiji. The Society caravan remained at the camp – its members lazing around, as usual. When it was time to depart Bombay was missing, to be discovered six hours later, ‘his face faithfully depicting the contending passions under which he was labouring – sorrow at parting from the fleshpots of Unyanyembe’. In other words, he had been in the company of one of the town’s ample supply of prostitutes and was reluctant to leave and start marching all over again. Stanley demonstrated his fury by beating Bombay with his cane until he pleaded for mercy.
The Zanzibaris with Stanley and Shaw joined a small army of others employed by the Arabs, armed with guns and ammunition, ready to march to Zimbizo, one of Mirambo’s strongholds. As they marched, they sang:
Hoy! Hoy! Where are ye going? Going to war! Against whom? Against Mirambo! Who is your master? The White Man! Ough! Ough! Hyah! Hyah!
Six hours into the march, Shaw collapsed and had to be carried to the first night’s camp, where arrangements had been made to rendezvous with an army put together by Arab traders, a fighting force of 2,255 men comprising slaves, soldiers and Zanzibaris from the New York Herald expedition. They were armed with a mixture of flintlock muskets, German and French double-barrelled shotguns, English-made Enfields, American Springfields, plus ‘spears and long knives for the purpose of decapitating, and inflicting vengeful gashes in dead bodies’.
The fighting force steathily surrounded Zimbizo in readiness for a surprise attack. Mirambo’s mercenaries were ready for them, lying in wait and first to open fire. Stanley’s soldiers recovered and stormed the gates, capturing the village plus two others, plundering them for ivory, slaves and grain (all of which the Arabs claimed as their ‘loot’). They then set fire to them. More villages were captured and torched in the days that followed.
Stanley’s fever returned and from his sick bed he issued orders that none of his men should take part in further raids until he was well enough to accompany them. No sooner had Stanley lapsed into a coma than some of his men raided another village in which Mirambo and his son were reported to be hiding. Scores of men, including many of Stanley’s best Zanzibaris, were killed. The rumour had been true: Mirambo and son had been in the village and after hearing that a raiding party was approaching, had escaped into long grass surrounding the settlement. When the raiders emerged victorious carrying ivory tusks, bales of cloth and over two hundred slaves, Mirambo’s forces rose up on each side of them and finished them off with spears. Only a handful of men returned to tell the tale.
Stanley wrote: ‘The effect of this defeat is indescribable. It was impossible to sleep, from the shrieks of the women whose husbands had fallen. All night they howled their lamentations and sometimes might be heard the groans of the wounded that had contrived to crawl through the grass unperceived by the enemy.’
Still weak from fever, Stanley remained in his tent, but was woken by one of his men claiming that everyone outside was running away. Stanley was helped from his camp bed and looked outside to see the backs of hundreds of people retreating from camp. A terrified Arab called to Stanley as he ran past: ‘Bana – quick – Mirambo is coming!’
Stanley caught sight of Shaw saddling one of the donkeys and preparing to flee. Only seven of Stanley’s fifty men travelling with the raiding party remained; the rest had fled. A weakened Stanley was helped onto another donkey and, surrounded by the loyal followers, rode away suffering intense pain in the process. One thought was in Stanley’s mind: ‘The full and final accomplishment of my mission’, which now appeared doubtful.
As they fled through the night, Shaw fell from his animal and refused to remount. Stanley instructed that he be dragged back to the animal with men running either side to make sure he remained seated. They arrived back at the village from which the raiding party had set out the previous day, where deserters sheepishly made themselves scarce.
Still weak after his fever, Stanley confronted Arab leaders the following day and berated them for their cowardice, the desertion of their men and for encouraging Mirambo to come after them. Rather than travel another mile with Arab caravans, Stanley announced he would take an alternative route that would circumnavigate the warlord’s territory. He wrote in his journal: ‘Very few people know anything of the country south; those whom I have questioned concerning it mentions its “want of water” and robber Wazavira [tribesmen] as serious obstacles; they also say that settlements are few and far between. . . . I have a good excuse for returning to the coast, but my conscience will not permit me to do so, after so much money has been expended. And so much confidence has been placed in me. In fact, I feel I must die sooner than return.’
