What’s become of Stanley
Since he gave us all the slip,
Started off, as gay as can be,
On his Equatorial trip,
Sworn on his returning track
To bring fame – and Emin – back?
Punch, 2 June 1888
In the event, Stanley did not have long to wait for his next challenge and when it presented itself, he pounced on it with enthusiasm and gratitude. It would mean a chance to return to Africa on a high-profile mission that would keep him fully occupied mentally and physically – and put Dolly Tennant out of his mind.
In January 1885, General Charles Gordon, the man Stanley had hoped would administer the Congo, was massacred with his Egyptian garrison in Khartoum. He had been sent to the Sudan by the Egyptian government, which ruled the country, to evacuate 60,000 Egyptian officials, soldiers and Christians of every nationality threatened by rebels led by the Muslim mystic known as the Mahdi. In his role as Governor General, the straight-backed British officer arrived in Khartoum as rebels were preparing to surround the city. He was slaughtered wearing full dress uniform and decorations attempting to defend Khartoum. His head was cut off, stuck on a pole and placed at the entrance to the Mahdi’s tent. The rest of his body was thrown into the river. Over four thousand others were hacked to pieces and a further six thousand surrendered, later to be killed in cold blood. Almost instantly, Gordon became a martyred warrior-saint in the eyes of a British public prepared to lay the blame for failing to relieve the siege and avert the tragedy on the Marquess of Salisbury’s government.
The only part of Sudan to escape disaster was the province of Equatoria, a green and fertile region in the southern part of the country on the left bank of the Nile, close to Lake Albert Nyanza. It was populated by 1,500 Egyptian and Sudanese native men and women. The governor of the province was a mysterious German-born physician and naturalist called Eduard Schnitzer, better known to his people as Mohammed Emin Pasha. Fearing he would be unable to offer resistance to the Mahdi’s forces – to say nothing of tribesmen and raiding parties of slave traders – Emin began smuggling out letters to foreign governments, opinion formers and British friends pleading for assistance before his men suffered the same fate as General Gordon. He told the world that his province had been cut off from all communication with the outside world since May 1833. He claimed Equatoria had been ‘forgotten and abandoned’ by the Egyptian government, attacked by local tribes and was now on the brink of capitulation.
Emin’s letters were secretly carried from Equatoria by members of Uganda’s Church Missionary Society who took them to Zanzibar, from where they were posted to the outside world. One letter to an English friend in Edinburgh, Dr Robert Felkin, stated: ‘I have certainly some glimmerings of hope, that as Egypt appears to be unable to send us aid, England may at some future day take advantage of the position in which we find ourselves, to remain true to her former traditions of a humanitarian and civilising mission.’
It was clear that any aid sent to Emin and his people would have to come from private enterprises who would profit from his stock of ivory, said to weigh 75 tons, which rescuers could claim as compensation. England had fought and won too many ‘small wars’ in the past in order to rescue and defend hostages. They had cost the country a fortune and the new cost-conscious Conservative government was unlikely to mount a rescue mission for a mysterious German with an oriental name and in charge of foreign nationals. The official line was that Equatoria was someone else’s territory and they must take responsibility for it. If, however, funds were raised in England for a private relief expedition, the British government was prepared to use their good offices behind the scenes to help as much as possible – provided it did not cost the taxpayer a penny.
Through the pages of national newspapers, Dr Felkin suggested a small-scale expedition be mounted carrying clothing, ammunition and medical supplies to Emin. The idea was picked up by Stanley’s friend, Scottish shipping tycoon Sir William Mackinnon, whose British India Steam Navigation Company operated profitable services around India, Burma, the Persian Gulf and the east coast of Africa and mail services between Aden and Zanzibar. The millionaire Scotsman had his eyes set on introducing services along the Congo, and viewed the relief mission as a philanthropic way of gaining support for his company.
Mackinnon set about raising £9,000 using his influence in Zanzibar and the Congo Free State, providing the Egyptian government chipped in a further £10,000 towards the cost of relieving their governor and his people. Even the Royal Geographical Society managed to raise £1,000 from its members. The Society was aware that Emin had gathered together a huge library of geographical and scientific information from the region and hoped its small contribution would give them access to the material first, along with anything else new the rescue mission might come across. The end result was the creation of the Emin Relief Expedition, an organisation with funds in place, but no leader to utilise them.
