"Every day he saw families torn
asunder, dead bodies along the way, gangs chained and yoked, skeletons
grinning against the trees by the roadside. As he rowed along on the
beautiful river Shire, the paddles of his boat were clogged in the morning
with the bodies of women and children who had died during the night, and
were thus disposed of by their masters." And when he was sure that the
wretched system was entrenched from the center of the continent to the
coast, is it any wonder that he determined to make the exposure of this
gigantic iniquity his principal work until "the open sore of the world"
should be healed?
The slave-raiders were Livingstone's bitter enemies, and did everything
possible to hinder his work. Just a story:--
Into a quiet little village on the shores of Lake Nyassa came some
strangers one beautiful afternoon. The king sent to inquire as to their
business. "We are Livingstone's children," they said. "Our master has found
a road to the coast, and sent us back for his supplies. The day is late; we
wish to spend the night in your village." "The white master is our friend,"
said the king, and he commanded his men to prepare the best huts for
Livingstone's children.
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