Before taking any route, Stanley needed new men to replace the deserters and those who had been killed, or been released from the caravan at Unyanyembe. Only thirteen of the original party were left, too few to carry over a hundred loads plus Livingstone’s goods. As he set about the task of hiring extra manpower, a caravan arrived from the coast with news that William Farquhar, whom Stanley had been forced to leave behind in Mpwapwa, was dead. Farquhar’s health had recovered but as he had attempted to rise from his bed, he had fallen backwards and died. Superstitious about having the body of a white man in his village, the chief ordered a man to take Farquhar’s body into the jungle and bury it. The man was unable to lift Farquhar’s great weight, so dragged the body outside the village confines, where he left it without any covering for jackals and worms to eat.
By 22 August, Mirambo’s forces were on the warpath again – and heading for Unyanyembe. Stanley’s caravan worked feverishly to make their settlement defensible, boring loopholes through which to fire their muskets in the 3-feet thick stout clay walls. Around 150 men crowded into the courtyard of Stanley’s primitive quarters, with enough food and water for six days. Stanley noted: ‘Tomorrow Mirambo has threatened he will come. . . . I hope he will come, and if he comes within range of an American rifle, he shall see what virtue lies in American lead. . . .’
On 26 August, word reached the settlement that Mirambo’s forces were just 2 miles away. A reconnaissance group was sent to spy out their whereabouts. However, the group was spotted and the warlord sent back word that he ‘wanted a day off to eat the beef he has stolen from them’. He told the group to return the following day when he promised them ‘plenty of fighting’. When the spies returned the next morning they discovered that Mirambo and his men had left the area. Stanley resumed the business of hiring men and successfully recruited fifty Wangwana tribesmen. He left seventy loads behind at a safe place and under guard at Unyanyembe, including inessential personal items.
On 30 August, it was Shaw’s turn to refuse to work. To Stanley’s annoyance he remained sitting listless in his tent. In the hope of galvanising Shaw into action, Stanley revealed to him the true nature of their mission. ‘I told him that I did not care about the geography of the country half as much as I cared about FINDING LIVINGSTONE’, Stanley wrote in his diary. He told Shaw: ‘Don’t you see what reward you will get from Mr. Bennett if you will help me? I am sure, if ever you come to New York, you will never be in want of a fifty-dollar bill. So shake yourself; jump about; look lively.’
The following week an Arab named Mohammed presented Stanley with a little boy slave named ‘Ndugu M’hali’ (‘my brother’s wealth’). Stanley did not care for the name and called the chiefs of his caravan together and asked them to give him a better one. One suggested ‘Simba’ (a lion), another said he thought ‘Ngombe’ (a cow) would suit the boy child, while yet another felt he ought to be called ‘Mirambo’, which raised a loud laugh. After looking at his quick eyes and noting his agility, one of the chiefs suggested the name ‘Ka-lu-lu’. ‘Just look at his eyes, so bright! Look at his form, so slim! Watch his movements, how quick! Yes, Kalulu is his name.’ Kalulu is a Kisawahili term for the young of the blue buck antelope. ‘Let his name henceforth be Kalulu, and let no man take it from him,’ said Stanley. Clearly, the boy had no parents and afraid that he would otherwise almost certainly end up in perpetual slavery – or in an African equivalent of St Asaph’s workhouse – Stanley agreed to find him a good home somewhere along the route.
On 20 September, Stanley led fifty-four of his men out of Unyanyembe for the march to Ujiji by the southerly detour route. He had still not fully recovered from his fever but had no wish to remain in the region a day longer. Compared to the caravan that had marched into the interior from the sea, this new one travelled light, carrying goods for themselves and Livingstone including cloth, beads, ammunition, a single tent, one bed, a medicine box, a sextant, books, tea, coffee, sugar, flour, candles, canned meats and sardines, one load of cooking utensils and ‘some miscellaneous necessities’.
When the camp awoke the next day, Stanley learned that twenty men were missing, including the man charged with taking care of Livingstone’s letter bag. A delegation was sent back towards Unyanyembe with orders to find the men and bring them back with a long slave chain. Towards nightfall, nine men were dragged into camp. The rest were never found. As instructed, they returned ‘with a strong chain, capable of imprisoning within the collars attached to it at least ten men’. Livingstone’s bag carrier also drifted into camp; he had not absconded at all, just walked at a slower pace than the rest of the men.
