CHAPTER XVI.
THE CORPSE BORNE TO ENGLAND AND LAID IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

From the point where Dr. Livingstone died to Unyanyembe was a distance of upward of one thousand miles; this the Doctor’s faithful attendants traversed with his remains, frequently having to diverge materially from the road to circumvent hostile demonstrations of parties of natives. Six toilsome months were consumed in the journey, and the month of November had opened ere they reached Unyanyembe. Thence, after a pause, they bore their precious burden to Zanzibar, where they arrived in February, 1874, and delivered the corpse and the Doctor’s personal effects (including his Diary, papers, etc.) into the custody of the British Consul-General, who immediately shipped them, in care of Mr. Arthur Laing, for England. Among those who accompanied the body was Jacob Wainwright, Dr. Livingstone’s body-servant. At Aden, the steamer Malwa, which had been sent out by the British Government, met them, and the party were transferred to her.

On the 15th of April, the Malwa arrived at Southampton, and at eleven o’clock landed the party, with the corpse, at the Royal Pier, in the presence of a vast concourse of people, estimated at upward of fifty thousand, business having been suspended, and all classes of the people having come to testify their respect for the illustrious dead. The Mayor formally received the remains, and they were borne to the railway station, accompanied by the assembled thousands, while minute guns were fired and the bells tolled. The scene was very impressive. The remains were thence carried to London by rail, and, arriving there at three o’clock, P. M., were taken in charge by the Royal Geographical Society, who had the coffin transferred to a hearse, and taken to their rooms, followed by a numerous line of carriages and a large number of persons afoot. Here the corpse was viewed by Sir William Ferguson in the presence of Drs. Kirk and Loudon, Rev. Dr. Moffat and others, the object being to identify the remains and to remove all possibility of cavil as to their being those of Dr. Livingstone. The result can best be told in Sir William Ferguson’s own words, and hence we insert his letter to The London Lancet:

“Within the last few months, many have hesitated to believe that Livingstone was dead. Above all, it seemed beyond ordinary probability that his remains would have been brought from Central Africa to the heart of London. That a body was on its way from this all but mythical region could hardly be doubted after the examination at Zanzibar of the remains, but many were skeptical as to this dead frame being that of Livingstone. Happily it was borne in mind by many old friends that he had one condition of body which would mark the identification of his remains, even if years and years had elapsed. If it should be proved on anatomical examination that the remains of an old ununited fracture in his left humerus (arm bone) could be recognized, all doubt on the subject would be settled at once and for ever. It has fallen to my lot to have the honor of being selected to make the crucial examination to this end, and I have accordingly performed that duty. From what I have seen I am much impressed with the ingenious manner in which those who have contrived to secure that the body should be carried through the long distance from where Livingstone died, until it could reach a place where transit was comparatively easy, accomplished their task. The lower limbs were so severed from the trunk that the length of the bulk of package was reduced to a little over four feet. The soft tissues seem to have been removed to a great extent from the bones, and these latter were so disposed that, by doubling and otherwise, the shortening was accomplished. The abdominal viscera were absent, and so were those of the chest, including, of course, heart and lungs. There had been made a large opening in front of the abdomen, and through that the native operators had ingeniously contrived to remove the contents of the chest as well as of the abdomen. The skin over the chest, sternum and ribs had been untouched. Before these points were clearly ascertained some coarse tapes had to be loosened, which set free some rough linen material—a striped colored bit of cotton cloth, such as might have been an attractive material for the natives among whom Livingstone traveled—a coarse cotton shirt which doubtless belonged to the traveler’s scanty wardrobe, and in particular a large portion of the bark of a tree, which had formed the principal part of the package—the case thereof no doubt. The skin of the trunk, from the pelvis to the crown of the head, had been untouched. Everywhere was that shriveling which might have been expected after salting, baking in the sun, and eleven months of time. The features of the face could not be recognized. The hair on the scalp was plentiful, and much longer than he wore it when last in England. A moustache could not be recognized, but whiskers were in abundance. The forehead was in shape such as we are familiar with from memory, and from the pictures and busts now extant. The circumference of the cranium, from the occiput to the brow, was 23⁷⁄₈ inches, which was recognized by some present to be in accordance with the measurement when alive. In particular, the arms attracted attention. They lay as if placed in ordinary fashion, each down by the side. The skin and tissues under were on each side shrunk almost to skeleton bulk, and at a glance to practiced eyes—there were five, I may say six, professional men present—the state of the left arm was such as to convince every one present who had examined it during life, that the limb was Livingstone’s. Exactly in the region of the attachment of the deltoid to the humerus, there were the indications of an oblique fracture. On moving the arm, there were the indications of the ununited fracture. A closer investigation and dissection displayed the false joint which had long ago been so well recognized by those who had examined the arm in former days. The Rev. Dr. Moffat, and in particular Dr. Kirk, late of Zanzibar, and Dr. Loudon, of Hamilton, in Scotland, at once recognized the condition. Having myself been consulted regarding the state of the limb when Livingstone was last in London, I was convinced that the remains of the great traveler lay before us. Thousands of heads with a like large circumference might have been under similar scrutiny; the skeletons of hundreds of thousands might have been so; the humerus in each might have been perfect; if one or both had been broken during life it would have united again in such a manner that a tyro could easily have detected the peculiarity. The condition of ununited fracture in this locality is exceedingly rare. I say this from my personal professional experience, and that such a specimen should have turned up in London from the centre of Africa, excepting in the body of Dr. Livingstone, where it was known by competent authorities to have existed, is beyond human credibility. It must not be supposed by those who are not professionally acquainted with this kind of lesion—which often causes so much interest to the practical surgeon—that a fracture and new joint of the kind now referred to could have been of recent date or made for a purpose. There were in reality all the indications which the experienced pathologist recognizes as infallible, such as the attenuated condition of the two great fragments (common under such circumstances), and the semblance of a new joint, but actually there was a small fragment detached from the others which bore out Livingstone’s own view that the bones had been ‘crushed into splinters.’ Having had ample opportunity of examining the arm during life, and conversing with Livingstone on the subject, and being one of those who entertained hopes that the last reports of Livingstone’s death might, like others, prove false, I approached the examination with an anxious feeling regarding this great and most peculiar crucial test. The first glance at the left arm set my mind at rest, and that, with the further examination, made me as positive as to the identity of these remains as that there has been among us in modern times one of the greatest men of the human race—David Livingstone.”