In order to get away from England and thoughts of Dolly, Stanley accepted a £10,000 fee to give a lecture series in American cities at the end of 1886, opening in Boston on 9 December.
In London Stanley had been following the progress of the Emin Relief Expedition with interest. Before leaving for America, Mackinnon asked Stanley if he might be prepared to lead the rescue mission providing sufficient funds were raised. Stanley agreed but stated that if the relief committee preferred another leader, he would be happy to stand down and donate £500 from his own pocket towards the fund.
Stanley put an expedition plan together for Mackinnon to consider with his associates and potential backers. It contained a budget to cover the cost of everything required, including British personnel, the hire of local men, supplies, equipment, guns, ammunition, a 28ft long collapsible steel boat called the Advance and built along the same lines as the Lady Alice, plus goods with which to trade along the route. More than forty pack donkeys, ten riding asses and saddles would also have to be purchased.
Stanley suggested four feasible routes a rescue party might take to Equatoria – three of them fraught with danger from natives, presenting few prospects of collecting fresh food and water along the way or likely to anger France and Germany who would suspect the expedition of territorial ambitions as its ultimate goal. Stanley told Mackinnon that there was only one route safely open ‘and that is the Congo’. Steamship traffic on the river was now thriving, the roadway was in full use along with the stations linking the entire network together. The only problem foreseen was a lack of transport vessels on the Congo’s upper portion, meaning that supplies, ammunition and the collapsible boat would have to be carried for that part of the journey to within 200 miles of Albert Nyanza and Equatoria.
‘There is one other thing, however, that must be done,’ Stanley told Mackinnon. ‘Obtain the sanction of King Leopold.’ Thirteen days after disembarking in America a telegram arrived: ‘Your plan and offer accepted. Authorities approve. Funds provided. Business urgent. Come promptly. Reply. Mackinnon.’ Stanley cabled that he would cut his lecture tour short and return immediately. His American agent, James B. Pond, was left pulling his hair out, cancelling remaining lectures and forfeiting £8,000. By Christmas Eve Stanley was back in London and conferring with Mackinnon.
Meanwhile, Emin’s situation appeared more serious by the day. He was trapped, surrounded, desperate, his people were ill, many were dying and they all faced starvation. Escape was impossible in any direction and besides he did not wish to put his people’s lives at further risk. He had fulfilled his duties to General Gordon and the Egyptian government to the letter – what was now to be done for him? Whatever it was, could it please be done quickly? Stanley estimated it would take an expedition three months to reach Emin and when he was finally located, who knows what state he would be in – if, indeed he and his people were still alive when the rescue party arrived.
An appeal was launched for experienced military personnel and civilians with exceptional skills to join the expedition. Hundreds begged for a chance to travel with Stanley on a heroic rescue mission certain to bring fame and glory to everyone taking part. ‘Had our means only been equal to our opportunities, we might have emptied the barracks, the colleges, the public schools – I might almost say the nurseries – so great was the number of applications to join our adventurous quest,’ wrote Stanley.
From the host of applicants, seven handpicked volunteers were selected. They included Lieutenant William Grant Stairs, a Canadian serving with the Royal Engineers who obtained special unpaid leave to travel with Stanley. William Bonny, a former army sergeant, was engaged as a medical assistant after gaining experience in military hospitals in the Zulu and Nile campaigns. Lieutenant John Rose Troup, experienced at working with the police in the Congo and fluent in Kiswahili and other native dialects, was hired as the expedition’s accountant. Next to be engaged were Major Edmund Musgrave Barttelot of the 7th Fusiliers who had served in Afghanistan and the Sudanese Nile and Captain Robert H. Nelson of Methuen’s Mounted Horse Brigade, a Zulu wars veteran.
Two civilians were also accepted. Arthur Jermy Mounteney Jephson, a public-school-educated former officer with the Royal Irish rifles admitted he was ‘quite unaccustomed to roughing it in the wilds’, coming as he did from a wealthy family. The selection team considered him too high class for the job but a donation by his cousin of £1,000 towards the relief fund was ‘an argument that the committee could not resist’. James Sligo Jameson, a rich big-game hunter and passionate ornithologist was also prepared to place £1,000 on the table in return for the privilege of travelling with Stanley. An army surgeon called Thomas Heazle Parke would be taken on in Cairo as the relief expedition’s chief medical officer and Herbert Ward, an English employee of the Congo Free State, was engaged when the party arrived in Africa.
