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1919

LIVINGSTONE AND NEWSTEAD

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From the picture by J. B. Harrison at Newstead Abbey.

LIVINGSTONE
AND NEWSTEAD

BY A. Z. FRASER
(ALICE SPINNER)
AUTHOR OF "a STUDY IN COLOUR," "THE RELUCTANT EVANGELIST,"
"LUCILLA," ETC.

WITH PORTRAITS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1913

:3y 64.85-^

[All rights reserved."]

TO
MY DEAR, KIND FRIEND,
Miss AMY FRANCES YULE
OF Tarradale,
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.

a %

PREFACE
This year is the centenary of Dr Livingstone's
birth, but amidst all its celebrations the presence
wiU be missed of the one child who was nearest
to him in spirit. For only a few months ago,
in the spring of 1912,iiis eldest daughter, Agnes
Livingstone Bruce, was taken from us.
Therefore, at this distance of time, nearly
forty years after her father's death, when already
all memories of survivors are either waxing dim
or crystallising into history not always authentic,
it seems to me right to put on record, however
imperfectly, my recollections of Livingstone and
his daughter Agnes as I knew them.
True it is that when I met Dr Livingstone
I was only a very young child myself, and,
therefore, much that one would wish to know
must be lacking. Perhaps, however, for the very
reason that I was only a child, my recollections,
such as they are, may throw fresh light on
Livingstone's character. They show him, not as
the great explorer and missionary, but as in our
daily home life at Newstead he appeared to the
eyes of an observant child unaware of his fame.
In those far off days Dr Livingstone was to
me not a celebrity, but simply one of my dear
father's most intimate friends, and as such to be
accepted as part of the natural order of things.
vii

viii PREFACE
It was only much later, when I had grown up,
and he had vanished for ever from my sight, that
his greatness of aim and soul, and the remarkable
place he filled in the world, dawned on me.
The friendship between my father and Dr
Livingstone was no ordinary one. Judging by
conventional standards, apparently, few men could
have had less in common to start with, but true
friendship, like genius, is born — not made ; and from
their very first meeting in the wilds of Africa
they had an instinctive aflfection and regard for
each other, which grew and deepened with time.
Whether they would have been so drawn
together had they met in ordinary surroundings,
I have often wondered; but in Africa, far from
all conventions, they both understood and appre
ciated each other at once. Moreover, my father felt
that he owed an abiding debt of gratitude to Dr
Livingstone, whose medical skill had, he believed,
been the means of saving his life from a sharp
attack of South African fever at their first meeting.
That, in itself, was enough to make a
lasting bond between them. My father re
spected Dr Livingstone with all his heart,
whilst Dr Livingstone understood my father as
no one else did; and from his sixteen years'
seniority treated him with something of the
affectionate indulgence of an elder brother. It
was this marked disparity in age that lent to
Dr Livingstone's intimacy with my father a
somewhat different aspect from that which
existed between him and his three other great
friends, Mr J. Young, of Kelly, Mr Oswell,
and last, but not least, Sir Roderick Murchison,

PREFACE ix
all of whom in their several ways were equally
devoted to him and to his interests.
"The best friend I ever had — true, warm,
abiding," is Livingstone's own description of
Sir Roderick Murchison. I feel constrained to
write this, as it would ill become me to claim
more honour for my father than was the fact,
or that I should seem to minimise in any way
other and closer claims.
I must add my thanks to the many kind friends
who have assisted me in various ways. In particular,
to my cousin Mr Edward Codrington, who has
placed at my disposal his father's African journal
and many family letters; to my dear old friend,
Miss A. C. Andrews, for her valuable notes as to
her visit to Newstead during Dr Livingstone's stay
there; to Mrs Livingstone Wilson, Mrs Oswell
Livingstone, Mrs Gerald Hodgeson, Lady Stanley,
Miss Annette Lamb, my aunt the Marquise de
Lasteyrie, Mrs Gerald Goodlake, Mrs Cope, Sir
William Ingilby, Mr Oswell, and many others.
Also to my sister. Miss Webb, for the reproduction
of the portraits of Dr Livingstone and my father,
now at Newstead.
Lastly and chiefly, to my dear friend, Miss Amy
Frances Yule, of Tarradale, at whose suggestion
I began this little memoir of vanished mutual
friends, but without whose encouragement and
ready help, I never could have completed the task.
That my own share in it is in great measure
inadequate I realise only too well, and I can but
trust, therefore, that these pages may be looked
at, in consequence, with kindly eyes. A. Z. F.

CONTENTS

CHAP. I.

MT father's early LIFE . . . .

PAOX 1

n.

IN SOUTH AFRICA 

8

m.

THE LIVINGSTONBS AT HOME . . . .

16

IV.

BOERS AND NATIVES 

. 24

V.

SMTKE .......

36

VI.

AN INTERLUDE 

41

vn.

MRS LIVINGSTONE 

47

ViU.

AGNES 

51

IX.

NEWSTEAD 

59

X.

THE ABBEY GHOSTS 

73

XI.

LEGENDS OF THE BYRONS ....

. 80

XII.

APPEARANCE AND PORTRAIT

. 89

xm.

THE FR.TRND OF CHILDREN

. 97

XIV.

MAN AND SPORTSMAN ....

. 107

XV.

THE AUTHOR AT WORK ....

. 115

XVl.

THE FAMOUS MRS COTTLE ....

. 122

XVII.

FRIENDS, NEIGHBOURS, AND ACQUAINTANCES

. 132

xvni.

MR A. HAVIWARD, Q.C 

. 142

XIX.

RETURN TO AFRICA 

. 154

XX.

THE FRERES 

. 166

XXI.

SUSPENSE 

. 183

XXTT.

STANLEY 

. 189

XI

xii CONTENTS
CHAP. PAOE
XXrn. DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE  204
XXIV. SUSI AND CHUMAH  210
XXV. JACOB WAINWRIQHT  220
XXVI. THE "LAST JOURNALS"  229
XXVU. AGNES AND HER HUSBAND .... 239
XXVni. MR A. L. BRUCE  252

ILLUSTRATIONS

DR LIVINGSTONE .... Frontispiece
(From the picture iy J. B. Harrison in the possession of
Miss Webb at Newstead ASiey.) i
w. F. WEBB .... To face page 32
(From the picture hy J. B. Harrison in the possession of
Miss IVebb at Newstead Abbey.)
DR LIVINGSTONE AND HIS FAMILY . „ 48
NEWSTEAD ABBEY, SOUTH FRONT,
SHOWING DR Livingstone's room
IN SUSSEX TOWER .... „ 66
DR Livingstone's bedroom, new
stead ABBEY .... „ 116
THE DINING HALL AT NEWSTEAD ABBEY „ 120
MBS WEBB  „ 172
{From a sketch as a girl.)

xni

DAVID LIVINaSTONE=MABY Moivat, 1845.

».1846: &1865.

Tbohas Steele
b. 1849;
d. 1875.

EUZABBIH 6. 1850;
d. as an
infant.

AoNES=A. L. Bbucb
b. 1847. 1 1875.

Anna ».1858

MABT=FaANK Wilson
1881.

Db Hebbebt
Fbancis

'RVTB Mabt.

Maby
». 1879;
d. 1883.

Satid LrnNosioNE

Captain Alexandeb
LmNOSTONE,
late 12tb Hussats.

Db W. 08WELL=MI8S Eate Andebson
b. 1851 1875.

Eate Agnes Loui3e=6ebald Hodgeson.

COAELES (jEBALD
LiVINQSTONE.

Eatsabine Mabjobie
LiVINQSTONE.

GwYNETH Maby
IjVmOSTONE.

Annie LtviNGSTONE=GAPTAiN Thouas E.
BnSSELL,

The Royal ^cots.

BONALD £nNESDAX,E LfTDIGSTONE.

LIVINGSTONE AND NEWSTEAD
CHAPTER I
MY father's EAKLY LIFE
William Frederick Webb, whose friendship
with the great explorer, David Livingstone, it is
the province of this volume to illustrate, was born
in 1829. He was one of the four children of
Frederick Webb of Westwick, in County Durham,
who died when my father was only seventeen.
Most of his childhood and aU his holidays were
spent in the north of France, where my grand
father owned a country house, the Chateau de
Maqu^tra, not far from Boulogne, to which they
were much attached. Although it had given its
name to one of the Faubourgs of Boulogne, it
was then quite in the country, and surrounded by
fields. My father was educated at Eton, and was one
of the late Lord Salisbury's fags. I do not think
they met in after years ; but he always said he
owed much to the future statesman in his first
days at school, as he was one of the most con
siderate and kind masters a boy could desire.
This was in my father's case particularly fortunate,
as on his first arrival from France, owing to the
1 A

2 MY FATHER'S EARLY LIFE [CH. L
foreign cut of his clothes, he was known as " the
French boy." His hat was peculiarly obnoxious,
as it had a curly and outlandish brim, and, of
course, was promptly smashed as a welcome, and
kicked from boy to boy until it was a hat no
longer. In spite of this inauspicious beginning he got
on well at Eton, and soon proved himself a true
Briton by his behaviour and actions.
He never cared for cricket, but was a fair
oarsman, and the best swimmer and diver of
his time ; whilst, before he left, his fight with
"Bill" Gordon Cumming (a younger brother of
the well-known lion hunter) was sufficiently
important to linger in Eton tradition, being, I
believe, the last of the kind. The combatants
themselves retained for each other in after life a
sincere and affectionate regard.
On my grandfather's death, the Ch§,teau de
Maquetra was sold in spite of my father's remon
strances. It would have been comparatively easy
for his guardians to gratify his wish, as my father
himself had, two or three years before, inherited
from his uncle, Mr John Webb, large properties
in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire.
It is easy to see the point of view of his
guardians. They probably believed the love for
the French home was only boyish fancy. Never
theless, by a strange irony of fate, there existed
no adequate house for him on any of his Yorkshire
estates ; nor did he possess one until some fifteen
years later when, after his marriage, he bought
Newstead. Even in later life he slightly resented
the loss of Maquetra, the more so as he could

MAQUETRA 3
not revisit it, it having been purchased by a very
strictly cloistered order of nuns and converted into
a convent. Possibly, if he could have seen it
again, he would have been disillusioned, but as
things were, it remained pathetically in his
memory as his Paradise lost. In no other place
in Europe, according to his description, were
flowers so sweet and fair, butterflies so bright,
fruit and peaches so abundant.
When, in 1903, the yeligious orders, amongst
them the Maquetra nuns, were expelled from
France, the house became vacant, and, being by
chance myself in the neighbourhood, I paid it a
visit for my father's sake. I found it, in reality,
merely a comfortable and roomy, but very ordinary
French country house.
It had, certainly, a very pleasant and sunny
garden, but beyond this it offered no unusual
attractions. Such matters are not to be reasoned
about ; and, remembering my father's raptures, I
could only look and wonder. Nevertheless, its
loss was my father's first grief, and I think did
much to stimulate his love of wandering.
His next disappointment was more serious, and
may be said to have influenced all his future life.
He was possessed of much mechanical ingenuity
and even invention, whilst his actual technical skill
in anything that interested him was expert, as some
very elaborate specimens of his work at the turning
lathe show to this day. All things connected with
firearms, from guns to cannon, interested him
keenly. As a lad he cared for nothing in com
parison, and dreamt of achieving much if given
the chance.

4 MY FATHER'S EARLY LIFE [ch. i.
His ambition was to enter the Royal Artillery,
for which noble service he was apparently weU
fitted ; but here again his guardians decided other
wise, this time with less reason. A "scientific
corps " was not by them considered " good enough "
for a young fellow with his prospects! Nothing
but a crack cavalry regiment would satisfy these
short-sighted counsellors. Accordingly, at the
early age then customary, my father received a
commission in the 17th Lancers.
That splendid regiment had seen no war
service for a generation; and barrack life in time
of peace was ill suited to a young man of his in
teUigence, high spirit, and ambition to be useful.
Nevertheless, for the first year or two he found
his soldiering life not uninteresting, as he was
quartered in Ireland during and immediately after
the disturbances of 1848, and there was real work
to be done, although not of a pleasing kind. This
passed, he could not endure what seemed to him
the useless monotony of regimental life, and even
before he came of age took the unusual step of
resigning his commission in favour of his younger
brother,' Augustus C. Webb.
Had my father foreseen the future, there is
little doubt he would not have left the Army,
but it was then a time of profound peace, and
no one had prescience of the near approach of
the Crimean War which was soon to break out.
In that war the " Death and Glory Boys "
proved themselves second to none, and my uncle,
Captain Augustus Webb, fell mortally wounded
in the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava.
Once released from regimental duties, my

DECIDES TO START FOR AFRICA 6
father set himself to train quietly for the tough
life of a pioneer. He had decided to make an
expedition into the wilds of South Africa. He
may, in some measure, have been influenced in
his choice by Gordon Cumming's book, which
appeared first that summer, and set all the
adventurous spirits in Great Britain dreaming
of lions and elephants.
Thorough in this project, as in all else, he not
only acquired by study and attendance at a hospital
some practical knowledge of medicine and surgery
(sciences for which he always showed a strong pre
dilection and affinity), but also worked under a black
smith, learning how to shoe a horse, to forge the
shoes, and other useful matters of the kind.
No doubt his love of natural history and
sport also helped to direct his attention to South
Africa ; but neither pursuit was the principal
cause of his decision. Once in after years, when
asked by a near relative to explain why he had
taken the then unusual step of going so far from
home for so long a time, he answered simply that
he had done so because he felt that the life he
was then leading in England was altogether too
comfortable and luxurious, and that to go far
away into the wilds, so far that prompt return
would not be easy, was, as he put it, "the only
way to make a man of me." This answer
shows the manner of man my father was, and
goes far to explain Livingstone's love for him.
That the result he hoped for was fully attained
would be attested by all who knew him. Physi
cally the gain was considerable. Not twenty-two Aa

6 MY FATHER'S EARLY LIFE [ch. L
when he landed in Africa, my father, during the
two years he spent there, grew two inches in
height, and ultimately stood fully six feet four
and a half inches in his socks.
At the time of his visit (1851-3) the whole
region was practically unexplored, and travelling,
albeit with every advantage, was too dangerous
and diflScult to be lightly undertaken.
In those days, even within a short distance of
Colesberg and Bloemfontein, the country swarmed
with game, elephant, rhinoceros, and lion abound
ing, besides vast numbers of eland, kudu, wilde-
beeste and hartebeeste, and other antelope, whilst
the giraffe, now extinct in those parts, existed in
herds. My father sent back to England, heads, tusks,
and skins in such quantities that it was difficult
to dispose of them all, even at spacious Newstead.
Thus there were bundles of elephants' tails
hanging up in odd corners, and sheaves of tusks
stowed away and half forgotten, whilst the horns
and skins of all kinds on walls and floors gave a
curious exotic look to the whole house. Even
the ancient stone cloisters were not exempt.
Their ornamented aspect would doubtless have
bewildered the monks who once had wandered
there. My father was happily a great favourite with
the natives, and, what was stranger, with all the
Boers he met.
This is the more remarkable when one re
members he arrived at Cape Town just as the
disastrous Kaffir war broke out, and that it was
going on the whole time of his stay. That very

KAFFIR NICKNAME / 7
war caused the utter destruction of Livingstone's
own little missionary settlement, Kolobeng, some
months later by the enraged Boers.
How my father contrived to be on such good
terms with both sides 1 do not know, for certainly
diplomacy was not one of his strong points.
Probably his great physical strength and height
made friendhness appear expedient.
The natives called him affectionately " M'tutla,"
which means the " giraffe," in allusion to his stature,
and, I imagine, to his gentleness, for, like so many
big, powerful men, he was singularly quiet and
gentle in his voice and movements, and of a
patience and sweetness of temper I have rarely
seen equaUed. He had a curious sympathy with
sick people, and was what women caU "a born
nurse." If any one were ill, and he saw their
sufferings, there was nothing he would not do on
then* behalf. He had, moreover, the true surgeon's
hand, long fingered, dehcate, and supple ; and in
spite of its strength and size, singularly soft of
texture and touch. Children and animals loved
him intuitively, and I doubt not the natives felt
the same attraction, and were drawn to him
accordingly.

