He strode o’er streams and mountains
To free the leaguered band:
He stood by Nile’s far fountains,
Lord of the Old Dark Land!
Where death the forest haunted,
And never dawned the day,
He pierced the gloom undaunted –
For that was Stanley’s way.
Gerald Massey, 1889
When Stanley heard Bonny’s story, ‘my first fear was that I had become insane’. Volunteers were required to complete daily reports in Stanley’s absence, even if there was little to write about. Stanley examined these with a growing sense of incredulity as he read about ‘darksome shades in the vicinity of Stanley Falls or along the course of the Upper Congo’. He read of shocking cannibalistic rituals observed by the men and references to ‘quantities of human bones . . . discovered by some reconnoitring party, human limbs . . . found in cooking pots, sketches made by an amateur artist [Jameson] are reported to have been made of whole families indulging in cannibal repasts; it is more than hinted that Englishmen are implicated in raids, murder and cannibalism, that they have been making targets of native fugitives. . . . Each in his turn becomes possessed with an insane desire to say or write something which overwhelms common sense and exceeds ordinary belief.’
Stanley went on an inspection tour of the camp to which Bonny had limped back with 102 of the original 260 men – 42 of whom now lay on the ground close to death. ‘Pen cannot picture, nor tongue relate the full horrors witnessed within that dreadful post-hold,’ he wrote. ‘The nameless scourge of barbarians was visible in the faces and bodies of many a hideous looking human being . . . disfigured, bloated, marred and scarred.’ Flyblown corpses lay unburied. Others, barely living, lay motionless, their bodies covered with festering ulcers. ‘I scarcely know how I endured the first few hours, the ceaseless story of calamity vexed my ears, a deadly stench of disease hung in the air, and the most repellent sights moved and surged before my dazed eyes. . . . If I were to record all that I saw at Banalya in its deep intensity of unqualified misery, it would be like stripping the bandages off a vast sloughing ulcer, striated with bleeding arteries, to the public gaze, with no earthly purpose than to shock and disgust.’
Despite the death and dirt surrounding him, Stanley found time to bemoan the fact that Barttelot had dispatched his commander’s personal possessions upriver. He noted: ‘He reduces me to absolute nakedness. I am so poor as to be compelled to beg a pair of pants from Mr. Bonny, cut another pair from an old white blanket in the possession of a deserter, and another from a curtain in my tent.’ The reserve boxes of clothing and tasty Fortnum & Mason delicacies, which would have sustained the volunteers at Banalya for many weeks if they had dared open them, were never seen again.
Rear column survivors were removed from the Banalya ‘pest house’ and taken to an island in the middle of the river to regain their strength. Stanley had no intention of wasting time. His feet were itching to get back to Albert Nyanza and surmount the final hurdle – leading Emin Pasha and his people to freedom. The sick would be carried in canoes travelling along the river while the main body would march along the parallel track over which Stanley was about to march for the third time. He dismissed all but 60 Manyuema and combined the remaining forces with the men he had brought from the lake, totalling 283 porters for 275 loads.
About one month away from Ibwiri, now renamed Fort Bodo by Stanley, they abandoned the canoes and struck out overland, carrying the sick over a shorter route. This took them across the territory of the pygmies, who were quick to pick off several carriers with spears before realising that strangers passing through their land meant them no harm. The rest of the march was just as tough as previous journeys through the forest. One camp was named ‘Starvation Camp’ because it offered absolutely nothing in the way of food. By the time they burst out of the great forest and reached Fort Bodo on 20 December, 106 men had died from illness, starvation, pygmy attacks, poisoned arrow wounds or had ended up in the cooking pots of cannibals encountered en route.
It had been 188 days since Stanley had left the settlement in search of the rear column and he was expecting a message to be waiting from Emin and Jephson giving their location. There was nothing. Stanley cursed both men, unaware that they were now prisoners of Emin’s mutinous officers and that Mahdist rebels had seized control of half of Equatoria.