On Saturday, the 18th of April, all that was mortal of the great missionary-explorer was consigned to its last resting-place in Westminster Abbey. The funeral procession started at about ten o’clock from the Rooms of the Royal Geographical Society, and was participated in by an immense number of people of all ranks in life. The cortege included the hearse and twelve mourning coaches, and the private carriages of the Queen, the Prince of Wales, the German Ambassador, Baroness Burdett-Coutts, Lady Franklin and many others. The pall-bearers were Mr. Stanley, Jacob Wainwright, Sir Thomas Steele, W. C. Oswell, W. F. Webb, Dr. Kirk, Rev. H. Waller, Mr. Young, Rev. F. Steele and Kalulu (the African boy brought home by Stanley). Among the mourners, we may note the Duke of Sutherland, Lord Houghton (the poet), the Duke of Manchester, the Bishops of Lincoln and Sierra Leone, the Lord Mayor and Corporation of London, Lord Shaftesbury (the philanthropist), Colonel Grant (the explorer), Mr. Moran (the American Secretary of Legation), Sir Bartle Frere, Sir H. Rawlinson, Sir Rutherford Alcock, Rev. Dr. Moffat, Dr. Lyon Playfair, Lord Lawrence, Sir F. Buxton, Hon. Arthur Kinnaird, Admiral Sir William Hall, Sherard Osborn, Codrington and Ommaney, of the British Navy, besides deputations from the various learned societies, and from Glasgow, Edinburgh and Hamilton, together with other men of eminence too numerous to recapitulate. The procession did not enter the Abbey till past one o’clock, and long before that hour every available space in the vicinity of the grave was occupied, and there were persons even in the clerestory.

“Five minutes past one, Dean Stanley, in his full robes, with a purple cap on his head, and the red ribbon of the Order of the Bath, of which he is chaplain, round his neck, is standing at the door of the west nave, attended by the Sub-Dean and Canons, waiting for the body. Now we see the procession slowly filing through the cloisters.

“First come the silver mace-bearers, then the choristers, then the coffin, of brightly polished oak, in which the metal shells have been enclosed. On the brass plate is the inscription,

DAVID LIVINGSTONE,
Born at Blantyre, Lanarkshire, Scotland,
19th March, 1813.
Died at Mullala, Central Africa,
4th May, 1873.

and the lid is covered with wreaths of white camellias and branches of palm.”

