Born, at Blantyre, 19 March 1813. Worked in cotton factory in Glasgow, 1823–38. Attended classes at Anderson College and Glasgow University, 1836–38. Training for Missionary, under auspices of London Missionary Soc., Sept. 1838 to Nov. 1840. Licentiate of Faculty of Physicians, Glasgow Univ., Nov. 1840. Ordained Missionary, 20 Nov. 1840. Sailed for Cape of Good Hope, 8 Dec. 1840. Missionary and Exploring labours in South and Central Africa, 1841–56. Married Mary Moffat, 1844. Hon. LL.D., Glasgow, Dec. 1854. In England, 1856–57. Gold Medal, Royal Geog. Soc., 15 Dec. 1856. Freedom of City of London, 21 May 1857; of Cities of Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Dundee, 1857. Hon. D.C.L., Oxford, 1857. F.R.S., 1857. Exploring in Africa, 1858–64. In England, July 1864 to Aug. 1865. In India, Sept. 1865 to Jan. 1866. Resumed exploration in Africa, April 1866. Relieved by H. M. Stanley, Oct. 1871. Died, in Africa, 1 May 1873. Buried in Westminster Abbey, 18 April 1874. Works: “Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa,” 1857; “Cambridge Lectures,” 1858; “Narrative on an Expedition to the Zambesi” (with C. Livingstone), 1865. Posthumous: “Last Journals,” ed. by H. Waller (2 vols.), 1874. Life: by J. Marrat, 1877; by W. G. B. Blaikie, 1888; by Thomas Hughes, 1891.

Personal

  Dr. Livingstone tall, thin, earnest-looking, and business-like; far more given, I should say, to do his work than to talk about it.

  A figure of medium height, the tough wiry frame denoting great powers of endurance, the left arm, slightly shortened, recalling the perilous encounter with the lion; firmset features, weather-beaten and browned though not roughened by exposure, passive and thoughtful rather than demonstrative, the eyes’ keen glance, and a rapidly changing expression, betraying furtive enthusiasm: a low voice, winning address, manners quiet, frank, and unaffected, even reserved; such was David Livingstone as he is remembered in his favourite dress of rough blue naval cloth, the jacket short, and the low cap of the same material, surrounded by a broad silver band. Nor is it easy to forget the kindliness of disposition, and the readiness to give sympathy wherever there was zeal, though hesitation, or a self-sparing timidity was derided as much as it was despised. Full of courage and self-reliant, he expects to find something of a like spirit in others; and he gives them credit for it, never assuming backwardness or incapacity, but sternly meeting and dealing with it when its existence is perceived. With a fund of quiet humour—and sarcasm, too, if he pleased—Livingstone possessed a keen sense of the ridiculous, and entered thoroughly into a joke. He might often be seen talking to the Makololo he had brought down from the country of Sekeletu, and their attention and respect as they listened or replied to him plainly showed the influence he had with them. Indeed, one of Livingstone’s strongest points, and one that has conduced, no doubt, as much to his safety as his success, is his power of understanding and dealing with the natives, and of winning their confidence while he overawes their truculence.

  Dr. Livingstone is about sixty years old, though after he was restored to health he appeared more like a man who had not passed his fiftieth year. His hair has a brownish colour yet, but is here and there streaked with grey lines over the temples; his whiskers and moustache are very grey. He shaves his chin daily. His eyes, which are hazel, are remarkably bright; he has a sight keen as a hawk’s. His teeth alone indicate the weakness of age; the hard fare of Lunda has made havoc in their lines. His form, which soon assumed a stoutish appearance, is a little over the ordinary height with the slightest possible bow in the shoulders. When walking he has a firm but heavy tread, like that of an overworked or fatigued man…. There is a good-natured abandon about Livingstone which was not lost on me. Whenever he began to laugh, there was a contagion about it, that compelled me to imitate him. It was such a laugh as Herr Teufelsdröckh’s—a laugh of the whole man from head to heel…. The wan features which had shocked me at first meeting, the heavy step which told of age and hard travel, the grey beard and bowed shoulders, belied the man. Underneath that well-worn exterior lay an endless fund of high spirits and inexhaustible humor; that rugged frame of his enclosed a young and most exuberant soul…. The study of Dr. Livingstone would not be complete if we did not take the religious side of his character into consideration. His religion is not of the theoretical kind, but it is a constant, earnest, sincere practice. It is neither demonstrative nor loud, but manifests itself in a quiet, practical way, and is always at work. It is not aggressive, which sometimes is troublesome, if not impertinent. In him, religion exhibits its loveliest features; it governs his conduct not only towards his servants, but towards the natives, the bigoted Mohammedans, and all who came in contact with him. Without it, Livingstone, with his ardent temperament, his enthusiasm, his high spirit and courage, must have become uncompanionable, and a hard master. Religion has tamed him, and made him a Christian gentleman: the crude and wilful have been refined and subdued; religion has made him the most companionable of men and indulgent of masters—a man whose society is pleasureable. In Livingstone I have seen many amiable traits. His gentleness never forsakes him; his hopefulness never deserts him. No harassing anxieties, distraction of mind, long separation from home and kindred, can make him complain. He thinks “all will come out right at last;” he has such faith in the goodness of Providence.