Arthur Mounteney Jephson was enjoying a life of luxury as the guest of the Governor of Equatoria. They had travelled up the lake to Wadelai, a large fortified station of neat bamboo huts set either side of a wide street. Emin’s hut was the largest, decorated with European furnishings including a dining table and chairs, a pair of divans and bookcases filled with volumes about plants and insects. This was the house Emin shared with his pretty little six-year-old daughter Farida, who wore Arab costume. Jephson found her delightful and realised that living in such a comfortable home, eating good food and with uniformed soldiers at his beck and call, Emin had carved out a Ruritanian empire for his daughter and himself. No wonder he appeared reluctant to leave.
It was true that Emin worked hard. In his role as a doctor, he visited the hospital each day before returning to tackle a mountain of paperwork, although Jephson was never sure who would ever read the reports and letters written by the Governor. Emin also visited parts of his province, travelling on one of his two steamers, on horseback or wagon. The only time he stopped working or travelling was when he peered into his microscope with his one good eye to examine insect specimens brought to his collection.
Jephson was assigned his own hut in the shade of lime, orange and pomegranate trees and settled down to a comfortable and leisurely existence, occasionally travelling with Emin on official business. At each place soldiers from the local garrison greeted them with full military honours. The soldiers were referred to as Sudanese, but were drawn from surrounding tribes and few had ever been to the Sudan. Some soldiers took Jephson into their confidence and voiced concern that if Emin left Equatoria, their traditional customs would be sacrificed. Others said they wanted to remain where they were or be relocated to a coastal settlement. It became apparent that Emin exercised little control over his people, who were happy to smile, bow and let him continue on his way. This Pasha was not their leader or saviour, simply a figurehead whom they tolerated while getting on with their lives. Most worrying of all was a rumour that a rebel battalion of Emin’s own soldiers was in mutinous mood and planning to overthrow him.
Jephson was troubled by his conscience. He was enjoying comfort and good food while his fellow volunteers were probably suffering privations attempting to rescue a man possibly not worth rescuing. To control events before they turned nasty, Jephson suggested that Wadelai should be evacuated. Emin stated that before leaving, he needed to know what people living in other parts of the province wanted to do. Until then, they would remain and continue living as before.
After several weeks, Emin suffered a mild heart attack and Jephson was left to his own devices. It was a strange and unreal existence with everything tranquil on the surface and a hotbed of rebellion lurking beneath. Everyone seemed aware of it except one person – Emin Pasha. Jephson wondered what Stanley would have made of the situation.
Emin and Jephson went on another tour to let Equatoria’s people know their Governor was still alive. A tribal dance was arranged in a settlement known as Dufile and as the performance began, Emin was handed a letter from an officer stating that the rebellious battalion planned to arrest him. Emin and Jephson made preparations to leave – but to where? Other garrisons were likely to include soldiers happy to see the back of Emin Pasha and their safety could not be guaranteed.
Emin ordered Dufile’s ammunition store to be emptied and the contents taken to Wadelai, but when they arrived at the arsenal, they discovered rebel troops had beaten them to it. Jephson urged Emin to do what Stanley would have done – return and exert his authority. But Emin Pasha was not Henry Morton Stanley and he ran like a frightened rabbit. Jephson recorded: ‘From that day I lost faith in Emin’s advice and assurances with regard to his people; I felt that a heavy cloud was gathering over us, and that serious trouble was impending.’
Rebels began attacking other settlements, capturing their arsenals and taking prisoners. Emin sought Jephson’s advice and the younger man suggested that messages be sent to rebel areas stating that those wishing to leave with the Pasha must be allowed to depart, while those preferring to stay could do so. The message was sent back down the road.
At Dufile, Emin and Jephson were arrested by drunken soldiers from the rebel battalion and taken to a prison compound where a list of Emin’s ‘crimes’ was read out. He was told he would be executed – slowly and painfully.
Jephson managed to smuggle a letter out to Stanley in secret, informing him of their situation and warning that rebels planned to travel down the lake, trap the rescue expedition and slaughter them all. It ended: ‘If we are not able to get out of the country, please remember me to my friends.’ A second secret letter written by Emin requested Stanley to take care of his daughter in the event of his death.
