Part 22
During the evening Mr. Wellcome mentioned that Stanley was going to be banqueted in Glasgow. I suggested (having an invitation in my pocket) that I should like to be there. He explained how impossible it was for any one not a member to obtain an invitation or to be admitted.
After a long and to me enjoyable evening, when the gray dawn showed itself on the Thames embankment, the party broke up. I called Mr. Wellcome to one side and in strict confidence told him that I had a contract with Stanley for an American lecture tour; that we had frequently been together; that I was going to Glasgow to the Stanley dinner. He--well, he wilted!
Stanley was something more than a lecturer to me. I had known of him over twenty years before in the West, as a newspaper correspondent. His graphic descriptions of Western events and scenes in which I was a small part always found favor in my sight because of their simple exactness. I had seen him in Omaha and also on the plains, in connection with the remarkable Indian campaigns of the later sixties, but never had the courage to approach him. I felt an awe and respect for him that held me aloof.
And yet Stanley was the personification of modesty. At the dinner given by Americans in London to Stanley, the Rev. Dr. Joseph L. Parker, the famous London preacher, came up to me and said: “Major Pond, I wish you would introduce me to Stanley.”
“I shall not have to go far to do that,” said I; “the gentleman with whom you just saw me talking is the man himself.”
“No, no,” said Dr. Parker, “that can’t be; why, that is a small man. Stanley must be a great big fellow.”
The explorer is not more than five feet seven inches in height, but stocky and well set.
A moment later Stanley advanced toward Dr. Parker, reached out his hand, and said: “I am very glad to meet you, Dr. Parker, and I am gratified that so eminent a man should have expressed a desire to be introduced to me.” As a matter of fact, nothing of the sort had been intimated to Stanley; he had simply overheard the remark about his size and at once had tactfully smoothed matters over.
It was on his return from a trip to Aldershot, 1890, where he had been to visit the graves of some of his comrades, that he told me of his coming marriage and the honor awaiting him at Cambridge. He then suggested a date for his departure to New York after October 25th. “The _Teutonic_ sails on October 29th,” was my reply. His answer was: “That will do.”
The _Teutonic_ arrived November 5th, and was detained over night at quarantine on account of a heavy fog. The party consisted of Mr. Stanley and his bride, Mrs. Dorothy Tennant Stanley; Mrs. Tennant, her mother; Lieutenant Mounteney Jephson, and Hamilton Aide, a well-known London literary man, dramatic author, and critic. I met Stanley and his wife standing on the upper deck, and he greeted me very cordially, introducing me to Mrs. Stanley, who quietly remarked:
“I don’t like you, Major Pond.”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Stanley. I think so much of your husband that it will be sad for me if I cannot have your friendship.”
“That’s why I’m sure I’ll dislike you. Why should you want him more than I do?”
“We’ll see,” I said. In a few minutes more we were all having a delightful conversation together. I was introduced to Mrs. Tennant, Mrs. Stanley’s mother, and Mr. Hamilton Aide, her nephew.
At the first word of the sighting of the _Teutonic_, the New York newspaper men, headed by Colonel Finley Anderson, of the United Press, Stanley’s personal friend, came down to meet their distinguished fellow-craftsman. It was noticed that Mr. Stanley, in replying to Colonel Anderson’s little speech of welcome, referred to his arrival as to a “home-coming.” Then an appointment was made at my office for five o’clock in the afternoon. The New York newspaper men were waiting in my office at the time set, but Stanley was then unaware of the important matter that they wished to bring to his attention. A representative of the London _Times_ awaited his arrival at the hotel with a cabled message from the _Thunderer_. While Stanley was on the ocean the English press had contained severe and somewhat startling attacks on the truth of the famous chapter on the rear guard in his new book. In this the story of Major Bartellot and his death had been told, not to the credit of the deceased officer. I am not intending again to present the controversy that Bartellot’s family and Lieutenant Throop had launched with their volumes replying to Stanley’s severe but restrained criticism of Bartellot’s actions and methods. A storm of almost savage indignation against Stanley had been aroused thereby. _The Times_ had cabled in full the article it had published, and had directed its representative in New York to obtain and cable Mr. Stanley’s reply. The situation had become almost threatening.
I did not doubt that Stanley would fully maintain his own honor, but I began to understand that such scandals were involved as might set the public mind against the whole business of African exploration.