CHAPTER II
in SOUTH AFRICA
It was in December 1850 that my father, having
completed his preparations for a long absence, left
England for Cape Colony. He did not start
alone, for he had with him as companion an old
Eton friend and brother officer, Captain WiUiam
Codrington of Wroughton, near Swindon.^ As a
traveller Captain Codrington had many merits,
being extremely plucky and an exceUent rider and
shot. When a lad at Eton he had been captain of
the boats — a position of no smaU authority. He
had now grown into a big, powerful man of iron
health and nerve, but his chief characteristic in
after life was a wonderful capacity for silence — a
quality that earned for him among his intimates
the nickname of "Tacitus." Possibly he was no
less excellent a traveUing companion on this
account, but at times it naturally caused his society
to become somewhat monotonous. It is a tradi
tion that he could pass whole days, and even
weeks, without uttering more than an occasional
monosyllable, and then generally only in answer
to a question.
^ Captain Codrington subsequently married my father's second
sister Cecilia. 8

CAPTAIN CODRINGTON'S JOURNAL 9
He was readier with his pen than with his
tongue ; and, happily, kept a journal. Although
the entries in it are as laconic as could be ex
pected from his character, it is possible from it
and from a few letters written at the same time
by my father, to give a fairly accurate account of
their life in Africa at this period.
The two friends sailed in the JBosphorus, touch
ing Madeira, Sierra Leone, and St Helena on the
way out. The voyage took forty days ; then
considered a very good passage. From the outset
my father was charmed with his new surround
ings, although it was a disappointment to hear
upon their arrival at Cape Town that the Kaffir
war had broken out, and was already making
the ordinary mode of access to the interior so
difficult that they would probably be obliged to
reach it by means of a further voyage to Port
Natal or Durban. "If we fail in that I shall
go to the war," adds my father simply; but
apparently it was sufficient to go by sea as far
as Grahamstown, for the next letter is dated
Colesberg. Colesberg was in those days little more than
a rough vUlage, although owing to the unsettled
state of the country a detachment of English
troops had for some time been quartered there.
In one sense Colesberg may be said to have
been my father's headquarters for the next two
years, since it boasted of several large stores, and
the party returned thither for supplies, both after
their first journey and during the foUowing year.
For the rest of the time, except for a brief
visit to Durban and Pietermaritzburg, on their

10 IN SOUTH AFRICA [ch. ii.
way to the Limpopo a year later, they were
practically away from civihsation. These were
then primitive Dutch tovms, the former little
more than a fishing viUage, although the chief
seaport of Natal.
During the second year of their stay in the
interior, the war increased so much in violence
as to cut them off" from outside communication.
For over six months they were given up for
dead, as their complete sUence and the alarming
accounts of the outrages perpetrated by both
Kaffirs and Boers made their position appear
most perilous to all their friends.
The expedition consisted of three great
waggons, drawn then, as now, by teams of oxen,
and in those vehicles the party slept and lived
when not actuaUy engaged in hunting. It was
at best a slow and tedious mode of progression,
since under the most favourable conditions
thirty miles a day was thought excellent work.
Often in the wilds it was still less, as there were
then neither roads nor tracks of any kind.
They had with them three white servants,
including a Scotsman, Douglas Stewart by name,
whom I myself remember years afterwards as a
keeper at Newstead. There were in addition
some six or seven Hottentots, no very numerous
retinue when one considers that they had some
ninety oxen, forty or fifty horses, and two score
dogs to look after. Twelve oxen formed the
team of each waggon, while the remainder ran
loose to supplement or replace the others as
required. They had a good supply of general stores.

SUPPLIES FOR EXPEDITION 11
and ammunition in abundance, but few luxuries
beyond tea, coffee, sugar, flour, and salt. For
food, therefore, they depended almost entirely
upon the game they shot, and such scanty
supphes as could be procured from the natives
on the way.
If they had more fresh meat than they could
dispose of, it was cut into strips and dried in
the sun to form "biltong," when it became the
staple diet of both dogs and Hottentots, the
latter preferring it to any other provisions.
Once properly prepared and dried it lost all
semblance of meat, and could be carried about
in the form of huge faggots. Several times the
waggons themselves were festooned with it, and
appeared to be decorated for some gala occasion.
The number of dogs seems somewhat excessive,
but they were a real necessity to such a party,
not only for actual hunting purposes, but also
to guard the oxen and horses at night, the
whole country being over-run with lions.
The dogs themselves were merely native curs
of aU sizes and colours. To collect such a
number the foUowing simple, but ingenious
method was employed.
In the towns and villages of the Cape in those
remote days, there were sundry regulations, and
any one wishing to keep a dog had to apply to
the police for a metal label to be attached to its
collar, much as is the case nowadays abroad.
The charge for the label was only about a shilling ;
the police at the same time gave notice that any
dog found without one after a certain date would
be destroyed.

12 IN SOUTH AFRICA [ch. ii.
My father and uncle, therefore, gave instruc
tions to the police to save for their inspection a
lot of the condemned animals. From these they
selected any that appeared suitable, whilst the
unfortunate remainder were left to their fate.
The best dog they ever had for lion-hunting
was, oddly enough, a sheep-dog. He was so
brave that he brought two out of three lions to
bay in one day. Both were shot, and proved to
be full-grown males, although without manes.
When a lion attempted to run away — and in
actual practice the king of the beasts is often
very cowardly — this sheep-dog would catch him
by the hind-leg, nimbly jumping aside when the
lion faced about. He would then stand and
bark, which was far better for the hunters than
actually attacking the lion, since by these means
the dog escaped being torn himself.
From any but Captain Codrington, such an
assertion might sound somewhat of a traveUer's
tale ; but as the foUowing entry in his journal
shows he could hardly be accused of exaggerating
his adventures :
"5th June. — Trekked five hours. Got before
the waggons. Was puUed down by a lion,
which I shot before he could bite the horse."
In reference to this incident, when some years
later an old friend said to him : " It was touch
and go for you with the lion, wasn't it ? " Captain
Codrington merely replied: "A close shave for
the horse."
My father was always very fond of dogs, and
many of these African curs were regarded as

DOGS, LIONS, AND RHINOCEROS 13
personal friends. The names of Vic, Turpin,
Filbert, Spot, and Winkle appear over and over
again as behaving with especial credit. Vic
came to a sad end, however, being torn so badly
by a lion that she had to be shot immediately
after the death of her antagonist. The only
marvel, indeed, was that this did not happen
more often, for hons were so plentifiil, and the
dogs became so used to them, that on one
occasion they actuaUy attacked an old lioness
close to the waggons and turned her over on
their own account, although she was eventually
despatched by a shot in the ribs. A few days
later another Hon, being brought to bay and
shot through the shoulder, lay down and fought
the dogs for over ten minutes before he died.
Captain Codrington for once being unable to
help them as his supply of bullets was exhausted.
It must be borne in mind that at this date it
was a real public service to rid these regions of
dangerous beasts, whose presence in such numbers
formed the chief impediment to any improvement.
Traders did Uttle or nothing in this direction, and
even the regular elephant hunters were so much
more intent upon ivory, that they rarely went
out of their way to waste bullets upon lions and
black rhinoceros. The latter were often by far
the more dangerous animals, and by no means
easy to shoot. They were also so numerous that
my father saw no less than twelve specimens in
one day. My uncle says, in his journal, that they
kiUed so many that at last he hardly troubled to
write them down, regarding them "much as one
would rabbits in England." I beUeve, however,

14 IN SOUTH AFRICA [ch. n.
that they secured seventy - eight in a single
year. Nevertheless, it was not mere slaughter
for the sake of sport. Useless butchery, such as
the kUling of beautiful antelopes by the score
for no object, my father never approved of, and
although the whole country was over -run with
game; except for actual food or to secure rare
specimens or exceptionally good heads, he never
shot game indiscriminately, as he did the
destructive beasts.
In some sense, also, it was only fair to the
Kaffir tribes amongst whom they travelled, that
they should profit by the supplies of fresh meat
as a recompense for their help and good-will.
Rhinoceros flesh was to English taste very tough
and unpalatable, but the natives delighted in
it, and the shooting of these animals, therefore,
fulfilled a double duty.
The country between Kuruman, the Moffats
missionary station, and Kolobeng, where Dr
Livingstone's house was situated some two
hundred miles to the northward, was particularly
infested with lions and rhinoceros. A few years
before, Dr Moffat's younger daughter Ann,
then quite a young girl, undertook the journey
in order to keep Mrs Livingstone company
at Mabotsa, whilst Dr Livingstone was absent
building a house for her at the new temporary
station Chonuane.
She travelled quite alone, save for a native
maid and the two Kaffir waggon boys, and it is
noteworthy that the only danger thought of in
those days was that from lions and other wild
beasts. Danger from man there was none — rather

ANN MOFFAT'S ADVENTURE 15
a melancholy reflection upon our boasted civilisa
tion of present times, when few women would
care to attempt such a solitary and unprotected
journey. She returned home after a few months' visit
in the same way, and this time was not as
fortunate, for her oxen were stampeded by a
Uon, and one was actually devoured within hearing.
But for the refuge afforded by the waggon itself,
the whole party must have been eaten also. This
story, which is told in the quietest way in the life
of the Mofflats, gives such a vivid picture of the
risks then run in daUy life from savage beasts as
to smother aU sentimental regret at their present
extinction in those regions.

CHAPTER III
THE LIVINGSTONES AT HOME
My father and his party trekked direct to the
northward, being naturally impatient to reach the
land of lions and elephants without delay. To
achieve this, they passed through Kuruman, Dr
Moffat's missionary settlement, then, as ever, an
example of what zeal, patience, and, it may be
added, common sense, could effect in transforming
the wildest country into a peaceable and happy
district. Thenceforward my father's letters home
contain many references to the "missionaries,"
and their kindness to him. Although he mentions
no names these can only refer to the Moffats and
to Dr Livingstone, for the expedition was by this
time beyond the reach of any other British settle
ment of the sort, nor was he intimate with any
other missionaries that I am aware of.^
Unhappily I cannot say with any certainty
when and where he first met Dr Livingstone,
although I have always heard it occurred through
my father being taken seriously iU with fever on
his first expedition. He was far away from all
1 It will be remembered that nearly all Dr Livingstone's journals
of these years were destroyed in the Boers' raid on Kolobeng. Hence
the difficulty of verifying dates, especially as my uncle's journal of
this first year is also not forthcoming. 16

DR LIVINGSTONE CURES MY FATHER 17
medical help, when, by chance, Dr Livingstone
heard through the natives that an unknown
white traveller lay grievously sick some distance
off) and at once set out in search of the stranger,
taking with him such remedies as his own
experience knew were likely to be of use.
He managed to find my father's waggons,
when his care promptly cured him. My father's
gratitude was unbounded as he always declared that
he owed his life to Livingstone's ready kindness.
It is likely that they may have come across
each other in the early autumn (which, be it
remembered, is the African spring - time) in the
Zouga district, during the Livingstones' return
journey, shortly before the birth of little Oswell
Livingstone. If this last supposition is correct,
the unexpected and timely gift of the two bottles
of wine, so gratefuUy recorded by Dr Livingstone
as savouring of the miraculous, would at once
be explained ; for in these wilds no one but
my father would be likely to have wine at all.
The few traders may have had brandy or spirits,
but certainly not wine. My father, however,
rarely, if ever, touched spirits, but probably
had with him a few bottles of wine for use
in iUness. This meeting, whUst both parties were living
in waggons, would also satisfactorily account for
their speedy intimacy ; for there is no surer
method of becoming well acquainted than by
being travelhng companions, and if this is true
of civilised Europe how much more does it
apply to savage Africa?
The dehcious climate, the wild, free life, the

18 THE LIVINGSTONES AT HOME [ch. m.
marvellous flowers of an African spring, and,
above all, the gigantic mowenas or baobab trees
enchanted my father. To the last named he refers
again and again, and also to the courtesy of the
missionaries in procuring for him such seeds,
bulbs, and native curiosities as he wished to
send home.
It seems incontestable that towards the begin
ning of October they met Mr OsweU on his
way south alone from Lake 'Ngami, when my
father was happily able to be of some little
service in supplying him with lead, as he had
run out of bullets.^ Like every one else who had
the privilege of knowing Mr Oswell, my father
had the greatest admiration for him. In Africa
there was no hunter to be compared with him,
and his courtesy and nobility of character were
as conspicuous as his courage. On the present
occasion Mr Oswell had hurried on in advance of
the Livingstone family for the generous purpose
of procuring a very necessary outfit for Mrs
Livingstone and her children, their garments
having by time and travel been reduced to such
rags — albeit weU-mended — as to be hardly fit
for their appearance in Cape Town, much less for
the proposed voyage home.

1 Mr Oswell records this incident with his usual graciousness in
his ''Big Game" volume of the Badminton Library, and it is also
mentioned in his son's " Memoirs," although there is a slight slip both
as to the year and the name of my father's travelling companion —
he giving the date as 1860 (the year before) and confusing Captain
Codrington with Captain Ernest Shelley, who was also in South
Africa, but, I think, in the previous year. The error is probably due
to Mr Oswell's trusting to his memory, having at that time destroyed
his own diaries of the period in question.

MR OSV^ELL AND LITTLE AGNES 19
He told no one of his intention, and made
light of the gift when the time came, declaring
with graceful tact, when Dr Livingstone demurred
at its acceptance, that "surely Mrs Livingstone
had a right to a share of the game on her own
preserves" — a pretty speech, and worthy of the
giver. He has left an even more charming impression
of his kindness in a letter written by him, years
later, to Agnes Livingstone, when he reminds her
that he can claim to be reaUy one of her oldest
friends, telling her of how he played with her
as a "tiny tot," and of how he always thinks of
her as she was then, sitting under the old
cameeldorn trees at the turn of the Zouga where
her httle brother OsweU — his namesake — was
born, playing at making tea, with the pods
and seeds as tea-things, httle Agnes then being
his hostess — a never-to-be-forgotten word picture,
and one to which I hope some day an artist will
do justice upon canvas.
One may, in any case, confidently assert that
my father and uncle were at Kolobeng during the
autumn of 1851, when the Livingstone family
stopped there to rest for a short time after their
return from Lake 'Ngami. They must, therefore,
have been Mrs Livingstone's last white visitors.
It is interesting to think that my father was thus
one of the few who saw Dr Livingstone sur
rounded by his family in the only real home he
ever possessed. Brief was its duration, however,
for even then Dr Livingstone was on his way
to Cape Town, there to send his wife and children
to England, knowing as he did the perUs they

20 THE LIVINGSTONES AT HOME [ch. in.
would run from the Boers if they remained longer
with him.
His wisdom in taking this course was proved
before a year was out, for during his absence
Kolobeng was pillaged, the mission house com
pletely gutted, and all his worldly goods, including
his journals and papers, destroyed or stolen.
Dr Livingstone's kindness to my father may
even be considered the indirect cause of this
calamity, Sechdli, the Bechuana chief, having,
upon Dr Livingstone's recommendation, allowed
the hunting expedition to proceed northwards with
out hindrance, and thereby affording the Boers an
ostensible pretext for the outrage. Sechdli and
my father were from the first the best of friends,
and as a child many were the stories told me of
the black chief's kindness and generosity. A
tangible token of his regard in the shape of a
beautiful leopard skin kaross, was for long in
daily use as carriage rug at Newstead.
. He must have been a truly fine character,
not only intelligent and honourable, but singularly
well-bred in his ideas, and far removed from all
popular conceptions of an African savage. His
loyalty and friendship for Dr Livingstone are too
weU known for comment. He was also a sincere
Christian, his only stumbling - block being a
reluctance to part from his former wives, and
this rather from a chivalrous unwiUingness to
dismiss them for no fault of their own than
from any other motive.

Of Mrs Livingstone's kindness my father

MRS LIVINGSTONE'S NERVE 21
always spoke most gratefully, also of her great
skill as a housewife — a talent to which Dr
Livingstone himself has testified in many places.
This gift she doubtless inherited from her mother,
Mrs Moffat, and the excellent home training
at Kuruman, which, notwithstanding the many
difficulties to be surmounted, was a model of
order and even of comfort.
My father told me that Mrs Livingstone's
skiU upon the occasion of this visit to Kolobeng
nearly cost him dear, as on the very day of
his arrival she had just baked a batch of
exceUent loaves. FiUed with hospitality, she
set one before him. The luxury of good bread
after six months' absence in the wilds was
almost impossible to realise, and to his shame,
be it said, he could not resist its allurement
and ate and ate, with the result that he
became afterwards so ill, that Dr Livingstone
had to be called in for a second time to
cure him.
I remember the story weU, as he hardly ever
saw hot loaves afterwards without recalling with
a laugh his own greediness and unlucky experience
of Mrs Livingstone's dehcious and too seductive
bread. Next to her excellent housewifery, my father
was most struck by her self-command, as shown
when a gigantic centipede was suddenly observed
upon her arm. It was some six or seven inches
long, and as her sleeves were turned up at the
time (she being busy with some household work)
it was the more alarming. Such centipedes are
B 2

22 THE LIVINGSTONES AT HOME [CH. HI.
dangerous as well as loathsome, since they can
inflict a very painful wound. To attempt its
removal would have only precipitated the
catastrophe, and her companions, therefore, could
but watch its movements in helpless horror.
But she was not Dr Moffat's daughter and
Livingstone's wife for nothing, even where a
centipede was concerned. Equal to the occasion,
and with a quiet word of reassurance, she stood
perfectly stiU, whUst the repulsive creature ran
over her bare skin until at last it reached her
dress. Then, like St Paul, she shook it off"
unharmed, and its swift destruction followed.
My father declared that although this might
seem a smaU thing compared to other dangers,
yet it always remained in his mind as the most
surprising example of nerve he had ever seen
in a woman. He even doubted whether any
of the men present could have shown such self-
control. Another illustration of her courage is given
by Mr Oswell during the 'Ngami journey a
short time before, when the waggon in which
she was travelling caught fire. There were, as
she knew well, more than a hundred pounds of
gunpow^der in it, but she did not stir, contenting
herself with calling to her husband who happened
to be near: "David! David! come and put it
out." It may interest some to know that in appear
ance Mrs Livingstone was rather under the
middle height, and of very sturdy build, with
very dark hair and eyes, and a complexion much

HARD WORK 23
tanned by the African sun. Although with no
pretensions to beauty, she had a pleasant face,
and her smile was bright and kind. Like Dr
Livingstone himself she was always scrupulously
neat and tidy in her dress and person, even under
the trying conditions of African journeyings.
Life was hard for missionaries' wives in those
days ; but wherever she was — at Mabotsa,
Chonuane, Kolobeng, or even in a waggon, she
succeeded in creating some semblance of a
comfortable home.
In Dr Livingstone's own words some years
later, "at the missionary station the wife must
be maid - of - all - work within, as the husband
must be Jack-of-aU-trades without."