Rebel leaders were given a triumphant entry into Dufile and commandeered Emin’s house. They sent for Jephson and, lounging on Emin’s divans, demanded that the young man give an account of himself. They wanted to see the letters the Khedive had sent to Emin and which Jephson was carrying. They tore them up and threw the pieces on the floor claiming they were forgeries. With nothing to lose, Jephson rounded on his captors, accusing them of treachery and abusing the good intentions of someone who had come to rescue them. This last point struck their Muslim sensibilities and, to Jephson’s surprise, he was released. Shortly afterwards, Emin, too, was allowed out of the stockade, to collect his daughter and return to Wadelai where he was reunited with his books, insects and microscope as if nothing had happened.
A great deal had happened and Emin had witnessed it from the confines of his prison stockade. He had seen a revolution by rebels who had no idea how to control a country once they came to power, afraid of what might happen if Emin evacuated the province. When their revolution collapsed after only a few weeks, the people begged Emin to become their Governor again and protect them from advancing Mahdist rebels. He refused, telling them he was now a private citizen, no longer prepared to lead people who had attempted to oust him. As an ordinary citizen he could do as he pleased. He knew it was only a matter of days before he was arrested again by the approaching mob – and probably beheaded in the street. It was time to get out of Equatoria and he began preparing for his escape, ordering scores of bearers to carry his store of ivory tusks to the lake.
On the night before their departure, Emin’s soldiers deserted. Before daybreak, nearly six hundred of his people – men, women, children, cattle and dogs – turned out to follow him. They no longer felt secure in Equatoria and knew their Pasha would look after them. Wherever he went, they were going, too.
It was now Jephson’s turn to take on the role of Moses, leading hundreds of frightened and bemused people to freedom. A large assembly gathered outside Emin’s house waiting for him to give the word. Emin was too busy taking care of his daughter and left the job to his young friend. As they set off towards the lake, a straggling line of refugees stretched back for 3 miles. Some fell by the wayside, too ill or old to cover the distance. There was shouting, crying, bleating. It was uproar – but a moving one and by nightfall they had arrived at the lake and made camp from whatever materials could be found.
Hours after they had departed, the rebels rode in. They looted, raped, burned the settlement to the ground and passed the death sentence on Emin and Jephson.
Instead of parting the waters of the Albert Nyanza, Jephson sailed across it on the Khedive, which had yet to be seized by the Mahdist rebels. He needed to alert Stanley that Emin and hundreds of his people were waiting to cross over. On his arrival, Jephson recalled that Stanley ‘received me in his usual calm manner, tempered, however, by a smile. I think he was pleased to see me again. I know I was glad to see him.’ Stanley wanted to know what Emin planned to do once he and his people landed safely on their side of the lake. Jephson was forced to admit that after eight months with the Pasha, he had no idea.
On 16 February, the Khedive brought Emin and the first group of sixty-five of his people across the water. Stanley was determined to let Emin know the lengths to which he and his men had gone to arrive at this moment. Jephson was sent to the water’s edge to greet Emin while Stanley remained in his tent watching carriers haul crates, chests, boxes and trunks into camp. Stanley counted 104 carriers hauling 60 loads full of Emin’s goods and made up his mind to insist that Emin discard two-thirds of his boxes and crates. Then came the sick and elderly, followed by mothers with babies and small children. Stanley worried how his men were going to carry everything and lead everybody back to the coast.
Stanley and Emin exchanged polite greetings. There was no time for long discussions that day. The Khedive had to return to transport another group of people and their cattle and Stanley was determined to let Emin supervise the operation. It was therefore agreed that the Khedive would make as many journeys back as was safe and necessary until everyone wishing to taste freedom with Emin had been rescued from the rebel stronghold. The operation took six weeks. As the numbers at the camp swelled to over five hundred, Emin’s followers were reminded that English people had heard about their plight and need for ammunition to defend themselves. The Khedive had asked Bula Matari to bring as many who wished to travel to Egypt to return with him. Those who wanted to stay could do so.
Lieutenant Stairs and William Bonny were dispatched to lakeside tribal settlements with instructions to hire men prepared to travel 1,400 miles to the sea. Those completing the journey would be guaranteed safe passage back to their villages. Stairs and Bonny returned with 312 carriers, a mixture of dwarfs, men 7ft tall and an assortment of tribespeople considered trustworthy.