The expedition committee favoured a route from the east coast, journeying west inland, but Stanley insisted that the Congo route was the best; travelling inland via the Atlantic coast and the river network, road and stations would cut 500 miles from the journey. Secretly he visited Brussels and sought King Leopold’s permission to travel through the Congo with an armed escort. At a meeting at the royal palace, Leopold carefully brought up the subject of his failure to appoint Stanley Director General of the Congo, blaming high politics as the reason. Stanley heard that the French – under the influence of Brazza – had objected to his appointment and Leopold had no intention of upsetting Belgium’s larger neighbour.
Leopold gave the expedition permission to use the Congo route providing that Stanley agreed to accept ‘one or two little commissions’ on the side, using his influence to persuade Emin to remain in Equatoria with his troops, guns and ammunition and run the territory as part of the Congo Free State. Now that Egypt had lost its hold on the region, Leopold was ready to incorporate Equatoria as part of his expanding empire. He also urged Stanley to seek out Tippu-Tib and persuade him to work for the Congo Free State in return for opposing other Arab slave traders. For a salary of £30 per month, Tippu-Tib would be appointed a commissioner at Stanley Falls where he would control operations on that important section of the main route to the Nile watershed. Ever since Stanley’s departure back to England, Stanley Falls had become the centre of Tippu-Tib’s slaving realm. He had captured the station and turned it into a slave-raiding centre from where he now controlled his empire.
Unknown to Leopold, Mackinnon also had plans to employ Emin as a figurehead, in his case for the East African Association, the commercial trading arm of the British India Steam Navigation Company, to be located on the shores of the Victoria Nyanza. Mackinnon had read about Emin in the Graphic and felt that his knowledge of and influence in Africa would be valuable to the proposed company if it were profitably exploited.
On 7 January 1887 Leopold placed his fleet of Congo river steamboats at Stanley’s disposal. Stanley sent a message to Emin advising that help was on its way and not to attempt escape without the firearms the expedition would bring. The world was told that the object of the expedition was ‘the relief of Emin Pasha, the said relief consisting of ammunition in sufficient quantity to enable him to withdraw from his dangerous position in Central Africa in safety, or to hold his own if he decides to do so for such length of time as he may see fit’. Stanley’s role was described as ‘aiding a man who is fighting against fearful odds to uphold the banner of civilisation in the heart of Africa’.
Eduard Schnitzer, the man better known as Mohammed Emin Pasha, was what people today might call a bit of an oddball. He was born in Austrian Silesia (now Poland) in 1840 and after graduating from medical schools in Paris, Berlin and Vienna, joined the Turkish army as a medical officer. He used his time productively, learning Turkish, Arabic and Persian. By 1870 he was serving the Ottoman governor in northern Albania, having converted to Islam, adopted a Turkish mode of living and given himself the Islamic name of Mehmed or Mohammed. Six years later he joined General Gordon as a medical officer in Khartoum where he was known as Emin Effendi and called upon to undertake administrative duties and conduct diplomatic missions to Uganda and surrounding territories. Gordon was impressed by his commitment and ability to ‘blend in’ with his surroundings and promoted him to governor and chief medical officer to the outlying territory of Equatoria, with the title of ‘bey’ (honoured officer). He handled staff and natives with sensitivity and won their respect. He took an Abyssinian woman as his wife, although there is no record of any formal ceremony taking place, and fathered a daughter called Farida.
Emin Bey was good at his job and when not controlling his large province from the town of Lado, travelled throughout the district taking surveys, making extensive notes and sketches about flora and fauna and attempting to bring an end to slavery in the region – creating plenty of enemies along the way. He had a large house built constructed from reeds, domed and oval in shape, where he kept his library, scientific instruments, specimens and sketches. Emin obviously lived in a style befitting his status as a governor and behaved more like a benign emperor in his own little kingdom. He was responsible for over 200 Egyptian government employees assigned to Equatoria, including 10 officers and a further 15 non-commissioned personnel, over 300 white and black clerks employed to administer the region, 159 women and 100 children, the wives and offspring of the governor’s staff.
Writing in the Graphic, Felkin described Emin as a tall thin man of military bearing.