CHAPTER IV
BOERS AND NATIVES
Early in the succeeding year (1852) my father
and Captain Codrington, after a short period of
rest, proceeded to Port Elizabeth or Grahamstown
and thence to Durban by sea ; for this time they
purposed to pass through Natal to the com
paratively unexplored Limpopo district, where
it was reported that big game, and especiaUy
elephants, were even more plentiful than they
had been around the Orange River.
Upon arrival at Durban they trekked to
Bloemfontein, then hardly more than a rough
village, and proceeded forthwith to the north,
passing through Kolobeng on the way, where
they left all their superfluous stores and oxen in
Sech^li's care. They then went towards the
Limpopo River country, where, as they antici
pated, they had excellent sport, securing in one
month alone no less than seventeen elephants,
which even in those days was considered ex
ceptional. On their return journey the progress
of the Kaffir war was sharply brought home to
them by the sight of its devastations. I cannot
do better as to this than to quote verbatim
24

RAID ON KOLOBENG 25
from the brief entries written at the time in
ray uncle's journal.
"2nd October 1852. — Piet went to Kolobeng,
Livingstone's missionary station, and found it
burnt." "6tk October. — Kaffirs came from Sechdli and
told us that Boers had taken all our oxen and the
horses we had left, shot a lot of his Kaffirs and
wounded him in the arm."
"7th October. — Trekked three hours in the
morning to Kolobeng. Saw about a dozen
skeletons of Kaffirs who had been shot down
by Boers."
The Boers also took all the stores of coff'ee,
sugar, flour, tea, and other necessaries that had
been left in Sech^li's keeping, to the honest
chief's great distress. Dr Livingstone refers to
this in his letter to his wife, recounting the
destruction of their house, and (dated September
the same year, although he omits names),
referring to my father and uncle as "the gentle
men who went to the north." Dr Livingstone's
generosity and delicacy on this occasion, as
regards the share of "the gentlemen" in bring
ing about the catastrophe, is as conspicuous as
usual, for there is not one word of reproach,
although it is abundantly evident that to
this the loss of all his wordly goods might be
assigned. The end of October found my father's party
at Kuruman on their way south. It was look
ing its best in the full glow of the glorious
South African spring ; and with its neat mission
buildings, wide grassy street, fruit trees and

26 BOERS AND NATIVES [ch. iv.
general appearance of order and care must have
accentuated the sad scenes they had just passed
through. At this season of the year, indeed, Kuruman
blossomed like the rose, and was most attractive.
Its sloping hills were clothed with wide stretches
of syringa in full bloom, whilst nearer at hand
even more fragrant orange groves were bursting
into flower, and a magnificent pomegranate hedge
was, in Mrs Moffat's own words, "incomparable
in its dazzling scarlet."
On 29th October my uncle writes in his
journal :
" Surprised to see how attentive the Kaffirs
were during service in church. Dr Livingstone
there, preparing for his great journey !
"Mr Moffat, Dr Livingstone's brother-in-law,
has a printing press, and the work was being done
by Kaffirs educated by him."
Then follow a few warm words of praise as to
the value of the missionary work of the Moffats,
and their goodness and hospitality, which means
the more, as in some of my father's letters home
at this time, other missionaries are not spoken of
in nearly such an appreciative way. They do not,
indeed, appear to have been, generally speaking, of
a very high class at that period, and in particular
to have been devoid of the saving grace of
common sense that was such a marked feature
in all the Moffats' undertakings, and which
caused their Christian devotion to be all the
more effectual.
A letter from my father written to his mother

LETTER FROM AFRICA 27
a little later gives an even fuller picture of the
situation.
" CoLBSBBBB, Ist December 1862.
" My DEAR Mother, — I intend going to Cape
Town this week if possible.
"You can have no idea in England of the
difficulty of going 500 miles in this country.
" Our Hottentots are aU drunk of course I
" It is with the utmost difficulty we can get any
thing done at all.
The country seems quite cold here now, although
everybody complains of the heat.
" There is not a blade of grass within a hundred
miles of this place. Corn and everything else having
been devoured by the locusts, and unless we have
rain soon, lots of cattle must die from want. We
have lost forty-one horses and sixty oxen on this
trip, and had some degree of difficulty in getting out.
" I am getting sick of shooting, only caring
now about kiUing elephants and lions. I hope
next year to get very far in.
"Nearly aU the hunters have stuck fast in
the interior.
" The Kaffir war is going on rather worse than
usual, and I think will last another year at least.
" There is a great gold mania in the Colony,
and I think it likely some wiU be found in some
part of it.
" The emigrant Boers have taken two mission
aries prisoners, and have burnt several stations.
We passed one place with a good many skeletons
lying on it, and the dogs eating them.
" I have plenty of the seed of the largest tree
in the world,^ seldom less than 70 feet round.
' This evidently refers to the Baobab (Adamsonia, digitala), then
the largest known tree in the world. The Californian Sequoia Gigantea
( Wellingtonia) was — except, perhaps, locally — unknown until 1862, and
did not reach England until 1863.

28 BOERS AND NATIVES [CH.iv.
Perhaps it would grow in a greenhouse. It is
very hard to get seeds, as we are up at the
wrong time of year, and nearly aU the colony
ones are common in England. I have asked the
missionaries to try.
" Codrington will start soon for England I
think. I have no more news by this post. — Your
affectionate son, W. F. Webb."
In the light of after developments, it is interest
ing to hear that one of the three white attendants
of the party had been a short time previously a
gold-digger in California and probably one of the
"Argonauts of '49." This man greatly diverted
his companions by not only continually declaring
that he knew the country must be full of gold
"by the look of it," but by constructing a rude
"cradle" with which he diligently tried his luck
whenever they camped near a stream. He never
gave up his hopes, but, of course, there was no
result, and he never even saw the "colour" —
South African gold lying in reefs or leads, not
being alluvial or found in nuggets.
As wiU be seen from his letter, my father
always believed in the rich, auriferous future of
South Africa, and was possibly even influenced
by this man's steadfast assertions, for he was
never surprised at the discoveries in later years.
He has also often spoken to me of the brilliant
and strange quality of some of the crystals and
pebbles they picked up, and went so far as to
say, that probably in their ignorance they had
thrown away, not once but many times, gems,
and possibly even diamonds of great value, for at
that time he had not begun to study mineralogy

KALAHARI DESERT 29
and geology as he did later. Amongst his other
regrets he mentioned having repeatedly noticed
heaps of strangely shaped rocks in the far distance,
that looked to him so like old ruins that he longed
to explore them ; but the Kaffirs each time he
expressed his intention of doing this put forward
some ingenious excuse, and diverted his project,
either raising plausible objections, or more often
pretending that elephants had been seen in the
opposite direction, which, of course, was to him
then, as they knew weU, the stronger allurement.
They seemed very shy always at being even
questioned as to these rocks, and extremely
superstitious as to approaching them, and as it
was best to humour them in such matters, and
my father not dreaming at the time of the
possibUity of ancient ruins on such a scale in
such a place, he missed his chance, much to his
chagrin in after years.
Of all his escapes and the dangers he ran I
cannot teU here. He seemed to possess almost
a charmed life, and his adventures were to my
young mind far more fascinating than any fairy
tale. On two separate occasions he nearly died of
thirst in the cruel Kalahari desert.
The first time he was on foot and alone,
having lost himself ; and so great were his straits
that at length he was forced to drink the still
warm blood of an antelope that he had shot in
despair. Horrible as this last resource was, it
kept him alive untU some of his Kaffirs tracked
him and brought him back safely to the
camp.

30 BOERS AND NATIVES [oh. iv.
His second adventure of the kind, although
bad enough, was not quite so terrible, for he had
a native boy with him, and they came across an
ostrich's store of eggs. It was a godsend at that
moment, but when they broke the shells it was
only to find that the whole lot contained young
and even hving birds. To the Kaffir this meant
little; but although my father was compelled by
necessity to suck his share, his loathing can be
imagined. A more pleasing story, in which an ostrich egg
also plays the principal part, was that once my
father, weary of his constant meat diet, longed for
a pudding as a change, and after much cogitation
determined to make one for himself from an
ostrich's egg, of which at that time they had plenty
of fresh ones. He had a hazy idea — correct as far
as it went — that with eggs, flour, and sugar the
desired end could be brought about ; and that
half an ostrich's egg or less could be substituted
for a dozen ordinary hen's eggs. He broke off" the
top of one of the huge eggshells and emptied half
of its contents, and proceeded to beat the rest
vigorously, adding from time to time aU the sugar
he could spare. Having no pie dish or oven he
had to make use of the eggsheU itself for the
purpose by placing it standing in the hot embers
of the camp fire, and then he stirred and stirred
again, sifting in finally some flour. Quite tired
out he then left it, hopefully awaiting at least
a pudding "of sorts." But when he looked
at it again he found, to his amazement, no
pudding was there but a very passable sponge
cake, as light as the proverbial feather, had risen

OSTRICH EGG SPONGECAKE 31
during his absence and overflowed its eggshell
mould on every side.
All wondered at this unlooked for skill as a
confectioner, but, alas I for his reputation as a cook,
the happy accident could never be repeated.
The following was another anecdote that amused
me much. It was the custom to stop and " out-
span " their waggons at the few Boer farms they
passed on their way, and to interchange calls with
their owners was a matter of etiquette on such
occasions. My father understood well how much
importance they attached to such forms, and never
neglected them, nor did he make the common
mistake of hurrying his hosts. Their farms were
rough, homely dwelUngs, but by no means devoid
of much rude plenty, and even comfort, for the
Boer women then, as now, were excellent house
keepers ; and in their own peculiar way the
Boers were exceedingly hospitable to strangers, if
courteously treated in return.
One evening late they outspanned to spend
Sunday at just such a farm. A large and exceedingly
dirty farmyard, fuU of slimy ooze, faced the house ;
and, owing to their arriving at nightfall, their three
waggons were drawn up close to its unsavoury edge.
With the dawn the Boer owner was at my father's
waggon to greet him, and prepared to install himself
there for the entire day. He was duly provided
with tobacco and food, and sat in watchful silence
whilst my father completed his toilet, the mysteries
of which appearing to puzzle him not a little.
When at last the time came for my father to
brush his teeth, the Boer's eyes grew yet rounder,
and no sooner was the process completed than it

32 BOERS AND NATIVES [ch. iv.
was my father's turn to be amazed, for his guest
without a word seized upon the tooth brush, and
with great deliberation began to follow his example,
and a few minutes later restored the brush com
posedly to its rightful owner. With a pardonable
impulse of disgust my father flung it away and it fell
into the centre of the filthy yard, but beyond a grunt
the Boer appeared to notice nothing, and alternately
smoking and eating continued to sit by them all
that day, now and then gazing thoughtfully on
the vast midden before him. Not till it grew dark
did he prepare to depart to his own home. Then,
calling his Kaffir boys, he signified to my father
that he wished to be lent a lantern. This seemed
rather a work of supererogation, as his dwelling was
only on the other side of the yard ; but as he insisted
on it with calm obstinacy my father, of course,
consented. He then gave some order in Dutch
to his Kaffirs, who at once plunged into the
mire and began regularly to "quarter" the yard.
Presently there was a shout of triumph, and one
held up a small dripping object, which the Boer
took from him.
" Fur myne Vrow and kinder," he murmured,
as tenderly wiping it he placed it in his pocket.
It was the tooth brush !
¦ ••••••
He used also to tell me about his two pet
lion cubs, "Abraham" and "Sarah." These he
had acquired when they were no larger than pug
dogs, and they were so tame as to spring on
his lap and purr when stroked, exactly like
kittens, betraying only by their immense muscular
strength their royal race.

\ \

W. F. WEBB.
From the picture by J. B. Harrison at Newstead Abbey.

LION CUBS 88
In spite of their fascinating ways and their tame-
ness, the day came when Abraham's claws, although
only used with playful intent, inflicted such serious
scratches even through my father's tough leather
trousers (in Cape parlance, "crackers ") as to leave
him scarred for life. Reluctantly he realised that
to keep them would be no longer reasonable ; and
accordingly the distinguished couple was secured
and despatched with many instructions to the
Zoological Gardens at Cape Town. When he was
in Cape ToviTi on his way to India he paid his lions
a visit, and they knew him again, coming to the
bars of their cage when he called, arching their
backs and purring in quite their old style, although
they were by this time more than half grown.
Almost the only drawback he found in his
African life was the absence of books, for he had a
marveUous memory and was an omnivorous reader.
Among the small number he had with him was
LongfeUow's Evangeline, and to the end of his
life he could repeat the whole poem by heart — a
great surprise to some, who never imagined him
to be at all poetical. Certainly, however, he always
loved Evangeline, probably from the associations
with his African days, and a quotation from it
invariably pleased him.
There were many other stories, I remember them
now but indistinctly ; Africa played such a famUiar
part in our chUdhood's days as to be almost as real
to us as our home surroundings. As to my father
himself, it is not too much to affirm that the two
years he spent there set their mark on his whole
after life.
I recollect when with him as a young girl

34 BOERS AND NATIVES [ch. iv.
coming, much to our surprise, on his old African
kit which had long lain forgotten in the drawer
of an antique cabinet. He took out the faded
red shirt and "crackers," and handled — I might
almost say caressed — them, with tears in his eyes.
He told me how happy he had been when he wore
them last.
I remember also a year or two later that he
seemed to be much preoccupied, and finaUy
exclaimed with deep feeling, "How difficult life
is ; and how willingly would I give ten years of
England for one year in South Africa ! " I never
forgot his expression as he spoke, but it was not
until many years later that I learnt it had then
been intimated to him, semi- officially, that if he
cared to accept the post, the Governorship of
Natal was open to him.
It was a true piece of self-denial on his part
to refuse it, for it was done for our sakes. We
were at that time growing up, and as my two
brothers were but schoolboys, my mother was
naturally averse to breaking up the home and
leaving all his duties in England to go so far
away for many years. Very possibly she was
right in her objections.
He never spoke of this proposal to any one.
Even to his most intimate friends it remained
a secret ; but at this distance of time, there
can be no indiscretion in mentioning the fact.
Whether he had the requisite qualities for a
good Governor must for ever remain unknown,
and it is now useless to speculate on the probable
consequences. He was an indifferent pubhc speaker, and had

FORTY YEARS AFTERWARDS 35
had, of course, but little training in routine ; but,
on the other hand, he possessed in their place two
even more valuable qualifications — a genuine love
and enthusiasm for South Africa, such as in those
days was most unusual, and an instinctive know
ledge of the Boers' character, joined to a knack
of getting on with them that might have proved
invaluable. When forty years afterwards he was in Cape
Colony with my dear mother, during her last ill
ness, this was manifested unexpectedly. Many
of his former Boer acquaintances, hearing of his
return, came long distances for the express pur
pose of seeing him once more, and exchanging
a few words.
To me, who knew him so well, it always seemed
that he was taken away from the evil to come, in
that he died before the South African War broke
out. He would have felt it so keenly, the more
so that for years he had foreseen it, as the inevit
able result of mistakes in British poUcy. His
view being that whilst the Boers had not been
Ul-treated by the British Government — far from
that — they had yet, from sheer want of know
ledge and want of tact, often been lamentably
mishandled.