There was no doubt who was in charge of the camp, which grew in size each day – and it was not Emin Pasha. As usual, Stanley rose early and began issuing orders immediately. Emin spent his days pottering about making scientific observations, catching insects and butterflies. He fell into deep depression when Stanley lost his temper, informing Emin that every day they lingered by the lake cost the relief committee £400. Emin was alarmed by the number of his men who snapped to attention when Stanley appeared. It seemed they would do anything for Bula Matari. He retreated into a dignified silence nursing his bitterness and resentment towards the man who had come to rescue him.
At sunrise on 10 April, Stanley blew the whistle to signify that it was time for 1,510 people – expedition members, remaining Manyuema, local natives and Emin’s people – to pick up their children, baggage, supplies and ivory and begin marching towards the southern shore of the Albert Nyanza. The journey was not without its hardships and interruptions. Stanley was the cause of the first difficulty when he fell ill with gastritis. Dr Parke and the contents of Henry Wellcome’s ‘Tabloid’ medicine chest soon had him back on his feet. Men deserted, their ringleaders were hunted down, dragged back, tried by the rest of the porters, found guilty and hanged.
As the march progressed, many of Emin’s people transferred allegiance from the Pasha to Bula Matari. Stanley enrolled Emin’s fittest men into a new company, issued them with guns, gave them special rations and told them only to take orders from himself or the British volunteers. They included Emin’s personal guards and orderlies. When Emin heard what Stanley had done, he stood outside Bula Matari’s tent and shouted: ‘Mr. Stanley, I am sorry that I ever agreed to go with you.’ It was too late. Stanley was telling his volunteers that Emin was small-minded, an outcast, a Governor with no one to govern, rejected by his people and saved by brave Englishmen.
On the journey to the coast, the expedition came within sight of snow-capped peaks the natives called the Ruwenzori Mountains, peaks which the ancient Greek astronomer and geographer Ptolemy had named the ‘Mountains of the Moon’. For most of the year the peaks were obscured by cloud, but for three successive days there were clear skies and Stanley ‘saw them, spell-bound’. There were other discoveries, too. Stanley and Emin disagreed on many things, but concurred that the Semliki River linked together the Albert Nyanza with a new lake which Stanley named Albert Edward Nyanza – after the Prince of Wales – thus settling the few remaining doubtful geographic points regarding the sources of the Nile for the benefit of the Royal Geographical Society.
The expedition reached the Victoria Nyanza in September and headed east throughout October and November towards Bagamoyo, the coast, Zanzibar – and home. As they drew to the end of their long march, word was sent down the pathway to coastal settlements that Stanley’s rescue party was approaching. On 28 November, a 170-man expedition from the Imperial British East African Company arrived with supplies of rice, European provisions – including champagne – clothing and footwear.
The sound of the noon cannon at Zanzibar signalled that they were nearing journey’s end. Zanzibaris in the group were ecstatic. The return journey had taken seven and a half months. Stanley and his men had been travelling for the last two and a half years, covering a distance of 6,032 miles. Out of the original group of 620 Zanzibaris who had travelled with Stanley, only 225 returned to their island home. Of the 60 Sudanese, only 12 survived. Of the 570 refugees who had followed Emin out of Equatoria, 290 completed the journey; around 80 had died on the march, the rest had gone missing along the way.
They stumbled into Bagamoyo, part of German East Africa, on 4 December, where the authorities provided emergency shelter for the carriers and Emin’s people. The Imperial German Commissioner gave a banquet in honour of Stanley, Emin and the volunteers that same evening. It was a crowded occasion to which Zanzibar’s diplomatic community were invited along with elite British and German naval personnel and Mackinnon’s local representatives. In the street, the Zanzibaris had a party of their own, singing, dancing and feasting. Emin was invited to sit at the Commissioner’s right hand on the top table. He politely declined, insisting that Stanley take the seat of honour. He had learned that he could invoke Stanley’s displeasure quickly and did not want to upset him one last time.
Guests noted that Emin’s eyesight, which had never been good, appeared to have deteriorated. He had to place the special menu produced for the evening at the end of his nose in order to read it and hold his face only inches over his food in order to see what was on his plate.