  The greatest man of his generation, for Dr. Livingstone stood alone. There are few enough, but a few statesmen. There are few enough, but a few great in medicine, or in art, or in poetry. There are a few great travellers. But Dr. Livingstone stood alone as the great Missionary Traveller, the bringer-in of civilisation; or rather the pioneer of civilisation—he that cometh before—to races lying in darkness. I always think of him as what John the Baptist, had he been living in the nineteenth century, would have been.

  The traveller being completely successful, it appeared to the Royal Geographical Society that their alliance with him would be mutually advantageous. Both sought notoriety, which might be best attained by a joint effort. The one could address the public, play the patron’s part, and play it well. The other, as a novice about to appear before the public, and as a Scot, much desired a patron. To rouse the public a moving speech was necessary. The traveller was, therefore, introduced as an extraordinary man, who had done wonders, and had marvellous escapes…. Attention was never fixed on any one point in the history of his achievements. Not a word was said about truth or authenticity. The spirit of enquiry was kept at a distance. As sensation and pathos usually go hand in hand, the President (Sir R. Murchison) immediately conceived the warmest friendship for the inimitable traveller; and whenever the merits of the latter were discussed in a tone which showed a tendency to become actually critical, a soothing silence was soon brought about by the outpouring of heartfelt affection from the chair. To exaltation of this kind; to the incessant puffing of the good, the great, the noble-minded Livingstone, continued for twenty years, and to nothing else, is due the traveller’s unparalleled celebrity.

  Of Livingstone’s character it is difficult for those who knew him intimately to speak without appearance of exaggeration. Of his intellectual force and energy he has given such proof as few men can afford. Any five years of his life might, in any other occupation, have established a character, and raised for him a fortune, such as none but the most energetic of our race can realise. His powers of observation and practical sagacity I have never seen exceeded. Both, possibly, were rendered more acute by the life he led; but he had the quickness of eye and the power of judging of forces and results which belong only to the great organizer, politician, or general. Equally remarkable was his knowledge of character and penetration. No flattery could blind him, no allurements could lead him aside; his estimate of men was unfailing. But his great characteristic was his perfect simplicity and single-mindedness.

  The heart of David Livingstone was laid under the mvula tree in Ilala, and his bones in Westminster Abbey; but his spirit marched on. The history of his life is not completed with the record of his death. The continual cry of his heart to be permitted to finish his work was answered, answered thoroughly, though not in the way he thought of. The thrill that went through the civilised world when his death and all its touching circumstances became known, did more for Africa than he could have done had he completed his task and spent years in this country following it up. From the worn-out figure kneeling at the bedside in the hut in Ilala, an electric spark seemed to fly, quickening hearts on every side. The statesman felt it; it put new vigour into the dispatches he wrote and the measures he devised with regard to the slave-trade. The merchant felt it, and began to plan in earnest how to traverse the continent with roads and railways, and open it to commerce from shore to centre. The explorer felt it, and started with high purpose on new scenes of unknown danger. The missionary felt it,—felt it a reproof of past languor and unbelief, and found himself lifted up to a higher level of faith and devotion. No parliament of philanthropy was held; but the verdict was as unanimous and as hearty as if the Christian world had met and passed the resolution—“Livingstone’s work shall not die:—Africa shall live.”

  Between Blantyre Spinning Mill and Westminster Abbey Livingstone had just half a century of working life. Did any of his illustrious fellow-slumberers in the silent congregation leave a better record for the fifty years? None have better earned their fame than he, and few, if any, have as well earned their repose.

  Has not the experience of every martyr been the same? The more perfect the self-sacrifice in life, the more surely would this shadow seem to have hung over the last hours of the world’s best and bravest, the only perfect life being not only no exception, but the great exemplar of the law. It is written “Except a grain of wheat die it beareth no fruit.” Never were those mighty words illustrated more perfectly than in the death of David Livingstone. The first-fruits ripened within a few hours of the master’s death. Susi and Chumah called the men together outside the hut. Not a man of the fifty-six faltered for a moment: they had learned much in those nine months. “You are old men,” they said, “in travelling and hardships. You must be our chiefs. We will do whatever you order.”

