of James Stewart
The Companion of Livingstone
Livingstone's Hearty WelcomeOn the ZambesiThe
Universities Mission The Blacksmith Death of Mrs. Livingstone -
Exploring the Shire and the Zambesi Cotton-growingFeversA Bag of Bones
One who never turned his back but marched
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. Brownings Asolando.'
It is not the work I shrink from: it is the want of
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. Stewarts Journal.
I feel quite exhilarated: when one
travels with the specific object of ameliorating the condition of the
natives, every act is ennobled.
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
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
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 bishops 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
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 speciallythat 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 prayerperseverance in a holy life, willingness to
do Gods will and suffer it, rest in divine sovereignty, not theoretical,
but calm, happy acquiescence in Gods power as exercised towards me.
Stewart spent four months at
Shupanga, Living-stones 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
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-morrows 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 Gods
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 Spurgeons 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 Livingstones wife and Moffats 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, Livingstones 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
Sir John Kirk, Livingstones only
surviving fellow-traveller of white colour, writing of Stewart, says:
We were brought into close contact during Mrs.
Livingstones 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. Livingstones 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 seclusionthe Hades or
Intermediate Stateand 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
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
havethat 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 baggagea 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 Livingstones 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 Mackenzies 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
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
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 bodiesthe hyenas had attended to
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
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
. . . The partition of Africathe most
stupendous division of the earths surface which has ever taken placewas
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 Livingstones 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 Years 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
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 influencesuncertainty, 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 £5in 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 wantedthe 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 mans 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
Stewarts 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, Gods highway for all
nations. And these two years of pioneering fitted him to be the Founder
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. Elijahs mantle
had fallen on the shoulders of the young Elisha, and the hearts desire of
the master was granted.
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