The lower part of his face was hidden by a well-trimmed black beard, and a moustache of the same colour partially veiled his determined mouth. His eyes, though to some extent hidden by spectacles [Emin was short-sighted], were black, piercing and intelligent; his smile was pleasing and gracious; his action graceful and dignified; and his whole bearing that of a man keenly alive to everything passing around him. Courteous but somewhat reserved, he was distinguishable as a thorough gentleman . . . Emin Pasha is a remarkable linguist, having a knowledge of most European languages, of several of those spoken in Asia and of many African dialects.
He wore a white uniform and a fez. By total strangers he could have been mistaken for a dignified Turk, instead of a cultured German.
Now aged forty-seven, and elevated to the rank of ‘pasha’ (general) and seemingly abandoned by the Egyptian government following the Mahdist uprising, Emin became isolated from the rest of the country and smuggled out his pleading letters. The last thing he expected was a reply – but that is exactly what he received via an undercover courier. It was from H.M. Stanley, the man who had discovered Livingstone and followed the course of the Congo from its source to the sea, informing him that he had been hired to equip a rescue expedition and would soon be on his way in the company of British volunteers and 600 Zanzibari natives. He added that he would be travelling via the Congo to the head of its navigation, from where they would march to the southern end of Lake Albert and the neighbourhood of Kavalli, where he hoped a message would be waiting informing them of Emin’s whereabouts.
When Emin read that help was on its way and who was responsible for bringing it, he feared the worst. He was aware of Stanley’s determined reputation and from what he had read about the man, understood him to be arrogant and insensitive. Emin feared for his ivory deposits, certain they would be confiscated by rescuers to defray their enormous costs. Before Stanley’s message had arrived, things had looked bleak. Now they looked worse. . . .
January 1887 ended with Stanley being made a Freeman of the City of London and travelling to Sandringham at the invitation of Edward, Prince of Wales, to give a short lecture on the route he proposed to take to rescue Emin Pasha. ‘Had a very attentive audience,’ Stanley later noted. Sir William Mackinnon organised ‘a farewell banquet’ for Stanley at Burlington House on 19 January and the following day the steamship Navarino set sail for Africa carrying the expedition’s volunteers and supplies. Stanley travelled on another ship, arriving in Alexandria a week later.
Before departing, Stanley was introduced to Burrows Wellcome & Company, a British-based pharmaceutical manufacturing concern owned by American-born Henry Wellcome. The company offered Stanley the first of its famous travelling ‘Tabloid’ medicine chests, an elegant portable carrying case made from Morocco leather, containing compartments storing sixty phials of compressed medicines and pills, syringes, hypodermic needles and tubes of products suitable for tropical regions. Wellcome’s scientists had conducted studies into the problems experienced by explorers and travellers needing to carry medical supplies to combat a multitude of tropical diseases. The ‘Tabloid’ was the result, a medicine chest in a case designed to withstand a variety of climatic conditions from hot African sun to Arctic chill. Each came with detailed instructions on how to diagnose a particular medical condition, correct medication and the dosage to be used.
John Edgington & Company of Duke Street, London, produced special tents for Stanley and his volunteers made from canvas dipped in a preservative of sulphate of copper, guaranteed to protect them for three years, allowing men to sleep in tents which prevented rain from seeping through. Fortnum & Mason of Piccadilly ‘packed up 40 carrier loads of choicest provisions. Every article was superb, the tea retained its flavour to the last, the coffee was of the purest Mocha, the Liebig Company’s Extract was of the choicest, and the packaging of all was excellent.’ Other sponsors included Bovril, whose newspaper advertisements included a picture of Stanley wearing his now familiar peaked cap with aerated holes and holding a steaming cup of the beverage with the slogan: ‘Stanley recruits his strength with Bovril’. The United Kingdom Tea Company – ‘used all over the world, nothing like them anywhere!’ – planned a major campaign once Stanley and Emin had met, showing them sipping tea and surrounded by happy-looking natives.
In Cairo Stanley met Khedive (the appointed head) Tewfik, who handed him a letter for Emin promoting him to rank of Lewa Pasha (Brigadier-General). The letter confirmed that ‘the famous and experienced African explorer, whose reputation is well known throughout the world’, was appointed to relieve the governor and his staff and bring them to Cairo by the most appropriate route. It stated that anyone wishing to stay in Equatoria could do so at their own risk but without further assistance from the government.