CHAPTER V
smike
The extraordinary faculty my father possessed for
winning the devoted affection of his native servants
cannot be better iUustrated than with the story of
Smike. The party was on trek, and had fortunately an
ample store of " biltong," but by some mischance,
or more probably through the haste with which, on
this occasion, it was obliged to be prepared, it had,
as they say in the Highlands, " gone wrong," and,
save by dogs and natives, would have been thought
quite unfit for food. Indeed, my father's disgust
at its , horrible smell was so great that he had
wished to throw it away ; but was, fortunately as
the event proved, deterred from doing so, else it
would have gone hardly with their large party.
One day, as they were slowly trekking along,
they saw near the track, lying under a tree, what
they at first took to be the corpse of a Kaffir lad.
Such sad sights had since the war been far from
uncommon. But this time, on looking closer, the
poor creature was found, although reduced by
starvation to little more than a skeleton, to retain
some tokens of hfe. My father had him lifted
and carried to his own waggon, where he nursed
and attended to him in every possible way, with

TASTE FOR "BILTONG" 37
the result that in a few days the boy recovered
sufficiently to explain that he had been left for
dead after some skirmish between the Kaffirs
and the Boers, and had given up all hope of being
rescued. He was still such a miserable object that my
father, ever a devoted admirer of Dickens, gave
him promptly the name of " Smike," and each
day seemed to make it more appropriate, for the
black Smike's adoration for his new master was
curiously like that of his namesake in "Nicholas
Nickleby." As he grew stronger, he became so ravenously
hungry that had it not been for the very
unsavoury and odorous stock of " biltong," there
would have been great difficulty in supplying him
with food. The w^hole party, now being on
short commons, ,as game was very scarce, and,
owing to the destruction of the villages by the
Boers, it was no longer possible to get the
former supplies of milk and other simple fare
from the natives. Luckily, Smike was not
dainty, and would eat anything and everything.
The condemned "biltong" exactly suited his
taste ; he even throve on it, and rapidly became
so plump and well-liking as to belie his new
name. On my father's arrival at Colesberg he was
greatly concerned as to Smike's future, for which
he felt himself in a way responsible ; and, although
he did not think it expedient to take the boy
with him to India, he made ample provision for
his future with friends at Cape Town, and almost
arranged for Smike to be sent home to my
c 2

38 SMIKE [CH. V.
grandmother in England. He even went so far
as to assure her, in a very characteristic letter,
that, " without joking," he was sure "Smike had
the makings of a capital servant." Rather happily
for the tranquillity of my grandmother's well-
ordered, early Victorian household, it was decided,
after my father's departure, that a wild Kaffir
boy was more likely to do well in service in
Cape Town than in England. He was, therefore,
trained first as a waiter in one of the hotels, and
later developed into the trusted servant in a
well-known Cape official's family, where he was
much valued.
The poor fellow was himself terribly loth to
leave my father, to whom he had given one of
those passionate and loyal devotions that are,
perhaps, only to be found in their fuU perfection
among the dark races.
He never forgot his first white master, and aU
he had done for him in his hour of need, every
year a letter duly arrived about Christmas-time
full of gratitude and good wishes, always ending
with describing, with some complacency, the
very great esteem and consideration with which
he himself was now regarded by those who knew
him, and how excellently he was getting on in the
world. In due time came the news that he had
grown so rich he could think of taking a wife ;
then his marriage, followed by the announcement
of various children. This was all very weU and
gratifying; but my mother was divided between
annoyance and laughter, when, a few years later,
the usual Christmas letter informed my father
that Smike's affairs were now so prosperous that

SMIKE'S SECOND WIFE 39
he had thought it incumbent on his dignity to
take a second wife, adding, to make matters
worse :
" I am now such a good boy, I am no longer
caUed ' Smike,' but am known by my dear, good
master's own name, and so I now sign myself,
— Ever your most obedient faithful servant,
" William Frederick Webb,
once 'Smike.'"
His letter was, of course, written by a pro
fessional letter writer, for, with all his new
accession to dignity, I do not think he had time
to acquire the arts of reading and writing himself.
It may as weU here be told that many years
later Smike accompanied his Cape employers to
London on a short visit, and, of course, at once
informed my father of the fact ; in truth, I rather
fancy he had left his exceUent master no peace
untU permission was obtained to accompany his
family on their voyage home, as his desire once
more to see my father was so strong.
Unfortunately, 1 was not a witness myself of
the meeting between my father and Smike,
but I heard of it afterwards from my mother.
She said it was one of the most surprising, and,
to her, touching sights she had ever seen. The
door opened and Smike entered, quietly enough,
but at the first glimpse of my father, with a cry
of " Baas ! Baas ! " he feU actually on aU fours
before him, and, bursting into mingled tears and
laughter, almost embraced his feet; then, whilst
my father stood looking very tall and magnificent
and somewhat at a loss, poor Smike commenced

40 SMIKE [CH. V.
to dance and frisk round him more like a great
dog, than a grown man of over forty, and a
most respectable butler ! He was evidently much
pleased with and impressed by my mother, but
she was a mere incident, and all his looks showed
that my father was still his never-forgotten master.
The meeting had the unhappy result that after he
had seen my father Smike's fixed idea was to come
back to him; and in spite of being reminded of
the two wives and famiUes he had left behind at
Cape Town, he implored to be taken once more
into my father's service. Neither the cold nor
separation from his African friends seemed to
weigh with him ; but my father, although he
could not help being deeply touched by his
gratitude and fidelity, was firm in his refusal,
not only on account of the family ties and the
duty he owed to his present master, but because
he knew weU that very rarely did English life
or climate agree with Kaffirs. Very sadly, there
fore, did poor Smike take his leave,

CHAPTER VI
AN INTERLUDE
Early in 1853 my father reluctantly bade fare
well to Africa. He had contemplated a much
larger and more elaborate expedition to the
unexplored north, this time alone, Captain
Codrington being obliged to return to England.
The Kaffir war showed no signs of abating.
Indeed, my father's return journey had been,
as we have seen, accomplished with difficulty,
and not without far greater risk than he had
cared to admit in his letters home.
Despite his enthusiastic praise of the chmate
and his superb general health, he had had two
serious illnesses, the first, the fever cured by Dr
Livingstone as already mentioned, and, later, a
severe enteric attack. This last he had to struggle
through as best he might whilst on trek, and
a jolting Cape waggon is not an ideal hospital.
Besides this, he had faUen into an elephant
trap and injured his knee ; but the accident
might so easily have been fatal, that he paid
httle heed at the time, to what he deemed a
passing lameness, although it was followed in
after years by serious consequences.
All these combined considerations doubtless
induced his friends to dissuade him from further
41

42 AN INTERLUDE [CH. vi.
travel. Moreover, the authorities were opposed
to fi-esh difficulties arising between them and the
Boers, owing to the passage of any hunters to
the interior. Checked, therefore, in his schemes
of exploration, my father turned his attention
to India, of which he had heard so much that
he wished to visit it before returning to England.
But after the free life of the African wilderness
the India of those days faUed to attract him.
Even tiger-hunting was a disappointment, seem
ing with all its preparations and necessary
adjuncts, comparatively tame and conventional
after his adventures with lions and rhinoceros.
He secured, at least, one fine tiger, if not more ;
but he soon gave up the sport, preferring here
after to devote himself to the less ambitious
pursuit of adding to his already extensive collec
tion of birds.
The end of the year saw him on his way
home to England, and during his long absence
he had at least achieved his wish, and grown
from a tall, unformed lad into the man he had
desired to become. No part of all his varied
experience had been thrown away on him, and
he had gained in knowledge and self-rehance
past belief. Nor was his homeward voyage
without an adventure that deserves to be
recorded. Whilst the steamer on which he was a
passenger was passing through the Red Sea,
there was a cry of alarm, and at once the news
ran round that two lascars had fallen overboard.
" Surely the captain is going to stop the
ship?" was, of course, the first query.

CRIMEAN WAR 48
" No," came the callous answer, " not for
mere lascars."
"Then perhaps they will for a passenger,"
exclaimed my father indignantly, and without a
moment's hesitation he plunged into the water.
Upon his return to England my father found
much business to attend to. His sister, Cecilia,
married Captain Codrington about that time.
In the succeeding year the Crimean War broke
out. This event affected my father deeply, the
more so as by some mischance he was not at
hand to bid good-bye to his only and much-
loved brother, since at the last the 17th Lancers
seem (so far as I can judge from the family
letters) to have been sent off at very short
notice. In view of his early death, my uncle Augustus's
joy and enthusiasm at the prospect of at last
taking part in a real campaign, forms most
pathetic reading. Like my father before him,
he had fretted greatly at the barrack life at
home, and ardently desired a larger and fuller
sphere of action. I have already mentioned his
presence and mortal wounds in the Charge of
the Light Brigade at Balaclava, but I may now
add details. He was one of the few who got
right up to the guns apparently unscathed, there
to be struck down by the murderous fire. How
he was taken back into the British lines seems
almost a miracle, for he had no fewer than
nineteen wounds, including a shattered leg. Two
of his troop were recommended for, and one, I
am certain, received, the Victoria Cross for getting
him off the field. He was only saved, however.

44 AN INTERLUDE [CH. vi.
to die a fortnight later in the hospital at Scutari.
Both during and after the voyage thither, amid
all his sufferings, he kept his sweet temper, and
was patient, cheerful, and even gay to the last.
I have heard that one sympathising visitor who —
knowing his passion for riding — asked him what
he would do in the future, received the smiUng
reply : " My brother WiUie is sure to look after
me, and I can still yacht." Upon another occasion,
a day or two before his death, being asked whether
he wished for anything, he answered happily, " I
want nothing in this world except, perhaps, a
pot of marmalade."
He must, indeed, have possessed a most
fascinating personality — very handsome, with
black hair, Irish blue eyes, and the sweet temper
and rather reckless disposition that often accom
pany the type ; nothing distressed or daunted him
for long.
Unfortunately, no portrait exists of him ;
but by a curious coincidence, my uncle, Gerald
Goodlake, when young, resembled him so nearly
in colouring and features that my father's mother
could never look at him unmoved.
To my father, Augustus's death was a terrible
blow, for from their earliest years the two brothers
had been upon unusually affectionate terms, the
slight difference in age making my father's feehng
towards his younger brother almost paternal.
What made it the sadder was that, although
my father left at once for the East in hopes of
seeing him again, their two ships actually passed
each other in the night. Whether this was
before or after Balaclava, I am uncertain.

SMYRNA 45
Besides his wish to see his brother once more,
my father was anxious to render what service
he could during the war. Hearing that some
irregular regiments (" Bashi Bazouks ") were
being raised, he had hopes of being of some use
to the authorities if he were on the spot. He
was told that further particulars would be forth
coming at Smyrna, and accordingly proceeded
thither to make enquiries.
The scheme feU through owing to a strange
accident, which so nearly cost him his life as
almost to deserve the name of an escape.
While on his voyage to Smyrna his hat was
blown off, and, before landing himself, he had to
trust to his dragoman to procure him a substitute,
the sun being very fierce. To his dismay the
dragoman — after the manner of his kind — re
turned on board with the most hideous tarboosh
imaginable, half-hidden under a gigantic silk tassel.
This he had bought, because it was the finest
and most expensive in the bazaar. My father was
righteously wrathful, although obliged to submit
and to pay the extortionate price demanded
for the aggressive tassel. The objectionable fez
had to be worn, as no other head-gear was
available. Trivial as this incident appears, it proves the
truth of the saying : " Nothing matters, but every
thing is important." For that very night, as he
was returning to the ship, my father was waylaid
by some well-armed ruffians. With great diffi
culty he succeeded in getting his back to a wall,
and in keeping off his assailants. No doubt, his
unusual height and length of limb helped him in

46 AN INTERLUDE [CH. vi.
this. After some while aid arrived, and the
miscreants were dispersed.
It was then found that his head was much cut
and damaged; and but for the unusual size of
the offending tassel, which had been almost
cut through, he would certainly have been kUled.
He was taken on board and the injury proved
so severe as to end his hopes of active service at
the time.
It is possible that this injury, and the sub
sequent weakness it occasioned, helped to intensify
the grief he felt for his brother's death ; nor did
he fully recover his spirits until his marriage some
three years afterwards to my mother. Miss Emilia
Jane Goodlake, elder daughter of Thomas MiUs
Goodlake, Esq., of Wadley, Farringdon, Berkshire.
He found in my mother a most devoted wife,
and with her, he was able to enjoy at last that
happy home life for which he was peculiarly
weU-fitted.

CHAPTER VII
MRS LIVINGSTONE
In 1856 Dr Livingstone returned to England.
He had accomplished his first great journey across
Africa, from Linyanti to Loanda ; and, thanks to
him, the Zambesi was now no longer an unex
plored region. His name was by this time well
known as a missionary and explorer, and upon his
return he received a warm welcome both from the
Royal Geographical Society and the general pubhc.
What meant stUl more to him, he was at last
re-united to his famUy. Indeed, to his poor wife,
it was doubtless the only truly satisfactory time in
her later married life. Mr Oswell has said of Mrs
Livingstone "that during aU the hardships of
her travels with her husband in Africa, he never
saw her fail him but once — when it was proposed
to leave her behind."
It is weU known that her courage, patience, and
kindness were unfailing, and rose superior to all
personal discomfort when with her husband in
Africa. Yet, by an irony of fate, in order truly to
help him in his labours, she was called upon to
endure separation — with all the added trial of
narrow means — in uncongenial surroundings.
It is pleasant to know that she had this peaceful
47

48 MRS LIVINGSTONE [CH. vii.
and happy year, and could rejoice in the public
recognition of his services at last. She could
hardly have been the very wifely woman she was,
if his audience with the Queen, the bestowal upon
him of the Royal Geographical Society's medal
in 1850, and his other honours had not gratified
her, and made her feel that the long years of
sacrifice had not been in vain.
For, good and tender mother as she was, it
is very evident that she was one of those women
to whom children come as a secondary considera
tion. Her heart was ever with her husband, and
she would have preferred to brave all perils with
him, had she not recognised that her duty lay
at home with her children during his long
absence. When, however, Dr Livingstone returned to
Africa in 1858, she joyfully prepared to accompany
him. They took with them only their youngest
child, Oswell. Unhappily they had not gone
further than Sierra Leone before it became evident
that Mrs Livingstone's health was unequal to the
hardships that lay before them. With heavy hearts
it was decided that for the present she must be
left with her parents at Kuruman, the old home of
her girlhood.
Dr Livingstone, accordingly, after consigning
her to the care of her parents at Cape Town, pro
ceeded alone to the Zambesi, which he had under
taken to explore thoroughly. In those days news
travelled so slowly that it was not until over
eighteen months afterwards, he heard of the birth
of a daughter at Kuruman.
Shortly after this event Mrs Livingstone, with

\Phota by F. Thurston.

DR LIVINGSTONE AND HIS FAMILY.
1857-58.

iTo face p. 48.

MRS LIVINGSTONE'S DEATH 49
her baby and little OsweU, returned to England.
From thenceforth, she seems to have felt her
lonehness more and more acutely, and to have
literaUy pined for her husband and their free
African life.
At length, nearly four years afterwards (in
1862) Dr Livingstone arranged for her to join
him. He was then at the mouth of the Zambesi,
where the chmate was most trying and feverish ;
but this did not deter her from setting out at
once, fuU of joy at the thought of being with
her husband once more.
Their time together was brief enough, but it
made them both very happy while it lasted. Dr
Livingstone, however, remarked that with all her
cheerfulness, his wife appeared to have a curious
presentiment of approaching death. She was
struck down by fever at Shupanga on the 21st of
April 1862. It proved to be of a virulent type.
Probably the continuous nervous strain she had
endured for many years had sapped her constitu
tion, for she died at the end of six days' illness,
not three months after her arrival.
Her husband mourned for her sincerely, with
a depth of passionate regret that came almost as
a surprise to those who had not known them
together. Her life had been in many ways a
hard and sad one. Hardest and saddest of all
were the long years of enforced inactivity in
England. Eager as she was for work, and only too ready
to share aU Dr Livingstone's privations, patience
was for her, perhaps, the most difficult of virtues,
but as he himself wrote at the time : " I loved her

50 MRS LIVINGSTONE [ch. vii.
when I married her, and the longer I lived with
her, I loved her the more."
And these simple words would have been
worth more to her than the most elaborate
epitaph.

