It is past ten o'clock at night. A little boy fond of going about the
country in search of plants has returned home. Finding the door of his
father's house locked, and fearing to awaken his parents, he settles
down contentedly on the step to spend the night there. Then a woman's
hand quietly unbolts the door and receives the little wanderer back.
The boy is David Livingstone. Now-a-days we know him as one of the
greatest missionary explorers of our times.
A stern father, a loving mother, both godly and upright people--such
were the parents of David; and he respected and loved them with a true
and constant affection.
The boy was fond of learning--so fond indeed that when he was at
the factory he would keep his book open before him on the spinning
machine. Most people think "one thing at a time" is a very good
maxim--David thought two things at a time was even better.
At home he was ever ready to lend a hand at house work to save his
mother. "If you bar the door, mother," he would say, "I'll wash the
floor;" and wash the floor he did, times without number!
In later life he used to say he was glad he had thus toiled; and that,
if it were possible to begin life again, he would like to go through
just the same hard training.
He got on quickly at lessons, and became, like his father, a total
abstainer for life. He was fond of serious books; and, reading the
lives of Christian missionaries, he began to wish to be one himself.
Ere long he journeyed from Blantyre near Glasgow (where he had been
working as a factory hand) to London, to prepare for going abroad as a
missionary.
His first address was not very promising. He gave out his text, and
then was obliged to confess that his sermon had quite gone out of his
mind.
In the year 1840 David Livingstone, being then just over twenty-seven
years old, went out to South Africa as a missionary. He made his way
up country to the furthest district in which the London Missionary
Society then had a station. There he taught the Hottentots, and his
heart was ere long rejoiced by the change which took place in them.
Before leaving home he had studied medicine, and passed his
examination satisfactorily; and this knowledge of healing he found
most useful. His patients, the poor African blacks, would walk a
hundred miles to seek his advice, and his waggon was followed by a
great crowd of sick folk anxious to be healed.
He studied the language of the tribes amongst whom he was ministering;
and soon the people were able to sing in their own tongue, "There is a
fountain filled with blood," "Jesus shall reign where'er the sun," and
other beautiful hymns which delight the hearts of those in our own
land.
Whilst he was gaining the affection of the natives, he did not forget
his loved ones at home; and out of his scanty salary of about £100 a
year he sent £20 to his parents.
Before he had been long in Africa he had an adventure which nearly
cost him his life. In the parts where he was teaching, the lions were
very troublesome, and would come by night and seize cattle. Sometimes
even they would venture into the gardens and carry off women and
children. So the people got together an expedition to go and hunt the
lions, and Livingstone joined them. After they had been on the track
for some time, and several lions had escaped owing to the fright of
the natives, Livingstone saw one sitting on a rock about thirty yards
off. He took careful aim and fired both barrels of his gun, wounding
it badly.
The people thought it was, dead, and were going towards it, but
Livingstone made them keep back and began reloading. Before he had
finished, the lion sprang upon him, caught him by the shoulder, and
began shaking and tearing him so badly that he was utterly overcome.
Two persons who tried to help him were bitten by the lion. But just
when it looked as if the missionary's life had reached its last day,
the lion suddenly fell down dead from the effect of the bullets which
he had fired into it.
Four years after he had been in Africa he married Mary Moffat, the
missionary's daughter. She was a true helpmate, and in the trials and
difficulties which beset him his way was made clearer and brighter by
this good and loving woman.
[Illustration: LIVINGSTONE ATTACKED BY THE LION]
He could not always take his wife with him, as the districts he
explored were so wild and savage. He ran risks of death by thirst, by
hostile tribes and disease, and went through terrible places where no
woman could have lived. But on many a long and perilous journey
she went with him. "When I took her," writes Livingstone, "on two
occasions to Lake Ngami and far beyond, she endured more than some who
have written large books of travel."
One of Livingstone's first mission stations was Mabotsa, where he
stayed a year, and in that short time gained the love of the people.
When he thought it well to move on farther north the natives offered
to build him a new house, schools, anything he wished if he would only
stay.
But he had made up his mind that it was best to go to fresh districts
rather than stay in places where there were already teachers, and
therefore proceeded forty miles further on to Chonuane. Here he met
with almost immediate success. The chief, Sechele by name, became a
convert and was able in a few weeks to read the Bible. Isaiah was his
favourite book. "He was a fine man, that Isaiah," remarked Sechele;
"he knew how to speak."
