It must have been about 4 A.M. when Susi heard Majwara’s step once more. “Come to Bwana; I am afraid; I don’t know if he is alive.” The lad’s evident alarm made Susi run to arouse Chuma, Chowpere, Matthew, and Muanuasere, and the six men went immediately to the hut.
Passing inside, they looked toward the bed. Dr. Livingstone was not lying on it, but appeared to be engaged in prayer, and they instinctively drew backward for the instant. Pointing to him, Majwara said, “When I lay down he was just as he is now, and it is because I find that he does not move that I fear he is dead.” They asked the lad how long he had slept? Majwara said he could not tell, but he was sure that it was some considerable time; the men drew nearer.
A candle, stuck by its own wax to the top of the box, shed a light sufficient for them to see his form. Dr. Livingstone was kneeling by the side of his bed, his body stretched forward, his head buried in his hands upon the pillow. For a minute they watched him; he did not stir, there was no sign of breathing; then one of them, Matthew, advanced softly to him, and placed his hands to his cheeks. It was sufficient; life had been extinct some time, and the body was almost cold; Livingstone was dead.
His sad-hearted servants raised him tenderly up, and laid him full length on the bed; then, carefully covering him, they went out into the damp night air to consult together. It was not long before the cocks crew; and it is from this circumstance—coupled with the fact that Susi spoke to him some time shortly before midnight—that we are able to state with tolerable accuracy that he expired early on the 1st of May.
It has been thought best to give the narrative of these closing hours as nearly as possible in the words of the two men who attended him constantly, both here and in the many illnesses of like character which he endured in his last six years’ wanderings; in fact, from the first moment of the news arriving in England, it was felt to be indispensable that they should come home to state what occurred.
The men have much to consider as they cower around the watch-fire, and little time for deliberation. They are at their farthest point from home, and their leader has fallen at their head; we shall see presently how they faced their difficulties.
Several inquiries will naturally arise, on reading this distressing history; the first, perhaps, will be with regard to the entire absence of everything like a parting word to those immediately about him, or a farewell line to his family and friends at home. It must be very evident to the reader that Livingstone entertained very grave forebodings about his health during the last two years of his life, but it is not clear that he realized the near approach of death when his malady suddenly passed into a more dangerous stage.
It may be said, “Why did he not take some precautions or give some strict injunctions to his men to preserve his note-books and maps at all hazards, in the event of his decease?” Did not his great ruling passion suggest some such precaution?
Fair questions, but, reader, you have all—every word written, spoken, or implied.
Is there, then, no explanation? Yes; we think past experience affords it, and it is among the peculiar features of death by malarial poisoning.