When it was time for speeches, Stanley was the first to rise to his feet. Speaking in what one guest described as ‘a sonorous voice, using fine, dramatic, rolling phrases full of religious references, such as many a Welsh preacher might use’, Stanley reflected that it had been proved by previous expeditions ‘that success was only gained by hearty goodwill, unwearied effort, and uttermost striving. My companions and myself, like men animated with one mind, have devoted every fibre and all our strength, morally and physically, to accomplish the purpose for which we set out.’
Emin could have used his reply to complain about Stanley, the way he had been treated and his position undermined during the march to the sea. Instead, he gave voice to an eloquent outpouring of gratitude ‘to the generous English people’ who had rescued him and his people.
After dinner and with a German band playing, guests mingled. Stanley described Emin as ‘gay and happy’ as he made his way from one end of the table to the other, chatting with guests. Stanley remained in his seat listening to a long political story related by the German Commissioner. Later in the evening a steward whispered in Stanley’s ear that ‘Pasha has fallen down’. Stanley took this to mean he had stumbled over a chair, but the steward added: ‘He has fallen over the verandah wall and into the street and is dangerously hurt.’
Stanley flew downstairs into the street where two pools of blood soaked the ground. There was no sign of Emin, who had been rushed to the German Hospital. It appeared that the Pasha had wandered onto the balcony for fresh air and because of his failing eyesight had not noticed a low wall overlooking the street 20ft below. He had lost his balance, fallen over, sliding down the verandah’s sloping roof and crashed to the ground. He was unconscious when a member of the Imperial German Commissioner’s staff found him and arranged to take him to hospital.
At the hospital, Emin lay on a bed, still unconscious, his head covered in soaking red bandages. Stanley sent Dr Parke to the hospital to examine Emin. Although his injuries were serious, the doctor found no fractures. As well as damage to his head, Emin’s right side and back were also severely bruised. Stanley later visited Emin’s bedside. He was now fully conscious although dangerously ill. ‘Well, Pasha,’ said Stanley, ‘I hope you don’t mean to admit the possibility that you are to die here, do you?’ Emin said his accident was not as bad as that.
Dr Parke was ordered to remain with Emin and send daily reports about the patient’s progress. Emin instructed his German orderlies to bar Stanley from the hospital. He dismissed Parke, refused to see other British volunteers and made it known that he wanted nothing further to do with the Emin Pasha Relief Expedition (whose final bill for the venture amounted to nearly £28,000) or any commercial organisation interested in employing him for highly paid jobs in their service. Stanley was informed that once he had recovered from his injuries, Emin would accept a position with the German government service in East Africa.
Angrily, Stanley strode to the shelters where Emin’s people were camping. He explained they were going to Zanzibar. Anyone refusing would be put in chains and dragged there. From the island they were taken to Egypt. Emin claimed he was prevented from communicating with them.
Once in Zanzibar, Stanley stayed at the home of the British Consul, Colonel Euan Smith. In a letter to Lord Salisbury the Consul noted:
His [Stanley’s] hair is as white as snow. When I first saw him he looked dreadfully done up; but the rest and good living have worked a wonderful change for the better in his appearance. His experiences and sufferings have been beyond anything that it would enter the mind of man to conceive, and he has a frightful tale to tell of the inhumanities and cruelties of the Arabs in Central Africa, which will, I am convinced, make all England ring with indignation. He is thoroughly in earnest in his belief that to him has been confided the mission of rescuing the natives of Central Africa from their present desperate situation.
Stanley’s four English officers . . . are certainly a splendid quartet of Englishmen; but there is no love lost between them and Stanley, who, I fancy, though an unqualified leader of natives, does not understand how to treat Englishmen. They all, however, unanimously acknowledge that no other leader could have successfully extricated the expedition from the hideous difficulties in which it found itself entangled. . . .