The solemn and impressive service of the English Church was effectively conducted by Dean Stanley, assisted by the Sub-Dean and Canons; it was choral throughout. The entire effect was grand in its solemn intensity.

The grave is in the centre of the west part of the nave, in close proximity to those of Telford and Stephenson, the engineers, Sir James Outram and General Wade, the soldiers, and other men of eminence in various lines of service. It is in a spot cheered with sunshine, and during the funeral service it was illumined with a ray of sunlight which, passing through the superb stained-glass memorial window erected to the memory of Brunel, the engineer of the Thames Tunnel and the Saltash Viaduct, had a fine effect. The grave is shallow, owing to the fact that the soil is too sandy to admit of digging deep.

The words “Dust to dust, ashes to ashes” having been pronounced and the service closed, the people dispersed slowly and with a solemnity that seemed to betoken a sense of personal loss.

One fact was evident throughout all the doings of the three days, from the time of the landing at Southampton, to the close of the ceremonies in Westminster Abbey—and that was that the deceased explorer-missionary had won the respect, the esteem, nay, the love, of all classes, from the Royal household to the humblest of the people.

Nor are these sentiments confined to the people of the British Empire; all nations and peoples of the Christian world share in them. And in no part of the world are these feelings warmer and stronger than in the United States. As a partial evidence of this, we may allude to the immense meeting in New York on the 23d of April. The spacious Academy of Music proved far too small to admit the thousands who sought entrance. The warmly eulogistic addresses of Chief Justice Daly, Rev. Dr. Adams, Henry Ward Beecher, Dr. I. I. Hayes (the Arctic explorer), the Rev. Dr. Schenck and others, met with the hearty endorsement of those who were fortunate enough to gain admittance. And outside of New York and among those who could not attend the meeting, the feeling is no less sincere. This universal sentiment is attributable not so much to Dr. Livingstone’s eminent services as an explorer, great as are their certain results, as to his unwearied philanthropy and his Christian spirit of self-consecration to the great work of rescuing the degraded people of Central Africa and of putting an end to the fearful slave trade. His heart lies buried in the land to whose interests he devoted his best years, and his body in an honored grave in Westminster Abbey amid England’s most distinguished sons—his soul has found its home among the “blessed of the Father,” with the Lord whom he loved and served, but he yet lives, a cherished hero, in the memories of the good and true of all Christian climes.

The British Government and people received more than they conferred of honor, in their earnest and unsparing tributes to his memory.

CHAPTER XVII.
FURTHER DETAILS OF THE DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE.

[We shall now refer to the last words written in Dr. Livingstone’s diary. A copy of the two pages in his pocket-book which contains them is, by the help of photography, set before the reader. It is evident that he was unable to do more than make the shortest memoranda, and to mark on the map which he was making the streams which enter the lake as he crossed them. From the 22d to the 27th of April he had not strength to write down anything but the several dates. Fortunately, Susi and Chuma give a very clear and circumstantial account of every incident which occurred on these days, and we shall therefore add what they say, after each of the Doctor’s entries. He writes:]

21st April.—Tried to ride, but was forced to lie down, and they carried me back to vil. exhausted.

[The men explain this entry thus: This morning the Doctor tried if he were strong enough to ride on the donkey, but he had only gone a short distance when he fell to the ground, utterly exhausted and faint. Susi immediately undid his belt and pistol, and picked up his cap, which had dropped off, while Chuma threw down his gun, and ran to stop the men on ahead. When he got back, the Doctor said, “Chuma, I have lost so much blood, there is no more strength left in my legs; you must carry me.” He was then assisted gently to his shoulders, and, holding the man’s head to steady himself, was borne back to the village, and placed in the hut he had so recently left. It was necessary to let the chief Muanzambamba know what had happened, and for this purpose Dr. Livingstone despatched a messenger. He was directed to ask him to supply a guide for the next day, as he trusted then to have recovered so far as to be able to march. The answer was, “Stay as long as you wish, and when you want guides to Kalunganjovu’s you shall have them.”]

