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.
The “Pearl” reached the mouth of the Zambesi on May 14th, 1858. She was anchored in the “mangrove swamps,” a deadly place for fever, and Livingstone insisted on the small launch, “Ma Robert,” being fitted together immediately, for he feared the consequences to the newcomers if they did not speedily get away to a healthier locality. This meant working on Sunday, for which if life can be saved there is sound Scripture warrant; but the order created no small criticism. “It is a pity,” writes Livingstone, “that some people cannot see that the true and honest discharge of every-day life is divine service.” The next trial was in the resignation of the naval officer, a matter in regard to which Livingstone was fully exonerated by the Foreign Office, but which none the less brought home to him the difficulties of his new position. Instead of waiting for a new officer, Livingstone proceeded to run the ship himself. “It was imagined we could not help ourselves,” he wrote later, “but I took the task of navigating on myself, and have conducted the steamer over 1,600 miles, though as far as my likings go I would as soon drive a cab in November fogs in London as be ‘skipper’ in this hot sun; but I shall go through with it as a duty.”
There was some genuine compensation when he reached Tette, and was hailed with delirious delight by his old Makololo friends, who had never ceased to believe that he would keep his word to them. “The Tette people often taunted us by saying, ‘Your Englishman will never return’; but we trusted you, and now we shall sleep.” Disease and fighting had thinned their ranks. Thirty had died of smallpox and six had been killed. Livingstone had some work to do before he was ready to march back with the survivors to Linyanti, but they knew he would not fail them. Already it was clear that the “Ma Robert” was almost useless. Livingstone had applied to the Government for a more suitable vessel; and had also ordered one on his own account. He had intended to spend £2,000, but eventually he devoted nearly the whole of the profits of his book, some £6,000, to the purchase of the little steamer “Lake Nyassa,” which he specially destined for the lake whose name she bore, but whose waters she never sailed. The Government acceded to the request, but the “Pioneer” did not arrive till early in 1861, and the “Lake Nyassa” a year later, the latter vessel having then to be put together, which occupied many months.
There were two years, therefore, to be devoted to what explorations were possible with the aid of the “Ma Robert”—now frivolously called the “Asthmatic”—and their own exertions. It was clear to Livingstone that the ShirÉ river, a tributary of the Zambesi out of the north country, was a very important feature, and ought to be thoroughly examined. It was quite possible that it might prove to be a highway to the inland lakes of which rumour reached him. So the first months of 1859 were devoted to this journey. The party made their way up till they were stopped by cataracts, which were named the Murchison Falls. Little could be done among the natives, who were very suspicious and armed with poisoned arrows. It was necessary constantly to assure them that the expedition was not Portuguese, but English, for the terror of slave-raids was like a perpetual nightmare over the people. A second attempt on the ShirÉ two months later had more notable results. They were inspired to strike away from the river to the east, and discovered Lake Shirwa. The lake lay 1,800 feet up, and was sixty miles long. It is remarkable that the Portuguese had no idea of its existence. Livingstone describes its remarkable beauty and the grandeur of its setting among the mountains, some of which rise to the height of 8,000 feet—“much higher than any you see in Scotland,” he writes to his little daughter Agnes. He is increasingly impressed that the whole region is suitable for cotton and sugar. The land is “so rich that the grass towers far over one’s head in walking.”
The party went back to the mouth of the Zambesi for stores, and then returned to make a determined effort to find Lake Nyassa.
Passing beyond the cataracts, they were assured by a chief that the river ShirÉ “stretched on for two months, and then came out between perpendicular rocks which could not be passed.” “Let us go back to the ship,” said the Makololo who were with them, “it is no use trying to find this lake.” “We shall see the wonderful rocks, at any rate,” said Livingstone. “Yes,” they grumbled, “and when you see them you will just want to see something else.” However, the curiosity of the Englishmen was by this time thoroughly aroused, and they pushed forward till, on the 16th of September, they discovered Lake Nyassa. They had not time to do much by way of exploration, and two years were to elapse before Livingstone returned and satisfied himself that the lake was at least two hundred miles long, and that it had endless possibilities in view of future colonisation. But even now the slavers were active; and gangs of unfortunate captives were being marched to the coast, greatly to the indignation of the Makololo, who wondered why Livingstone would not let them “choke” the marauders; but he was occupied with more heroic measures, that would lay an axe to the roots of the Upas-tree. The highlands of the ShirÉ, the fertility and healthiness of the country, and the proximity to the great waterway, together with the lake stretching two hundred miles to the north, filled his brain with schemes for colonising the district. It is the best white man’s country he has seen, and he bombards his English friends with letters on the subject. Why should honest poor folk at home make a miserable pittance by cultivating small crofts of land when here is a vast undeveloped country waiting for their occupation, with the well-being and safety of a large population to be secured by their presence? He is personally prepared to embark two or three thousand pounds in such an enterprise. “It ought not to be looked on as the last shift a family can come to, but the performance of an imperative duty to our blood, our country, our religion, and to human kind.”
While waiting the response of England to these appeals, he is off with his Makololo for six months, to see them back to their land and to their folks. Some have perished, as we have seen; some had no wish to return. About thirty of them deserted before they had gone far, leaving about sixty to go forward. Livingstone’s white companions were his brother and Dr. Kirk, afterwards Sir John Kirk, who had proved himself an invaluable friend and comrade.
As for the great traveller himself, it was with real joy that he found himself on the old trail, marching and camping in the fashion so reminiscent of earlier days. There are the same tasks and toils, the same fight with hunger and fatigue and fever; but it cheers his heart: “He rejoiceth as a strong man to run his course.” At times, however, he is compelled to realise how hard it is to do good and not do evil with it. He has opened up a path; and the first to follow him is the Portuguese or Arab slave-dealer. He feels that he has been made the instrument of the undoing of some innocent people, and his heart is heavy. Only Christian settlements can defeat these sinister enterprises. In August they were at the Victoria Falls, and most unexpectedly find a white man there, Mr. Baldwin by name, who has news of a great tragedy that fills Livingstone’s soul with sorrow. One of the results of his missionary appeals in England had been that the London Missionary Society had resolved on a mission at Linyanti. Nine Europeans set out for this spot, and Mr. Baldwin had helped them on the way. But the head of the mission, Mr. Helmore, and his wife had perished of fever, and three others succumbed later, so that the survivors gave up in alarm and retired. Livingstone was too late to be of service, though he was certain his remedies might have saved their lives. Even this is not all, for poor Sekeletu is stricken with leprosy, and is living away from his people, believing himself to be bewitched. His joy, however, at Livingstone’s return is unbounded, and the general happiness does something to make up for the sad news by which all have been depressed. He is cheered also to hear that his old friend Sechele was doing well, and happy in the possession of a Hanoverian missionary, and in the progress of Christian teaching. It was with evident satisfaction that Livingstone, British Consul, resumed his old labours of preaching and teaching. It could not be for long, for he had to be back on the Zambesi, but he could not neglect any opportunity of doing definitely spiritual work. They reached Tette once more on November 23rd, and travelled down the river in the “Ma Robert,” the last voyage of that ill-fated “bargain.” A month later she grounded on a sandbank and filled, and without remorse they left her at the bottom of the Zambesi.
To Livingstone it seemed that 1861 was to mark the opening of a new era, for the long-expected steamer “Pioneer” arrived at the end of January, and with it Bishop Mackenzie and his staff, whose object was to plant the “Universities’ Mission,” another fruit of Livingstone’s memorable home visit. Livingstone liked the Bishop from the first for his manly character, his devotion, and his common-sense. Differences of denomination affected him not at all. He “looks upon all godly men as good and true brethren.” He thought the Bishop like Dr. Moffat “in his readiness to put his hand to anything.” Some time was lost in exploration of the river Rovuma, which came to nothing. Then the navigation of the ShirÉ with the “Pioneer” proved very slow and laborious because of low water and sandbanks. Worse than all, the whole country seemed to have been ravaged by the slavers; and it was evident that the Portuguese Government officials were in active connivance. At the village of Mbame on the ShirÉ Livingstone and the Bishop liberated a gang of eighty-four men and women, and attached them to the Mission Settlement. A peculiarly murderous native chief, the head of a fierce tribe called the Ajawa, was doing the deadly work for the Portuguese, and when a visit was paid to him to persuade him to desist, he fired on the mission party, and the fire was returned. It was an ominous beginning of an enterprise that had tragical developments. It was difficult for the Bishop to remain a spectator of all these murderous onslaughts, but Livingstone strongly advised him not to interfere in tribal quarrels if he could avoid it. A little later the Bishop returned to the ship, and assured Livingstone that the Ajawa were more peaceably disposed. The latter heard the report with suspicions that proved well-founded. The Bishop went back to his station, and Livingstone’s thoughts were turned to the prospective arrival of the man-of-war that was to bring his own new vessel, the “Lake Nyassa,” as well as his wife, the Bishop’s sister, and some more members of the mission. The ship was spoken at the end of January, and among other passengers was the Rev. James Stewart, afterwards so well known as Dr. Stewart of Lovedale. He had come to represent the United Free Church of Scotland, and survey for a mission station. The Bishop had not appeared to meet his sister, and boats were despatched up river to find him. Miss Mackenzie and Mrs. Burrup, the wife of one of the Bishop’s colleagues, went with the boats. What they actually found was the well-authenticated story that the Bishop and Mr. Burrup were dead of fever, after an expedition to rescue the captive husbands of some Manganja women. The blow to Livingstone was a crushing one, for though he had never been able wholly to approve the policy of the mission, he was too chivalrous to criticise in such an hour, and declared that had he been with the Bishop he might have done the same. “This will hurt us all,” he said prophetically, as the two sorrow-stricken women came back to Shupanga with the terrible tidings. He knew well that the Portuguese would misrepresent the object of missionary settlements to be to interfere among the tribes, and even to make use of military force, so adding to the mischief instead of abating it. “We must bow to the will of Him who doeth all things well,” he writes; “but I cannot help feeling sadly disturbed in view of the effect the news may have at home. I shall not swerve a hair’s-breadth from my work while life is spared.”
Some weeks were spent in arranging for the return of the bereaved women, who did not sail for home till April 2nd. Meanwhile an even darker cloud of sorrow was preparing to break over Livingstone. His wife had only returned to him to die. She had been to Kuruman, where their youngest child was born. Then she had returned to Scotland to see the other children. But her longing to be at her husband’s side was intense, and at last she had come back to him. On April 21st she was taken ill with fever, and on the evening of Sunday, 27th, in the presence of Dr. Stewart and her husband she sank to rest. Dr. Stewart tells us how he found Livingstone “sitting by the side of a rude bed formed of boxes, but covered with a soft mattress, on which lay his dying wife.” For the first time in his life Livingstone says he would be content to die. He laid her to rest under a baobab tree on “Shupanga brae.” His diary reveals the agony of his heart. Henceforth “the red hills and white vales” of Shupanga are with him in all his wanderings. “In some other spot I may have looked at, my own resting-place may be allotted. I have often wished that it might be in some far-off still deep forest, where I may sleep sweetly till the resurrection morn.” “I loved her when I married her, and the longer I lived with her the more I loved her.... Oh! my Mary, my Mary, how often we have longed for a quiet home, since you and I were cast adrift at Kolobeng; surely the removal by a kind Father who knoweth our frame means that He rewarded you by taking you to the best home, the eternal one in the Heavens.”
For such comfort as could be obtained in such dark days he turned again to his work. The fight against slavery is becoming more and more desperate. Even the navigation of the river is now a horror. The waters are ghastly with corpses. “The paddles had to be cleared of bodies caught in the floats at night.” Human skeletons were found in all directions. “Many had ended their misery under shady trees, others under projecting crags in the hills, while others lay in their huts with closed doors which, when opened, disclosed the mouldering corpse with the poor cloth round the loins, the skull fallen off the pillow, the little skeleton of the child that had perished first rolled up in a mat between two large skeletons.” Eighteen months before, this was a well-peopled valley, now it is a desert “literally strewn with human bones.” To complete his despair the mission of Bishop Mackenzie is removed, by order, to Zanzibar, despite Livingstone’s urgent entreaty; and finally, in July, 1863, he himself received from Lord Russell the news that he was recalled. He does not blame the Government. He has expected this. But the bitterness is that “900 miles of coast are abandoned to those who were the first to begin the slave-trade, and seem determined to be the last to abandon it.”
His instructions as to handing back the “Pioneer” to the Government men were quite explicit, and it was clear that he had little time left in Africa. Yet before he returned to England he accomplished two feats that would have made the reputation of any other man. With only one white colleague and five Makololo he marched seven hundred and sixty miles in fifty-five days, getting to within ten days’ march of Lake Bangweolo or Bemba, and the village of Ilala, where years later his own heart was to be buried. He would have reached the lake but for the duty of fulfilling his instructions from the Government. The second great feat was on the ocean. He had to face the problem of his own admirable little steamer, the “Lake Nyassa.” She had cost him a fortune and he needed the money. He could have sold her as a slave-vessel, but sooner than do that he would sink her in the Indian Ocean. After many adventures he gets her to Zanzibar, but cannot get a fair price. The one chance left is to sail her across the Indian Ocean and sell her in Bombay. It was the wildest adventure, but it was worthy of him. He could take but fourteen tons of coal, and the distance was 2,500 miles. The crew consisted of himself, a stoker, a carpenter, and a sailor, seven native Zanzibarians, and two “boys,” one of whom was Chumah, who was with him on his last march. The voyage took forty-five days, much of it marked by dead calm, but the latter part by furious squalls. The sails were torn, and the little boat nearly rolled right over. But “God’s good providence” is “over us,” and on June 13th, 1864, they creep into the harbour through the fog, their entrance being unobserved.
He stays in Bombay a short time, interesting the merchants in East African trade. Then he takes ship for England, where he arrived on July 21st.
The Livingstone who thus returned for his last visit home was in some respects a very altered man from the one who took England by storm at the close of his first great explorations. He had suffered severe personal losses. His wife’s death had left him lonely and sad, with the deep and lasting sadness of a strong nature. His grief and disappointment over the tragedy of the Universities’ Mission had left their mark upon him. But two experiences had changed his outlook even more radically. In the first place he had seen the limitations inseparable from the life of a Government official. His position as a Consul had not helped him, while at the same time it had made his attitude towards the Portuguese more difficult. He could not be his own free and independent self when the relations of two European Powers were at stake. His recall was something of a relief. He was now unmuzzled: and gentle and kindly as his spirit was, Livingstone was capable of what we may dare to speak of as “the wrath of the Lamb.” It becomes more and more evident during this visit that his heart had turned back in full affection to his original vocation and work as a missionary; and when the next negotiations were opened up with him, he bluntly avows his determination to return only on the condition that he may pursue his travels in that capacity. The second experience was, of course, his full contact with all the indescribable villainies of the slave trade. He had seen enough of the miseries it involved during his journey to Loanda; but the West Coast was vigilantly watched by English cruisers, and the slave trade reduced to comparatively small proportions. On the East Coast, Portugal was in authority; and her connivance and sympathy were responsible for the vast extent of the operations of the raiders. Livingstone came back to England in the grip of a great and noble passion—a fiery indignation against the barbarities of this traffic in flesh and blood; and he sternly resolved to fight it single-handed if need be. He had no heart to pursue purely scientific observations or geographical explorations to gratify the intellectuals, while Africa was being desolated and her population laid waste. The great public might complain that he no longer tickled their ears with thrilling or amusing descriptions of adventures: he was, as Mr. Thomas Hughes truly said, “a great Puritan traveller,” and the moral ends of his labours remained with him ever supreme. With such a fire consuming him, it may easily be realised that he found the Foreign Office “cold.” The year was 1864. America was washing out the guilt of centuries in the blood of her bravest and best. Livingstone’s own boy, Robert, who had been somewhat erratic, had heard his call, and was fighting in the Federal ranks on his way to a grave in Gettysburg Cemetery. Never in the history of the world had slavery revealed itself so convincingly as a hideous cancer in the social system. But official England was “cold.” She had begun by believing that Jeff Davis was making a nation; she had reached the stage of chill condescension towards Abraham Lincoln, for whom Livingstone had a true man’s admiration and affection. The Foreign Office was in no mind to take an heroic line, and was, no doubt, heartily relieved that Livingstone had not made a greater fuss about his recall.
It was not to make a fuss about his personal affairs, however, that Livingstone had come home. The “fuss” was to be about his friends, the natives, who were being done to death in thousands, and the residue sold into degradation and forced labour. He opened the battle in a lecture to the British Association at Bath; and so effective an opening was it, that the Portuguese had to put up Senhor Lacerda, the traveller, to declare that it was “manifest that Dr. Livingstone, under the pretext of propagating the Word of God, and the advancement of geographical and natural science,” was bent on robbing Portugal of the “advantages of the rich commerce of the interior.” “Rich commerce” is good! The learned Senhor goes on to urge that Livingstone’s “audacious and mischievous actions” ought to be “restrained.” This was a pretty plain hint to the Portuguese authorities, and not lost on them, as we shall see. The next move in the war lay with Livingstone. This was the book in which he proposed to lay the whole scandal bare. He wrote this book at Newstead Abbey, the home of his hospitable friends, Mr. and Mrs. Webb, the former of whom was a noted African hunter. The day he finished his book was the day when Lincoln was assassinated in Washington.
The book finished, he was to settle a question which Sir Roderick Murchison had raised with him, of a return to Africa for purely geographical purposes. Livingstone is all eagerness to return, and the line of exploration suggested on the inland lakes appeals to him strongly, but he answers that he can only feel in the way of duty by working as a missionary. He writes to Mr. James Young, “I would not consent to go simply as a geographer, but as a missionary, and do geography by the way, because I feel I am in the way of duty when trying either to enlighten these poor people, or open their land to lawful commerce.” Later on came an informal request from Lord Palmerston to know what he could do for him. It may be doubted whether that decidedly worldly statesman ever anticipated so disinterested a reply as he received. Instead of bargaining for salary or pension, Livingstone replied that he wanted but one thing; “free access to the highlands by the Zambesi and ShirÉ to be secured by a treaty with Portugal.” Governments find those men easiest to deal with who are satisfied with a lump sum down.
In the interval of fixing up his arrangements with the Government and the Royal Geographical Society, Livingstone had a personal sorrow in the death of his mother at the age of eighty-two. He was glad, however, to be at home to fulfil her wish that “one of her laddies should lay her head in the grave.” After that, he visited the school which his children attended, and made a short speech. The last words he uttered in public in Scotland were the simple ones, “Fear God and work hard.”
The negotiations in regard to his new work were finally completed. The Government gave £500, and the Royal Geographical Society an equal sum. A private friend added a thousand pounds. This was all, except that he was to be the unsalaried Consul with power over the chiefs on the coast between Portuguese territory and Abyssinia. He was also warned to expect no pension. It is useless now to indulge in belated indignation over these very unhandsome terms. Probably if they were put into plain black and white they meant that the great British Government presented David Livingstone with £500 and a sphere of influence to keep him from making mischief with the Portuguese by expressing honest British hatred of the slave trade; while the Geographical Society hoped to tie him up to geographical work, and so prevent him wasting his time and talents on fatuous missionary enterprises. What actually happened we shall see in due course. Meanwhile Livingstone’s own personal plan was to sell his steamer at Bombay in order to make up the deficiency in the cost of his new expedition due to the financial economy of a lukewarm Government. It was for Bombay accordingly that he departed in August, 1865. He never saw these shores again.
