The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (47 page)

‘Dr Livingstone I presume?’ The meeting of Livingstone and Stanley. From
How I found Livingstone, travels, adventures, and discoveries in Central Africa,
London, 1872.

16th November,
1871 As Tanganyika explorations are said by Mr. Stanley to be an object of interest to Sir Roderick [Murchison], we go at his expense and by his men to the
north of the Lake.

ENCOUNTERS ON THE
UPPER CONGO

Henry Morton Stanley

(1841–1904)

Stanley made his name as an explorer by tracking down Livingstone in 1871. But obscure Welsh origins, plus the adoption of US citizenship and professional journalism, did
not endear him to London’s geographical establishment. His response was to out-travel all contemporaries, beginning with the first ever coast-to-coast crossing of equatorial Africa. Leaving
Zanzibar, he had struck the headwaters of what proved to be the Congo (Zaire) by the end of 1876 and with Frank Pocock, his sole surviving companion, had now to run a gauntlet of hostility to the
Atlantic.

D
ec. 27. 1876 Vinya-Njara.
In the evening, while sleep had fallen upon all save the watchful sentries in charge of the boat and canoes,
Frank and I spent a serious time.

Frank was at heart as sanguine as I that we should finally emerge somewhere, but, on account of the persistent course of the great river towards the north, a little uneasiness was evident in his
remarks.

“Before we finally depart, sir,” said he, “do you really believe, in your inmost soul, that we shall succeed? I ask this because there are such odds against us – not that
I for a moment think it would be best to return, having proceeded so far.”

“Believe? Yes, I do believe that we shall all emerge into light again some time. It is true that our prospects are as dark as this night. Even the Mississippi presented no such obstacles
to De Soto as this river will necessarily present to us. Possibly its islands and its forests possessed much of the same aspect, but here we are at an altitude of sixteen hundred and fifty feet
above the sea. What conclusions can we arrive at? Either that this river penetrates a great distance north of the Equator, and, taking a mighty sweep round, descends into the Congo – this, by
the way, would lessen the chances of there being many cataracts in the river; – or that we shall shortly see it in the neighbourhood of the Equator, take a direct cut towards the Congo, and
precipitate itself, like our Colorado river, through a deep cañon, or down great cataracts; or that it is either the Niger or the Nile. I believe it will prove to be the Congo; if the Congo
then, there must be many cataracts. Let us only hope that the cataracts are all in a lump, close together.

Henry Stanley, from a photograph taken in 1877. From
Through the Dark Continent,
London, 1878.

“Any way, whether the Congo, the Niger, or the Nile, I am prepared, otherwise I should not be so confident. Though I love life as much as you do, or any other man does, yet on the success
of this effort I am about to stake my life, my all. To prevent its sacrifice foolishly I have devised numerous expedients with which to defy wild men, wild nature, and unknown terrors. There is an
enormous risk, but you know the adage, ‘Nothing risked, nothing won.’

“I see us gliding down by tower and town, and my mind will not permit a shadow of doubt. Good night, my boy! Good night! and may happy dreams of the sea, and ships, and pleasure, and
comfort, and success attend you in your sleep! To-morrow my lad, is the day we shall cry – ‘Victory or death!’”

Dec. 28. Vinya-Njara
The crisis drew nigh when the 28th December dawned. A grey mist hung over the river, so dense that we could not see even the palmy banks on which
Vinya-Njara was situated. It would have been suicidal to begin our journey on such a gloomy morning. The people appeared as cheerless and dismal as the foggy day. We cooked our breakfasts in order
to see if, by the time we had fortified the soul by satisfying the cravings of the stomach, the river and its shores might not have resumed their usual beautiful outlines, and their striking
contrasts of light and shadow.

Slowly the breeze wafted the dull and heavy mists away until the sun appeared, and bit by bit the luxuriantly wooded banks rose up solemn and sad. Finally the grey river was seen, and at 9 a.m.
its face gleamed with the brightness of a mirror.

“Embark, my friends! Let us at once away! and a happy voyage to us.”

But, looking up, I saw the gleaming portal to the Unknown: wide open to us and away down for miles and miles, the river lay stretched with all the fascination of its mystery. I stood up and
looked at the people. How few they appeared to dare the region of fable and darkness! They were nearly all sobbing. They were leaning forward, bowed, as it seemed, with grief and heavy hearts.

Then I urged my boat’s crew, knowing that thus we should tempt the canoes to quicker pace. Three or four times Uledi, the coxswain, gallantly attempted to sing, in order to invite a cheery
chorus, but his voice soon died into such piteous hoarseness that the very ludicrous-ness of the tones caused his young friends to smile even in the midst of their grief.