22d April.—Carried on kitanda over Buga southwest two and a quarter.[8]

[Instead of rallying, his strength was becoming less and less; and in order to carry him, his servants made a kitanda of wood, consisting of two side-pieces of seven feet in length crossed with rails three feet long, and about four inches apart, the whole lashed strongly together. This frame-work was covered with grass, and a blanket laid on it. Slung from a pole, and born between two strong men, it made a tolerable palanquin, and on this the exhausted traveler was conveyed to the next village through a flooded grass plain. To render the kitanda more comfortable, another blanket was suspended across the pole, so as to hang down on either side, and allow the air to pass under while the sun’s rays were fended off from the sick man. The start was deferred this morning until the dew was off the heads of the long grass sufficiently to insure his being kept tolerably dry.

The excruciating pains of his dysenteric malady caused him the greatest exhaustion as they marched, and they were glad enough to reach another village in two hours and a quarter, having traveled southwest from the last point. Here another hut was built. The villagers fled at their approach; indeed the noise made by the drums sounding the alarm had been caught by the Doctor some time before, and he exclaimed with thankfulness on hearing it, “Ah, now we are near!”]

23d April.—(No entry except the date.)

[They advanced another hour and a half through the same expanse of flooded, treeless waste, passing numbers of small fish-weirs set in such a manner as to catch the fish on their way back to the Lake, but seeing nothing of the owners, who had either hidden themselves or taken to flight on the approach of the caravan. Another village afforded them a night’s shelter, but it seems not to be known by any particular name.]

24th April.—(No entry except the date.)

[But one hour’s march was accomplished to-day, and again they halted among some huts. His great prostration made progress exceedingly painful, and frequently, when it was necessary to stop the bearers of the kitanda, Chuma had to support the Doctor from falling.]

25th April.—(No entry except the date.)

[In an hour’s course southwest they arrived at a village in which they found a few people. While his servants were busy completing the hut for the night’s encampment, the Doctor, who was lying in a shady place on the kitanda, ordered them to fetch one of the villagers. The chief of the place had disappeared, but the rest of his people seemed quite at their ease, and drew near to hear what was going to be said. They were asked whether they knew of a hill on which four rivers took their rise. The spokesman answered that they had no knowledge of it; they themselves, said he, were not travelers, and all those who used to go on trading expeditions were now dead. In former years Malenga’s town, Kutchinyama, was the assembling place of the Wabisa traders, but these had been swept off by the Mazitu. Such as survived had to exist as best they could among the swamps and inundated districts around the Lake. Whenever an expedition was organized to go to the coast, or in any other direction travelers met at Malenga’s town to talk over the route to be taken; then would have been the time, said they, to get information about every part. Dr. Livingstone was here obliged to dismiss them, and explained that he was too ill to continue talking, but he begged them to bring as much food as they could for sale to Kalunganjovu’s.]

26th April.—(No entry except the date.)

[They proceeded as far as Kalunganjovu’s town, the chief himself coming to meet them on the way, dressed in Arab costume and wearing a red fez. While waiting here, Susi was instructed to count over the bags of beads, and on reporting that twelve still remained in stock, Dr. Livingstone told him to buy two large tusks if an opportunity occurred, as he might run short of goods by the time they got to Ujiji, and could then exchange them with the Arabs there for cloth, to spend on their way to Zanzibar.]

To-day, April 27th, 1873, he seems to have been almost dying. No entry at all was made in his diary after that which follows, and it must have taxed him to the utmost to write.

“Knocked up quite, and remain—recover—sent to buy milch goats. We are on the banks of the Molilamo.”

[They are the last words that David Livingstone wrote. From this point we have to trust entirely to the narrative of the men. They explain the above sentence as follows: Salimane, Amisi, Hamsani, and Laede, accompanied by a guide, were sent off to endeavor, if possible, to buy some milch goats on the upper part of the Molilamo. (The name Molilamo is allowed to stand, but in Dr. Livingstone’s map we find it Lulimala, and the men confirm this pronunciation.) They could not, however, succeed; it was always the same story—the Mazitu had taken everything. The chief, nevertheless, sent a substantial present of a kid and three baskets of ground-nuts, and the people were willing enough to exchange food for beads. Thinking he could eat some mapira corn pounded up with ground-nuts, the doctor gave instructions to the two women, M’sozi and M’toweka, to prepare it for him, but he was not able to take it when they brought it to him.]