Stanley sailed on to Zanzibar, arriving on 22 February. Many recognised ‘Bula Matari’ as he walked through Zanzibar’s teeming streets on his way to meet Tippu-Tib, ‘a much greater man today than he was in 1877 when he escorted my caravan, preliminary to our descent down the Congo. He is now the uncrowned king of the region between Stanley Falls and Tanganyika Lake, commanding many thousands of men inured to fighting and wild equatorial life.’ Stanley needed the slaver’s men to convey ammunition and weapons to Emin Pasha – and ivory out of the interior.
Stanley and Africa’s most feared slave trader reached an agreement whereby 600 of Tippu-Tib’s men would work for £6 per loaded head carrying ammunition and ivory between Stanley Falls, Lake Albert and back, using £13,200 of the expedition’s funds. Negotiations went so well that Stanley felt confident enough to broach the subject of Tippu-Tib taking on the Governor’s job at Stanley Falls. His duties would be to hand back the station he had captured and defend it from Arabs raiding the region for slaves and natives trying to drive Europeans from the river.
Flattered that a European king had even heard about him, Tippu-Tib accepted the offer, including a clause stating that he must abstain from slave traffic below the Falls. A European would be appointed to ensure that the directive was carried out and Tippu-Tib’s salary would be discontinued if he breached any article in the contract. In the space of a few hours, Stanley had managed to accomplish two of the expedition’s most difficult tasks. If things continued along these lines, locating and rescuing Emin Pasha would be easy, thought Stanley.
By the time Stanley was ready to sail around the continent to the mouth of the Congo, 620 Zanzibaris and Sudanese soldiers, Tippu-Tib and his men had been enlisted and on 25 February 1887 they left Zanzibar in the Madura, travelling via the Cape of Good Hope, arriving on 18 March. Problems began hours out of port when Zanzibaris decided they did not care for their Sudanese brothers. A fight broke out below decks, Sudanese using spears and Zanzibaris tearing up floorboards to use as weapons. Stanley and his volunteers quashed the battle and medical men spent days fixing broken arms and serious wounds to heads, shoulders and ankles. To avoid further conflict, Stanley sent the Zanzibaris to the stern and Sudanese to the bow, with orders not to ‘invade’ each other’s territory.
At the mouth of the Congo, the rescue mission learned that King Leopold’s entire fleet of river steamers placed at Stanley’s disposal were either broken down, grounded on sandbanks or lay as rusting hulks on the muddy shore. Not one steamer was fit for use, including one named the Stanley, described as ‘a perfect ruin’. In the short time since Stanley had left the Congo, the area’s Atlantic coast had become a thriving trading centre and other steamers were anchored offshore. They included the vessel Peace owned by the Baptist Mission and the Henry Reed owned by the Livingstone Island Mission. The Baptists were persuaded to loan their steamer for the mercy mission, but the Livingstone missionaries refused to lend their only means of travelling upriver. Stanley threatened to write to The Times accusing the missionaries of ingratitude for past services and unchristian behaviour towards the man who had saved the man after whom their organisation was named. The missionaries relented and chartered the Henry Reed to the expedition for £100 per month – which Stanley estimated to be 30 per cent per annum of its overall value.
Stanley inspected the steamer named in his honour and found its condition not as bad as he had been led to believe. He ordered work to commence around the clock to make it river-worthy again. He also discovered that the towing barge En Avant, used on his previous Congo trip, could be fixed and used to tow another vessel. The Florida, a steamer still being built for the Sanford Exploring Company and no more than a hull with floorboards, was commandeered. A canopy was erected overhead to protect passengers from the sun and the steamer went into service four months before it was originally due to be floated on the water.
The Peace, with Stanley on board, became the expedition’s flagship, towing the steel boat Advance. The Stanley pulled the Florida while the En Avant transported Tippu-Tib plus ninety-six relatives and followers travelling with the new Governor to Stanley Falls. The boats were still not large enough for all the men and their supplies and arrangements were made for the Stanley to return at various intervals to collect anyone and anything not needed on the first stage of the expedition. The flotilla, carrying three-quarters of the party, set sail upriver on 1 May.
