Stanley: The Impossible Life of Africa's Greatest Explorer

by Tim Jeal

  What pleased Stanley most about Livingstone was that he was so ordinary-looking, like a book `with a most unpretending binding' that `gave no token of what element of power or talent lay within' .17 It was this deceptive ordinariness - his man-of-the-people quality - that made Livingstone unique among Victorian heroes, and very different from men like Wellington and Palmerston. Stanley soon realized that he was Scottish, not English as he had at first thought, and that they shared a Celtic background - not that Henry was going to represent himself as anything but an American - but he sensed at once that Livingstone was not the misanthropic solitary that, thanks to Kirk, he had feared he might be. In his late fifties, Livingstone had softened somewhat from the domineering, self-obsessed man who had shown little compassion to those who had died in Africa as a result of his over-optimistic estimates of the suitability of the Shire region for missionary settlement. His own wife had died during the Zambezi Expedition, and his eldest son had perished in the American Civil War - these two devastating blows falling almost in successive years.

  When Livingstone declared that he had no intention of going home until he had finished his work, even though he longed to see his daughters, the younger man was overwhelmed by such dedication." But Henry sensed that there was more to Livingstone than `Spartan heroism', since along with religious faith there seemed to be `something seer-like in him'." Livingstone's belief that he had been called to serve Africa made a lifelong impression on Stanley, influencing his own behaviour and attitudes. When Livingstone told him, `I have lost a great deal of happiness I know by these wanderings. It is as if I had been born to exile,' Henry felt a bond of fellow feeling. He too believed he had been born to labour and achieve rather than to enjoy his life. In January 11870, Stanley had discussed the purpose of human life with the rich and sybaritic American consul in Cairo, Mr G.C. Taylor. Taylor had argued that, since man was fated to be `dust like the beasts', a life of idealism and self-sacrifice made less sense than a life of pleasure-seeking. Stanley had disagreed. Even if life could be proved to be purposeless, he told Taylor, it would still matter to him personally: `for my own spirit's satisfaction ... It is in my nature to toil, as it is in the other's nature to enjoy."'

  The day after his arrival Stanley plucked up the courage to tell Livingstone that he was a special correspondent of the New York Herald. `That despicable paper,' snorted the doctor, but changed his tune when told that James Gordon Bennett Jr had sent Stanley specifically to get whatever news of his discoveries he would like to give - and to assist him, if he could.2 Still smarting from the meanness of the British government, Livingstone found it moving that an American newspaper editor had found him sufficiently newsworthy to pay for a reporter to travel to the far side of the globe to assist him.

  Although Livingstone at nearly sixty seemed old to Stanley, who was then thirty, he recognized `much endurance and vigour within his frame'. Livingstone's hazel eyes struck him as `remarkably bright, not dimmed in the least', and his hair merely `streaked here and there with grey over the temples'. His teeth, however, `showed indications of being worn out'.22 Livingstone's clothes were patched, but clean, and he did not smoke. He drank only occasionally, making an exception when Henry opened a bottle of Sillery champagne to celebrate their meeting. Henry also drank little, but smoked heavily, cigars and cigarettes. The two of them were keen tea drinkers, downing as many as nine cups a day. Sitting with Livingstone on his veranda, Stanley was overwhelmed with pleasure. He had little dialogues with himself: `What was I sent for? - To find Livingstone - Have you found him? - Yes, of course; am I not in his house? What compass is that hanging on a peg there? Whose clothes, whose boots are those? Who reads those newspapers?'23

