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The Life of James Stewart
The Companion of Livingstone


Livingstone's Hearty Welcome—On the Zambesi—The Universities’ Mission — The Blacksmith — Death of Mrs. Livingstone - Exploring the Shire and the Zambesi— Cotton-growing—Fevers—A Bag of Bones - Homewards.

‘One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.’
—Browning’s ‘Asolando.'

‘It is not the work I shrink from: it is the want of work.’

‘Men talk of the hardships of missionary life. How little they realise them in detail! Yet for all that I do not mind one straw, were it possible to get set to work. ‘—Dr. Stewart’s Journal.

‘I feel quite exhilarated: when one travels with the specific object of ameliorating the condition of the natives, every act is ennobled.’— Livingstone.

‘The same toils are not so intolerable to a general as to a common soldier.’ —Xenophon.

JAMES STEWART is now on the Zambesi, welcomed by Livingstone, and his guest on board the Pioneer, [The Pioneer was the steamer which the Government had placed at the disposal of Livingstone as Consul and Commander of the Expedition for exploring Eastern and Central Africa. His brother Charles and Dr. (now Sir John) Kirk belonged to the party.] one of the happiest and most thankful of men.

‘It seemed to me,’ he writes (July 2, 1862), ‘the realising of some strange dream to be rambling through the grassy delta and mangrove forests of the Zambesi on this African summer evening with Dr. Livingstone.’

He resolved not to mention his painful experiences at Cape Town, Durban, and on the voyage. Dr. Livingstone had heard of them and introduced the subject. ‘I did not mean to refer to these things,’ Stewart said. ‘As an honest man yourself, you must know the pain it gives to be constantly suspected.’ Dr. Livingstone replied, ‘I think all that behaviour on their part was madness. It seems to me that they were acting in the most nonsensical way imaginable. . . - These obstacles were but the temptations of the evil one.’ ‘I saw that be thought as I thought,’ Stewart adds, ‘and I was content.’

They had many long conversations about the mission, and almost everything. They were both keenly interested in Theology, Literature, Botany, Astronomy, and Natural History, and they were of one opinion about the mission.

‘I said my object was to gain as much information as would enable me to get a strong Presbyterian Mission established. I was not peculiarly anxious to make it a Free Church affair. I thought the Free, United Presbyterian, and English Presbyterian Churches might be well united. The first thing that would draw them together would be mutual interest in some common work.

‘Dr. Livingstone said he had a warm side to the Free Church, and if he had been at home at the time, he would probably have joined it. He had also a certain affection for the Established Church— from being brought up in connection with it, and from parish school reminiscences "Indeed," he said, "I would be glad to see any one send out a mission, except perhaps the Socinians. I would not like them. . . I think the better plan will be for you to go up to see the country. You can go as far as the lake. You can see the river and the people and the bishop’s station and be able to judge for yourself."

‘When I went into some further details about my relation to the expedition and the question of expenses, he replied, "that is unnecessary; you can mess with us."’

Exulting in his strength, freedom, and new-born hope, Stewart toiled like a Hercules, transferring the cargo from the Hetty Ellen to the Pioneer, gathering firewood for the steamer and making himself generally useful. ‘It was a wholesome sight,’ he remarks, ‘to see Dr. Livingstone and Captain Wilson pushing and shoving as merrily as ordinary seamen.’

The degenerate Portuguese looked on with amazement. The richer among them wore a very long nail on their little finger, to show that they never touched manual work. That was no small part of the Nemesis that attended slave-holding.

On the 9th of March, the Pioneer reached Shupanga. The river was low then, and the steamer was often stranded on the sand-banks, and set afloat only with great difficulty. They were imprisoned on one sand-bank for a whole week. Only with great efforts could they collect enough firewood. They had spent fully five weeks on the river. His Journal at this period throbs with hopes and fears.