During the river journey, Stanley had his first opportunity to observe his handpicked officers and civilian volunteers at work as one steamer boiler developed a fault, then another, slowing progress and quickening tempers. First to feel their leader’s wrath were Stairs and Jameson, who failed to show Stanley the respect he felt he deserved. At age forty-six, some of Stanley’s men considered their commander too old for the task – and at every opportunity Stanley went out of his way to prove he was fitter, stronger, brighter and more alert than the former public schoolboys he had hired. At one stage, Stanley and Jameson nearly came to blows over the former big-game hunter’s inability to manage porters. Stanley yelled abuse from the deck of the Peace moored some distance from the bank on which Jameson was standing. It was only the distance between steamer and shore that prevented physical contact following what Jameson described as ‘a most disgraceful row’. A pair of missionaries who overheard the altercation were shocked by Stanley’s language, reminiscent of Nelson, the sadistic second mate of the Windermere which had taken Stanley to America thirty years before. The volunteers became outraged, offended and resentful – but kept their feelings to themselves.
When the flotilla arrived at the Bolobo native settlement 400 miles inland, Stanley planned to remove 200 sick men plus others not immediately needed and leave them in the care of an officer. They would later be collected by one of the Stanley’s return visits to deliver supplies not loaded on the outward journey. He selected Barttelot for the job, but the young officer protested and Ward and Bonny were assigned the task when Bolobo was sighted on 8 May.
The next port of call was Yambuya, a desolate spot near Stanley Falls, close to where Tippu-Tib had built his Manyuema slaving stronghold on a fortified island in mid-river and where 600 men promised to help carry the expedition’s goods and ammunition were expected to be waiting. But there was no sign of the slaver’s promised forces and assurances were given that they would arrive in nine days.
Stanley had no intention of waiting for extra men to appear. He ordered the Stanley back downriver to collect remaining supplies, announcing that he would be pressing ahead overland with some volunteers and porters, cutting a pathway through the uncharted Ituri rain forest until they arrived at Lake Albert. There, he expected news of Emin Pasha’s whereabouts to await him. Someone had to remain behind to ensure Tippu-Tib kept his promise and produced the 600 men, who instead of carrying Emin’s weapons and ammunition would now haul supplies the flotilla had left behind and brought to Yambuya when the Stanley returned weeks later.
None of the volunteers wanted to remain with Tippu-Tib and his Manyuema forces, knowing from Stanley’s account of his character in Through the Dark Continent that he was both dangerous and untrustworthy. Barttelot was told that he was selected to remain with Sudanese soldiers until Tippu-Tib’s reinforcements arrived. The rest of the party would continue through the forest as an advance column. When the extra men materialised, Barttelot was to lead them along the same route carrying supplies from the Stanley, estimated to be 500 loads, which would be used as barter. Stanley assured Barttelot that markers would be made in the forest by blazing trees and cutting saplings to leave traces of the route to be followed. The orders added that if Tippu-Tib sent insufficient men to bear the loads, Barttelot was to use discretion as to what could be discarded to enable a successful march by his rear column. The young officer and his Sudanese soldiers would be joined by ‘40 to 50 supernumeraries’, including the Irishman James Jameson. Troup, Ward and Bonny would travel back on the Stanley to collect supplies and travel back to Yambuya on the steamer. On returning, Barttelot would assume the role of officer in charge and direct the rear column in the same direction as the advance party.
Before leaving to hack their way through the forest, Stanley suggested that Barttelot go through the ceremony of blood brotherhood with Yambuya’s local chief to win him over and prevent attack by his natives. Stanley witnessed the ceremony, which Barttelot found ‘particularly disgusting. . . . On the flowing blood a pinch of dirty salt was placed, and this had to be licked. The chief performed his part as though he loved it. The Major looked up and saw the cynical faces of his friends and was mortified.’
At sunrise on 28 June, Stanley, 5 volunteers and 380 natives prepared to leave Yambuya and enter the Ituri rain forest for the 540-mile march to the Albert Nyanza. He told Barttelot: ‘Now Major, my dear fellow, we are in for it. Neck or nothing! Remember your promise and we shall meet before many months.’ Barttelot replied: ‘I vow to goodness, I shall be after you sharp.’ Stanley urged Barttelot and Jameson ‘to keep a stout heart’. Those were the last words Stanley would ever say to the two British volunteers remaining at Yambuya in charge of the rear column.
The forest force was divided into four companies commanded respectively by Stairs, Nelson, Jephson and Parke. Each used men experienced in handling bill hooks, axes and machetes to clear a pathway through the ancient forest, which was indicated on maps as nothing more than a vast empty space, an undiscovered country known only to hostile natives, wild animals, reptiles and birds. The forest was filled with mist during early morning hours. The expedition would start at six each day and hack, hew, tunnel and crawl through swamps and jungle for five hours before stopping for rest and food. They would then continue for a further four hours before making a clearing for an overnight camp in which hundreds of fires lit the thick darkness covering the seemingly limitless world of trees all around.
