Before we begin our journey with Livingstone to the coast, it will be
well to pause and consider two things--firstly, the task proposed; and
secondly, the equipment for the task.
(1) The Task. Linyanti lies a hundred miles from the Zambesi river, at
which the two possible routes may be said to fork. The one, eastward,
was comparatively simple: it was to follow the great river some thousand
miles to the sea. The other, westward, meant tracing the river towards
the source so far as was possible, and then striking westward for St.
Paul de Loanda, a matter in all of some fifteen hundred miles. Cape Town
lay to the south, another fifteen hundred miles. These were the three
spokes of the wheel from the centre at Linyanti. Little was known to
Livingstone of either the eastward or the westward route. He could only
roughly estimate the distance. He had no notion what hostile tribes,
what malarial swamps, what impenetrable forests, what waterless deserts
might fall to be encountered. All that lay in the lap of destiny. He had
not only to make this pilgrimage himself; he had to watch over the
safety of his Makololo “boys,” keep them supplied with food and drink,
and protect them in the event of attack by savages. The deadly “tsetse”
fly lay in wait for his oxen. The African fever lurked in ambush
everywhere. In all times of extremity he had nothing to consult but his
own stout heart and resourceful brain. Perils of floods and fevers, wild
beasts and wilder human foes might be expected as a daily portion. Death
would be almost a familiar companion. No love of adventure, no curiosity
and fascination of exploration would have driven Livingstone through
this self-imposed task. One has only to study his journal and listen to
his simple, artless confessions of faith to see that at every step the
Christian motive was supreme. He had sight of the ultimate City--the
coming civilisation of Christ--and the lions of the way were all
chained, and the dangerous rapids charmed.
(2) The Equipment for the Task. Never was a journey of such heroic
proportions undertaken with so simple an equipment. When one reads of
the elaborate preparations for modern expeditions not half so formidable
one is amazed at the contrast. Many of my readers have probably seen the
four tin canisters, fifteen inches square, that held the valuables. One
contained spare shirts, trousers, and shoes to be used when civilisation
was reached. One was a medicine chest. One a library. One held the magic
lantern by means of which the Gospel story was to be preached. For the
rest, there were twenty pounds of beads, value forty shillings, a few
biscuits, a few pounds of tea and sugar, and about twenty pounds of
coffee. There were five guns in all: three muskets for the natives who
could use them, and who only hit things by accident; a rifle and
double-barrelled shot gun for Livingstone, whose injured arm always made
shooting difficult, and whose fever-shaken frame sometimes made it
impossible. A bag of clothes for the journey, a small tent, a sheepskin
mantle, and a horse-rug to sleep on completed this equipment. The
sextant and other instruments were carried separately; and the
ammunition was “distributed through the luggage,” so that if any portion
were lost some powder and shot would remain to them. Twenty-seven “boys”
were chosen for the westward journey; and it is as well to set down the
fact here that all the twenty-seven were brought back in safety to their
homes.
The expedition left Linyanti on the 11th of November, 1853. Away in
Europe the English and French fleets had entered the Bosphorus, and a
delirious public opinion was hurrying Great Britain into the blunders of
the Crimean War. Far away from all the “fool-furies” of European
politics, one single-minded Christian hero was setting his heart on the
more renowned victories of peace and freedom, with nothing to sustain
him but his own quenchless faith in God and the Right. Even at the start
he had been severely shaken with fever, and much preaching had brought
back an old troublesome complaint in the throat; but these were personal
inconveniences which he never allowed to deter him from any line of
duty. The farewells were said with Sekeletu at Seshéke on the Zambesi,
and the expedition passed away to the north-west into the great unknown.
For the particulars of Livingstone’s memorable journeys we are dependent
on what he called his “lined journal.” It was a strongly bound quarto
volume of more than eight hundred pages, and fitted with lock and key.
The writing in it is extraordinarily neat and clear; but there are
pathetic pages in it when it is evident that the writer is shaking with
fever, yet nevertheless his iron will is compelling his trembling
fingers to do their office. Everything went down in his journal. Dr.
Blaikie well says that “it is built up in a random-rubble style.” There
are frequent prayers and poignant religious reflections, the
ejaculations of a heart charged to overflowing with the Divine love and
human compassion. Immediately following will be scientific observations,
or speculations on some problem of natural history or geological
structure. The various incidents in the journey are all recorded with
the simplicity and freedom from sensationalism of the Evangelist Mark.
Livingstone never magnifies a peril, and dwells not at all on his
personal heroism. The “lined” journal ranks as one of his “books,” and
its companions in the little canister were only a Sechuana Pentateuch,
Thomson’s Tables, a Nautical Almanac, and a Bible. He confesses that
“the want of other mental pabulum is felt severely.”
A misfortune little short of a disaster befel him at the beginning of
this journey. The greater part of his medicines were stolen. With the
health of all his escort to see to, and with fever racking his own
frame, it must have seemed as if the chances of success were sensibly
diminished.