28th April.—Men were now dispatched in an opposite direction, that is, to visit the villages on the right bank of the Molilamo as it flows to the Lake; unfortunately, they met with no better result, and returned empty handed.

On April 29th, Kalunganjovu and most of his people came early to the village. The chief wished to assist his guest to the utmost, and stated that as he could not be sure that a sufficient number of canoes would be forthcoming unless he took charge of matters himself, he should accompany the caravan to the crossing-place, which was about an hour’s march from the spot. “Everything should be done for his friend,” he said.

They were ready to set out. On Susi’s going to the hut, Dr. Livingstone told him that he was quite unable to walk to the door to reach the kitanda, and he wished the men to break down one side of the little house, as the entrance was too narrow to admit it, and in this manner to bring it to him where he was; this was done, and he was gently placed upon it, and borne out of the village.

Their course was in the direction of the stream, and they followed it till they came to a reach where the current was uninterrupted by the numerous little islands which stood partly in the river, and partly in the flood on the upper waters. Kalunganjovu was seated on a knoll, and actively superintended the embarkation, while Dr. Livingstone told his bearers to take him to a tree at a little distance off, that he might rest in the shade till most of the men were on the other side. A good deal of care was required, for the river, by no means a large one in ordinary times, spread its waters in all directions, so that a false step, or a stumble in any unseen hole, would have drenched the invalid and the bed also on which he was carried.

A good deal of care was required for the difficult task of conveying the Doctor across, for the canoes were not wide enough to allow the kitanda to be deposited in the bottom of either of them. Hitherto, Livingstone had always been able to sit in the various canoes they had used, but now he had no power to do so. Taking his bed off the kitanda, they laid it in the bottom of the strongest canoe, and tried to lift him; but he could not bear the pain of a hand being passed under his back. Beckoning to Chuma, in a faint voice he asked him to stoop down over him as low as possible, so that he might clasp his hands together behind his head, directing him at the same time how to avoid putting any pressure on the lumbar region of the back; in this way he was deposited in the bottom of the canoe, and quickly ferried across the Molilamo. The same precautions were used on the other side; the kitanda was brought close to the canoe, so as to prevent any unnecessary pain in disembarking.

Susi now hurried on ahead to reach Chitambo’s village, and superintend the building of another house. For the first mile or two they had to carry the Doctor through swamps and plashes, glad to reach something like a dry plain at last.

It would seem that his strength was here at its very lowest ebb. Chuma, one of his bearers on these, the last weary miles the great traveler was destined to accomplish, says, that they were every now and then implored to stop and place their burden on the ground. So great were the pangs of his disease during this day that he could make no attempt to stand, and if lifted for a few yards a drowsiness came over him, which alarmed them all excessively. This was specially the case at one spot where a tree stood in the path. Here one of his attendants was called to him, and, on stooping down, he found him unable to speak from faintness. They replaced him in the kitanda, and made the best of their way on the journey. Some distance farther on great thirst oppressed him; he asked them if they had any water, but, unfortunately, for once, not a drop was to be procured. Hastening on for fear of getting too far separated from the party in advance, to their great comfort they now saw Farijala approaching with some, which Susi had thoughtfully sent off from Chitambo’s village.

Still wending their way on, it seemed as if they would not complete their task, for again at a clearing the sick man entreated them to place him on the ground, and to let him stay where he was. Fortunately at this moment some of the outlying huts of the village came in sight, and they tried to rally him by telling him that he would quickly be in the house that the others had gone to build; but they were obliged, as it was, to allow him to remain for an hour in the native gardens outside the town.

On reaching their companions, it was found that the work was not quite finished, and it became necessary, therefore, to lay him under the broad eaves of a native hut till things were ready.

Chitambo’s village at this time was almost empty. When the crops are growing, it is the custom to erect little temporary houses in the fields, and the inhabitants, leaving their more substantial huts, pass the time in watching their crops, which are scarcely more safe by day than by night; thus it was that the men found plenty of room and shelter ready to their hand. Many of the people approached the spot where he lay whose praises had reached them in previous years, and in silent wonder they stood around him, resting on their bows. Slight drizzling showers were falling, and as soon as possible his house was made ready, and banked around with earth.