After a month the men began to lose their courage. Hard work and scant rations left everyone experiencing hunger pangs for most of the day and night. The absence of sunshine and the gloomy environment made everyone depressed. Mosquito bites, cuts from thorns and infections from poisoned skewers hidden in the ground by natives as traps for their enemies, produced ulcers on their skin and the sick list became ‘alarmingly large’. Men began to die, while others threw their baggage into the bush and ran off with their rifles, never to be seen again.
Three Zanzibaris who had deserted were recaptured and brought to camp. Stanley called his men together and asked them what they would do if natives came and stole their weapons. Everyone agreed that if they were captured they would be condemned to death by hanging. Pointing to the three deserters, Stanley said: ‘Very well then, you have condemned them to death. One shall die today, and from this day forward, every thief and deserter who leaves his duty and imperils his comrades’ lives shall die.’ Lots were cast and the deserter drawing the shortest straw was first to be hanged from a rattan noose thrown over a stout branch. ‘The signal was given and the man was hoisted up. Before the last struggles were over, the expedition had filed out of camp.’
At dawn, arrangements were begun to execute a second man. Another noose was thrown over a branch and the men silently gathered around to watch the second of their fellows punished by hanging. Stanley could see that the executions were getting the message across that deserters and thieves paid with their lives. Before the hanging, Stanley arrived at a secret agreement with Rashid, one of the Zanzibari leaders. As soon as the noose was placed around the man’s neck, a group of handpicked men would throw themselves on Stanley’s mercy and plead for the deserter’s pardon. It worked. The men promised never to steal or desert from Bula Matari again. The reprieved prisoner wept, threw himself at Stanley’s feet and ‘never was there such a number of warmed hearts in the forests of the Congo as on that day’.
Starvation claimed its victims. Occasionally wild berries and plantains were discovered, but there was no fresh meat in the forest. Some 108 men were lost through death and desertion on the march. It took 137 days to reach the native settlement of Ibwiri, later known as Fort Bodo, where fresh meat, fruit and vegetables helped the men regain their strength.
Twelve days further march into the forest eventually brought them to open grasslands and a place where they could at last see the sky and breathe fresh air. On 13 December, 169 days from Yambuya, the expedition stood on a high cliff overlooking the Albert Nyanza 2,700ft below, where ‘the white man’s smoke boats’ were said to be constantly plying the lake and visiting ports in his province. But there was no sign of Emin Pasha or his steamers. Stanley’s party returned to Ibwiri to await Barttelot, Jameson and the rear column. Lieutenant Stairs and twenty Zanzibaris were ordered back to the forest to hunt for the men, whom Stanley expected to be following some days behind.
While awaiting the arrival of the volunteers and Tippu-Tib’s men, Captain Nelson supervised the building of a fort at Ibwiri and Stanley, accompanied by Jephson, Parke and a detachment of carriers, returned to the lake with sections of their steel boat, Advance. At the lakeside settlement of Kavalli, Stanley found a message waiting from the white man known to natives as ‘Malleju – the bearded man’. It was from Emin Pasha, stating he had heard rumours of a white man appearing on the south shore. If it was him they were seeking, they should remain where they were, send a messenger stating they had returned to the lake, and he would join them later in his steamer.
The Advance was bolted together and Jephson, with a handful of native guides, travelled up the lake, where two days later they expected to find Emin Pasha. They carried a letter from Stanley suggesting that Emin send
rations sufficient to subsist us while we await your removal, say about 12,000 or 15,000 lbs of grain, millet or Indian corn, which if your steamer has any capacity, you can easily bring. If you are already resolved on leaving Africa, I would suggest that you should bring with you all your cattle and every native willing to follow you. . . . I hear you have an abundance of cattle with you; three or four milk cows would be very grateful to us if you could bring them in your steamer and boats. . . . We shall have to forage far and near for food while we await your attendance, but we shall endeavour to stay here until we see you. All with me join in sending you our best wishes and are thankful that you are safe and well. Believe me, dear Pasha, your most obedient servant, Henry M. Stanley, Commanding Relief Expedition.
It looked to Stanley as if another African triumph was now just a few days away from his reach. Looks, however, can often be deceptive.