  On the tenth of August, 1891, Emin went farther west, and considerably farther north than Stanley had gone, in hopes of making a union with Cameron. All were of good courage except Dr. Stuhlmann, who had grave doubts, for Emin’s health was broken. The saddest feature was his failing eyesight and the certainty that the day was not far distant when he would be blind. The Pasha himself realized it and therefore kept steadily forwards with the energy of desperation instead of going back by a safer way. “What is there behind me?” he would reply to Stuhlmann’s protests. “The work to which I have devoted my life is in confusion and my activity in the German service has not been appreciated. Of what use is life if one does not accomplish something that is recognized as important?” These few words give us a glimpse into his proud nature. His important services had not been justly recognized. The Khedive had written him a formal letter of thanks and invested him with an empty title: his own subordinates had proved ungrateful; Stanley had so misjudged him that it grieved him, and now he had been censured by the authorities of the German colony. Notwithstanding all this, Emin now ventured one last effort to secure the recognition of a world which had so obstinately refused it. In that forest whose terrors we already know from Stanley’s description he wrote his last letter to his sister. It is with mournful interest that we read the last utterances of a man who was so soon to be called from the scene of his activities. The letter begins:
Their progress through the forest was more and more difficult as they were without provisions. Every day one or more of their number deserted, especially the Soudanese, whom Emin had induced with so much exertion to accompany him. It was particularly hard for Emin, who was in the rear, and the porters to urge on and encourage the sick and injured. There followed rainstorms which made the roads in this hilly country still more slippery. New terrors were added to the old ones. To prevent thievery about their plantations the natives had filled the ground full of sharp pointed pieces of cane, which pierced the feet of those stepping upon them. Six of the porters were so badly injured in this way that they could not carry their packs. On the twenty-sixth of September, 1891, they approached the country of Momsu. The natives saw them coming at some distance away, but did not seem to be excited. Emin knew that he should soon reach the northern end of the forest and that he could make his way westward without much difficulty. All plucked up fresh courage, but on the next day the forest road abruptly ended and all their efforts to find a new one were useless. There was no other alternative but to go back to their camp of the day before and from there not attempt to go forward. Hope seemed at an end. On the twenty-ninth of September Emin’s people held a conference with him. They notified him that the greatest dissatisfaction prevailed, that fifteen men had deserted, that the porters could not go any farther, and that they could find nothing to eat. Emin explained to them that they would soon come to a fertile country where there was an abundance of food. He would send out fifty of his most vigorous men, who would quickly return loaded with fruit and lead them safely to that blessed country. They were satisfied and the men were sent. But alas, after three days they returned empty-handed without even finding a beaten path. Firmly and unanimously they decided to go south, whence they had come. They were quiet and moderate, but no power on earth could have induced them to take another step forwards. Emin was forced to submit, but he was exceedingly unfortunate. Had he only known that the Belgian station was not far away! Had his people followed him a few days longer he would have undoubtedly reached his goal, the west coast, and a splendid result would have crowned his efforts. Now he had to go back, hungry and discouraged. For twelve days his people lived upon banana roots and gourd leaves, which were almost destitute of nourishing qualities. It was hard to carry their packs and a fourth of the porters died on the way. In this most disconsolate period Stuhlmann’s birthday anniversary occurred and it is difficult to describe his emotions when on the morning of the day Emin met him and presented him with a bottle of champagne and a beautiful watch. In the midst of all his troubles he did not forget to congratulate his affectionate friend. It seemed as if misfortunes were never to leave the expedition. Suddenly one of the porters was taken ill and showed very suspicious symptoms. He had been feverish for several days and soon an eruption appeared all over his body. It was the smallpox, hard as it was for Emin to admit it. If this terrible pest should spread among his people the prospects of the expedition would be forever blasted. |
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