Inside, the bed was raised from the floor by sticks and grass, occupying a position across and near to the bay-shaped end of the hut; in the bay itself bales and boxes were deposited, one of the latter doing duty for a table, on which the medicine-chest and sundry other things were placed. A fire was lighted outside, nearly opposite the door, while the boy, Majwara, slept just within, to attend to his master’s wants in the night.

On April 30th, 1873, Chitambo came early to pay a visit of courtesy, and was shown into the Doctor’s presence; but the Doctor was obliged to send him away, telling him to come again on the morrow, when he hoped to have more strength to talk to him, and he was not again disturbed. In the afternoon he asked Susi to bring his watch to the bedside, and explained to him the position in which to hold his hand, that it might lie in the palm while he slowly turned the key.

So the hours stole on till night-fall. Some of the men silently took to their huts, while others, whose duty it was to keep watch, sat around the fires, all feeling that the end could not be far off. About 11 P.M., Susi, whose hut was close by, was told to go to his master. At the time there were loud shouts in the distance, and, on entering, Dr. Livingstone said, “Are our men making that noise?” “No,” replied Susi; “I can hear, from the cries, that the people are scaring away a buffalo from their dura fields.” A few minutes afterward he said, slowly, and evidently wandering, “Is this Luapula?” Susi told him they were in Chitambo’s village, near the Molilamo, when he was silent for a while. Again, speaking to Susi, in Suaheli this time, he said, “How many days is it to the Luapula?” “I think it is three days, master,” replied Susi.

A few seconds after, as if in great pain, he half sighed, half said, “Oh dear, dear!” and then dozed off again.

It was about an hour later that Susi heard Majwara again outside the door, “Bwana wants you, Susi.” The Doctor wished him to boil some water, and for this purpose he went to the fire outside, and soon returned with the copper kettle full. Calling him close, he asked him to bring his medicine-chest, and to hold the candle near him, for the man noticed he could hardly see. With great difficulty the Doctor selected the calomel, which he told him to place by his side; then, directing him to pour a little water into a cup, and to put another empty one by it, he said, in a low, feeble voice, “All right; you can go out now.” These were the last words he was ever heard to speak.

It must have been about 4 A.M. when Susi heard Majwara’s step once more. “Come to Bwana; I am afraid; I don’t know if he is alive.” The lad’s evident alarm made Susi run to arouse Chuma, Chowpere, Matthew, and Muanuasere, and the six men went immediately to the hut.

Passing inside, they looked toward the bed. Dr. Livingstone was not lying on it, but appeared to be engaged in prayer, and they instinctively drew backward for the instant. Pointing to him, Majwara said, “When I lay down he was just as he is now, and it is because I find that he does not move that I fear he is dead.” They asked the lad how long he had slept? Majwara said he could not tell, but he was sure that it was some considerable time; the men drew nearer.

A candle, stuck by its own wax to the top of the box, shed a light sufficient for them to see his form. Dr. Livingstone was kneeling by the side of his bed, his body stretched forward, his head buried in his hands upon the pillow. For a minute they watched him; he did not stir, there was no sign of breathing; then one of them, Matthew, advanced softly to him, and placed his hands to his cheeks. It was sufficient; life had been extinct some time, and the body was almost cold; Livingstone was dead.

His sad-hearted servants raised him tenderly up, and laid him full length on the bed; then, carefully covering him, they went out into the damp night air to consult together. It was not long before the cocks crew; and it is from this circumstance—coupled with the fact that Susi spoke to him some time shortly before midnight—that we are able to state with tolerable accuracy that he expired early on the 1st of May.

It has been thought best to give the narrative of these closing hours as nearly as possible in the words of the two men who attended him constantly, both here and in the many illnesses of like character which he endured in his last six years’ wanderings; in fact, from the first moment of the news arriving in England, it was felt to be indispensable that they should come home to state what occurred.

The men have much to consider as they cower around the watch-fire, and little time for deliberation. They are at their farthest point from home, and their leader has fallen at their head; we shall see presently how they faced their difficulties.

Several inquiries will naturally arise, on reading this distressing history; the first, perhaps, will be with regard to the entire absence of everything like a parting word to those immediately about him, or a farewell line to his family and friends at home. It must be very evident to the reader that Livingstone entertained very grave forebodings about his health during the last two years of his life, but it is not clear that he realized the near approach of death when his malady suddenly passed into a more dangerous stage.

