Late the second afternoon, they suddenly came upon a
camp, at a sharp bend of the road, and there, in plain view, stood Dr.
Livingstone. Every slave-driver took to his heels and disappeared in the
thickets. They had all respect for that one white man. They knew he was in
Africa to stop the slave-trade. The whole procession of slaves fell on
their knees in thanksgiving, rejoicing in this unexpected deliverance, and
were soon returning to their own country.
Do you wonder that the poor heathen loved the missionary? He never once
betrayed their confidence. Almost immediately after reaching the Portuguese
settlement on the coast, he was prostrated with a very severe illness. An
English ship in the harbor was about to sail. In his great weakness,
Livingstone longed for the bracing air of the Scottish highlands, and a
sight of his beloved wife and children in the home land. But he prepared
his reports, charts, and observations, put them aboard the ship, and, after
watching it set sail, made ready to march back into the interior. Why did
he not go home?--There was just one reason. He had promised his native
helpers that if they would journey with him to the coast, he would see them
back safely to their homes, and "his word to the black men of Africa was
just as sacred as it would have been if pledged to the queen.
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