We knew that the Vinya-Njara district was populous from the numbers of natives that fought with us by land and water, but we had no conception that it was so thickly populated as the long row of
villages we now saw indicated. I counted fourteen separate villages, each with its respective growth of elais palm and banana, and each separated from the other by thick bush.

Every three or four miles after passing Vinya-Njara, there were small villages visible on either bank, but we met with no disturbance, fortunately. At 5 p.m. we made for a small village called
Kali-Karero, and camped there, the natives having retired peacefully. In half an hour they returned, and the ceremony of brotherhood was entered upon, which insured a peaceful night. The
inhabitants of Rukura, opposite us, also approached us with confidence, and an interchange of small gifts served us as a healthy augury for the future.

On the morning of the 29th, accompanied by a couple of natives in a small fishing-canoe, we descended the river along the left bank, and, after about four miles, arrived at the confluence of the
Kasuku, a dark-water stream of a hundred yards’ width at the mouth. Opposite the mouth, at the southern end of Kaimba – a long wooded island on the right bank, and a little above the
confluence – stands the important village of Kisanga-Sanga.

Below Kaimba Island and its neighbour, the Livingstone assumes a breadth of 1800 yards. The banks are very populous: the villages of the left bank comprise the district of Luavala. We thought
for some time we should be permitted to pass by quietly, but soon the great wooden drums, hollowed out of huge trees, thundered the signal along the river that there were strangers. In order to
lessen all chances of a rupture between us, we sheered off to the middle of the river, and quietly lay on our paddles. But from both banks at once, in fierce concert, the natives, with their heads
gaily feathered, and armed with broad black wooden shields and long spears, dashed out towards us.

Tippu-Tib before our departure had hired to me two young men of Ukusu – cannibals – as interpreters. These were now instructed to cry out the word “Sennenneh!”
(“Peace!”), and to say that we were friends.

But they would not reply to our greeting, and in a bold peremptory manner told us to return.

“But we are doing no harm, friends. It is the river that takes us down, and the river will not stop, or go back.”

“This is our river.”

“Good. Tell it to take us back, and we will go.”

“If you do not go back, we will fight you.”

“No, don’t; we are friends.”

“We don’t want you for our friends; we will eat you.”

But we persisted in talking to them, and as their curiosity was so great they persisted in listening, and the consequence was that the current conveyed us near to the right bank; and in such
near neighbourhood to another district, that our discourteous escort had to think of themselves, and began to skurry hastily up river, leaving us unattacked.

The villages on the right bank also maintained a tremendous drumming and blowing of war-horns, and their wild men hurried up with menace towards us, urging their sharp-prowed canoes so swiftly
that they seemed to skim over the water like flying fish. Unlike the Luavala villagers, they did not wait to be addressed, but as soon as they came within fifty or sixty yards they shot out their
spears, crying out, “Meat! meat! Ah! ha! We shall have plenty of meat! Bo-bo-bo-bo, Bo-bo-bo-bo-o-o!”

Undoubtedly these must be relatives of the terrible “Bo-bo-bo’s” above, we thought, as with one mind we rose to respond to this rabid man-eating tribe. Anger we had none for
them. It seemed to me so absurd to be angry with people who looked upon one only as an epicure would regard a fat capon. Sometimes also a faint suspicion came to my mind that this was all but a
part of a hideous dream. Why was it that I should be haunted with the idea that there were human beings who regarded me and my friends only in the light of meat? Meat! We? Heavens! what an
atrocious idea!

“Meat! Ah! we shall have meat to-day. Meat! meat! meat!”

There was a fat-bodied wretch in a canoe, whom I allowed to crawl within spear-throw of me; who, while he swayed the spear with a vigour far from assuring to one who stood within reach of it,
leered with such a clever hideousness of feature that I felt, if only within arm’s length of him, I could have bestowed upon him a hearty thump on the back, and cried out applaudingly,
“Bravo, old boy! You do it capitally!”

Yet not being able to reach him, I was rapidly being fascinated by him. The rapid movements of the swaying spear, the steady wide-mouthed grin, the big square teeth, the head poised on one side
with the confident pose of a practised spear-thrower, the short brow and square face, hair short and thick. Shall I ever forget him? It appeared to me as if the spear partook of the same cruel
inexorable look as the grinning savage. Finally, I saw him draw his right arm back, and his body incline backwards, with still that same grin on his face, and I felt myself begin to count, one,
two, three, four – and
whizz
! The spear flew over my back, and hissed as it pierced the water. The spell was broken.