It may be said, “Why did he not take some precautions or give some strict injunctions to his men to preserve his note-books and maps at all hazards, in the event of his decease?” Did not his great ruling passion suggest some such precaution?

Fair questions, but, reader, you have all—every word written, spoken, or implied.

Is there, then, no explanation? Yes; we think past experience affords it, and it is among the peculiar features of death by malarial poisoning.

In eight deaths on the Zambesi and Shire districts, not a single parting word or direction in any instance was uttered. Neither hope nor courage give way as death approaches. In most cases, a comatose state of exhaustion supervenes, which, if it be not quickly arrested by active measures, passes into complete insensibility; this is almost invariably the closing scene.

In Dr. Livingstone’s case, we find some departure from the ordinary symptoms. The great loss of blood may have had a bearing on the case. He was alive to the conviction that malarial poison is the basis of every disorder in Tropical Africa, and he did not doubt but that he was fully under its influence while suffering so severely. A man of less endurance in all probability would have perished in the first week of the terrible approach to the lake, through the flooded country and under the continual downpour that he describes. It tried every constitution, saturated every man with fever-poison, and destroyed several. The greater vitality in his iron system very likely staved off for a few days the last state of coma to which we refer; but there is quite sufficient to show us that only a thin margin lay between the heavy drowsiness of the last few days before reaching Chitambo’s and the final and usual symptom that brings on unconsciousness and inability to speak.

He hoped to recover as he had so often done before; and this in a measure accounts for the absence of anything like a dying statement. It may be that at the last a flash of conviction for a moment lighted up the mind; if so, what greater consolation can those have who mourn his loss, than the account that the men give of what they saw when they entered the hut? Livingstone had not merely turned himself, he had risen to pray; he still rested on his knees, his hands were clasped under his head; when they approached him, he seemed to live. He had not fallen to right or left when he rendered up his spirit to God. Death required no change of limb or position; there was merely the gentle settling forward of the frame unstrung by pain, for the Traveler’s perfect rest had come.

Before daylight the men were quietly told in each hut what had happened, and that they were to assemble. Susi and Chuma wished every body to be present while the boxes were opened, so that, in case money or valuables were in them, all might be responsible. Jacob Wainwright (who could write, they knew) was asked to make some notes which should serve as an inventory, and then the boxes were brought out from the hut.

Before he left England in 1865, Dr. Livingstone had arranged that his traveling equipment should be as compact as possible. An old friend gave him some exceedingly well-made tin boxes, two of which lasted out the whole of his travels. In these his papers and instruments were safe from wet and from white ants, which have to be guarded against more than anything else. Besides the articles mentioned below, a number of letters and dispatches in various stages were likewise inclosed, and one can never sufficiently extol the good feeling which after his death invested all these writings with something like a sacred care in the estimation of all his men. It was the Doctor’s custom to carry a small metallic note-book in his pocket; a quantity of these have come to hand, filled from end to end; and as the men preserved every one that they found, we have almost a daily entry to fall back upon. Nor was less care shown for his rifles, sextants, his Bible and Church-service, and the medicine chest.

Jacob’s entry is as follows, and it was thoughtfully made at the back end of the same note-book that was in use by the Doctor when he died. It runs as follows:

“11 o’clock night, 28th April.

“In the chest was found about a shilling and a half, and in other chest his hat, one watch, and two small boxes of measuring instrments, and in each box there was one. One compass, three other kind of measuring instruments. Four other kind of measuring instruments. And in another chest three drachmas and half half scrople.”

A word is necessary concerning the first part of this. It will be observed that Dr. Livingstone made his last note on the 27th of April. Jacob, referring to it as the only indication of the day of the month, and fancying, moreover, that it was written on the preceding day, wrote down “28th April.” Had he observed that the few words opposite the 27th in the pocket-book related to the stay at Kalunganjovu’s village, and not to any portion of the time at Chitambo’s the error would have been avoided. Again, with respect to the time. It was about 11 o’clock P.M, when Susi last saw his master alive, and therefore this time is noted; but both he and Chuma feel quite sure, from what Majwara said, that death did not take place till some hours after.

It was not without some alarm that the men realized their more immediate difficulties; none could see better than they what complications might arise in an hour.

They knew the superstitious horror connected with the dead prevalent in the tribes around them, for the departed spirits of men are universally believed to have vengeance and mischief at heart as their ruling idea in the land beyond the grave. All rites turn on this belief. The religion of the African is a weary attempt to propitiate those who show themselves to be still able to haunt and destroy, as war comes on or an accident happens.