Stanley retired with _The Times_ correspondent. It is a matter of almost “ancient history” to recall the plain and simple, but able and courageous, frankness with which the Bartellot-Throop-Jamieson attacks were met. The explorer had endeavored to hold back the personal misconduct, of which he knew the men intrusted with the command of the rear guard had been guilty. He now told the whole story, the details of which are still fresh in the public mind. Forced to defend himself, he did so with the same steady courage and directness of will that had always marked his actions. He gave dates and names, as well as acts, and placed at the disposal of the London _Times_ the complete evidence which he had heretofore been very desirous, because of the families and friends of the men, to keep from becoming public property. That interview was printed in _The Times_ the next morning. It changed the situation almost immediately so far as English opinion was concerned. But it was the American press and what might follow of adverse criticism that affected me most closely.
I dined with the party that evening, and Stanley was as jovial, cordial, and self-poised as I ever saw him. He showed no sign of the fatigue attending such a remarkable strain as that five hours of momentous interviewing.
In the interview of that evening Stanley was absolutely great. There were twenty-three reporters present, picked men of the great newspapers of New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Chicago. One of the best-known men, Mr. Balch, was chosen to direct the questions. My rooms were packed. The men were all keen set and full of the historical significance, too, of their opportunity. Stanley seated himself, smiling, and for three hours submitted to an intellectual ordeal which was simply astounding. The interviewers, with ample time to look up the issues, were prepared with keen questions, and, as he answered, others were called out on every side. Balch, an able man, declared it was a wonderful exhibition of knowledge and will power. “Stanley,” he said, “was the best witness I ever saw. He was armed at all points, and answered without a moment’s hesitancy, never once crossing himself in the slightest degree.”
During the latter part of the scene various gentlemen who had come to call on Mr. Stanley, among them Charles A. Dana and Murat Halstead, stood in the open hallway of my office, listening to the remarkable proceeding, and admiring the skill and power of the man who sat there with lighted eyes, animated features, and a live brain that burned through every movement and lighted up every word he uttered.
The first Stanley lecture in New York in 1890 was a remarkable event. The interest was made greatly more active by publication on Friday, the 7th of November, of the remarkable series of interviews of which mention has been made. But no one anticipated its tremendous character. The gross receipts were $17,800. Such a jam never was known before, and the carriage crush about the building was almost beyond police control. The lecture originally announced was “The Relief of Emin Pasha.” At Mrs. Stanley’s suggestion, “The March through the Forest” was chosen, which brought in the story of the pygmies and other remarkable discoveries made.
The tour that followed this entrée was like the march of a triumphal hero. Our evenings after the lecture were delightful, and the daily intercourse so long continued was personally maintained without a jar or break of any sort. I found Mr. Stanley not only strictly honorable in business matters, but generous also. When for a brief period business was bad, he showed a marked disposition to make matters more even, though there was no necessity whatever, taking the tour as a whole, to make any change in the agreement made in London. Perhaps the most striking feature of the engagement was, so far as concerns Mr. Stanley, the remarkable fidelity that he gave to the work he had undertaken. He was constantly remoulding, polishing, and improving the lectures during the tour.
Stanley is one of the most conscientious men I ever knew. While in Boston, after we had been about a week on the tour, the weather was fine and there was beautiful sleighing. Mrs. Stanley and the ladies of our party had come in from a delightful sleigh ride which some friends had tendered. They all looked so rosy and fresh, beaming with delight as they stepped from the sleigh, that we agreed then and there that Mr. Stanley really should lay aside his writing and take a sleigh ride too, behind that spanking four-horse team, and hear the jingle of the hundreds of sleigh bells. I said, “He must come and enjoy it.” Mrs. Stanley said, “Let’s you and I go fetch him.”
We rushed up to his room; he was working on his lecture, making some changes, when Mrs. Stanley, with cheeks like roses and charged with oxygen of the outdoor atmosphere, threw her fur-clad arms about his neck, saying: “O, Bulle-me-tal-ie (the name he is known by in Africa), come and have a ride and breathe the most delicious air under heaven. Do come; it will do you so much good and help you for to-night.”
After listening to Mrs. Stanley’s eloquent pleadings a moment or two, he rose from his seat and said to me:
“Major Pond, you are paying me a fabulous sum for my nightly services. Now it is my duty to do the best I can. If you say you are satisfied with my work as it now is, I will stop and go for a drive.”
I could not answer his argument, and he did not take the sleigh ride. From the start until the finish, one hundred and ten lectures, Stanley showed signs of steady improvement. He was good at the start, but shortly became a fine speaker and then a better speaker, and before he had finished he was the best descriptive speaker I ever heard. He had overcome difficulties that would discourage any other man; as Casati wrote of him (Casati, ten years with Emin Pasha in Africa): “Jealous of his own authority, Stanley will not tolerate interference, neither will he take the advice of any one. Difficulties do not discourage him, neither does failure frighten him, as with extraordinary celerity of perception he finds his way out of every embarrassment.”