CHAPTER VIII
AGNES
When, after six years' absence, Dr Livingstone
returned to England in 1864, at the end of his
second Zambesi expedition, he found an un
expectedly enthusiastic greeting awaiting him after
his six years' absence in Africa. His reception in
London both touched and surprised him ; and he
would hardly have been human had he not been
gratified at its warmth and at the attention he
received both publicly and privately from the
Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston, to the cordial
greetings of his old friends, such as Sir Roderick
Murchison, Mr OsweU, Mr James Young, and my
father. Nevertheless, in spite of the^ praise and
acclamation, he was in some ways far more to be
pitied than on his former return, as now he had
practicaUy no home of his own.
It was true his aged mother still lived with his
two sisters at his old home at Hamilton ; and
thither he naturally resorted after his very short
stay in London ; but it must have been with a
pang of disappointment, that he found, on his
arrival, his mother grown so infirm and old that
she hardly recognised him. On the other hand,
his younger child, Anna Mary, who had grown
51

52 AGNES [ch. viii.
up under their charge, was now a " nice, sprightly
chUd," as he described her in his journal. It is a
pathetic side-light on Livingstone's life and work,
that, devoted father as he was, looking on each
chUd, not, as many under the circumstances might
have done, as a burden and responsibility, but as
a new gift and blessing from God, he had never
even beheld this youngest daughter, until he now
saw her at Hamilton.
Born at Kuruman after he had left on his
second Zambesi expedition, she was, when only a
few months old, taken to Scotland by her mother
to be left with the family there. Some two years
later, Mrs Livingstone rejoined her husband in
Africa, only shortly afterwards to die at Shupanga,
as has been related.
Of his four remaining children, Robert, the
eldest son, had left home some time previously
and gone to the United States, where he enlisted
in the Federal Army under an assumed name.
He was wounded in one of the battles, taken
prisoner, and a few months later died sadly enough
in hospital. The uncertainty of his fate was a
great anxiety to Dr Livingstone, and an even
greater one to poor Agnes, who had been so much
more thrown with her brother, and loved him
intensely. I can remember myself very clearly
certain hushed and sorrowful whispers between
Agnes and our dear nurse as to poor Robert's
possible whereabouts, and that kind soul's attempts
at consolation. But although Dr Livingstone felt
the trial acutely, he was too sensible and brave to
allow it to weigh on him outwardly, as well as
too unselfish to permit his grief to affect others

ROBERT LIVINGSTONE 63
unduly. As he wrote to a friend of it at the
time : —
" My son is in the Federal Army in America.
The secret ballast is often applied by a kind hand
above, when to outsiders we appear to be sailing
gloriously with the wind."
Agnes, Tom, and Oswell had been, of course,
at school, although Agnes, grown into a tall girl,
was now old enough to leave her lessons in order
to be with her father, and accompany him to some
of the public functions he was compelled to attend.
From the first she seemed fitted to be his natural
companion, and to rise superior to her years in
this respect. As the weeks passed, and they grew
to know each other yet more intimately, Agnes
became his confidante and friend in a way permitted
to few daughters. Circumstances, no doubt, con
tributed to this ; but, besides all else, there was
a certain similarity of character that made them
peculiarly responsive to each other. It is easy to
read this fact between the lines of his later letters
to her. {See his Life and Journals). To her he
writes, and to her alone, as the one whom he can
always trust to understand him without explana
tion. They had the same beautiful simplicity of
character, the same directness of aim, the same
strong sense of faith and duty, the same dislike
of many words. Above aU, both possessed in a
remarkable degree that high courage, which, perhaps
more than any other quality, is the strongest link
between fine natures ; the kind of courage that is
both moral and physical, and to be found in men
and women ahke. D 2

54 AGNES [CH. viii.
Now Dr Livingstone had three principal objects
in his return to England. The first was to see and
renew his intercourse with his children, who had
grown up in the interval. The second was to write
his book, for which he had coUected a mass of
material, but for which also he needed proper
leisure and freedom from anxiety. The third
reason was to have a real rest and holiday before
he proceeded again on what he now felt was his
special task in Africa, and, this rest, as he well
knew, was no mere self-indulgence, but an absolute
necessity for the success of his future plans.
For all these purposes Hamilton was in many
ways most inconvenient, its distance from London
being a great drawback as far as his literary
work was concerned ; nevertheless, at this time, aU
pointed to his remaining there and making the
best arrangements, under the circumstances, he
could. But here the unforeseen stepped in, as
often happens.
My father's recoUection of Dr Livingstone's
kindness to him in Africa thirteen years before,
was still so vivid, that directly he heard he was
returning home, he wrote to him to Bombay,
entreating him to make Newstead his home during
his stay in England — an invitation which was
warmly seconded by my mother, although she and
Dr Livingstone had not yet met. But my father
had told her enough of the doctor's goodness to him
in Africa, for her to take him on trust, and she
already felt such gratitude to the benefactor, who
had saved her husband's life, that she was ready
to do anything she could to show her thankfulness.
Indeed, although it was my father who initiated

ARRIVAL AT NEWSTEAD 65
the idea that Dr Livingstone should stay at
Newstead, it was my mother that brought it to
pass and caused Dr Livingstone's objections to
melt one by one under her persuasions, for, at
first, though evidently pleased and touched at
my father's remembrance and gratitude, he made
various excuses, and was reluctant to commit
himself for so long a time to what were then
unknown surroundings. His first reason was his
dislike to separate from his newly-found children,
and in particular from Agnes. But my mother at
once warmly included Agnes in the invitation, and
suggested that the two boys should pass a portion,
at least, of their Christmas holidays at Newstead.
Livingstone still hesitated; this time on account
of his great wish to give Agnes, whilst with him,
the opportunity of good music lessons. My
mother again wrote and told him that such a
comparative trifle must not stand in the way,
promising that Agnes should have ample oppor
tunity whUst staying with her to study music.
At this Dr Livingstone gave way.
His ultimate agreement to my parents' proposal
was a true delight to them both; and shortly
afterwards, in September 1864, Dr Livingstone
and Agnes arrived at Newstead, and proceeded to
take up their quarters for the winter, to the great
satisfaction of all. It took only a few hours to
assure both Dr Livingstone and my mother,, that
that they were thoroughly " sympathetic," and that
the arrangement was certain to be successful and
pleasant. Newstead is eleven miles from Nottingham,
and in those days there were none of the facilities

66 AGNES [CH. vni.
for rapid transit that now exist. My mother
might, therefore, have found it difficult to fulfil
her promise as to Agnes's music lessons but for
her ready wit. She suddenly discovered that I was
old enough to require a governess, and devised the
ingenious plan of engaging for the winter a young
lady, Miss Eleanor A  , who was an exception-
aUy good musician and a really brilliant pianist,
belonging to a famUy well known for their talents
in the musical world.
Miss A  taught me a few simple lessons
every morning, and instructed me in the mysteries
of five finger exercises ; in addition she was, of
course, more than capable of undertaking Agnes's
musical education. The arrangement answered
admirably; as, besides her musical gifts. Miss
A  was a bright and pleasant girl, much liked
by all in the house.
It may seem strange to some that Dr
Livingstone attached such importance to Agnes's
music, for he was not himself considered very
musical ; but it was certainly just then one of his
great wishes that she should play the piano well.
Agnes had a great taste for music, and played
nicely as a girl, although I do not think she ever
attempted to sing, nor have I any recollection of
her excelling in music in after years. I imagine
she must have worked at it, as she undoubtedly
did, both as a girl at Newstead and later in Paris,
more for her father's pleasure and satisfaction than
for her own.
From the first she was a devoted daughter,
trying to help and please her father in all ways.
The pride both the two took in each other was

LIVINGSTONE'S LOVE OF CHILDREN 57
touching to witness ; in her case it laid the
foundation of the many warm friendships she
gained later. They were evidently so much at
ease and happy together, that it made it the
more pathetic to remember how short a time
they were permitted to enjoy each other's society.
In Livingstone's self-imposed separation from his
family, and especially from Agnes, more than in
any of the hardships and privations of his African
explorations, was to be found the real self-sacrifice
and heroism of his hfe. It is possibly only by
those who knew him intimately during this winter
in England, and realised how much he enjoyed the
comforts and pleasures of his temporary home, that
the contrast to his lonely journeyings in Africa
can properly be understood. His freedom from
any tinge of envy of the prosperity or blessings
of others was marked. Far from making him
regretful or discontented with his own or his
chUdren's lot, on the contrary he rejoiced to see
others happy, even in material ways. AU he
asked was that they should not do wrong, and
should give God the praise and the glory.
His was the charity "thinking no evil" that
raised up aU around him insensibly to his own
level. If his visit at Newstead was, according to Sir
Harry Johnston's gracious words, "perhaps aU
things considered, the eight happiest months of
his hfe," it was chiefly owing to his own kindly
nature ; and, this considered, it is, perhaps, hardly
strange that my parents also looked back on it
as the happiest winter they ever experienced.
That Dr Livingstone, having for years worked

58 AGNES [CH. VIII.
to his utmost hmit, now thoroughly enjoyed the
quiet pleasure of each day as it came round,
shows that he was merely another example of
the truth of the fine saying : "A saint, after all,
is just a chUd-like soul who lets God make him
happy in His own way."

CHAPTER IX
NEWSTEAD
The end of September 1864, found Dr Livingstone
and his daughter, Agnes, duly established at
Newstead. It may not, therefore, be out of
place to give some shght description of their
new suiToundings, for some houses — amongst
which Newstead is certainly one — have too
much character of their own not to influence,
more or less, the hfe of their inhabitants.
Newstead has been often described, so that
there is no need to dwell upon its best known
features ; I wUl rather attempt to give a picture of
it as a household, at the time of Dr Livingstone's
visit. There is the more reason for doing so,
that the hfe I write of, has almost, if not quite,
disappeared, and in another score of years may
have vanished past modern comprehension.
Originally one of three rehgious houses founded
about 1170 by Henry II. in expiation of the death
of Thomas a Becket, the Priory of Newstead,
until its dissolution by Henry VIII., was one of
the most flourishing monasteries in the Midlands.
Thus, during the three and a half centuries of
their occupation the monks had time, not only
to set their impress on the whole edifice, but on
the entire locality as weU; so much so, indeed,
59

60 NEWSTEAD [CH. IX.
that it would possibly be difficult to find, even in
England, any other dwelling that retained more
distinct traces of its ancient owners. This may
be partly explained by the fact that upon its
dissolution as a monastery and its acquisition by
the Byron family, the original structure was
preserved intact, instead of being rebuilt in
another form, as was the frequent fate of other
such structures. Thus altered, adapted, and
added to as Newstead has been by succeeding
generations, it still remains to this day unchanged
in all its principal features.
The long stone cloisters, ancient fountain and
quadrangle, the vaulted chapter house, and many
pillared crypts are still in as perfect order as
when the monks were forced to abandon their
home. Of the once beautiful church nothing now
remains but the well-known west front, with its
pointed arched window, lovely even in its ruin.
The present condition, it may be pointed out, is
not to be put down altogether to the Reformation,
but to the civil war a century after, when Newstead
was the scene of a sharp encounter between the
Cavaliers and the Parliamentary soldiers.
The Lord Byron of that day and his seven
sons were all staunch Royalists ; no less than
four of them fighting at Naseby, as their
descendant, the poet, recorded with some pride.
The grey walls of the ruins at Newstead still
show marks of the Roundheads' bullets, and
what is far more regrettable, all the stone figures
of the saints within reach were on the same
occasion either demolished or defaced, the

BYRONIC RELICS 61
statue of Our Lady with the Holy Child in her
arms alone remaining unscathed in her niche
on the loftiest pinnacle. This is pointed out by
Lord Bjrron himself in the very poetical, but at
the same time singularly accurate, description of
his old home, under the assumed name of
Norman Abbey given by him in the thirteenth
canto of Don Juan.
To be quite frank, none of us, with the
exception of my mother, cared about Byron, for
in our youthful days we heard too much of
him not to be wearied by the subject, and the
very famiharity deprived his history of romance.
HappUy my mother felt differently, and it is
chiefly owing to her care on her first arrival at
Newstead, that every rehc connected with him
has been so rehgiously preserved. Her almost
meticulous reverence for all that concerned the
Byron fanuly, and, of course, more especially
the poet, even at times provoked ridicule, a
clever relative remarking with some truth that
my mother seemed "much less mistress in her
own house, than caretaker for the Byrons." She
regarded this, however, as an obligation, and in
some sort as a duty that she owed to aU the
poet's admirers.
Nor did her moral courage fail where his
memory was concerned. It was, indeed, whUst
Dr Livingstone was with us, that after much
dehberation she decided on her own responsi-
bihty to cut down part of the tree on which
Lord Byron had carved his and his sister
Augusta's name during his last visit to Newstead.
The tree itself, a twin stemmed elm, stood

62 NEWSTEAD [CH. ix.
in the Devil's Wood, and was showing even then
such unmistakable signs of decay, that if the
names were to be preserved at all, it was evident
that no time should be lost. The portion of the
trunk with the names was, therefore, removed to
the house, where it has remained ever since in a
glass case. There was a terrible outcry over her
action at the time, but her forethought has been
amply justified, as the remaining twin stem, then
apparently healthy, has long since perished.
Far more to our childish taste than any
Byronic memories, was the beloved "Wishing
Well," a dehcious spring enclosed by green mossy
walls, whence the purest and coldest of water
bubbled up continually from the silvery sand
below. Here all might wish to their heart's
content, and "it was sure to come true" if one
could maintain silence or — convenient alternative
— the wish lost its attraction and was no longer
desirable. This " Wishing WeU " had, of course,
been known formerly as St Mary's weU, and
was the object of many pilgrimages in olden
times. It was close to the so - called Monks'
Stew Pond, a long, dark pool overshadowed by
ancient yews, and in my early days still full
of patriarchal carp, fondly supposed to be, if not
the very same fish, at least the descendants of
those left by the good monks themselves.
There was abundance of water everywhere, for
Newstead lies in the very centre of a network of
springs and ponds. The little river Leen rises on
the estate, and, flowing through it, joins the " silver
Trent " near Nottingham. No doubt, the abund
ance of water was one reason that commended

EAGLE POND 63
the place to the monks for their original settle
ment, as they loved to have a bountiful supply
near them to provide for their fish ponds, and
were also singularly skilful in adapting it to their
agricultural needs by the construction of dams.
The gardens of my childhood were a mass of
syringa, lilac, and American azaleas, having
become, I imagine, somewhat neglected and over
grown during the interval that had elapsed
between Colonel WUdman's death and my
father's acquisition of the property.
There were then, at aU events, regular thickets
of them, not only in aU the shrubberies and under
the trees of the old Rookery and DevU's Wood,
but also overrunning much of the turf near the
Dog's Tomb and by the Eagle Pond.^ Large
masses of azaleas also existed close to the south
side of the house, and with the syringa before-
mentioned made a perfect tangle of sweet-scented
bloom in the early summer, their perfume quite
overpowering to many, my mother amongst the
number. They were untidy, but undoubtedly
in their own season most picturesque; in winter
they looked ragged and forlorn, so that it is little

1 The Eagle Pond, a large, ohlong sheet of water framed by sloping
turf banks just below the Devil's Wood on the east side of the
house. It derives its name from the brass eagle lectern that was
discovered in its depths, during Colonel Wildman's ownership, the
monks having, so it is said, thrown all their most valuable possessions
into its waters when they were turned out of Newstead. There is,
I believe, no foundation for this belief beyond the discovery of the
lectern, which contained in its ball-footed pedestal all the title deeds
and valuable papers of the monastery. The latter were only found
during the necessary process of cleaning. The lectern is now in
Southwell Minster, and the documents in the possession of my sister,
Miss Webb.

64 NEWSTEAD [ch. ix.
wonder that in course of time they were removed.
Rhododendrons were then only just coming into
fashion, and were still far from common, not a
universal stopgap as they are now. The craze
for bedding out with its geraniums, lobelias, and
calceolarias in geometrical patterns, came rather
later, and, like all other places, Newstead also suc
cumbed to the fashion for a time ; but at the
date of which I write the greater portion of the
gardens owed, at least, its design more to the
monks than to the Byrons, or Colonel Wildman,
to whom Newstead was sold in 1818. He had
known the poet personally in his youth, having
been one of his schoolfellows at Harrow, and
although Byron's grief at parting with his ancestors'
home was great, it was somewhat softened by the
feehng that it should fall into such good and
friendly hands.
Colonel Wildman possessed large estates in
Jamaica, and even now one of the best known
streets in Kingston bears the name of his famUy.
It was the unforeseen fall in the value of West
Indian property, joined to the enormous sums he
had expended upon the restoration of Newstead,
which at his death caused the sale of the abbey
to be imperative.
At one time, before the acquisition of
Sandringham, there was some talk of Newstead
being purchased for the young Prince of Wales,
but eventually the project was wisely abandoned,
as the difficulties of adapting such an old house
as Newstead, to such a purpose would have been
almost insuperable.
It was but a few days after the birth of my

COLONEL WILDMAN 65
eldest short-hved httle brother, that my father
went down from Yorkshire to look at Newstead
for the first time. He saw it on a lovely May
morning, fell in love with it at sight, and bought
it on the spot. So little time did he lose over
the transaction that before the month was out
my mother and the whole famUy were installed
there. The sudden step was the more remark
able, in that he habitually left all minor decisions
to my mother.
On this occasion, however, she was fuUy as
enchanted as he was himself with their new abode.
I have seen a letter written by her to my grand
mother the day after her arrival, in which she
describes her first impressions; so overjoyed with
my father's choice, as to be almost pathetic read
ing, in the light of after years.
Colonel WUdman had spared neither pains nor
expense on the place during his ownership.
The house, when Lord Byron left it, was only
partiaUy habitable, most of the old roof being
actuaUy in ruins. To replace this alone had been
a considerable undertaking, especially as the greater
part was composed of lead, and, in proportion to
its size, Newstead covers an unusual extent of
ground. Colonel Wildman had also added offices, and
the so-caUed Sussex Tower to the original edifice.
This Tower, part of which Dr Livingstone
afterwards occupied, had replaced an older and
smaller one, to be seen in the earlier pictures of
the Abbey.
Unfortunately, although designed by Mr John

66 NEWSTEAD [CH. ix-
Shaw, the fashionable architect of the day, its
style cannot be regarded as happy, for the heavy
Norman arches and ponderous battlements accord
ill with the graceful pointed window of the adjacent
ruins. The Tower took its name from H.R.H. the
Duke of Sussex, to whom for many years Colonel
Wildman acted as equerry. The Duke spent
much of his time at Newstead, and the Tower
was avowedly built on his account, to accommodate
liis suite. The Duke himself, however, never
occupied it, but was lodged in the large room
hung with tapestry, which stUl bears his name,
and was one of the original guest chambers
reserved in former times for royal visitors, for
the vicinity of Sherwood Forest had made the
monastery from earliest times a convenient centre
for the latter's hunting excursions.
These visits of the Duke of Sussex gave rise
to much comment, and were, of course, popularly
supposed to be a heavy expense to Colonel
Wildman, but the Duke was a kindly old man,
and a very welcome guest.
I doubt not also, that these assertions were
much exaggerated, although I have often heard
the old housekeeper affirm, that it took no less
than forty pounds of wax candles to light up
the house upon state occasions, whUst His Royal
Highness was there. Rather an alarming statement,
if true ; but it was then, I beheve, etiquette to use
wax candles only, when royalty was present.
This story certainly made the first of my
father's improvements, in arranging for the entire
house to be lit with gas, an economy rather than

Dr Livingstone's Roomj
two middle windows of Sussex Tower

Byron Oak.