It is interesting to compare Livingstone’s rate of progress with that
of ordinary traders. The trader thought seven miles a day good
travelling, and even so he only reckoned on travelling ten days a month.
Seventy miles a month was, in his eye, satisfactory progress.
Livingstone struck an average of ten miles a day, and travelled about
twenty days a month. Thus he seldom made less than two hundred miles a
month. He travelled from Linyanti to Loanda (some 1,400 miles) in six
months and a half, which as a mere feat of rapid African transit was
quite amazing. On this journey he rode hundreds of miles on the back of
his riding-ox, Sindbad, whose temper was uncertain and whose
idiosyncrasies were pronounced. We shall see as we proceed that Sindbad
was by no means always a satisfactory colleague.
Complications that might have led to ugly developments occurred while
they were still in Sekeletu’s sphere of influence and among his people.
It was discovered that a party of Makololo had made a foray to the
north, and had destroyed some of the villages of the Balonda, through
whose country they were bound to pass. Some of the villagers had been
seized for slaves, and Livingstone foresaw reprisals and the probability
that prejudice would be excited against himself and his men. He
therefore insisted that the captives should be restored, as a means of
demonstrating that his errand was one of friendliness and peace. This
act helped to disarm the hostility of the Balonda chief, and Livingstone
afterwards busied himself to form a commercial alliance between the
Balonda and the Makololo. It was always his policy to overcome the
jealousies and hostilities of rival tribes, and substitute confidence
based on mutual interest. After leaving the country of the Makololo, and
while ascending the Barotse valley, the rains were almost incessant, and
the expedition moved forward through clouds of vapour that hardly ever
lifted. For a whole fortnight at a time neither sun nor moon was seen
sufficiently to get an observation for latitude and longitude. The very
tent that sheltered him by night began to rot with the excessive and
incessant humidity. In spite of being kept well oiled, the guns grew
rusty; and the clothing of the party became “mouldy and rotten.” Part of
the way lay through dense forest, and the axe had continually to be
plied. The waters of the river were crowded with hippopotami,
alligators, and at times with fish; but it was not easy to get food in
the forest, and repeatedly they were reduced to living on such roots as
could be trusted, while moles and mice became a luxury. They were making
now for the country of the great chief Shinté, whose fame had travelled
far; and early in the New Year of 1854 found them at his capital, the
most imposing town that Livingstone had seen in Central Africa. In the
town were two Portuguese half-castes who were trading for slaves and
ivory. “They had a gang of young female slaves in a chain, hoeing the
ground in front of their encampment.” This was the first time that
Livingstone’s Barotse companions had seen slaves in chains. “They are
not men,” they exclaimed (meaning they are beasts), “who treat their
children so.”
The explorer was received with great ceremony. Shinté sat on a “sort of
throne” covered with a leopard’s skin, under a banyan tree. He must have
presented a somewhat bizarre appearance, for Livingstone tells us “he
had on a checked jacket and a kilt of scarlet baize edged with green.
Strings of beads, copper armlets and bracelets hung about his neck and
limbs. For crown he had a great helmet made of beads and surmounted with
a huge bunch of goose feathers. The subsequent ceremony was as odd and
elaborate as the chief’s wardrobe. There were terrifying manœuvres of
savage soldiers armed to the teeth. Livingstone suspected that their
object was to cause him and his friends to take to their heels, but if
so it was a failure. At last the new-comers were presented to the chief
by the orator Sambanza, who described Livingstone’s exploits in great
style, dwelt on the fact that he had brought back the captives taken by
the Makololo, that he possessed “the Word from Heaven,” that he sought
the peace of all the tribes, and was opening up a path for trade. This
speech was a great effort, and its effect was by no means minimised that
the orator wore “a cloth so long that a boy carried it after him as a
train.” It would appear that fashionable habits are the same all the
world over. During his stay at Shinté’s court Livingstone suffered
agonies from fever, accompanied by “violent action of the heart.” But he
made his own invariable impression upon the chief by his frankness,
independence and courtesy. He preached to the assembled tribesmen, and
showed the magic-lantern pictures; and he pleaded urgently with Shinté
personally against the growing practice of slavery. When his stay was
over Shinté gave him the last evidence of goodwill, for “he drew from
out his clothing a string of beads and the end of a conical shell, which
is considered in regions far from the sea of as great value as the Lord
Mayor’s badge is in London. He hung it round my neck, and said, ‘There
now you _have_ a proof of my friendship.’” Shinté also bequeathed to the
expedition his “principal guide,” Mtemése,
[Illustration: PREACHING ON THE JOURNEY UP-COUNTRY.]
who he promised would conduct them to the sea.
Mtemése proved to be by no means an immaculate person. Among other
delinquencies he left the pontoon behind, a loss that was keenly felt.
He had, too, a prejudice against speedy travel which Livingstone could
not be induced to share. He was useful, however, in levying tribute of
food throughout Shinté’s dominion, and evidently thought Livingstone a
great fool for paying a fair price for what could have been had for
nothing. Gradually Shinté’s territory was left behind, and that of
Katema was invaded. It seemed to Livingstone that as they moved north
the moral conditions darkened. At times the great horror of heathenism
laid hold of him. Everywhere was the same unrelieved tragedy of
brutality and murder. Sometimes over the camp fires his savage hosts
would exult in their customs. They told of the death of chiefs, and the
slaughter of enough of their subjects to be an escort to the nether
world. The further north Livingstone penetrated the more “bloodily
superstitious” did the people become. Yet he must eat with them, chat
with them, laugh with them; and the impression of such religious
teaching as he could impart was, alas! so superficial. Katema proved
peaceable; but his people lived under the perpetual shadow of the
slave-trade, and would gladly have been taken away to the Makololo
country.
The beginning of March found them for the first time in hostile
territory. There had been much rain and flood, wading and swimming.
Livingstone himself had had an adventure that thoroughly alarmed his
men, and served to evoke their real devotion. He was flung from his ox
in midstream, and compelled to strike out for the opposite bank. There
was a simultaneous rush on the part of all his men to rescue him. Their
delight was unbounded when they found he could swim like themselves.
“Who carried the white man across the river but himself,” they said
afterwards. It was among the Chiboques that the expedition came nearest
to having to fight for their lives; and bloodshed was only averted by
Livingstone’s wonderful patience and fearlessness. He sat on a campstool
with his double-barrelled gun across his knees, and insisted on arguing
with the chief who was endeavouring to levy blackmail. It was
characteristic of Livingstone that he argued the legitimacy of passing
through their country on the ground that the land belonged to God. If
their gardens had been damaged compensation would have been paid, but
the earth is the Lord’s. “They did not attempt to controvert this,” he
comments, “because it is in accordance with their own ideas.” Finally he
told them that if there was to be a fight they must begin it, and the
guilt be on their heads. Matters looked critical for some hours; but
Livingstone’s tact prevailed and the gift of an ox satisfied them for
the time being. They had more trouble later before getting quit of the
Chiboques, but there was no actual outbreak. There was thieving,
however, of their goods, which were getting sadly reduced; and the
attitude of enmity and treachery added to the gloom of a very gloomy
forest through which a way had to be found. So thick was the atmosphere
that the hanging creepers could not be seen, and again and again the
riders were swept off the backs of the oxen. On one occasion Sindbad
went off at a plunging gallop, the bridle broke, and Livingstone came
down backwards on the crown of his head. At the same time Sindbad
completed the triumph by dealing him a kick on the thigh. Livingstone
makes light of all this, only remarking that “he does not recommend it
as a palliative for fever.” Repeated attacks of fever had reduced him to
a skeleton. The sodden blanket which served as a saddle caused abrasions
and sores. His “projecting bones” were chafed on the hard bed at nights.
He had enough burdens to bear without having to dare the threats of
savages. At the last outpost of the Chiboque country their two guides
turned traitors and thieves, and escaped with the larger portion of
their beads, so necessary for barter. This was almost the last straw;
and there was mutiny among Livingstone’s men, for they declared they
would go home. He was in despair; and having finally told them that in
that case he would go on alone, he went into his little tent and flung
himself upon his knees, “with the mind directed to Him who hears the
sighing of the soul.” Presently one of the men crept into the tent. “We
will never leave you,” he said. “Do not be disheartened. Wherever you
lead we will follow.” The others took up the chorus. They were all his
children, they told him, and they would die for him. They had only
spoken in the bitterness of their feeling and because they felt they
could do nothing.
They had one more parley with a bullying chief, but came out victorious,
thanks to the opportune appearance of a young military half-caste
Portuguese, who afterwards showed them every hospitality. Moreover, they
were now able to dispose of certain tusks of ivory presented to them by
Sekeletu, the proceeds of which clothed the whole party and partially
armed them.
The journey was easy now, save that the intrepid leader had had
twenty-seven attacks of fever, and suffered one more humiliation at the
hands of Sindbad, being compelled inadvertently to bathe in the Lombé.
He had to reassure his men as they drew near to the Atlantic, for they
began to be troubled lest after all he should leave them to the cruel
mercies of other white men. “Nothing will happen to you but what happens
to me,” he told them. “We have stood by one another hitherto, and will
do so till the last.” In course of time they crossed the sterile plains
near Loanda, and gazed upon the sea. “We marched along with our father,”
they said afterwards, “believing that what the ancients had always told
us was true, that the world has no end; but all at once the world said
to us, ‘I am finished, there is no more of me.’”
It was a weak, worn, haggard figure that on the 31st May, 1854, entered
the city of Loanda, “labouring under great depression of spirits.” The
fever had brought on chronic dysentery. He could not sit on his ox ten
minutes at a time. His mind was “depressed by disease and care.” His
heart misgave him as to his welcome. But he had finished his course. He
had accomplished his superhuman task. He had reached the coast. He had
protected and guided his faithful company. He had robbed no man’s goods
and taken no man’s life; and all the fourteen hundred miles he had
preached the Gospel and argued for freedom and peace.