  From the beginning, Stanley found Livingstone easy to get on with, like `an old friend'. `There was a friendly or good-natured abandon about Livingstone ... He had not much to offer ... but what he had was mine and his. 114 Livingstone often `relapsed into his own inner world'; but this did not worry Stanley, who could be self-absorbed himself. Stanley admired his understated faith: `It is of the true, practical kind, never losing a chance to manifest itself in a quiet, practical way ... It governs his conduct towards his servants, and towards the natives ...' Religious sentiments, it seemed to Stanley, had muted Livingstone's more masterful characteristics.Z" When it is recalled that in New Orleans Stanley had attributed to the rich cotton broker, Mr Henry Stanley, many holy traits - even insisting that his make-believe `father' had been a part-time clergyman - it should come as no surprise to find him seeing Livingstone's character in a rose-tinted light. And since Livingstone seemed sure to be his open sesame to a life of celebrity and acceptance, no wonder the young journalist felt warmly towards him. `His manner,' enthused Stanley, `suits my nature better than that of any man I can remember ... I should best describe it as benevolently paternal ... it steals its influence on me without any effort on his part ... [he] is sincerely natural and converses with me as if I were of his own age or of equal experience. The consequence is that I have come to entertain an immense respect for myself, and begin to think myself somebody, though I never suspected it before ...'2~

  When Stanley had arrived at Ujiji, he had been suffering from intermittent fever, and soon took to his bed. `In an instant his [Living stone's] tone changed and had he been my own father, he could not have been kinder. 117 The father and son aspect of their relationship did not exist solely in Stanley's imaginings. Livingstone came to think of Stanley in precisely that role. `That good brave fellow has acted as a son to me,' he would tell his daughter Agnes, after Stanley had left for the coast.23 And by asking Stanley to find the grave of his son Robert, who had died in the battle of Gettysburg, and to erect a memorial stone over his body, Livingstone was entrusting to him a filial task. Stanley, like Robert Livingstone, had fought in the Civil War, and this was an emotional link. Livingstone was unbuttoned enough to describe his wife's death: `For some time I felt that I should never get over it.'29 For this deeply private man, such self-revelation had been non-existent until now.

  Livingstone was extremely secretive about his theories concerning the Nile's source, and warned his daughter Agnes to tell no one his theories - not even his old friend Sir Roderick Murchison.3° So it was a remarkable compliment to Stanley that the doctor kept back from him nothing about the central African watershed, as he believed it to be. More remarkable still, a mere four days after the meeting, Livingstone proposed to Henry that they should travel together and finish his geographical work. Henry agonized over this flattering and lifechanging offer, but eventually refused, knowing what Mr Bennett's attitude was likely to be towards a project that might keep him in Africa for another two or three years. `It is an honour, but I must do my duty which is to hurry to the coast & London to give the news to the Herald."' Given Livingstone's dislike of travelling with Europeans, it was clear that he had done Henry a very great honour.

  Livingstone's longing to expose the slave trade persuaded him to write three long letters to the New York Herald." `He is truly pathetic,' observed Stanley, `when he describes the poor enchained slaves & the unhappy beings whose necks he has seen galled by the tree forks ... I am becoming steeped in Livingstone's ideas.'i3 Indeed, few men wrote as movingly on the subject. `The strangest disease I have seen in this country [Manyema],' wrote the doctor, `seems really to be broken-heartedness, and it attacks free men who have been captured and made slaves.'34

  Henry would spend four months with Livingstone, and his decision to represent him to the world as someone `as near an angel as the nature of a living man will allow' had more to do with his own emo tional needs than any desire to be objective.35 In his despatches, his speeches, and then in How I Found Livingstone, Stanley described the explorer as a near saint, and gave birth, almost single-handedly, to the Livingstone myth of the noble, self-sacrificing missionary. When the Zambezi Expedition had been recalled, The Times had launched a scathing attack on the promises Livingstone had made:

  We were promised cotton
, sugar and indigo ... and of course we got none. We were promised trade; and there is no trade ... We were promised converts and not one has been made. In a word the thousands subscribed by the Universities and contributed by the Government have been productive only of the most fatal results.36

  Then there had been reports of the many pointless deaths. It is a measure of Stanley's talent as a journalist that he would manage to persuade the public to forget five years of failure, during which `saintly' and `angelic' had not been adjectives ever applied to Dr Livingstone. But what did Stanley really think of his father-figure?