NEWSTEAD ABBEY— SOUTH FRONT.

iTo/ace p.t6.

MRS WILDMAN 67
an extravagance, but it was none the less looked
upon then, as an audaciously modern innovation
applied to a private dwelling-house.
One of my father's first acts, when restoring
the Chapel, had been to put up a stained-glass
window to Colonel Wildman's memory, with a
short but sympathetic dedication. This small
attention had pleased Mrs Wildman greatly, and
my mother's charm speedily accomplished the rest.
The former domestic life of large country
houses was so utterly different from that of the
present day, as to want a few words of descrip
tion. With less of actual luxury, everything was
ordered on far ampler and more leisurely lines.
In the first place communication was much more
difficult, and there were no large " Stores " capable
of supplying at a few hours' notice any possible
want in a household. All had to be thought out and
prepared beforehand, and each separate household
was almost self-supporting. Their farms furnished
them with mutton, pork (in all its varieties of
home- cured hams, pork, bacon, and sausages),
besides poultry and cheese. Milk, cream, and
butter came from the dairy close by — game from
the park and woods. Bread was baked in the
vast stone oven thrice weekly, whilst bountiful
stores of jam, preserves, jellies, bottled fruits, and
vegetables, were manufactured in the stUl-room at
the proper season.
Moreover, the butler was expected, as a matter
of course, to brew all the beer used in the house,
and the latter implied much more than it would
mean nowadays.
When I look back on the past in few things

68 NEWSTEAD [ch. ix.
do I see a change more than in this. Of old,
beer was the common drink in a house. Even
the maids drank their aUowance — and that not
a small one — three times a day regularly. A
faint reminiscence of its smell pervaded all the
servants' quarters as a result. I can never forget
my surprise at seeing once the big beer ceUar
with its long line of jugs and cans in readiness
for the morning's allowance, and the regiment
of barrels behind.
Not that Newstead was anything but a most
sober and respectable establishment, and I never
heard of a case of drunkenness in man or woman ;
but to drink beer like water was simply the custom
of the time. The beer was home-brewed and
wholesome, and, I fancy, not very strong.
It used to be brewed in great vats several
times a year, in the big brew - house, from
which a delicious odour of warm hops and
malt (sweet wort as the resulting liquor was
caUed) could be perceived from afar, even at
some distance from the house. In cold weather,
or if any one felt chilly or out of sorts, warm
beer with a plentiful addition of sugar, ginger,
or spice was the invariable remedy, and the maids
aU had little black saucepans for this purpose,
and generally carried a little grater with a piece
of stick ginger in their pocket.
Even as a child I have been given a sip of
it, and it was certainly warming and sweet. In
its way not unpleasant, and I daresay, less harm
ful to their nerves than the modern strong tea.
This last was still rather a luxury and, of course,
was Chinese and not Indian. It was drunk much

WATER BISCUITS 69
weaker than is now customary, and at most
twice a day. Men servants rather despised it
as womanish and " finikin " ; beer, bread, and
cheese being much preferred by them to " slops "
between the regular meals.
Coffee was only appreciated upstairs, and
even there used in great moderation. My father
drank it always after dinner, but this was un
usual, and after luncheon such a thing was
never even thought of.
As to cocoa in aU its varieties one hardly saw it,
and even chocolate as a sweetmeat was extremely
rare, and only, I think, procurable from France,
for it was still far too expensive to be common.
Nearly every house had its own speciality in
the way of recipes. Ours was, I think, super-
exceUent water biscuits. They were made in
large quantities, and every visitor asked for the
secret, but even when given, never succeeded
in copying them exactly. The very name of
these biscuits was deceptive, for but little water
entered into their composition, and the flour
was mixed mainly with white of egg and a
suspicion of thick cream, the real mystery lying
in the endless rolling to which the paste was
subjected. When baked they were almost as
thin as paper, and very crisp, and covered with
little blisters, and they were pricked all over
before they were finally placed in the oven.
Another distinctive item, and one that I
never remember seeing elsewhere, was a certain
cream ice, artfuUy flavoured with green tea. I
suppose it was terribly unwholesome, but as
an ice I have never seen it surpassed. Green
e2

70 NEWSTEAD [ch. ix.
tea is nowadays a mere name, but then each
orthodox tea-caddy had its special compartment
for it, and a pinch used to be solemnly added
for "visitors," even in our nursery itself.
For the ices and biscuits, the still-room and
not the kitchen was responsible, and so rigid was
the etiquette observed between the two depart
ments that on one memorable occasion a dinner
was almost wrecked on this point, my mother
having ordered a particular iced pudding, then
a novelty, and the heads of both kitchen and
still-room firmly refusing all responsibility in the
matter. This naturally leads us to the kitchen,
the " heart of the house," as a poetical Highland
cook once termed it.
The kitchen at Newstead was, indeed, in its
way unusual. Quite as large as a small church,
and very lofty, it was built on the model of the
monastic kitchen at Glastonbury, and outwardly
took the form of an octagonal roofed, semi
detached building. It was weU lighted by two
immense windows with pointed arches, and with
its high groined ceiling converging to a point
in the centre, even in the hottest weather there
was never any lack of air.
This was fortunate, since the big fireplace
took up the whole of one of the many sides.
It was partially shielded off by a huge iron
roasting screen, but one could peep behind it, and
watch the enormous fire blazing — a fire which
burnt, so the former cook tells me, half a ton
of coal a day, and was able easily to roast thirty-
six joints at the same time, the roasting-jacks
being turned by a mechanical arrangement worked

NEWSTEAD KITCHEN 71
by water power. The heat given out by this fire
was so intense that half a minute's glimpse of
it was enough to satisfy ordinary curiosity, and
one was glad to escape with aching eyes and
scorched cheeks. To this day I marvel how the
necessary basting of the meat was accomplished,
but I think there were cunning little windows
in the great iron screen itself for the purpose.
To bake meat in those days was thought
beneath the dignity of a really good cook, and
only to be permitted for funerals.
The French proverb was often quoted. "On
devient cuisinier, mais on est nd rotisseur,"
whilst as regards the baked meats Hamlet refers
to the custom when he says : —
" The funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables."
The meat certainly was much better roasted
in the old-fashioned way ; but few now know
even the difference.
The stone floor of the kitchen was freshly
sanded every morning, and in the corners coloured
sand was formed into various pretty devices. The
waUs were bright with shining copper pans and
utensils of all kinds, whilst the two sides between
each window were taken up respectively by a
big gas stove and oven, and a large range for the
special purpose of stewing and soups, w^here the
big stewpots could simmer tranquUly the hvelong
day. A long, brick French stove with apertures
for charcoal fires ran the whole way under one
of the windows, so that the French cook there
at least found himself quite at home. A large

72 NEWSTEAD [ch. ix.
and airy haU next door was used as a scullery,
and had also its own fireplace, where on occasion
ordinary roasting and cooking could easily be
done. Beyond this, were large larders for meat
and game, and storerooms with all the many hams
and sides of bacon hanging from the ceilings ready
for use when required. My mother was a good
manager, and in spite of the apparent abundance,
I do not think there was much real waste.
The cook had a miniature printing press,
and the bills of fare were printed from it daily.
It was a fancy of my mother's ; and once the
cook learnt how to use it — which he did in a
very short time — he found it a much quicker and
easier process than writing them by hand for a
large party.
I have, however, said enough to give a general
idea of an English country house in those times.
Looking back over it, one cannot but be struck
by the large part that eating, drinking, and
entertaining played in the daily life of that day.

CHAPTER X
THE ABBEY GHOSTS
The monks of Newstead were Augustinian Canons
Regular, popularly known as Black Austins ; and
the monastery was in reality a priory and not
an abbey, although, for some unexplained reason,
it has been ever popularly known by the latter
designation. It would, therefore, at this time of
day, only appear pedantic and cause confusion,
to be exact in this particular.
The most probable reason for this misnomer,
is the very simple one, that from the size and
importance of their community, the original
Priors grew to be termed Abbots, and preferred
it to their rightful but less exalted title.
Between the Austin Canons of Newstead and
the neighbouring monastery attached to Southwell
Minster, there was of old much rivalry, and there
still exist on the walls of the Chapter House of
Southwell some quaint stone carvings illustrative
of this jealousy ; and, as might be expected, they
are far from complimentary to the character of
the Newstead Fathers.
The Black Augustinians wore a special dress,
not at all like the usual monk's garments, and it
is remarkable that in aU the many tales current
of the ghostly "Friar" (although to be strictly

74 THE ABBEY GHOSTS [ch. x.
accurate he was not a " friar " at all), he is invari
ably described as wearing a cowl instead of the
peculiar and much less picturesque biretta or cap
peaked at the corners, that was the distinguish
ing headgear of the Augustinian Canons. Nor,
strange to say, have I ever heard of the appari
tion being seen in the true habit of his order,
even Lord Byron making this curious but natural
mistake. A notable instance of the part expectancy
plays in such visions.
One true story I have, however, often been told
by Mrs Sheppard, the old housekeeper, who had
spent most of her days in the service of Colonel
and Mrs Wildman. The night before the first
arrival of my parents at Newstead she made up
her mind now or never to set at rest all her own
doubts as to the Black Friar, for, on one point at
least, all traditions were agreed — that his appear
ance must accompany any change of ownership to
the Abbey.
She was a very determined little woman, and
so resolved on actually keeping vigil in the Monk's
Chamber itself. This room adjoins the apartments
formerly occupied by Lord Byron, the poet, which
are reached by a lonely turret stair.
The Monk's Chamber was regarded as the
special haunt of the Black Friar, having been in
old monastic days the room set apart for the sick
and dying monks, so that they could both hear
and join in the prayer and chants below, for its
solitary window looks directly into the church,
long since a ruin.
The room had a deep recess running along

MONK'S CHAMBER 75
one of the walls, whilst the great depths of the
window embrasure, especially before the days of
gas or electric light, served but to intensify the
darkness of its corners.
Nevertheless, shortly before midnight, Mrs
Sheppard repaired thither. She was quite alone,
for at such an hour, and on such an occasion no
one cared to keep her company. She lit two
candles, and for some time sat quietly watching,
her nerves, of course, becoming more and more
on edge with each minute. At length, she heard a
distinct footstep followed by a second. She waited
in silent expectancy. They stopped, and then con
tinued as before. But as the door did not open
and they came no nearer, she coUected herself
and only listened the more intensely when,
to her bewilderment, she perceived that they
proceeded from the direction of the window.
Summoning up all her courage, she at once
rushed to open it.
It was a wild, dark night, and as she unfastened
the latch, a gust of wind and rain enveloped her
and almost blew out the candles on the table ;
but the mystery was solved. A branch of ivy had
become loose, and was being blown to and fro
against the diamond shaped panes.
"It was enough for me," she used to say, as
she ended the story. "After that I knew what
stuff the ghosts were made of ! "
Never afterwards would she suffer others to
beheve in such ideas, and on this point she was
of the greatest assistance to my mother. For at
first there were many tiresome difficulties with the
fresh servants, as during the two years Newstead

76 THE ABBEY GHOSTS [CH. x.
had been tenantless all kinds of absurd stories
as to its ghosts had been spread abroad. Mrs
Sheppard and my mother disposed of these pro-
saicaUy enough, by simply letting it be known,
that all practical jokes would meet with the
utmost severity, and that if any servant spoke
of having seen such unwelcome visitants, they
would be kindly but firmly requested to leave
the next morning.
It was even fondly supposed we children never
heard of their existence ; but, as is always the case,
it was in reality impossible to guard against this.
Tales of the kind are in the very air of such old
houses, and whilst still in the nursery we knew,
of course, the minute and particular history and
attributes of every ghost on the premises, although
we had enough sense of what was expected of us
never to mention them to our elders.
Strangely enough (unlike Madame du Deffand
whose well-known saying on the same subject
" Je n'y crois pas, mais je les crains" is so often
quoted), 1 believed firmly in them all, but never
dreaded them, or at least not those belonging to
Newstead itself, nor do I think that any of my little
brothers or sisters felt the least afraid. As a child
I would go anywhere fearlessly alone in the dark,
much preferring this, indeed, to taking a candle with
me, as the latter cast such odd shadows. Not that
I was as brave as this might lead one to think,
for although I had no fear of spirits, I was terribly
afraid of wolves, all the more so, that as my reason
told me there were no such wild beasts in England,
and I knew I should be ridiculed unmercifully for
my absurd cowardice. Now I had never heard

LITTLE SIR JOHN BYRON 77
frightening stories of wolves, as I had often of
lions, and except one solitary specimen of a wolf
skin, with a very mild looking and inoffensive head
attached, I rather doubt at this time if I had ever
even seen a wolf, but the inexplicable fact remains,
and there was a certain dark doorway leading
into the cloister that I never passed by without
quickened breath and beating heart, so sure I was
that sooner or later a wolf would issue from its
black shadow.
Of other ghosts, apart from the wide famed
"Black Friar," there was a tolerably extensive
coUection, beginning with " little Sir John Byron
with the Long Beard" to whom Henry VIII.
had granted the Abbey, and ending with "a
black, shapeless mass with glaring eyes " who was
supposed to confine itself to the cloisters and
ground floor.
Little Sir John Byron was a harmless and in
offensive spirit, who differed from most of his kind,
in that he was supposed generaUy to be seen by day
light. He was wont to sit in an old ebony chair
beneath his picture in the library, reading an ancient
book. This particular chair was known as Henry
VIII.'s chair, and may have been given to Sir John
by that monarch ; but for the Abbey and its lands
he had paid him a good price, £800 (in those days
no inconsiderable sum), so that despite the wrongs
of the monks the Byrons may be said to have
acquired the property honestly.
The most uncomfortable ghost of aU was a
column of cold white vapour, that mysteriously
arose from the floor in dead of night in one of
the old panelled bedrooms. It was, moreover

78 THE ABBEY GHOSTS [CH. x.
the only case that seemed to have any claims to
authenticity, as more than one vouched for having
seen it comparatively recently. It was probably
mainly on this account, that my mother at once
selected it as her own bedroom, thereby putting
an end to the story for ever afterwards, for it
was never seen again.
The " shapeless black mass " was too vague to
afford much scope to popular imagination, at any
time, and the fact that my father always had a
big black retriever in attendance, who was peculiarly
fond of perambulating the cloisters, appeared to
allay the visitation. It was so easy to mistake it
for the dog ! or — vice versa !
But of aU the ghostly legends of the place
one in especial appealed to me, and indeed does
so .still.
On an unknown day in the late autumn of each
year, but it must be a day when leaves are flying
and winds blowing, an invisible cavalcade is heard
gaUoping through the park, closely pursued by the
hoof beats of a single horse, whilst a woman's voice
cries out continually in sorrowful appeal : " Speak
to me, my Lord Byron, only speak to me ! " until
the sound of the horse's feet and the plaintive cry
are alike lost in the distance.
That is all ; and nothing is seen, but the
sense of passing movement and the sound is so
real that all before it fall back as the phantom
riders sweep by.
The story goes that in the forgotten past, a
sister of one of the Lords Byron had fallen into
disgrace, and in his wrath her brother vowed he
would never pardon her.