  Almost in the centre of this newest addition to the Queen’s vast Empire, near the southern shores of Lake Bangweolo, the heart and entrails of Livingstone were buried. To this shrine, it may be—unless all sentiment is repressed by a bran-new civilisation—tribes of Africans will come to pay a pilgrimage of respect to the memory of their great advocate. Possibly over this spot we may raise a temple or place a statue; or it may be—and more likely—that in the gold-rush, in the land-grabbing, in the coffee-planting, sugar-baking, and the prosaic prosperity that will undoubtedly some day fill this land, the local inhabitants will be too material-minded, too busy, too mean, to spend their money or thought on sentiment or statues or monuments; but, to quote the last stanza of the fine memorial verses which Punch offered up to the dead Livingstone—

  To our pleasure-loving generation comes the career of David Livingstone, telling us that the age of heroism has not ended and must not end. If for the countless millions of the Dark Continent Livingstone’s legend has become a “pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night,” leading them out of the bondage and the wilderness, his influence upon civilized nations has been scarcely less, rebuking our ease and smiting self-indulgence. For courage in Livingstone was as high and fine as in Sir Galahad of old. Heroism was in his blood like iron, in his eye like fire, in his voice like the trumpet call. This man, who flung himself upon the African slave traffic, and single-handed determined to give a continent to commerce and Christianity—this scarred hero differs from our perfumed effeminates as an ironclad differs from a pleasure yacht, as a piece of iron from a painted lath, as Cromwell differs from some Beau Brummell. History holds no career so strangely marked by heroic adventure and hairbreadth escapes, perils in jungle and perils in swamp, perils of the lion’s stroke and the serpent’s bite, perils of war-clubs and poisoned arrows, perils of dwarfs in forests and strong men in the hill country.

  This was on 20th November, 1840. On 8th December he set sail for South Africa. The Rev. Dr. David Livingstone was then in his twenty-eighth year. He was a strongly built man of middle height; broad shouldered, deep chested, sound in every fibre. He had a plain, frank countenance. His eyes were hazel coloured, and of remarkable power and keenness. His most noticeable feature they were; and their frequent flashes of kindliness and quiet humour relieved the sternness which firmly defined brows, a massive jaw, and a rounded chin gave to his face. He was direct and simple in speech, in manner, and in all his ways. There was not a shred of formalism in his nature. He cared nothing for mere outward appearance, so be it that his work was thoroughly done. He had not the faintest trace of professionalism about him, and was rather averse to wearing the distinctive clerical garb. When he was mauled by the lion at Mabotsa he wore a tartan coat. When he went out on his last expedition, and had given to him the post of honorary consul, he was attired in a blue surtout with gilt buttons, shepherd-tartan trousers, and a peaked cap with a gold band. And when Stanley found him on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, the worn old veteran was dressed in grey tweed trousers, a red-sleeved waistcoat, and a faded, weather beaten, blue gold-banded cap.

General

  Poor Livingstone, he little thought what it was to write a book when he began!

  It has been said of him, with much truth, that as an explorer he stands in the highest rank, and as a geographer in the very lowest. His chief defect is a total want, and apparently a strong dislike, of preliminary information. He knows nothing of what has been already effected, by travel or study, in the field of his labours, and seems determined to remain ignorant. Regardless of all preceding authorities, he speaks in the character of a great discoverer who addresses a totally ignorant public. Had his volumes of Missionary Travels been prepared for the press with the utmost critical rigour, it would not have thereby suffered from abridgement, nor would any amount of correction have diminished the brilliancy of his achievements. His remarks on natural history gained in copiousness as well as correctness from the conscientious revision of a sincere friend. But his geographical advisers, on whom he probably placed implicit reliance, gave him flattery without stint, but not a particle of literary assistance. Hence the volume in question was, in all that relates to geography, an unparalleled collection of mistakes and misstatements.

  His style as a writer is simple and unpretending, but the matter itself is sufficiently thrilling to gratify the most eager imagination. So many reports of his death have been recently published and then contradicted, that his actual existence begins to assume somewhat of a mythical character.