Henry M. Stanley was never fond of company. He appreciates friends, and those who know him intimately are very fond of him. He is generally cautious and sparing of words, especially when strangers are about. Receptions and dinners worry him, as he cannot bear being on exhibition under showers of forced compliments. His manners and habits are those of a gentleman. He shows great fondness for children, especially young lads, who often approach him for his autograph. He will enter into conversation with them and question them as to their purposes in life, advising them as to the importance of honesty and character as essential to success in life, and generally concluding with some incident in his experience that is sure to make a lasting impression. In our private car, where we lived for three months, were Mr. and Mrs. Stanley, Mrs. Tennant, Mrs. Pond and her sister, and often some visiting friends. Stanley would entertain us night after night with incidents of his wonderful experience that would make a far more interesting book than he has yet written. His best sayings have been spoken in private. Mrs. Stanley, being a brilliant conversationalist, had the happy faculty of bringing out his most interesting points.
Stanley is one of the best-read men I have ever met. He is familiar with the histories of all civilized and uncivilized peoples. As a journalist he is appreciated by reporters and interviewers more highly than any man I ever knew except Mr. Beecher. Never did he refuse to see a representative of the press who sent up his card. If busy, he would say: “Please make my compliments to the gentleman and say that as soon as I am disengaged I will be pleased to see him.”
Altogether, I have never parted with a client with greater regret, or found one holding me in bonds of friendship and respect to so great a degree. Sir Henry Stanley does me the honor to regard me as a friend, and I am constantly indebted to him, and to Lady Stanley also, for delightful correspondence. Some extracts from the many letters in my possession will illustrate the value of the views expressed and the soundness of a judgment which has been almost wholly verified by events. I present without apology the extracts which follow.
A capital letter from the Richmond Terrace (London) home, under date of October 2, 1892, is of interest because of its description of electioneering in England:
* * * * *
“I am pledged,” he writes, “to many things in the coming time--the contest at North Lambeth again, Bible Society, Missionary and anti-Slavery meetings, keeping up the Uganda question before the public, stimulating and comforting the Directors, and trivial things of this kind. They absorb time and keep a man from stagnating, and perhaps a modicum of good is extracted from the whole.
“As regards the election, I fear on your side they do not understand anything about it. I sometimes see the cablegrams sent over from here, and I do not wonder that you are all misled. I was asked at the last moment to stand; there were only nine clear days for work and to get made known among 7,300 electors, to get offices, posters, pamphlets, and canvassers, and that entailed an amount of work that was appalling. My opponent had been at work three years, nursing the constituency; I had only nine days. The results were that I was defeated by 130. Of course, the usual lying was resorted to. They can lie here with as much disregard to future torments as in New York, and they have introduced largely pernicious systems from America, which I know the Americans would gladly extinguish if they knew how. Added to these, the lower classes have something which is peculiarly their own: a noisy, brutal disposition which must relieve itself by pounding or breaking something, while the intolerance they display toward their opponents is wholly unknown in America. When this temper is at the hottest, women go down before the brawny fist like sheep in the shambles, and bald heads often get seriously cracked. I used to think that England was a country of order and that only at Donnybrook would you meet with such scenes as I have witnessed. There is no attempt at order, there is no policeman present to preserve it. Only might is respected--clubs and arms. The doors are thrown open to all--the radical candidate seeks for a strong force of roughs by whom, when the Unionist presents himself, he is greeted with a continuous uproar. If he persists in speaking, the mob advances and ‘_ware_’ heads then. This, in short, is politics at its worst over here, but homicide is much rarer than with you.”
* * * * *
A London letter of May 31, 1894, gives a still more vividly interesting account of electioneering methods. Mr. Stanley writes:
* * * * *
“I see that you scarcely comprehend what the term electioneering means in England. It would be impossible for a candidate to absent himself from his constituency for any longer period than the national holidays. He must hold himself ready for any request from any of his supporters every day between the hours of 10 A.M. and 10 P.M. He, in the mean time, must visit every house in the borough (7,200 houses in mine) to try to make the acquaintance of every voter and of some member of his family. He must contribute not only his services as patron (chairman, supporter of numberless charities, meetings), but funds as well, whenever solicited. But more than that, he must hold himself ready to exchange his services with those of fellow-candidates in the country. These various duties which fall upon the candidate must be performed cheerfully and with good will, otherwise it will be charged to him that he is indifferent to the cause and to the public he has affected to serve. I have as many as eighty visits in a day, and if you will only take the trouble to calculate you will find that to visit 7200 voters requires a large number of days, and as visits can only be made in the intervals between public functions of great variety, not more than 200 a week can be expected from the most active. You may fairly say that it requires a year’s steady work to get through an ordinary constituency. Then, you know the failing of the public is to forget your face and name, and to keep them in mind you will have to begin again and continue what is called the ‘musing.’ I need not say more. You will see why a candidate cannot absent himself for more than a fortnight or so from the duties he has undertaken, and I think your letter is thus fairly answered. We are waiting to hear the sound of the trumpet to enter the lists. It may be heard any day, and we are on the tiptoe of expectation.”