Stanley addressed the caravan and the slave chain was shown to them. He informed them that he was the first white man who had taken one on his travels ‘but, as they were all so frightened of accompanying me, I was obliged to make use of it, as it was the only means of keeping them together. The good need never fear being chained by me – only the deserters, the thieves, who received their hire and presents, guns and ammunition, and then ran away. I would not put anyone this time in chains; but whoever deserted after this day, I should halt, and not continue the march till I found him, after which he should march to Ujiji with the slave-chain around his neck.’ They confirmed they had heard and understood what their master had said. Nevertheless, the head count the following morning showed that a further two men had deserted – one a man who had absconded twice previously. By the evening they had been discovered, dragged back, flogged and chained.
More men became ill with fever and Shaw was so sick that he twice fell from his donkey, the second time remaining face down in the dirt and hot sun for over an hour. When Stanley found him, he sat up and wept like a child. Stanley asked Shaw if he wanted to return to Unyanyembe and Shaw said he could travel no further, wished he had never come and thought that life in Africa would be different. Stanley told him that his patience had run out, that Shaw was ‘simply suffering from hypochondria’ and would surely die if he returned.
Arrangements were made to transfer Shaw on a litter to Unyanyembe and four men from a local village were hired to carry him. The men stood in two ranks, flags were lifted and Shaw was carried away towards the north while Stanley’s caravan, minus a dozen sick men left behind at the village, ‘filed off to the south, with quicker and more elastic steps, as if we felt an incubus had been taken from us’. As Stanley had predicted, John Shaw would live for another month in Unyanyembe, before succumbing for the last time to Africa’s heat and fever.
The caravan moved deeper into the interior throughout the remaining days of September and October. There was more fever, friendly and hostile encounters with local tribes, hunts for fresh meat and, on 3 November, a meeting with a group of travellers approaching from the opposite direction. The oncoming caravan consisted of eighty members of the Waguhha tribe from Lake Tanganyika. An interpreter found out that an elderly sick white man, with hair on his face and wearing clothes similar to Stanley’s, had arrived at Ujiji from Manyuema. They had last seen him eight days ago. Stanley wrote: ‘Hurrah! This is Livingstone! He must be Livingstone! He can be no other; but still, he may be someone else – someone from the west coast. . . . But we must now march quick, lest he hears we are coming and runs away.’
Stanley asked his caravan if they were prepared to march to Ujiji without a single halt – apart from overnight camps – and promised to reward each man with a length of his finest cloth. They answered in the affirmative and set off with renewed vigour. A week later and travelling lighter thanks to unscrupulous chiefs who relieved the caravan of most of their cloth and beads before they could pass over their lands, Stanley was two days away from Ujiji. He recorded in his journal: ‘Patience my soul! A few hours more, then the end of all this will be known! I shall be face to face with that “white man with the white hairs on his face, whoever he is!”’
At camp on the evening of 9 November, Stanley summoned the boy Kalulu to his tent. In just a short time, the lad had become Stanley’s own manservant and gun bearer, waiting on his master at table, joining him on hunting expeditions and making sure that no one unauthorised entered his tent. The boy was a fast learner and, although small in stature, he had become an important member of Stanley’s entourage now that Farquhar and Shaw were gone. Kalulu was ordered to set out a new flannel suit that Stanley had brought along to wear on the day he expected to meet Livingstone. The boy was told to oil his master’s boots, chalk his sun helmet and fold a new red and white puggaree (cloth band) around the crown of the hat ‘that I may make as presentable an appearance as possible before the white man with the grey beard, and before the Arabs of Ujiji; for the clothes I have worn through jungle and forest are in tatters’. He closed his journal entry for that day with the words: ‘Good night; only let one day come again, and we shall see what we shall see. . . .’
The 236th day out from Bagamoyo and 51st day from Unyanyembe, 10 November promised ‘a happy and glorious morning, the air is fresh and cool’ and Ujiji only a six-hour march away. Towards mid-morning, the caravan approached the summit of a steep mountain and from the top they gazed down on Lake Tanganyika – the end of their journey. Stanley insisted that the caravan move quickly ‘lest news of our coming might reach the people of Ujiji before we come in sight and are ready for them’.
They descended and saw 500 yards below the lakeside settlement where Dr David Livingstone was last known to have resided. All thoughts of the distance marched, hills ascended and descended, forests, jungles, thickets and swamps traversed, hot sun, blistered feet, fevers, dangers and difficulties now vanished. Was the old Scottish doctor down there? Had word of Stanley’s arrival travelled ahead and the old man fled from sight? Or had he died in Africa’s heat, from disease or from a multitude of hardships encountered trudging across the dark continent?