It is easy to see that Stanley has neither liking nor admiration for Emin Pasha; and he openly expresses his opinion that the estimation in which [he] was held in England, as an heroic figure holding his post against overwhelming odds, is entirely false and unsatisfactory. He declares the Pasha to be a weak-minded, sweet natured, pleasant-mannered savant but to be wholly incapable of ruling or leading men. . . . Stanley hardly cares to disguise the contempt with which he speaks of the Pasha, and he hints that a very great deal of curious matter will see the light before long. In the meantime, the poor Pasha is something of a prisoner in the hands of the Germans, whose tender mercies are perhaps not without a tinge of unintentional cruelty.
Referring to the expedition’s Zanzibaris, Smith noted: ‘It is melancholy to reflect that, as Stanley informs me, when pay day came, and they were paraded to receive nearly three years wages, their Arab owners assembled at the pay office and seized from each the entire sum he received. I am told that the largest proportion of the sum so received went to the Sultan as being the largest slave-owner. . . .’
There was one more task for Stanley to address before he left Africa. He brought a legal action against Tippu-Tib in the Zanzibar Consular Court for breach of agreement, claiming £10,000 in damages for failure to furnish the expedition with the 600 carriers he had promised and for other crimes against his volunteers. Stanley knew the money lay in gold in the slaver’s Zanzibar bank account from the sale of ivory. The result of the action was never made public.
Letter from Queen Victoria to H.M. Stanley, Windsor Castle, 10 December:
My thoughts are often with you and your brave followers, whose dangers and hardships are now at an end. Once more, I heartily congratulate all, including the survivors of the gallant Zanzibaris, who displayed such devotion and fortitude during your marvellous expedition. Trust Emin Pasha progresses favourably.
Telegram from H.M. Stanley to Queen Victoria, Zanzibar, 12 December:
Your Majesty’s most humble and devoted servant Stanley thanks you from the bottom of his heart on behalf of his English officers, his Zanzibari and Sudanese followers, for your Majesty’s most gracious message received yesterday. Your Majesty’s words have elicited the most profound and respectful loyalty, gratitude and enthusiasm. The thought that the Queen was interested in us all often encouraged us in our darkest moments of incertitude and depression; and the assurance that you now so graciously send, that your Majesty is satisfied with our work has more than re-paid us for what we have passed through. Stanley.
Letter from Queen Victoria to the Marquess of Salisbury, Osborne, 23 December:
The Queen was immensely relieved, as Lord Salisbury was, at poor Stanley’s and Emin Bey’s safety, and thinks it has been a source of great satisfaction and rejoicing in this country.
Stanley did not return to London directly, claiming the city was in the grip of influenza. He wanted time gently to reacquaint himself with European society and take stock of his life. At the age of forty-nine, he also needed time to consider what he might do next.
In January 1890, Stanley checked into Cairo’s fashionable Shepherd’s Hotel, where other guests found him a curiosity and crowded around him every time he came out to stroll in the gardens. In order to find peace and quiet, he fled to the seclusion of the Villa Victoria to begin writing the story of the Emin Pasha relief expedition. He called it In Darkest Africa and wrote at a furious pace, drafting 8,000 words daily for fifty consecutive days starting at 6 a.m. and ending at midnight. He concluded the book with these memorable paragraphs:
Good-night, Pasha . . . you will know better when you have read these pages, what the saving of you cost in human life and suffering. . . .
Good-night, Gentlemen of the Relief Committee! Three years are passed since your benevolence commissioned us to relieve the distressed and rescue the weak. Two hundred and sixty all told have been returned to their homes; about 150 more are in safety. . . .
Good-night, oh! My Companions! May honours such as you deserve be showered upon you. To the warm hearts of your countrymen I consign you. Should one doubt be thrown upon your manhood, or upon your loyalty or honour, within these pages, the record of your faithfulness during a period which I doubt will ever be excelled for its gloom and hopelessness, will be found to show with what noble fortitude you bore all. Good-night Stairs, Jephson, Nelson, Parke, and you Bonny, a long good-night to you all!
Stanley had achieved everything expected of him, apart from one thing. He had been commissioned to rescue Emin Pasha, which he had done successfully, delivering the Pasha’s people from possible slaughter at the same time. But he had failed to secure Emin for either Mackinnon or Leopold. The rescue mission had succeeded – but at what cost? Stanley would soon find out.