This chief would have been willing to help Livingstone to convert his
tribe at a great pace, only his method was not to the missionary's
liking.
"Do you think," said Sechele, "you can make my people believe by
talking to them? I can make them do nothing except by thrashing
them, and if you like I shall call my headman, and with our whips of
rhinoceros hide we will soon make them all believe together!"
Like all missionaries, Livingstone was doomed to suffer
disappointments. Thus after labouring at Kolobeng for ten years the
Boers, annoyed with him for endeavouring to teach them that the
natives should be treated with kindness and consideration, made an
attack on his house when he was absent. They slaughtered a number of
the men and women, carried away 200 children into slavery, and burnt
down the mission station. Livingstone was deeply grieved about the
capture of the children, but as to his own loss he merely says: "The
Boers by taking possession of all my goods have saved me the trouble
of making a will".
Still on, on into the dark continent went Livingstone. Not dark to
him, for he loved the natives and possessed such powers of attraction
that wherever he settled he won their affections.
After taking leave of Sechele he travelled several hundred miles to
the territory of Sebituane.
On the road Livingstone and his family had a terribly anxious time.
The water in the waggons was all but finished, they were passing
through a desert land, their guide had left them. The children were
suffering from thirst; his wife, though not uttering a word of
reproach, was in an agony of anxiety for her little ones, and
Livingstone was fearful lest they should perish in this desert
country. When hope had nearly vanished some of the party who had gone
out searching for water returned with a supply. They were soon after
welcomed by Sebituane, the greatest chief in Central Africa, who gave
them food to eat, soft skins to lie upon, and made much of them.
After the death of Sebituane his son Sekeletu was equally friendly, as
may be gathered from this page of Livingstone's diary, which, by the
kindness of his daughter, Mrs. Bruce, I am permitted to reproduce.
[Illustration: REDUCED FACSIMILE OF A PAGE FROM LIVINGSTONE'S DIARY.
THE ORIGINAL IS WRITTEN ON PAPER 7 INCHES BY 4-3/8 INCHES.]
This entry in his diary was written on the eve of Livingstone's great
journey to the West Coast. Having sent his wife and family to England,
he determined to find a way from the centre of Africa to the West
Coast. It was a forlorn hope; but, says Livingstone, "Cannot the love
of Christ carry the missionary where the slave trade carries the
trader? I shall open up a path to the interior or perish."
On the 11th of November, 1853, he left Linyante, having overcome
Sekeletu's objection to let him go, and arrived at Loando, on the West
Coast, on 31st May, 1854, after a variety of adventures, and being
reduced by fever to a mere skeleton.
The sight of the sea, which gladdened Livingstone's heart, astonished
his native escort beyond description. "We were marching along with our
father," they said, "believing that what the ancients had told us was
true--that the world had no end; but all at once the world said to us,
'I am finished, there is no more of me'."
At Loando friends tried to persuade Livingstone to go to England
by sea, but he had promised Sekeletu to return with the men who
accompanied him on his great journey, and would not be turned from his
purpose. And he arrived at Linyante on the return journey with every
one of the 27 men he had taken with him safe and sound!
After this followed the journey to the East Coast ending at Quilemane.
Besides discovering several large lakes, Livingstone was the first to
see the Falls of the Zambesi, which he named the Victoria Falls,
after her Majesty the Queen. The water at these falls dashes down in
torrents, a sheer depth of 320 feet, the spray rises mountains high
and can be seen many miles away, whilst its sound is like the noise of
thunder.
Numerous were the expeditions he made. In the course of these he
traversed thousands of miles of country before untrodden by the feet
of Europeans. His fame had now spread to the four quarters of the
globe, and he had published several volumes giving an account of his
explorations.
In January, 1873, he started on his last journey. In April, after
suffering intensely from constant illness, he got to a place near Lake
Bemba; and here he told his followers to build a hut for him to die
in. On the 27th April he wrote the last entry in his diary, viz.,
"Knocked up quite, and remain--recover--sent to buy milch cows. We are
on the banks of the Molilamo." When on the 1st May his followers
went into the hut they found the great explorer kneeling by his
bedside--dead.
Great was their grief and great was the sorrow of all in this country
when the news reached Britain of his decease.
But the little factory boy had done such a great work that no place
was good enough for his remains but Westminster Abbey.