David Livingstone

by C. Silvester Horne

Later on in the evening the signs are even more ominous. “Felt much turmoil of spirit in view of having all my plans for the welfare of this great region and teeming population knocked on the head by savages to-morrow. But Jesus came and said, ‘All power is given to Me in Heaven and on earth. Go ye therefore and teach all nations ... and lo! I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.’ It is the word of a Gentleman of the most sacred and strictest honour and there is an end on’t. I will not cross furtively by night as I intended. It would appear as flight, and should such a man as I flee? Nay, verily, I shall take observations for longitude and latitude to-night, though they may be the last. I feel quite calm now, thank God.” The next day he superintended the crossing of the river, under the ægis of natives armed to the teeth, reserving for himself the post of honour, the last man in the last canoe. He stepped in, pushed off, thanked the astonished savages, and wished them peace. Then “passing through the midst of them, he went his way.” They had never seen an enemy like this. New perils arose in the country of the powerful chief Mpende; and again Livingstone had little hope of avoiding a skirmish. But he succeeds in explaining that he is an Englishman, and shows them his white skin. “No,” said they, “we never saw skin so white as that. You must be one of the tribe that loves the black men.” He accepted the compliment, and when later he needed a canoe to take a sick man across the river, Mpende, exclaimed, “this white man is truly one of our friends. See how he lets me know his afflictions.”

He was now on the south side of the river, and the natives were peaceful. The 2nd of March saw the expedition within eight miles of Tette, and Portuguese officers came forward to help and welcome him. He succeeded in making arrangements for his Makololo to be cared for until his return, for he could now descend the river by boat to Quilimane. Nothing but death, he told them, would prevent his return. The leader of his escort, however, Sekwebu, he had resolved to take to England with him. The result was tragic. The extraordinary experience of a sea voyage unhinged his reason; and when Mauritius was reached, he sprang overboard and was lost. On December 12th, 1856, David Livingstone reached Dover, having narrowly escaped shipwreck off the Bay of Tunis, and having crossed the Continent from Marseilles to Calais. He had girdled Africa from West to East. He was universally recognised as the greatest of explorers. Well might Dr. Moffat write to him, “the honours awaiting you at home would be enough to make a score of light heads dizzy.... You have succeeded beyond the most sanguine expectation in laying open a world of immortal beings, all needing the Gospel, and at a time, now that war is over, when people may exert their energies on an object compared with which that which has occupied the master minds of Europe, and expended so much money, and shed so much blood, is but a phantom.” Livingstone’s own simple words are the best conclusion of this chapter: “None has cause for more abundant gratitude to his fellow-men and to his Maker than I have; and may God grant that the effect on my mind be such that I may be more humbly devoted to the service of the Author of all our mercies.”

CHAPTER VI

From the end of 1856 till March of 1859 Livingstone was home. He had been parted from wife and children for five long years, and nobody realised more than he did what a burden of anxiety Mrs. Livingstone had carried all that while. One of his greatest sorrows was the death of his father, whom he had longed to see again, but who died during Livingstone’s voyage home. The honours bestowed upon him were numberless. The freedom of the City of Glasgow and the City of Edinburgh, honorary doctors degrees from Oxford and Cambridge, and the Gold Medal of the Geographical Society were only a few of his distinctions. He wrote his book entitled “Missionary Travels” in 1857, and it was a phenomenal success, the simple, direct, unassuming style being the most appropriate clothing for the thoughts and deeds of the man. It may be said that Livingstone’s writings were in a marked degree a revelation of his personality and character. You could not read the narrative without wondering at the achievements, and conceiving a personal affection for the author. In all parts of the kingdom there was extraordinary eagerness to see and hear him. The most distinguished people competed for the honour of entertaining him, the Universities showed exceptional enthusiasm, while in humbler places which had associations with his fame the celebrations were touching in their love and pride. Much of the public laudation was distasteful to him, but he greatly enjoyed the intercourse now open to him with men and women of kindred spirit in all churches, and among all professions. One problem in regard to the future was settled in a characteristic way. Believing, as he did, that it was his life-mission to open up this great new country, and do pioneer work in the African interior, he felt that he ought to resign his position under the London Missionary Society, as some of its supporters might not approve of this kind of work being undertaken by one of its agents. At the same time he was exceedingly anxious that the work of the Society should not suffer, and regarded it as his own duty to provide a substitute. Accordingly he arranged with his brother-in-law, Mr. John Moffat, to become a missionary to the Makololo, promising him £500 for outfit, and £150 a year for five years as salary, besides other sums amounting in all to £1,400.