BYRON GHOST 79
They had loved each other dearly, and she
always hoped for forgiveness, thinking that once
he saw her again he would surely relent. She
made, therefore, a futUe womanly plan of meeting
him one day, as he was riding home with his
foUowers from hunting ; but he only galloped on.
And so fi'om henceforth for ever on a similar
autumn day, the heart-breaking scene is re-enacted,
although invisibly.
Their very names now lost, and her fruitless
appeal only remaining to enlist the pity — once
so crueUy refused her — of future generations.

CHAPTER XI
LEGENDS OF THE BYRONS
Far more interesting to us as children than any
shadowy tales of ghosts, were the many stories
current relating to the "wicked Lord Byron."
Great -uncle of the poet, he was locally a
personage of far greater importance than his
celebrated successor. Few of the working folk
could then read or write, therefore literature in
general, and poetry in particular, was naturally
held by them of no account.
This was aptly illustrated by a delightful old
carpenter of our acquaintance. He had known
Lord Byron, the poet, weU in his youth, and on
being cross - questioned by an ardent Byron
worshipper as to the poet's tastes and habits,
would only vouchsafe the unromantic reply,
" Waal, 'e loiked good beer," and when the
lady, greatly shocked, indignantly demanded
whether he realised what a great poet he was
speaking -of, the only answer given was, " Waal,
1 did 'ear 'e'd writ zummat."
The wicked lord, however, was in the eyes
of his tenants a simpler character to under
stand. He was unmistakably bad throughout,
and his evil deeds and eccentricities only became
the darker with time. The more so, as by his
80

THE WICKED LORD 81
craze for erecting various useless buildings, which
remained for all to see, his very memory could
not be set aside.
His notorious duel with his cousin and
neighbour, Mr Chaworth of Annesley, is too
well-known to dilate on. Suffice it to say it
took place in a London tavern in a darkened room,
and resulted in the death of his antagonist. Lord
Byron was tried for murder before the House of
Peers, and ultimately acquitted. The rapier he
used, stUl, so it was said, stained with blood, hangs
to this day in one of the Newstead corridors.
But the popular version ran, that after this
tragedy, although legaUy acquitted, the wicked
lord found many doors closed to him.^ In
disgust he returned to Newstead, where he
lived according to his own wild will. His wife
for a time remained with him, until he attempted
to drown her in one of the fountains near the
house. She was rescued, so the legend ran, by
one the gardeners, and the very spot used to be
pointed out to me, but the wicked lord must
in that case have been a most optimistic would-
be murderer for the aforesaid stone basin is only
some three feet deep.
1 Lord Byron, the poet, did not endorse the general opinion. Vide
" Letters from Genoa," 1823. " As to the Lord Byron who kUled
Mr Chaworth in a duel, so far from retiring from the world, he made
the tour of Europe, and was appointed Master of the Sfe^hounds after
that event, and did not give up society until his son had offended him
by marrying in a manner contrary to his duty. So far from feeling
any remorse for having killed Mr Chaworth, who was a fire-eater and
celebrated for his quarrelsome disposition, he always kept the sword
which he had used on that occasion in his bedchamber, where it still
was when he died." F

8S, LEGENDS OF THE BYRONS [CH. xi.
His life after this was most irregular, and
without entering into particulars, which, of course,
as children we did not understand, there is no
doubt that a great many of the later exaggerations
as to the riotous orgies attributed to the poet
at Newstead, arose from his doings, thus being
confused with those of the wicked lord. In
reahty, the poet spent comparatively little of his
time there, for as a boy and youth he lived at
Southwell, some twelve miles distant, with his
mother, and his means were at no time sufficient
for any extravagances of the kind on a large
scale. The wicked lord, on the other hand, at
one time spent money like water, and never
denied himself any self-indulgence.
He found his principal amusement in mimic
sea-fights on the Great Lake, and for this he
built on its banks a miniature stone fort, and
turret towers, as well as a taU castle on the
wooded hill above.^ Also the very curious
erection of rocks near the lower lake known as
the Ragged Rock, surmounted by a smaU turret
from whence forty years ago, before the surround
ing woods had attained their present size, an
extensive view could be obtained over all the
country side, well worth the steep and difficult
ascent. To construct this, it was said, all avail
able large stones and rocks on the Newstead
property, and even from the surrounding district,
was gathered together by his orders.
As a master and landlord he was so hard
and cruel as to be absolutely hated by his
dependents, so that when he sent to Hull for
' This last has recently been pulled down.

THERE WAS A JOVIAL MILLER 83
a small schooner for use in his, mimic fights on
the lake, an old saying was remembered, to
the effect that when a ship laden with heather
should cross Sherwood Forest the power of the
Byrons should pass away, and the poor people
assembled from far and near to throw handfuls
of ling on to its deck, so that the prophecy
might be fulfilled.
Another and much less well-known story, I
often heard whispered as a child, and possibly
it had some foundation.
They said that a large lake formerly existed
above the great lake at Newstead with an old
mill standing on the dam between the two.
The wicked lord dealt hardly with the miller,
as was his wont, and, at last, in spite of the
latter's prayers, insisted upon his quitting the
place. The miller together with his son went
up to the Abbey in a last hope of finding mercy,
for they loved their miU and had been good
tenants, but all in vain. Lord Byron was obdurate
and drove them away with bitter scorn. Vowing
vengeance they departed. But before leaving the
old miU they secretly cut the dam.
The lake burst, carrying the mill with it,
and the ensuing flood caused such damage
between Newstead and Nottingham that Lord
Byron had to pay — so they declared, with the
popular love for actual figures — no less than
£60,000 in compensation. This effectually ruined
him for the remainder of his days, and put a
stop for ever to all his extravagances. There,
undoubtedly, was the visible remains in my early
childhood, of a high grass -grown bank, which

84 LEGENDS OF THE BYRONS [CH. xi.
looked very like the remains of a dam running
at right angles above the upper lake below the
Rock cottages pond. It was even sufficiently
high to have a raw edge of red sandstone along
one side full of sand-martin's nests ; but all has
graduaUy disappeared with time.
From the aforesaid ponds, moreover, and ex
tending right up the little valley beyond for half
a mile at least, there was a wide and noisome
swamp, full of tussocks, rushes, and willows, until
it ended in a bog full of marsh plants carpeted
with pinky mosses, which might very well in
bygone years have formed the bed of the vanished
lake.1 This catastrophe would also do much to
account for the extreme poverty of the wicked
lord in his old age, and also that it was necessity
rather than sheer spite towards his successor that
made him not only sell the family pictures, but
allow the house to become well-nigh uninhabit
able from want of repairs, and in addition cut
down all the mighty oaks in the park, the
destruction of which would seem otherwise but
wanton malice. The so-called PUgrim's Oak at
the principal lodge gates alone remains as a
sample of their size and beauty, having been
ransomed for a price from the rapacity of the
wicked lord by the dwellers in its vicinity. Its
name teUing of the old monastic days when the
^ I recollect well that each year charcoal burners used to come and
cut the vrillows in this swamp, and that the odd pointed little
turf huts which they used for burning the charcoal were our delight.
They lived often in one of the better huts, while they burnt the
willow wood in an adjoining one. The joy the deserted huts gave
to children can be imagined.

DEVILS AND DEATH 85
pilgrims to the Abbey used to rest under its
spreading shade, growing as it does a few yards
only from the Great North Road from London
to York. As might be expected with the disappearance
of his fortune, the iU reports of the wicked
Lord Byron increased yearly. He had in his
younger days brought back with him from Italy
two large leaden figures, one of the great god
Pan, and the other of a female Satyr and her
young one. These he had placed on two high
pedestals in a wood within the precincts of the
Abbey. It was, therefore, easy for the country
people to believe he worshipped them. And
the Devil's Wood and the old Lord's Devils soon
became part of his story. He died a miserable
old man, practicaUy alone in the only part of
the vast house at that time even water-tight.
In his later years, his solitary distraction —
surely a very harmless and inexpensive one
— consisted in feeding the little crickets which
abounded in the old building. They were said
to know his voice, and to appear at his call,
thereby causing his fancy for them to be ascribed
to supernatural influence. The night he died
one of the few who still dared to visit him,
while passing through the great hall, heard a
faint, chirping sound, and looking down perceived
a vast army of the tiny creatures moving
regularly towards the open door.
With the death of their master they vanished,
never to be seen again at Newstead — a fact
that was always triumphantly pointed out to
the incredulous. The park itself had, of course,
f2

86 LEGENDS OF THE BYRONS [ch. xi.
been originally part of Sherwood Forest, and
was fuU of memories of Robin Hood and his
merry men. There was even in the depths of its
fir woods a certain hole that was by courtesy
caUed his cave. It was very low and difficult
to find, and still more difficult to enter, but as
children we used to crawl into it with great
satisfaction. Nor could my father's assertion that
an old rabbit trapper maintained to him that
it had been cut out of the rock in his own
parents' time for the convenience of poachers,
shake our faith in its genuineness in the least.
We were happy children in that we were
brought up in a world of unconscious romance —
all the happier, perhaps, because unconscious.
The park itself was very undulating in places,
even hilly, and clothed with bracken, whilst, here
and there it was diversified by long stretches
of real Scotch heather.
Dr Livingstone, however, for once certainly
overstated the actual fact, when he writes in his
journal that the scenery surrounding Newstead is
" magnificent," although the amount of water in the
vicinity of the house adds greatly to its charm,
and, doubtless, after all his years of exile, the
heather, bracken, and dark-topped pine-trees, all
in the first flush of an English autumn, had their
effect upon him.
To the natural sandiness of the soil was
attributed the fact that my father, always subject
to recurring attacks of African fever in Yorkshire,
never once suffered from it at Newstead.
Trees were then few and far between, as the
property had never recovered from the wholesale

PLANTING— IMPROVEMENTS 87
falling of its ancient oaks, but the large pine
woods, previously alluded to, bounded the park
on its northern side, and there were a few
scattered clumps of the same firs as well as
some growing plantations of beech and oak, then
little more than saphngs, whilst many more were
in course of planting by my father himself. In
truth he had more than enough at that time to
occupy him, for it must be borne in mind that
although his predecessor. Colonel Wildman, had
done wonders for Newstead, and had spent the
greater part of his large fortune upon its restora
tion, his chief efforts had been directed on the
house itself, which was fast faUing into ruin,
when he purchased the property from Lord
Byron in November 1817 ; and upon my father,
therefore, devolved the task of providing the
tenants, and still more the working people, on
the estate with good cottages and farm-buildings.
In addition to this, there were new roads to con
struct, the general water-supply and drainage
to be attended to, besides lodges and stables to
rebuild. The old cottages, in particular, were astonish
ingly primitive, many of them not even being
buildings at aU, but simply rooms cut in the face
of the hving sandstone rocks, with the chimneys
projecting from the ground above.
These curious dwellings date from a very
ancient period, and are, I believe, peculiar to
certain districts of Nottinghamshire and Derby
shire. In spite of their drawbacks, their inhabi
tants were so much attached to them, declaring
them to be as warm in winter as they were

88 LEGENDS OF THE BYRONS [ch. xi.
cool in summer, that they manifested great wrath
and indignation when moved into the excellent
modern cottages provided for them. My father
was even for a short time considered as cruel a
tyrant as the wicked Lord Byron for insisting on
this step ; but as the so-caUed " Rock Cottages "
were in many ways most unsafe (for large quantities
of sand constantly fell from the rock ceilings), it
was impossible to allow them to remain occupied.
The floor in them was simply loose sand ankle -
deep ; but the wives of the labourers considered
this a positive advantage as being "so soft to
the feet," as well as saving them the trouble of
scrubbing, sweeping, and keeping it clean.
The inner rooms were mere holes, without
windows, and absolutely dark, and the conditions
ought to have been most unhealthy, but, never
theless, the inhabitants always maintained they
suffered less from illness than others.
It took some time and patience before they
forgave my father, and became reconciled to their
new, light, and airy abodes.
In all my father's projects, whether planting
or building, past, present, and future, Dr Living
stone sympathised to the fuU, as might be ex
pected, and they spent much of their time out
of doors looking at and superintending the im
provements. To do one's duty in whatever work
one had undertaken was always his first axiom,
whether at home or abroad ; although to him
individually, Africa, of course, came before all
else.

CHAPTER XII
APPEARANCE AND PORTRAIT
Although it is now almost fifty years ago
(1864-5), I remember Dr Livingstone's appear
ance as clearly as if it were yesterday, and the well-
known peaked consular cap with the tarnished gold
band, which he invariably wore on aU occasions
in England as in Africa. It had, indeed, the
curious fascination for him that some articles of
clothing seem to exercise on their owners, and
grew to be part of his personality. There also
seems to be associated with it in my mind, at
least, a thick blue coat for outdoor wear and a
pair of shepherd's plaid trousers in a small check.
He was always extremely neat and careful
in his appearance, although even apart from his
predUection for his gold-banded cap, there was
nothing the least clerical in his manner or dress.
I have no doubt this laid him open to criticism ;
such deviation from clerical attire in a missionary
being then even more conspicuous than it would
be now. His last consular cap, worn and battered with
travel, was given to my parents by his children
after his death ; and is now treasured at Newstead
along with other relics that belonged to him.
89

90 APPEARANCE AND PORTRAIT [CH. xil.
True to his Highland descent, Dr Livingstone
did not speak in the least like a Lowland Scots
man ; ^ but had rather a peculiar accent in talking,
and stUl more in reading English. It almost
seemed foreign, or as if the language were not
quite familiar to him, and did not run from his
tongue naturally; probably this was due to the
fact that for so many years he had been expressing
himself in the African dialects. His own expres
sion " that his English was rusty," was absolutely
correct, and described his speech exactly. Of
course, the rust wore off after he had been at
home some months, but it never entirely left
him. Public speaking was always a trial to him,
and the only time he was really ill at Newstead
arose from the state of nervousness and distress
he was thrown into on delivering an address to
the Mechanic's Institute at Mansfield in com-
phance with my father's request. It was a very
small affair, and, of course, it had never struck
my father that Dr Livingstone would take it
so seriously as he did.

1 There are, and have been for centuries, Livingstones in the
Isle of Lismore, a centre in old times of Columban and mediaeval
culture. Before the Reformation some of this family were hereditary
Keepers of the Crozier or Staff of the local saint, and continued to be
so designated ever since the Reformation down to the twentieth
century (see Oeltic Review, 1909). Some of these Livingstones
migrated to the Island of Mull in the seventeenth century, and
thence passed over to the Isle of Ulva, where Dr Livingstone's family
are known to have dwelt in the eighteenth century. It has, therefore,
been reasonably conjectured that Dr Livingstone may have been
the descendant of this Lismore stock of abbey guardians. Certainly
no ancestry could appear more consonant with his character and
sentiments. For all his life work was done in the spirit of St
Coluraba. [Note by a friend (A. F. Yule.)]