  If the letters and journals of his last journeyings contain no more than minor details of what we already know, what a vast amount of work has this one man achieved! In geography it is no exaggeration to say that to him, and to the example he set, may be fairly attributed the filling up of the blank which the maps of the interior of Africa presented to our grandfathers. It derogates nothing from Livingstone’s claim to this honour that we are now aware how much was known to Portuguese travellers of a former generation. Their memories must often pay the penalties imposed on them by the reticence of their government and countrymen regarding all that the Portuguese have discovered during the last century in Africa. They wished to exclude all other nations from that continent, and to keep their knowledge of the interior to themselves, and they succeeded but too well. It would be idle to estimate to what extent the misery which Africa has suffered since is due to this policy of concealment; but we may fairly credit those who have done their best to pour light into the darkness, with all the good results which are likely to follow our better acquaintance with the great central home of the negro races.

  These “Journals” are the best work that we have ever had from Livingstone’s pen, but it is impossible to condemn too severely the careless, vulgar, and ignorant way in which Mr. Waller has edited them…. It is in the exposition of the scientific results of Livingstone’s expedition that Mr. Waller most conspicuously fails…. He has virtually left Livingstone’s notes just as he found them,—a jungle without signpost or tracks, more bewildering to the general reader than the wilds and desolate wastes through which Livingstone himself passed…. The narrative of Livingstone’s last sufferings and death, and of the transport of his body to Zanzibar,… has been admirably elaborated by Mr. Waller.

  It is an enormous mass of raw material, [“Last Journals”] which the author alone could have put into coherent and presentable form. But the author died at his work, in the African forests; and, under the circumstances, it is matter of surprise and gratitude that the record of his labors, imperfect as it is, should have survived him and found its way back to civilization…. The journal is largely interspersed with religious reflections and ejaculations intended solely for Dr. Livingstone’s own use. They are interesting to students of character, for they help to explain the sources of the great explorer’s indomitable resolution and patience. He was an ardently sincere missionary, and he believed that he was doing his work with the eye of God constantly upon him…. The story of his death is compiled very successfully from the statements of those two faithful servants who made their weary pilgrimage back to Zanzibar with his remains. They found him on his knees in the attitude of prayer, beside his bed, with life extinct. This was extremely characteristic. Half the interest of this volume will be found in the reflection it offers of his devotion (when we feel we have a right to observe it), his candor, his singleness of purpose and simplicity. The combination of these qualities, with his unshrinking pluck, his extraordinary endurance, his faculty of universal observation, and of what we may call geographical constructiveness, made him of all great travellers one of the very greatest.

  Of his primary work the “record is on high,” and its imperishable fruits remain on earth. The seeds of the Word of Life, implanted lovingly, with pains and labour, and above all, with faith;—the out-door scenes of the simple Sabbath service;—the testimony of HIM, to whom the worship was paid, given in words of such simplicity as were fitting to the comprehension of the dark-skinned listeners;—these seeds will not have been scattered by him in vain. Nor have they been sown in words alone, but in deeds, of which some part of the honour will redound to his successors. The teaching by forgiveness of injuries,—by trust, however unworthy the trusted,—by that confidence which imputed his own noble nature to those whom he would win,—by the practical enforcement of the fact, that a man might promise and perform, might say the thing he meant;—of this teaching by good deeds, as well as by the words of truth and love, the successor who treads in the steps of LIVINGSTONE, and accomplishes the discovery he aimed at and pointed the way to, will assuredly reap the benefit. The records of his labours for progress towards that discovery were of a more perishable kind, and their possession is a gain beyond our expectation, or perhaps our deserts.

  No one would dream of accusing Livingstone of exaggeration, and the great value of his journals consists in the absolute certainty of their integrity; but the whole story of seven years’ travel is a repetition of barbarity such as should dispel for ever the idea that the African race is naturally docile and ready to welcome the pioneers of civilization…. In closing the journals after reading his last unfinished entry, the painful impression is felt that we have just parted for ever with a loved and respected friend, and it seems hard to believe that Livingstone, whose name has been a household word for so many years, is actually gone from among us. Having carefully read every word of his long diary, we feel that we have been his companion throughout his seven years of difficulty; we have shared his emotions, his troubles, disappointments, and the short joys that so seldom came, until we almost see him die. Closing the book in sorrow, it becomes impossible to criticize now that he is dead. His geographical opinions may or may not be accepted upon all points, but there can be only one opinion concerning the man: he was the greatest of all explorers of this century; he was one of a noble army of martyrs who have devoted their lives to the holy cause of freedom; and he has laid down his life as a sacrifice upon a wild and unknown path, upon which he has printed the first footsteps of civilization.

  No one has done more than Dr. Livingstone to acquaint us with the boundless resources of the African Continent, with the character of its inhabitants, or with the evils of the hateful slave-trade, which forms the great barrier to its civilization.