On this account it is not to be wondered at that chief and people make common cause against those who wander through their territory, and have the misfortune to lose one of their party by death. Such occurrences are looked on as most serious offences, and the men regarded their position with no small apprehension.

Calling the whole party together, Susi and Chuma placed the state of affairs before them, and asked what should be done. They received a reply from those whom Mr. Stanley had engaged for Dr. Livingstone, which was hearty and unanimous. “You,” said they, “are old men in traveling and in hardships; you must act as our chiefs, and we will promise to obey whatever you order us to do.” From this moment we may look on Susi and Chuma as the captains of the caravan. To their knowledge of the country, of the tribes through which they were to pass, but, above all, to the sense of discipline and cohesion which was maintained throughout their safe return to Zanzibar at the head of their men must, under God’s good guidance, be mainly attributed.

All agreed that Chitambo must be kept in ignorance of Dr. Livingstone’s decease, or otherwise a fine so heavy would be inflicted upon them as compensation for damage done that their means would be crippled, and they could hardly expect to pay their way to the coast. It was decided that, come what might, the body must be borne to Zanzibar. It was also arranged to take it secretly, if possible, to a hut at some distance off, where the necessary preparations could be carried out, and for this purpose some men were now dispatched with axes to cut wood, while others went to collect grass. Chuma set off to see Chitambo, and said that they wanted to build a place outside the village, if he would allow it, for they did not like living among the huts. His consent was willingly given.

Later on in the day two of the men went to the people to buy food, and divulged the secret; the chief was at once informed of what had happened, and started for the spot on which the new buildings were being set up. Appealing to Chuma, he said, “Why did you not tell me the truth? I know that your master died last night. You were afraid to let me know, but do not fear any longer. I, too, have traveled, and more than once have been to Bwani (the coast), before the country on the road was destroyed by the Mazitu. I know that you have no bad motives in coming to our land, and death often happens to travelers in their journeys.” Reassured by this speech, they told him of their intention to prepare the body, and to take it with them. He, however, said it would be far better to bury it there, for they were undertaking an impossible task; but they held to their resolution. The corpse was conveyed to the new hut the same day on the kitanda, carefully covered with cloth and a blanket.

2d May, 1873.—The next morning Susi paid a visit to Chitambo, making him a handsome present, and receiving in return a kind welcome. It is only right to add that the men speak on all occasions with gratitude of Chitambo’s conduct throughout, and say that he is a fine, generous fellow. Following out his suggestion, it was agreed that all honors should be shown to the dead, and the customary mourning was arranged forthwith.

At the proper time, Chitambo, leading his people, and accompanied by his wives, came to the new settlement. He was clad in a broad red cloth, which covered the shoulders, while the wrapping of native cotton cloth, worn round the waist, fell as low as his ankles. All carried bows, arrows, and spears, but no guns were seen. Two drummers joined in the loud wailing lamentation, which so indelibly impresses itself on the memories of people who have heard it in the East, while the band of servants fired volley after volley in the air, according to the strict rule of Portuguese and Arabs on such occasions.

As yet, nothing had been done to the corpse.

A separate hut was now built, about ninety feet from the principal one. It was constructed in such a manner that it should be open to the air at the top, and sufficiently strong to defy the attempts of any wild beast to break through it. Firmly driven boughs and saplings were planted side by side, and bound together, so as to make a regular stockade. Close to this building the men constructed their huts, and, finally, the whole settlement had another high stockade carried completely around it.

Arrangements were made the same day to treat the corpse on the following morning. One of the men, Safene, while in Kalunganjovu’s district, bought a large quantity of salt; this was purchased of him for sixteen strings of beads; there was, besides, some brandy in the Doctor’s stores, and with these few materials they hoped to succeed in their object.

Farijala was appointed to the necessary task. He had picked up some knowledge of the method pursued in making post-mortem examinations while a servant to a doctor at Zanzibar, and at his request Carras, one of the Nassick boys, was told off to assist him. Previous to this, however, early on May 3d, a special mourner arrived. He came with the anklets which are worn on these occasions, composed of rows of hollow seed-vessels filled with rattling pebbles, and in low, monotonous chant sang, while he danced, what, translated into English, would read: