Watch on YouTube
Time Travels with Truffle: Dateline November 10th,
1871 – Ujiji, Tanzania
For months, Henry Morton Stanley had been searching the vast interior of
Africa for a man much of the outside world feared was dead.
By November 1871, the thirty-year-old journalist had endured disease,
exhaustion, dwindling supplies, difficult terrain, and an extraordinary
overland journey from the East African coast. The New York Herald had
sent Stanley to find the famous Scottish missionary and explorer David
Livingstone, who had disappeared from regular contact with Europe while
pursuing one of nineteenth-century geography's great mysteries: the source of
the Nile.
But Stanley had one advantage history has inexplicably overlooked.
Trotting along at the front of the expedition was a small reddish-orange
Pomeranian named Truffle.
Truffle was considerably less interested in the source of the Nile than
everyone else.
Truffle was interested in finding Livingstone.
And, if possible, lunch.
The expedition had set out from the East African coast in March 1871.
Month after month, the caravan pushed inland. Stanley himself suffered serious
illnesses during the expedition, yet the search continued toward Lake
Tanganyika, one of the enormous lakes of Central Africa.
Every morning, Stanley consulted reports and questioned people about the
missing explorer.
And every morning Truffle sniffed the ground and marched confidently
ahead as though the entire expedition had been organized at Truffle's personal
request.
"Do you actually know where you're going?" Stanley asked.
Truffle looked back.
Then continued walking.
Stanley followed.
It was as good a plan as any.
David Livingstone had been one of the most famous explorers of the
Victorian age. He was also a missionary and a passionate opponent of the East
African slave trade. In 1865, Livingstone had set out on another expedition,
seeking answers to the unresolved question of the Nile's source. Years passed
with little news, fueling concern about whether Livingstone was even alive.
The mystery was irresistible to the newspapers.
Could Livingstone be found?
The New York Herald intended to find out.
And so Stanley came.
By November, reports increasingly pointed toward Ujiji, a settlement on
the eastern shore of Lake Tanganyika.
On the morning of November 10, 1871, the caravan approached the
village.
Truffle suddenly stopped.
The little dog's ears rose.
Beyond the vegetation appeared something blue.
Water.
An enormous sweep of it.
Lake Tanganyika stretched toward distant mountains, glittering beneath
the African sun.
And below, among palms and houses, stood Ujiji.
Stanley knew the search might finally be over.
Truffle apparently knew it too.
The Pomeranian bolted forward.
"Truffle!"
Stanley hurried after the reddish-orange blur.
People began gathering as the expedition entered the settlement. News of
the approaching caravan spread, and a crowd assembled. Somewhere among those
people was an older European whom Stanley had traveled across hundreds of miles
to find.
Truffle wove between the onlookers.
Stanley followed more slowly.
Then Truffle stopped.
Standing before the Pomeranian was a weathered figure whose appearance
bore the unmistakable marks of years spent traveling through Central Africa.
The man was David Livingstone.
Truffle stared at Livingstone.
Livingstone stared at Truffle.
The dog barked.
Once.
Stanley emerged from the crowd.
After months of fever, uncertainty and travel, the journalist was finally
face-to-face with the man he had been sent to find.
Tradition records Stanley stepping toward Livingstone and delivering one
of the most famous greetings in the history of exploration:
"Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"
Truffle looked up at Stanley.
There was hardly anyone else there the question could have applied to.
Still, it was a very good line.
The two explorers shook hands.
The search was over.
The scene represented far more than a dramatic newspaper scoop.
Livingstone had become an international figure, and his long silence had
generated enormous public interest. Stanley's successful mission would
transform the journalist into a celebrity and create one of the most enduring
stories of nineteenth-century exploration.
But the picture before us captures another version of that famous
encounter.
Stanley stands facing the exhausted explorer while holding Truffle
prominently between them.
Behind them lies Lake Tanganyika. Village houses and thick vegetation
fill the landscape, while local residents watch the remarkable meeting.
In the traditional version of the story, Stanley found Livingstone.
In Truffle's version, Stanley merely had the wisdom to follow the dog.
For the next several weeks, the two explorers spent time together,
including traveling around the region of Lake Tanganyika. Stanley wanted
Livingstone to return, but Livingstone remained committed to continuing the
work.
Eventually, Stanley departed.
Livingstone continued exploring Africa and died in 1873, never completing
the journey home.
Stanley's own story would continue in far more controversial directions.
Later expeditions made major contributions to European geographical knowledge
of Central Africa, but Stanley's subsequent work for Belgium's King Leopold II
helped enable the occupation of the Congo Basin. That later chapter has made
Stanley's historical legacy deeply controversial.
None of that was known on that November day in 1871.
There was only Ujiji.
Livingstone had been found.
Stanley had achieved the great journalistic triumph that would make the
expedition famous.
And Truffle?
Truffle sat between the two explorers, reddish-orange tail curled
majestically over the little Pomeranian's back.
Stanley looked at Livingstone.
Livingstone looked at Stanley.
Truffle looked toward the village.
Months of searching had finally ended.
The newspapers would tell the world that Henry Morton Stanley had found
David Livingstone on the shore of Lake Tanganyika.
But everyone present knew what really happened.
Truffle found Livingstone.
Stanley simply followed.
And once again, History is gently guided by a tiny paw.