* * * * *
From Richmond Terrace, under date of June 19, 1896, came an interesting letter which refers in the beginning to the death, then recent, of the late Colonel Thomas Knox. Stanley writes:
* * * * *
“I had been much impressed by the aged appearance of Knox, but I did not expect so soon to hear of his death. He was a fine genial man, of grand appearance, and I always thought a dinner table enriched by his appearance. I am exceedingly sorry, for New York is the poorer for his loss--for there is one friend less to me.... But it is thus we drop away one by one.
“How suddenly that Venezuela business broke upon England! I had been prepared for it by my visit to the States, and I had clipped dozens of newspaper articles bearing upon the subject while I was over there. About ten days after my arrival here I was visited by the manager of one of the principal newspapers here, and asked what I thought of the Eastern question, and I had answered that I was not much interested in it, as I was interested in the squall brewing in the West. He asked me what I referred to, and I replied that we might expect a terrific explosion presently from America in regard to the Venezuela dispute. He was astonished, for he had not heard of it. I then gave him my clippings for his editor to study and prepare himself. Sixteen days after, the storm burst, taking England all aback.
“Now, on this Venezuela subject, I am entirely on the side of America, but I must admit I am not surprised that the English papers backed up Lord Salisbury and differed from me. Taught by the virulent remarks of your journals I had, of course, devoted much time to understanding it, whereas English editors were exceptionally ill-informed about the matter. There are two or three injudicious remarks in Olney’s despatch which put British backs up, but after reflection it is wonderful how many have come round to my opinion--that, whatever the transgressions of Olney may be, there is a great deal of justice in the American demand. I feel quite sure, now that so much is admitted, it will not be long before the opinion becomes general that we were in the wrong in refusing arbitration, while the more I think of Olney’s despatch, the more impressed I am that Olney could scarcely have written otherwise than he did. For I argue that had he contented himself with the usual suave tone of diplomacy he would not have succeeded in rousing the attention of the nation to the necessity of settlement. His despatch would have lain quietly in the archives of the Foreign Office, whereas now every Englishman knows sufficient of the subject to distinguish right from wrong; and while there is still a majority who take the despatch to be an affront to British dignity, there is a minority increasing in numbers who think that British honor would be consulted by considering the justice due to Venezuela, and that British interests would be promoted by acquiescing with the American demand.
“But that all your journalists were wrong in assuming that we in this country entertained any other feeling than that of true affection for the Americans has been conclusively proved by the different receptions accorded the President’s message and the German Emperor’s telegrams to Kruger. On reading the first our people were simply astonished and grieved, but the other roused the war feeling from the Hebrides to the Channel Islands. I have never witnessed anything like it in England before. It was entirely unexpected from one whom we had made so much of. It was premeditated, also, and this is what enraged us. No one could conceive what business it was of Germany’s to interfere with our Protectorate, nor how we had given any one a reason to suppose that, because Jameson had been so mad, we were so lost to all sense of honor and justice as not to be willing to do what was right in the case. It will be a long time before we forgive Germany, you may rest assured, and every act of hers for years to come will be viewed with great suspicion. Personally, I do not know which was maddest, Jameson’s ride for the gold mines of Johannesburg or the Emperor William’s attempt on the Protectorate of the Transvaal. Both were foolish.”
* * * * *
He closed this interesting letter with his always pleasant compliments and messages for my family.
From Argelus-Gazoust, France, under date of August 5, 1898, in response to a letter suggesting a lecture on Anglo-Saxon relations, Stanley replies:
* * * * *
“Yes, I quite agree with you that we have numerous highly endowed members of Parliament who would like to have the opportunity to address American audiences upon the Anglo-American alliance, or any other subject, but you see the faculty of orating is born with them; they can’t help it. Whereas with me it is different. I can’t speak unless I have something to say and the time to say what is imposed upon me has come.