‘I believe I have found my sphere, and though I am getting exceeding poor, yet I must follow out my convictions. . . . I feel that I may disappoint my friends, and that from promising much and accomplishing little, I shall damage my own influence . . . but I did the work from as pure a motive as I am capable of entertaining, or I believe any other man is capable of entertaining. . . . Today I felt gloomy and dull, but not less resolute than ever. This is the peculiarity specially—that is, that I feel so much all these difficulties, and yet that they never alter my resolution in any degree. . . . I am getting an old man. I shall be thirty shortly, and how little have I accomplished. . . . My life up to the time I engaged in this effort was peace itself. I seemed to have livcd in a quiet haven of rest; now I am out on the stormiest of seas. . . . At times I yearn for home, quiet and regular work. Eleven years’ preparation and expenditure, and no settled goal yet. I wish I could see my way a little more clearly. I am willing to labour anywhere if I can see it to be the right sphere. . . . I am not weary of the work or sick of it, but I feel keenly my difficult position. Yet why grumble? It is the law of benevolence. I cannot do good to the miserable without being touched by their misery.’ He adds a note: ‘Things to ask for in prayer—perseverance in a holy life, willingness to do God’s will and suffer it, rest in divine sovereignty, not theoretical, but calm, happy acquiescence in God’s power as exercised towards me.’

Stewart spent four months at Shupanga, Living-stone’s headquarters on the Zambesi. The sister of Bishop Mackenzie, and Mrs. Burrup, the wife of one of his assistants, returned with the distressing news that both the Bishop and Mr. Burrup were dead, and that the Universities’ Mission was imperilled. Both Livingstone and Stewart felt that these calamities might discourage the hope of planting another mission in Central Africa, but they. were of the opinion that the hope should not be abandoned. Stewart was not idle. He studied Theology, Botany, Astronomy, Natural History, the native, the native language, of which he wished to make a grammar, and Portuguese. Among the books he was then reading he mentions Vinet, Pascal, Hodge, Isaac Taylor, and the Princeton Review.

He gathered all information likely to be useful for the mission and his book on Africa. When a boy, he had said that he would never be satisfied till he was in Africa with a Bible in his pocket and a rifle on his shoulder. He had now often a rifle on his shoulder, to supply, not only his wants, but also the wants of his party. He objected to shoot except ‘for a legitimate object,’ and he now 'shot for the pot.’ Food was scarce, and the party were sometimes half-starved. ‘I could not but think it a curious phenomenon in my life, that here in the heavy tropical twilight I should be stumping about among muddy creeks, wet up to the knees amongst tall reeds and grass on an alligator-haunted island in search of something for to-morrow’s dinner, and finding . . . great difficulty in getting enough to eat. [He regarded as fair game all animals fit for food, and all noxious animals and beasts of prey. But he never shot an elephant, though he was often near large herds of them. He disapproved of their destruction for sport or for a little ivory. He never fired a shot till he was sure, so far as he could judge, that it would be fatal. He abhorred the idea of causing needless pain to any of God’s creatures.]

Frequent attacks of fever depressed his spirits, but the bare idea of abandoning the mission always intensified his determination.

In his Journal of those days the homeless wanderer dwells fondly on visions of home. His soul finds solace in sweet dreams, and exults in perfect contrasts. He hears the Sabbath bells at Scone, enjoys the fragrance of the old paternal fields, and listens to the sough of the corn in harvest-time. He holds nightly converse with his ‘saintly mother,’ his father, ‘his dear, dear brother Johnnie.’ . . . ‘I awoke, and I was alone in Africa,’ he writes. By day, he thinks and writes about the ‘then’ and the ‘now,’ and wonders and prays over the mysterious future.

When Dr. Livingstone and Dr. Kirk were away, either up or down the river, Stewart was doctor and chaplain. He did all he could to secure the spiritual welfare of the company and the due observance of the Sabbath-day, ‘thinking it best at all hazards, and at every inconvenience, to keep the day according to the commandment.’

‘On the whole,’ he writes, ‘the day, though busily spent, was not spent as a Sabbath, and therefore was misspent. A— proposed to go ashore to shoot. This led to a conversation on the Sabbath, and on religious topics. I said a man should never be ashamed to acknowledge that he feared the God who created him. O how I long for something like a Sabbath again! Little during the day except an intense longing after the happy, quiet Sabbaths of home.’

Here is his record of a delightful surprise. ‘In the evening I got into a very interesting conversation with Macleod, the blacksmith of the Pioneer. He is a Scot from Campsie, has a true west country twang, and like most of our countrymen, far better informed on many subjects of the highest importance than nine-tenths of those among whom he lives. I found him to be a Christian, and the manner of his calling was one of the most singular that has ever been heard of. He was for some time resting on a righteousness of his own, trusting to a moral life and his general goodness, but frequently with misgivings as to the security of his foundations. At times he felt that the sand on which he was resting was moving. When at Johanna on board the Lynx, he was sent along with a party to assist the Enchantress, which had got ashore. In the subsequent destruction of the vessel there was much confusion, Kicking about the deck, he found some of Spurgeon’s sermons. In reading a few sentences casually where the book opened, he met the expression: "You need not carry your coals to Newcastle," i.e. you need not bring your righteousness to the righteousness of Christ. He saw his mistake, and shortly afterwards found peace and rest on the true foundation.’ This blacksmith had made the very discovery that was made by Saul of Tarsus, Luther, Wesley, and Dr. Chalmers.