  The first indication that he realized there was another side to the doctor's character came after they had been together for six weeks. One day, Livingstone `expressed a strong contempt for the weak dawdling creatures who called themselves missionaries and who, when confronted with their fields ... wanted to go away'. He then attacked the Universities' Mission, six of whose missionaries had gone to Africa at his behest and died. Livingstone blamed them, rather than himself. `The more you do for people, the more ungrateful they are,' he insisted.37 A month later, the doctor was complaining about the Royal Geographical Society, saying that the RGS had caused a large map of central Africa to be printed, which, though based on his scientific observations, did not carry his name. `If some of them came to Africa they would know what it costs to get a little accurate information about a river."' Since Stanley shared Livingstone's tendency to suspect that people were in league against him, he accepted his complaints without question.

  On 3 March 11872, Stanley made an important admission in his diary:

  Livingstone reverted again to his grudges against the missionaries on the Zambezi and one of his officers (naval) on the Expedition. I have had some intrusive suspicions & thoughts that he was not of such an angelic temper as I believed him to be during my first month with him, but for the last month I have been driving them steadily from my mind ... when however he reiterated his complaints against this man and the other - I felt the faintest fear that his strong nature was opposed to forgiveness & that he was not so perfect as at the first blush of friendship I thought him.

  Casting around for excuses for ignoring the great man's vindictiveness, Stanley argued that it was not really `a weakness to dwell on these bitter memories' because he (Stanley) had `pestered him with questions'.i9 Although Stanley's doubts persisted, this did not stop him representing Livingstone as faultless.

  One reason for this deliberate whitewashing was Stanley's desire to tell his family and friends that he had been cherished, as a son, by a truly good man. (Another was his longing to find a man possessing the goodness he had never found in any adult during his childhood.) But his journalistic instincts probably influenced him more. And they told him that to have `found' a forgotten saint made a better story than to have found an embittered recluse. Stanley was being less disingenuous than might be supposed. He shared Livingstone's inability to forgive slights and mistakes, and would not have seen this character defect as a grave failing.

  The two men disagreed over politics. Interestingly, Livingstone was a Tory whereas Stanley was a staunch supporter of the Liberal leader, Gladstone.4° Yet Livingstone did not dwell on serious topics. He even favoured Henry with the occasional risque joke, such as one about John Speke and the Duchess of Sutherland, who had asked the explorer whether African women really walked around naked. They do indeed, he assured her.

  `Oh, but surely they wear something,' the Duchess insisted. Whereat Speke replied: `Maybe a string or so down here,' and suited the action to the word in a way that caused several ladies to cry, `Oh! Captain Speke!' and the Duchess to hide her face with her fan.4'

  Stanley was never starry-eyed about Livingstone's prowess as a missionary. Indeed, he realized rapidly that preaching to Africans, as one travelled along, was pointless. `For at intervals of ten or twelve days' journey - Livingstone would enter on a new country which had a new language; and, of course, he would never stay long enough anywhere to learn it.'41 When they discussed the problem, Stanley was blunt. `I cannot see how one or two men can hope to make an impression on the minds of so many millions.' Livingstone countered: `Someone must begin the work. Christ was the beginner of the Christianity that is now spread over a large part of the world. I feel sometimes as if I was the beginner for attacking central Africa.'43

  During November and December 1871 they went travelling to the northern end of Lake Tanganyika, on what was to be their only shared exploration - a round trip of about 300 miles. Before setting out, Stanley divided all his supplies and trade goods into two piles and asked Livingstone to choose for himself whichever pile he liked best. Stanley told his men that Livingstone, not he, was the leader of the expedition; this was the only time Henry would make such a gesture. Not that he had any desire to travel as the doctor had often done: Livingstone told him that when he had been near Lake Nyasa, the Arab caravan leader, Muhammad bin Salih - on whom he had then depended for protection - had persuaded all but two of his (Livingstone's) men to desert `by selling the favour of his concubines to them'. This had left him helpless - in his own words, `like a slave to every village chief [he] came across', unable to leave until these local potentates permitted it.44 Livingstone eventually agreed with Stanley that small expeditions of fewer than forty men were simply not viable, and so desertions would have to be prevented by corporal punishment if need be.41

  Nevertheless, on their journey by canoe to the head of the lake, Stanley was often influenced by Livingstone's gentler ways. He wanted to fire shots to scare some screaming, stone-throwing Africans and admitted:

  If Livingstone had not been in the boat, I would certainly have tried to teach them a lesson - for I have already begun to learn that the meeker [one is], the more natives of this temper encroach upon forbearance ... The doctor said from his experience elsewhere the Arab slave traders must have been here & angered these people by their conduct. His explanations were so wise that I was glad we had not been driven to retaliate.46

  Stanley was also impressed when two drunken chiefs threatened violence, and Livingstone merely rolled up a sleeve, showed them the whiteness of his arm, and asked whether either of them had ever been hurt by a man of that colour.

  The two men got on well during their journey, and this was despite the intermittent malaria that plagued Stanley for most of the four weeks, and despite the older man's ulcerated feet. A minor irritation irked Henry briefly when they travelled overland, rather than by water. Livingstone's habit of walking all the time was unwelcome to Stanley who liked to ride a donkey for part of every day's march. It made him uncomfortable to ride while the doctor was `tramping it on foot like a hero'. `Sometimes,' Stanley admitted, `an unworthy thought comes into my head that he does it to vex me ... it is an odd taste to prefer walking to riding.'47

  On reaching the northern end of Lake Tanganyika on z8 November, they found that the river there - the Rusize - flowed into the lake and not out of it. This was an important discovery, finally establishing that lakes Tanganyika and Albert could not be connected by a river. Until then Livingstone had thought that Tanganyika might be a more important source of the Nile than lakes Albert and Victoria. Had Livingstone known when he had arrived at Nyangwe in March 1870 that the Lualaba was the only alternative, as a Nile source, to Victoria and Albert, he would have taken immense risks to cross the half-mile-wide river, perhaps even building a raft when canoes had been unobtainable. Now there could be no solution until someone returned to the Lualaba at Nyangwe and traced the great river northwards.

  The two men returned to Ujiji on 13 December and spent the next fortnight getting their men and stores sorted out for the march to Unyanyembe, where Stanley had been obliged to leave most of the supplies sent by Kirk for Livingstone in November 1870. Livingstone's plan was to take possession of these trade goods, and then to wait at Unyanyembe while Stanley returned to the coast and sent on to him the additional stores and carriers he would need for the next phase of his journey. At this po
int, Stanley made a determined effort to persuade Livingstone to return to Britain with him, before returning later to the Lualaba. He needed to have an operation on the haemorrhoids that were already causing regular blood loss. Unfortunately, at about this time Stanley let slip that John Kirk thought the doctor should abandon his work on the Nile sources in favour of a younger man. Livingstone at once suspected that Kirk himself wanted to `finish up the sources' and therefore wanted him to go home.48 Another reason Livingstone gave for staying on in Africa was that he had recently lost £2,300 - a fortune at the time - in the collapse of a Bombay bank. `To return [home] unsuccessful,' he feared, would mean `going abroad to an unhealthy consulate to which no public sympathy would ever be drawn.'49 His determination never to give up, but instead to risk his life without complaint or self-pity, formed an important bond between these remarkable men. Stanley had already shown that he possessed the same courage.

  That two awkward and shyly defensive men should have grown so fond of one another was due to Livingstone's intuitive sympathy for Stanley's insecurity. He shared the journalist's introversion and, like him, was often brusque and rude. This could have led to misunderstandings had they not recognized that they shared the same traits. Both men were neat and methodical too, and Stanley greatly admired Livingstone's tin boxes and their contents, which were, he observed, `in a better condition than my own though this is his seventh year of travel ... His compasses & sextant are in first rate order, his journals are clean & almost blotless, as if a copyist had lately been writing it up.'