Meeting with Stanley
OT many days after Livingstone’s arrival at Ujiji, while
he was still resting and striving to rally his strength and the splendid courage which even now was only staggered, not broken, Henry M. Stanley, who had been sent to look for him by Mr. J. G. Bennett of the Mew York Herald, appeared, “almost as an angel from heaven.” This was on the tenth of November, 1871, by Stanley’s reckoning, though somewhat earlier by Livingstone’s. What comfort and refreshment did the lonely and disappointed explorer now find in the ample supplies, the bag of letters, the sight of a white face, and the welcome accents of his mothertongue!
Neither Mr. Stanley nor Mr. Bennett had any personal interest in Dr. Livingstone. Mr. Bennett frankly admitted that it was only in the interests of his paper, and as a journalist, that he had sent out the expedition in search of the great missionary traveller. But Mr. Stanley, at least, soon felt that he had a personal regard toward his new-found friend. As for Livingstone, he kept saying: “You have brought me new life—you have brought me new life.” So indeed it proved. Four meals a day of nourishing food, in contrast to his heretofore scanty and almost tasteless fare, brought back strength to his frame and flesh to his bones. But who can estimate the mental stimulus, the sense of companionship, that Stanley’s coming brought him after his long and solitary wanderings in the wilderness?
Dr. Livingstone writes in his journal: “I felt in my destitution as if I were the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves; but I could not hope for Priest, Levite, or good Samaritan to come by on either side.... But when my spirits were at their lowest ebb, the good Samaritan was close at hand, for one morning Susi came running at the top of his speed, and gasped out, ‘An Englishman! I see him!’ and off he darted to meet him. The American flag at the head of a caravan told of the nationality of the stranger. Bales of goods, baths of tin, huge kettles, cooking pots, tents, etc., made me think, ‘This man must be a luxurious trader, and not one at his wits’ end like me.’ It was Henry Moreland Stanley, the travelling correspondent of the Vew York Herald, sent by James Gordon Bennett, Jr., at an expense of more than £4,000, to obtain accurate information about Dr. Livingstone if living, and if dead to bring home my bones. The news he had to tell to one who had been two full years without any tidings from Europe made my whole frame thrill. The terrible fate that had befallen France—the telegraphic cables successfully laid in the Atlantic—the election of General Grant—the death of good Lord Clarendon, my constant friend —the proof that. her Majesty’s Government had not forgotten me in voting £1,000 for supplies, and many other points of interest, revived emotions that had lain dormant in Manyuema. Appetite returned, and instead of the spare, tasteless two meals a day, 1 ate four times daily, and in a week began to feel strong. I am not of a demonstrative turn—as cold indeed, as we islanders are usually reputed to be—but this disinterested kindness of Mr. Bennett, so nobly carried into effect by Mr. Stanley, was simply overwhelming.”
Again he writes of Stanley: “He laid all he had at my service, divided his clothes into two heaps, and pressed one heap upon me; then his medicine chest; then his goods and everything he had, and tocoax my appetite often cooked dainty dishes with his own hands.”
Mr. Stanley remained with him during the winter, but when he returned in March, 1872, he earnestly besought Livingstone to go with him, urging that after sufficient recuperation in England he might return with renewed strength to take up the old problem again. Tempting as this proposal was--and no one could have blamed him for a moment had he accepted it—much as he must have yearned for country, friends and children, he steadfastly refused to leave the land until his work was finished. His thorough devotion to duty, his utter abandonment of self, were never more manifest than now. But a higher ambition than the finding out the true sources of the Nile urged him on. If his disclosures might but lead to the suppression of the east coast slave-trade, that, as he informed his friends, would be in his estimation a far greater feat than the discovery of all the sources together.
When at last the time came for the two companions to part, it was with the greatest reluctance that they tenderly bade each other farewell Livingstone’s appreciation of the service done him by Stanley was justly very great. He had proved a true friend to him, bringing him fresh strength and courage when almost at death’s door, sharing all his comforts with him, and helping and cheering him in every way possible. It was Stanley on whom he now relied to send him trusty attendants; it was Stanley to whom he intrusted his journal and other documents. Stanley had been the only white man with whom he had talked for six years; more than that, during the four months that they had been together, Stanley had been his confidential friend.
And what did Stanley think of Livingstone? “Gad grant,” he writes, “that if ever you take to travelling in Africa you will get as noble and true a man for your companion as David Livingstone! For four months and four days I lived with him in the same house, or in the same boat, or in the same tent, and I never found a fault in him. I am amanof a quick temper, and often without sufficient cause, I daresay, have broken the ties of friendship; but with T.ivingstone I never had cause for resentment, but each day’s hefe with him added to my admiration for him.”