His own immediate future was determined by the offer from Lord Palmerston of the post of Consul at Quilimane and Commander of an expedition for exploring Eastern and Central Africa. He was to take out a light paddle steamer suitable for the navigation of the Zambesi; and his colleagues were to include a botanist, a mining expert, an artist, and a ship engineer. This offer was cordially accepted and all arrangements made for departure.

There will always be some people, the victims of the water-tight compartment theory of life, who will hold that a man cannot be a minister or a missionary if he is anything else. These people believe that if a man becomes an explorer he ceases to be a missionary. To be consistent they ought to believe that when Paul practised as a tent-maker he ceased to be an apostle, or that a bishop becomes a secular person if he attends to his parliamentary duties. It is needless to say that Livingstone held no such impossible conception of the ministry. He never at any time ceased to be a missionary. All his work was regarded by him as sacred, because it was done for the glory of God and the good of humanity. The ends that he pursued till the close of his life were essentially the same that he had sought hitherto—the Kingdom of God and His righteousness.

One of the most impressive addresses delivered by Livingstone during this visit, and one which produced the most lasting effect, was to a distinguished University audience in the Senate House at Cambridge. It was a magnificent and irresistible appeal for missionaries. He was amazed that some of our societies had to go abroad to Germany for missionaries because of the lack of the missionary spirit at home. He repudiated the talk about sacrifice. He had made no sacrifice worthy to be mentioned in the same breath as the Great Sacrifice made for mankind by Christ. He closed with this impressive appeal: “I beg to direct your attention to Africa; I know that in a few years I shall be cut off in that country, which is now open: do not let it be shut again! I go back to Africa to try to make an open path for commerce and Christianity; do you carry out the work which I have begun. I leave it with you!”

It was by such glowing words as these that he enforced on English audiences his favourite theme that “the end of the geographical feat is the beginning of the missionary enterprise.”

Fresh from the ovations and honours which reached their culmination in the grand final banquet at the Freemason’s Hall, at which foreign statesmen, dukes, earls, bishops, and scientific magnates vied with one another in celebrating his fame, Livingstone sailed from Liverpool on H.M. Colonial Steamer “Pearl.” Nothing had been wanting to his success. He was now rich, famous, powerful, the accredited representative of the greatest Government in the world. Instead of having to provide for his journeys of exploration out of a meagre salary and the generosity of African chiefs, he had the wealth of England behind him and limitless goodwill. On the deck of the “Pearl” were the sections of the little steam-launch “Ma Robert,” which a philanthropic firm had sold him “as a great bargain for the good of the cause,” and which was the most ill-constructed, clumsy, and extravagant vessel that ever ruined the hopes of its owner. Going back with him was his wife and his youngest boy. His brother Charles, too, had been assigned to him as a colleague by a generous Government. One of Livingstone’s first acts was to read to the members of the expedition the instructions drawn up by himself with the sanction of the Foreign Office. In these he laid stress on “an example of consistent moral conduct,” “treating the people with kindness,” “inculcating peace and goodwill”; he “earnestly pressed” upon the members “a sacred regard to life,” and the avoidance of wanton destruction of animals, and expressed the hope that arms would never be needed for defence against the natives, as “the best security from attack consists in upright conduct.” He insists on “the strictest justice in dealing with the natives,” and an attitude of respect to the chiefs of tribes. “We are adherents of a benign, holy religion, and may by consistent conduct and wise, patient efforts become the harbingers of peace to a hitherto distracted and down-trodden race.” He concluded by again reiterating that “a kind word or deed is never lost.”

These instructions are very notable, and perhaps one may read between the lines some anxiety, and even apprehension, for he knew that the success of the expedition no longer entirely rested on himself, and might be marred by ill-advised and unchristian action on the part of any single member. It was well that he could not forecast the future. The years that were to elapse until his return to England in 1864 were in many respects tragic years. They were years of accumulated disappointments, bereavements, failures and rebuffs, faced with courage and borne with resignation, but none the less leaving upon his life the shadow of great and crushing sorrow which never wholly lifted. The course of the “Pearl” was down the West Coast of Africa; and the first bitter disappointment was when his wife and son had to be left behind at Cape Town owing to ill-health. Fortunately, Dr. and Mrs. Moffat had journeyed down country to meet them, and took their daughter and her boy back to Kuruman. But “it was bitter parting with my wife—like tearing the heart out of one.” Livingstone was fated to do his work in loneliness.