John Reid, from Govan, the carpenter of the Pioneer, for some time the only white companion of Stewart at Shupanga, cherished the warmest affection for the young explorer. He used to tell that when bedtime drew near, Stewart ‘read a psalm or some other passage in the Bible, and gave a nice explanation, and then had a short prayer, and he did the same in the morning.’ Some time afterwards Stewart met Reid in Sauchiehall Street. He dropped a leather bag he was carrying, and seized his friend with both hands. Years afterwards, when Dr. Stewart was Moderator, he telegraphed an invitation to Reid to spend a day with him, and gave him an exuberant welcome when he arrived. Reid described him as a ‘splendid, God-fearing man. He was as fine a man as ever I saw.’

Stewart was at Shupanga when Mrs. Livingstone died of the fever of the country. Of that sad experience he wrote in the Sunday Magazine: ‘The man who had faced so many deaths and braved so many dangers was now utterly broken down and weeping like a child. He asked me to commend her soul to God in prayer. And he, Kirk and myself; who only were in the room, knelt down, and we prayed fervently to Him to whom we always turn in our hours of greatest need, and when all human help and comfort fail, and committed her departing spirit to the all-embracing mercy and love of her Saviour. . . . In this way, in the African wilderness, died Livingstone’s wife and Moffat’s daughter, at the close of a long, clear, hot day, the last Sabbath of April, 1862.’

She was buried under the gigantic baobab tree, the patriarch of the African plain. Most travellers on that great waterway halt at Shupanga, and reverently visit the grave. In his last journey, Livingstone’s thoughts turned to that lonely grave. ‘Poor Mary,’ he then wrote, ‘lies on Shupanga brae, and beeks foment the sun.’ He then avowed his preference for a grave like hers, never dreaming that he would receive the most honoured grave which his nation could give to his dust.

Sir John Kirk, Livingstone’s only surviving fellow-traveller of white colour, writing of Stewart, says:

‘We were brought into close contact during Mrs. Livingstone’s illness, and together we assisted at the grave when my noble leader, Dr. Livingstone, was present All this took place many years ago, but none of us then realised bow soon the river was to be opened up as a highway for commerce and civilisation. Beyond the time we met during Mrs. Livingstone’s fatal illness, I had then little opportunity of appreciating the high qualities which I afterwards learned he had, when I visited the establishment at Lovedale and enjoyed some pleasant days in his company. His was a most interesting life, full of practical work carried out to the end in the most thorough manner. All be did was well thought out before, and the mission in Nyasaland and the training establishment at Lovedale will always remain as his best monument. Dr. Stewart at that time saw the difficulties but did not despair, and later on it was he who pushed forward the mission-work that has been the pioneer of the many changes that have taken place since.’

At this great crisis in his life, Livingstone turned to Stewart for companionship and help. In the evenings they had long conversations about the deathless life beyond the grave. ‘We talked,’ Stewart writes, ‘over the idea of the state of seclusion—the Hades or Intermediate State—and agreed to hold the common belief. He then expressed his willingness to die.’

From this time their companionship seems to have been complete. ‘Dr. Livingstone,’ he writes, ‘is peculiarly communicative and agreeable.’

Here are some extracts from his Journal while detained at Shupanga: ‘I am getting impatient, wishing I were home at some regular work. . . . Am I never to see home again? . . . Let me not think too much of comfort. Eternity will soon be on us all, then the question will be, what sacrifices in life we have made for Him who sacrificed all? How grand a thing it would be if I could have my life filled with the one object, that of doing only what would advance the cause of the everlasting kingdom. But my thoughts turn to earth and to its joys. The unseen and the eternal has not the hold on me it ought to have—that I wish it to have. I have not bad too much happiness latterly for a few years back. I wish I had this as an absorbing, all-devouring object. . . . I am willing to go to Calcutta, yet the whisper of my judgment is against it. . . . My present path is rather a mystery and a difficulty to myself. . . . My mental stagnation is great. I think I am one of the most useless fellows alive. My days are passing, and it seems as if I had an opinion of myself quite at variance with fact. . . . I think I can do something when I can do nothing. Accusing myself of being fickle and feeble. But really I could not do anything else. The higher objects of my visit are now put out of my reach, and I do not regard the others as worthy of effort.’

His Journal reveals the peculiar depression which attends African fever. He writes: ‘1 was so ashamed of my worldliness, ambitions, selfishness, love of precedence and fiery evil temper, that I could hardly contain myself... at length had to go on shore and retire among the mangoes. There I asked for grace to overcome these earthly selfish feelings, and merely human cravings, in so far as they interfered with my work. I also sought advice that the future might be a little more clear and less obscure than the present is. . . . Resolve to go off alone up the Shire, if possible, see and learn what I can, and if possible also up to Tete; then return homewards, and get to work somewhere. But whatever I do, at home or abroad, I will not vegetate. I shall try to serve God in the way He may be pleased to open up.’

‘I have now come to be able to travel with the minimum of baggage—a piece of soap, a towel and a comb.’

Livingstone wished to explore the Rovuma (a river to the north of the Zambesi) in the hope of finding an entrance into Central Africa, free from Portuguese control. Stewart found that he would have to wait a whole year if he accompanied Livingstone’s expedition. Hungering for a beginning and for real work, he resolved to push into the interior. The only white man with him was a member of the Universities’ Mission. They had a native canoe dug out of a great tree. It was so nicely balanced as to be easily capsized, and the river was swarming with crocodiles and hippopotami. Stewart had a crew of eight natives, whose steady paddling against the stream drew forth his admiration. He passed through the pestiferous ‘Elephant Marsh,’ a paradise for sportsmen, in which herds of three hundred elephants were sometimes found. His canoe startled great numbers of crocodiles which looked ‘like so many trunks of trees left by the receding river.’ On one island they counted seventy-two alligators basking in the sun. He visited Bishop Mackenzie’s grave, and the ill-fated Universities’ Mission. On foot, and usually in company with a member of that mission, he explored the Highland Lake Region on both sides of the Shire.

Concerning his numberless discomforts, hardships, and African fevers, he writes: ‘But with a definite purpose and the knowledge that you are certainly clearing the way for a better state of things, and helping to bring in the dawn of a better day of gospel light, there is a measure of enjoyment even with all the discomfort in canoe voyaging in African rivers.’ As he entered the villages ‘in his shirtsleeves, and with an old green silk umbrella over his head, the women startled and the children screamed.’ Every night he spoke to them of Jesus Christ, ‘a phrase never heard by them before, but it was left among them. I gathered all my men round the fire after supper, and spoke to them the things of God. The outline of my talk was God, Sin, Jesus Christ.’ He records that the native women everywhere showed him the greatest politeness and courtesy.

He pushed on beyond the Murchison Cataracts, and explored parts of the hill-country to the east of the Shire, in the district where the Blantyre Mission now stands. He recognised the comparative healthiness and rich resources of what is now a prosperous Scottish settlement of coffee-planters, traders, and missionaries. It was a sore disappointment to him that lack of money would not allow him to visit Lake Nyasa, though he was within fifty miles from it. Of this journey he writes:

‘Except these two missionary travellers (himself and a member of the Universities’ Mission) there was not probably at that time a single white man living east of the Shire River till the coast is reached; certainly none were settled in the country, and northwards, even as far as Victoria Nyanza, six hundred miles, no trace of a Christian mission, or even of a white man, was to be found. It was a lonely land of barbarism, of game and wild beasts, of timid and harried but not unkindly men, harassed by never-ending slave-raids and intertribal wars. We saw heaps of ashes, broken pottery, a good

many bones but no bodies—the hyenas had attended to that.’

On the Shire, as afterwards on the upper reaches of the Zambesi, he supported himself and his men chiefly by his rifle. His menu included, besides the ordinary food of the natives, pigeons, ducks, flamingoes, and hippopotamus steaks. It was his opinion that ‘a man with a good sound appetite would enjoy a roast sirloin of hippopotamus.’ Many of the districts he visited were sorely stricken with famine, and he was often hunger-bitten. Men travel in that region now with almost all the comforts of home.

Before leaving for Africa he had given an address in the Town Hall of Manchester, in which he gave his reasons for hoping that a supply of cotton might be obtained from Zambesiland. This speech had evidently created a real interest. His Journal contains a long paper with the title ‘Report for Cotton Supply Association, Manchester, in Reply to Queries sent on June 24, 1861.' He found small patches of cotton in the Shire valley, and also native weavers, but so lazy were the natives that only about one in twenty was wearing cotton, while all the rest were clothed only with bark, probably the most uncomfortable garment a human being can wear. The substance of his report was, that the Shire valley was admirably fitted for the growing of cotton, but that it could not be cultivated till there was a settled government, and the natives had been taught to work. [It is now believed that Central Africa has soil capable of producing cotton enough to keep all the spinning-mills in the world at work.] ‘The examination of the country, especially of the Shire highlands, left the impression of its great beauty, the comparative healthiness of the higher districts, and the undoubted fertility of its rich valleys, but it was at that time a land laid waste by slaving wars, as has happened times without number to many of the fairest portions of the African continent.’

On this expedition be was often grazed by death. Sleeping on the banks of the Shire one night, he awoke to find a large python lying coiled up upon him. He seized his gun, the reptile moved off, and a hole in the ground was the only result of the shot.

Once his canoe was upset, and he got entangled with some ropes, and nearly lost his life. When almost drowned, the thought flashed through his mind, ‘Well, well, is this to be the end of it all? No, it cannot be.’ He made another struggle; help arrived, and he was saved.

On September 25th, 1862, after an absence of three months, he returned to Shupanga, and a fortnight afterwards he started to explore the Zambesi. He visited Senna and Tete, and reached the Kebrabasa Rapids. Only with great difficulty could he guide the canoe through the labyrinths of small sandy islands, and often his men lost control of the boat, and, like all Africans in trouble, they ‘stood calling on their mothers when they should be exerting themselves.’

‘We spent Christmas Day of 1862 digging with a party of natives into the coal seams, three of which lie on the east bank of the Zambesi, a few miles from Tete. Some specimens of the coal thus dug may possibly still be found in the Museum of the University of Glasgow, as some were sent there on my return. . . . The partition of Africa—the most stupendous division of the earth’s surface which has ever taken place—was then not even thought of.’

On foot he examined the country on both sides of the river, some parts of which reminded him of the Danube. ‘He did all this,’ Livingstone says, ‘with most praiseworthy energy, and in spite of occasional attacks of fever.’

He was then convinced that any future mission should be northwards on the line of the Shire, and not westwards on the line of the Zambesi. This conviction practically settled the site of the two great missions of Livingstonia and Blantyre.

Travel in Central Africa then was travail indeed. Stewart had endured great hardships and suffered severely from numberless attacks of that malarial fever which plays with its victim as a cat plays with a mouse, and which the Africans call ‘the father of knees.’ Tropical medicine had not then limited its ravages. It had desolated the Universities’ Mission, brought down to the grave some who were by his side, and thinned Livingstone’s small force. At first he could ‘drive off’ its attacks, but by-and-by it mastered him, and only did not kill him. But his spirit triumphed over his body, and, like Living-stone in his last years, he would not yield. He believed that activity was the best prophylactic. Once when he rose in the morning he fell on the floor, yet he marched on. Some of the attacks lasted for weeks, and made him unconscious. ‘My knees,’ he writes, ‘are relaxed; what is the Homeric expression? Fever and mental depression go as certainly together as fever and sweat.’ Still he writes: ‘The hardship, fatigue, fever, and hunger I have suffered are nothing in comparison with the end to be gained.’ He owns that he had ‘the malady of thought - looking forward too far’ when in fever, and resolves to fight against ‘this subjectivity.’ He arrived at Shupanga on New Year’s Day, 1863, and in a month he turned homewards.

‘Considering the way we lived,’ he writes, ‘the wonder is we were ever free from fever. We carried no tents, but slept in the open when dry, in the canoe when it rained, and its position being down in the river, sometimes alongside a bank of reeds, the sleeper was in the best situation to become well soaked with malaria. Except tea and coffee, we carried no civilised provisions, but depended mainly on what could be got in the country. A little wheaten bread was therefore often the greatest luxury.’

It is not easy for us to realise the courage of his enterprise. For weeks he had been battling with the most powerful of terrorising influences—uncertainty, the fear of destitution, unknown dangers, home-sickness, solitude, and that terrible fever which magnifies every peril, and weakens all the powers of resistance. But he seems never to have given in. His was the temper of those whom Lowell describes:

‘The brave makes danger opportunity;
The waverer, paltering with the chance sublime,
Dwarfs it to peril.’

In defiance of all his hardships his report regarding the proposed mission was, ‘It can be accomplished.’

In the beginning of February, 1863, after many vexing delays, he reached Quilimane. By piecing together his Journal and his letters, we gain a vivid portrait of the wanderer. He is in a canoe with six native rowers; clad with’ honourable rags,’ like Grant and Speke when they emerged from Central Africa, and like Mackay of Uganda when Stanley visited him; soaked by four days of ceaseless tropical rains, which had put out the fire in the canoe and damped all the firewood; all his blankets dripping; with no cloth and few goods of any value; less than 5 in his pocket; half-dead with fever; his head like a lump of lead, and his eyesight impaired; solitary, but with his duty; and that was enough for him. When he landed at night, he could hardly walk, and was not sure of any shelter, for not one of his fellow-countrymen was then in the town: there was no hotel, and he knew the name of only one inhabitant. During six weary weeks, remote and friendless, he walked daily down to the beach, and looked for a ship coming up the river. At last he got off in a miserable little Indian vessel, and reached Mozambique, where he had to wait other six weeks.

One blessed afternoon, the Gorgon sailed into Mozambique, and Stewart was soon on board. He tells how it then fared with him: ‘In a very short time I was on the deck of the Gorgon and met Captain Wilson. He stared at me without sign of recognition. Whether I was so much altered that he gazed upon me as if fifteen years had passed instead of fifteen months since we last met, I do not know. But I had to tell him who I was and what I wanted—the favour of being taken on board his ship and landed at any port, south or north, where he might be going, by preference at some British port, whence I might be able to reach home. Nothing could exceed his kindly welcome when he did recognise me.’

Captain Wilson described him as being then more ‘like a bag of bones than a man.’ Scarcely anything but the bony framework was left on him.

This bag of bones the Captain conveyed to East London.

At the request of Dr. Duff he visited several missions in Kaifraria. His splendid constitution soon rallied amid the inspiring sea-breezes during the voyage, and the generous and invigorating ozone of that radiant land, ‘the white man’s sanatorium.’

He reached Scotland after an absence of nearly two and a half years of hazardous work. For that work he had not received nor expected any salary. Moreover, out of his patrimony, he had borne more than one-fourth of the whole expenses of the expedition.

At the beginning of this chapter it was stated that Stewart’s life now broadened into history. That was no exaggeration, for his explorations in Central Africa contributed in several ways to the overthrow of the slave-trade, the expansion of our Empire, and the Pax Britannica. An article in the Scotsman, on May 18, 1899, describes the Protectorate of British Central Africa, [Lord Salisbury resolved to form this Protectorate in consequence of information supplied to him at his request by representatives of the Scottish missions in Central Africa.] and adds: ‘To two men is that due, in the first instance to David Livingstone, and to Dr. James Stewart.’ Stewart thus helped to make the Zambesi what Lord Clarendon desired it to be, ‘God’s highway for all nations.’ And these two years of pioneering fitted him to be the Founder of Livingstonia.

With words strangely prophetic, he Closes his article in the Sunday Magazine (written in 1874 and 1875, when he was advocating the Livingstonia Mission): ‘To these sketches the practical epilogue is Livingstonia.’ After describing the features of the combined mission, he adds: ‘It would be a centre of civilisation and good government, and even now it would become one of the most effective checks on the slave-trade, by cutting off the supply in its own home. It would certainly prove more effective than the maintenance of one, or of several ships of war on the coast. . . . In a few weeks it is hoped that a compact party under an experienced leader will be on their way to establish Livjngstonia. The enterprise is one both difficult and perilous. But nothing great in Africa or elsewhere was ever done but in contempt of danger. . . . If God grant His blessing, there is no calculating whereunto the enterprise might reach. It ought to grow and expand, diffusing itself like leaven, reproducing itself like seed, and leading to great and momentous issues.’

How soon and how amazingly have these great hopes been fulfilled! With Stewart, as with his chief, the end of the geographical feat was only the beginning of the missionary enterprise. Elijah’s mantle had fallen on the shoulders of the young Elisha, and the heart’s desire of the master was granted.


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