Stanley gave the order: ‘Unfurl the flags and load your guns!’
‘We will, Master, we will,’ the men responded eagerly.
‘One, two, three— fire!’ A volley from fifty guns announced that Stanley’s caravan had arrived at Ujiji. The American flag was held high by one of the tallest men and the caravan marched down, to be greeted by hundreds of people coming from their homes wondering what all the noise was about. They surrounded the caravan and shouted words of welcome: ‘Yambo, yambo, bana! Yambo, bana! Yambo, bana!’
The crowd parted to let them through. ‘Good morning, Sir,’ said a voice in English. Stanley swung around, startled to hear English spoken from among a sea of black faces. A man dressed in a long white shirt and with a turban around his head was smiling. ‘Who the mischief are you?’ asked Stanley.
The smiling man replied: ‘I am Susi, the servant of Dr Livingstone.’
‘What! Is Dr Livingstone here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In this village?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure, sir, sure. Why, I leave him just now.’
‘Good morning, sir,’ said another voice.
‘Hello,’ said Stanley. ‘Is this another one?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, what is your name?’
‘My name is Chuma, sir.’
‘And is the doctor well?’
‘Not very well, sir.’
‘Where has he been so long?’
‘In Manyuema.’
‘Now, you Susi, run and tell the doctor I am coming,’ ordered Stanley, whereupon Susi darted off like a madman.
The crowd was now so dense that movement was difficult. Susi returned and said the doctor was surprised to hear that a white man was approaching and he had returned to find out his name. Ahead stood a large ‘tembe’, a house constructed from mud, wood, palms and other native materials. In front of it was a group of Ujiji’s Arab merchants. Behind them, standing on a verandah, was an elderly white man wearing a blue cap. Was it the man? Stanley confessed: ‘What would I not have given for a bit of friendly wilderness, where, unseen, I might vent my joy in some mad freak, such as idiotically biting my hand, turning a somersault, or slashing at trees, in order to allay those exciting feelings that were well-nigh uncontrollable. My heart beats fast, but I must not let my face betray my emotions, lest it shall detract from the dignity of a white man appearing under such extraordinary circumstances.’
Stanley did what he considered most dignified in the circumstances. ‘I pushed back the crowds, and, passing from the rear, walked down a living avenue of people, until I came in front of the semicircle of Arabs, before which stood “the white man with the grey beard”.’ The supreme moment in Stanley’s life was now only seconds away. With little Kalulu just a few feet behind, the thirty-year-old American reporter slowly advanced in the noon sunshine, noticing that the 59-year-old white man was pale ‘wearied and wan, with grey whiskers and moustache, and wearing a bluish cloth cap with a faded gold band on a red ground round it, and has on a red-sleeved waistcoat, and a pair of grey tweed trousers’.
Here, at last, was the object of his search. What should he say to him? ‘My imagination had not taken this question into consideration before. All around me is the immense crowd, hushed and expectant, wondering how the scene will develop itself.’ Stanley decided to exercise restraint and reserve, resisting the temptation to run to him, admitting that he is ‘a coward in the presence of such a mob – [I] would have embraced him, but that I did not know how he would receive me; so I did what moral cowardice and false pride suggested was the best thing – walked deliberately to him, took off my hat, and said: “Dr Livingstone, I presume?”’*
‘Yes,’ said he, with a cordial smile, lifting his cap slightly, speaking his first words to a white man for six years.
The men replaced their hats and shook hands. Stanley then blurted out: ‘I thank God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you.’
‘I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you,’ the doctor answered.
One of the biggest news stories of the nineteenth century had just broken.
* The famous phrase: ‘Dr Livingstone, I presume?’ has entered popular legend, but some historians have cast doubts on whether Stanley actually uttered the words. The diary Stanley kept throughout his search for Livingstone, available on microfilm at the British Library and used extensively by this author, has a missing page – the page on which he records his meeting with Livingstone and his first exchange of words with the doctor. There is no reason to suggest that Stanley did not say the words, as they appeared in the New York Herald dispatch written shortly after the first meeting. Stanley went through the remainder of his life insisting that he had used the phrase, although Livingstone’s own recollection of the same meeting made no mention of words used when the two men met for the first time in the African interior.