THE HARRISON PORTRAIT 91
Dr Livingstone was in face very like his
portraits, but (although it sounds as if I must be
a Philistine to say so) he resembled still more
his waxen effigy at Madame Tussaud's, and I well
remember the start of surprise with which I
greeted the well-known figure when I first saw
it a few years later. That was true testimony
to its excellence, for coming on the figure unex
pectedly it really seemed to me for a minute
as if I had suddenly met an old friend.
A portrait of him as he looked at this time
is now at Newstead, for during his visit there
my father fortunately induced him to sit for a
life-sized crayon sketch of his head and shoulders.
It was made by Mr J. B. Harrison, then a popular
artist, who, although chiefly known by his sketches
of children, had some three or four years earlier
made a good portrait of my father. He succeeded
excellently also in Dr Livingstone's case. The
picture was considered by those who knew
Livingstone intimately to be the best likeness
of him extant. It is certainly the most pleasing,
as the artist was lucky enough to catch his kindly
smile. It is, indeed, the only happy looking present
ment of Dr Livingstone that I have seen, for
aU the other portraits make him appear too
severe and grim ; and fuU of character as was
his face, these are the last words I w^ould have
applied to his expression of countenance. Like
all such crayon sketches, however, it has the
defect of giving but a slight indication of his
colouring, which hard work and exposure to a
hot climate had made a good deal browner than

92 APPEARANCE AND PORTRAIT [cH. xn.
he was naturally. Not that he was ever so
dark as he is shown in some of his other portraits,
where he looks more like a typical Spanish
pirate than the Dr Livingstone I remember !
Like most men, he so cordially detested the
necessary sittings and found them so irksome
that to lighten them as much as possible they
were attended by the whole family, and also by
any of his friends who chanced to be staying
in the house at the time.
Mr Harrison was, fortunately one of those
cheerful and amiable artists who never object to
being watched when at work, and he, therefore,
never rebelled at the number of his visitors. For
his use, part of the large billiard room was for
the time being transformed into a studio. It
faced east, and had a good light, one side being
almost entirely of glass. This large room had
been made into an orangery by the Byrons, and
it has to this day a most curious old plaster
ceiling ascribed to no less a personage than Inigo
Jones, although I hardly know not what truth
there is in the tradition.
At an earlier date this room must have had
access into the ancient Abbey Church, and possibly
even formed part of it. It opens into the garden
on its eastern side, and is reached from the house
through a heavy door from the cloisters. Next
to it is the Chapel, once the old Chapter House
with its vaulted roof and slender clustered
columns, whilst the crypt below was once the
Mortuary Chapel.
Lord Byron lodged his dogs in the Chapter
House, and used the Mortuary Chapel as his

THE DOG'S TOMB 93
swimming bath, thus showing no sort of respect
for any of the old monkish remains.
From the windows of the billiard room can be
seen close at hand the Dog's Tomb, that strange
and elaborate memorial erected by the poet to his
dog Boatswain, with its epitaph and sad lines —
lines which are cynical or pathetic according to
the point of view of the reader.
The Dog's Tomb stands on the very spot where
once was the High Altar of the old church, for it
must be noted that Lord Byron designed it with
the intention of being himself buried there ; and in
a letter respecting the "disposal of my carcase,"
as he terms it, written to Colonel Wildman at the
time of the sale to him of Newstead, he draws
attention to this fact, and adds that no objection
can be urged to his desire in the future, as it is
aU consecrated ground.
He wished to lie there in company with his
faithful servant, Joe Murray, and his daughter
Ada, as well as with the remains of his beloved
dog. There is a curious vault below the tomb,
in which are to be seen three niches, each large
enough to contain a coffin. It is reached by steps,
and I have myself been in it years ago, during
some necessary repairs, although the entrance is
so cunningly concealed by the stone pavement
that its very existence could hardly be suspected
by those unaware of it.
Lord Byron's scheme came to nothing, probably
from old Joe Murray's very forcible objection to
the idea of sharing his grave with Boatswain.
" His Lordship might be buried with dogs, but I
wiU be buried with Christians," were his words,

94 APPEARANCE AND PORTRAIT [CH. xii.
according to Newstead tradition; and to this he
remained firm.
Dr Livingstone, like every other visitor to
Newstead, must often have heard these stories
repeated, and, indeed, in his journal he remarks
on them. He, however, took little interest in
Byron, and had no romance about his poetry or
life. More especially did he dishke his want of
respect for the old monks, many of whose bones
had been dug up during the construction of the
Dog's Tomb.
" His character does not shine. It appears to
have been horrid," is Livingstone's blunt verdict
in his journal ; and it can be easily imagined that
two such men as Byron and Livingstone had few
points in common, save, strangely enough, that
cardinal one that they were both ready in their
divers ways, when the call came, to give up their
all, even their lives, for the idea of freeing a
suffering people. There they were at one ; for
when the situation is analysed there is a real
parallel between Missolonghi and Ilala. But Ilala
was then far away in the unknown future, and
at this time the former orangery was the chief
resort of a very happy party.
The room gradually became a universal reposi
tory for all the varied interests of my father at this
time. In one corner were a heap of fossils and
other geological specimens. A microscope on a
far-off table, surrounded by wide-mouthed glass
bottles containing trout ova, or young trout in
every state of development, and, I fear, disease.
They often died in an unaccountable manner in
those days, when their cloudy little corpses would

FEVER AND THE MICROSCOPE 95
float in the water, to be mourned over by Dr
Livingstone and my father, for the doctor's interest
in his host's trout-breeding experiments were as
keen as if they had been his own.
That the time would come when the micro
scope would solve the mystery of their maladies
was then undreamt of. The microscope was
then generally regarded as little more than an
interesting scientific toy, and, with some brilliant
exceptions, even men of science had no percep
tion of its marvellous possibilities in the service
of medicine. How often have I, as a child, in that very room,
listened to long and, to me, well-nigh incompre
hensible discussions between my father and his
comrades as to the horrors of African fever and
its supposed remedies, and conjectures as to
whether the day would ever come when its true
source would be discovered.
And yet the real key was all the time close
beside them. There was even a dim little phial
of dead tsetze flies lying near the microscope,
and already the connection between their bite and
the dreaded South African horse - sickness and
cattle-disease was a known fact. Only, of course,
the true and exact scientific explanation was as
yet lacking ; and it was left for Sir Ronald Ross,
Sir Rubert Boyce and their fellow workers and their
researches to supply the need. How Livingstone
would have rejoiced at their discoveries !
When one thinks of how much that is common
knowledge to-day would have meant to those wise
and splendid pioneers of the past generation, of
how much suffering it would have saved, of the

96 APPEARANCE AND PORTRAIT [CH. xn.
mistakes it would have obviated, one could almost
weep. Yet these regrets should carry, at least,
the saving grace of humility in our present know
ledge, recognising, as we must, that it is even
now but an infinitesimal part of what is still to
be revealed.

CHAPTER XIII
THE FRIEND OF CHILDREN
At that time we children were only four in
number, aU httle girls, for my eldest brother,
Wilfred, had died as a baby but a few months
after my father's removal to Newstead. It was
so far the only grief that had over-clouded the
otherwise singularly happy and prosperous life
of my parents, and one that my dear mother
never alluded to, although she had felt it very
keenly. I have reason to believe her silence was
for my father's sake, as it had been a great blow
and disappointment to him.
I should hke to be able to say that I was
Dr Livingstone's special favourite, but although
he was always kind and gentle to us all, that
distinction was reserved for my younger sister,
Ethel. As her picture taken at the time shows,
she was a very handsome child, black eyed and
dark haired, with beautifully rosy cheeks ; and
I doubt not this last quahty appealed the more
to Dr Livingstone through his being so unused
to seeing rosy cheeks in Africa. Possibly her
dark eyes reminded him of his own Agnes in
her babyhood, and of the first sad parting when
she was a httle older than my sister. However,
97 G

98 THE FRIEND OF CHILDREN [ch. xill.
that may be, she was, undoubtedly, from the first
his special pet and playmate.
It was the family custom that we children,
after our early morning breakfast, should join
my mother at famUy prayers in the then so-
called "little dining-room," and follow her after
wards to the breakfast room, quite a considerable
walk, as it was on the other side of the quad
rangle, round which the house was built, and on
another floor. It had, therefore, to be reached
either through the long stone cloisters or the
corridors that ran above them.
Once the breakfast room was attained we
were relegated to the big bow window, where we
played with our bricks, whilst the grown-up people
breakfasted at their leisure. We were never
allowed to make the least sound or even to speak,
stiU less to leave our window, and silence under
these circumstances was no easy matter at times.
I recollect how difficult it was to build our
brick castles noiselessly, and how often they
would come clattering down in spite of our
care. Then we were certain to reproach each
other in whispers that would get louder and
louder, and at last draw on us an inevitable
scolding. Thanks to Dr Livingstone's affection
for her, little Ethel invariably escaped.
He used, during his stay at Newstead, to
read the daily prayers instead of my mother,
and at their conclusion Ethel followed him
closely to the breakfast room, generally holding
his hand, when, indeed, he did not carry her,
for she was then of very tender years, and only
just promoted to attending prayers at all.

DEVONSHIRE CREAM 99
My mother had at this time an excellent
housekeeper, a Devonshire woman, who was, in
consequence, an adept in the manufacture of
her native clotted cream. For this dainty Dr
Livingstone had a great liking, and with it
always concluded his own breakfast. In silence,
therefore, being a young lady of great dignity
and few words, my little sister would wait until
the right moment arrived, and then stand by
his chair, or sit on his knee, whilst he com
pounded for her delectation a most elaborate
and delicious scone, plastered thickly over with
jam and clotted cream.
From afar in our window we gazed on her
with amazement, for in my childhood jam was
permitted or butter, but never both, far less jam
with clotted cream. It is only in Scotland, I
fancy, that butter and jam are always combined
as the inseparable accompaniment of the tradi
tional "piece."
In vain did our dear nurse NaNa remon
strate with the giver on its superabundance.
Dr Livingstone paid not the slightest heed to
her words, and would even as a last resort
humorously assert his medical authority, so that
she was obhged to give in and eventually confess
that, although against aU nursery regulations, it
never seemed to hurt Ethel or dim the bright
pink and white that made her the show child of
the famUy.
When I look back on the way children were
habitually treated in those days I wonder so
many hved to grow up, for once actual infancy
was passed, it was thought by most parents their

100 THE FRIEND OF CHILDREN [CH. xm.
duty to "harden" their offspring. The suffering
we endured in consequence from cold was quite
severe, and made most of us dread the winter
months. The entire house was admirably warmed by
hot -water pipes, but these designedly stopped
short of our nursery gallery. Whilst in our
parent's company, we were, therefore, warm and
comfortable, and they were unaware that at
other times we shivered. Our gallery, more
over, was under the sloping roof at the top of
the house, and had a stone floor, so we were
baked in summer and frozen in winter.
Cold baths in the early morning, and fireless
bedrooms at night for all children, except in
cases of real illness, was the inflexible rule. I
can myself recall sponges frozen as hard as rocks,
a transformation regarded by us rather with
favour than otherwise, since it made the horrors
of the bath aU the easier to evade — a humihating
confession, I know, but a true one.
Fresh air, strangely enough, was not then
considered as the necessity to health it is now;
and the usual morning airing of the rooms was
conducted by the reluctant nursery -maids in a
very perfunctory manner; whilst night air was
regarded as positively pernicious, and after sun
set all windows were tightly shut.
Nor were there any mitigations of the indoor
cold, for hot bottles were tabooed as being
" most unhealthy " ; and eiderdown quilts were
still uncommon luxuries, and certainly not to be
given to children.
We were also, to most modern ideas, in-

COLD GOOD FOR CHILDREN! 101
adequately clad, for although we had thick
wooUen stockings for outdoor wear, our skirts
were so brief, and our cloth jackets so short,
that we suffered acutely at times in spite of
them. Grown-up people were well wrapped-up ;
but children were supposed to run about and
keep themselves warm.
In the house low-necked white dresses were
worn, not solely in the evenings, but on all state
occasions. It was no use murmuring, our poor
mottled red arms were only considered "a sign
of health " ; indeed, we became, at last, so
accustomed to feeling cold that we hardly paid
attention to it. I can remember well a certain
ancient warm shawl that was common property,
and, therefore, almost fought for on cold morn
ings ; whilst a few years later my sister Geraldine's
splendid mane of brown hair was envied by us,
not for its beauty, but because it kept her
shoulders warm. These things happened, more
over, it must be noted, not in poor cottage
homes, but in nurseries that prided themselves
on their admirable management. Nor was it,
of course, from motives of economy, for there was
a deal of unnecessary luxury and even extrava
gance in other ways, where children were con
cerned; the thin cambric frocks were stiff and
and prickly with elaborate embroidery, and
demanded endless washing and ironing.
It was merely the fashion of the times. The
previous generations had been brought up in the
same way, and considered themselves the better
for it. Modern children have reason to be
thankful that conditions have altered since half
g2

102 THE FRIEND OF CHILDREN [ch. Xlll.
a century ago. Yet now, as I have, in conse
quence, my own special and particular memory
of Dr Livingstone, I do not regret my rather
Spartan upbringing.
It was a very cold January afternoon, and I
was out walking with my mother and some of
her friends, Dr Livingstone, in his weU-known
cap and warm blue coat, being one of the party.
Our walk was that day in the direction of the
recently - built Newstead railway station, then a
simple and very modest erection, and presenting
a totaUy different aspect from what it does now.
It was a very bleak region in those days. There
were no lines of railway and no collieries round
it as at present ; but bare, wide fields only, and
here and there a few meagre plantations.
We were returning home by the newly-planted
avenue of young trees, through which the bitter
east wind — ^that wind that all who live in the
Midlands know only too well — cut like a knife.
So cold was I, that I lagged behind the
others for shelter, and at last could bear it no
longer, but wept aloud for the pain in my frozen
hands. My dear mother, who never suffered from
cold, became naturally impatient at my hanging
behind, and still more at my tears. She could
not understand my faltering excuse that I was
too cold to help it, but Dr Livingstone did.
"Poor child," he said, and his voice sounded
very kind. " Don't scold her. No one knows
what it is to suffer from cold more than I do."
And he went further than mere words of excuse
and pity, for in another moment his big woollen

AFRICAN FEVER 103
gloves were drawn over my hands and arms, and
I went home warm and comforted.
I think this little incident reveals a good deal
about Dr Livingstone. His long sojourn in
Africa had made him peculiarly susceptible to
cold; but, happily, whUst staying at Newstead
he hardly, if ever, had a touch of his old enemy,
African fever. Indeed, except on the occasion
when he was laid up for a day or two by the
slight iUness caused by the worry of his impend
ing lecture at Mansfield, he was well the whole
of that winter.
This was probably owing to the sandy soil of the
district, for Newstead, although, or rather because,
it is situated in the midst of a perfect network
of ponds, is singularly dry and well drained, no
water lying long on the surface of the ground.
My father, in like manner, although he had
suffered continually from African fever on the
Yorkshire clay, never had another attack after
his arrival at Newstead, although, oddly enough,
he had a sharp recurrence at San Remo nearly
twenty-five years afterwards, and again, and this
time a very severe attack, after his return from
Africa ten years later. A bad case is, of course,
serious, and even a slight one, with its alternate
phases of violent shiverings and intense heat, is
a distressing and alarming iUness to witness by
those unused to it; but Dr Livingstone always
disclaimed any exaggerated pity for ordinary
attacks of fever, and said a common English
cold was a far more disagreeable complaint, and
lasted longer, although it did not sound, of
course, nearly so dramatic and dignified.

104 THE FRIEND OF CHILDREN [ch. xiii.
He was always unwUling to pose as a martyr
or hero, or to exaggerate the hardships he had
suffered from, and rarely, unless speciaUy asked,
spoke of his more disagreeable African experiences.
I can, however, remember my mother and
some other ladies on one occasion enquiring as
to his weU-known escape from the lion. How
the conversation had turned on that incident I
cannot say, but it was during luncheon time, and
as all present knew him very well, and it was
prompted by real interest and not idle curiosity,
he was most kind, and not only frankly answered
all their questions, but allowed them, at my
mother's request, when they rose from the table,
to feel his broken arm with its so-called "false
joint." I can see them in my mind's eye now
approaching him one after another to feel it
through his coat, and hear their little exclamations
of surprise and pity. I should probably have
forgotten the circumstance, had my mother not
asked him if I might do the same ; and as
I was then too small to reach up to his
shoulder comfortably, although he was not by
any means, as is well-known, a taU man, I had
to be held up to do so. I hardly, of course,
then understood what the mysterious term " false
joint " implied ; but to this day I can recaU
distinctly the odd little shock when my fingers
instead of running smoothly down his sleeve,
as I expected, came upon a decided unevenness.
It felt exactly as if the bone itself had given
way in one's hand close to the shoulder. He
was most patient and kind on this occasion over
the whole proceedings, for I can see now plainly

GOOD BREEDING 105
how intensely he disliked showing himself off in
this fashion, and that he only consented to please
my mother, for whom he had a real regard.
My mother had often told me that during
the eight months of Dr Livingstone's stay at
Newstead, he never said one word she could
have wished unsaid, or acted on any occasion
otherwise than she would have desired, even to
the most trifling details. And this, whilst being
transparently truthful and singularly independent,
not only in his ideas, but in other matters.
He had naturally the hereditary good breed
ing of aU Highlanders, who, although in some
cases, they may have minor detaUs of etiquette
to learn, never have anything essential to
unlearn. In Dr Livingstone his perfect simplicity of
character made aU things easy, not only to him
self but to others, so that all in the house loved
him. He made, without effort or consciousness
on his own part, an indelible impression on all
those with whom he came in contact. Casual
visitors, who, perhaps, met him without other
feeling than a languid curiosity, left full of
enthusiasm for the man.
Every servant in the big household had a
peculiar respect and affection for him ; and, as
we aU know, none are better fitted to sit in
judgment on our daUy character and manners,
or are more difficult as critics to satisfy.
Our nurse, the beloved and well-known NaNa
in our nursery, and " dear Bellis " out of it,
was in particular devoted to him. She it was
who looked after him when he was ailing.

106 THE FRIEND OF CHILDREN [CH. xiil.
Moreover, Agnes from the first was her special
charge, as she was a delicate girl. Dr Livingstone
held his " good BeUis " in high esteem in
consequence. In none of his subsequent letters to my
parents did he ever omit to send her some special
kind message. I remember my mother referring
to this some years later, when, to my parents'
great indignation, doubt was cast on the genuine
ness of the letters brought home to them from
Ujiji by Stanley in 1872, which letters, of
course, contained the usual greetings to his old
friend. ^
She was a most devoted friend as well as
an excellent nurse, and a remarkable and superior
woman, with great natural refinement, both in
appearance and manners. She died in 1890,
only surviving my dear mother's death in Africa
by six weeks. Her loss to her "chUdren" was
irreparable. A good and faithful nurse is indeed
one of the greatest blessings in a child's life.

CHAPTER XIV
MAN AND SPORTSMAN
Although Agnes on her arrival at Newstead was
but an unformed schoolgirl, she had, in the
course of a few months under my mother's care,
so developed and improved in carriage and appear
ance as to be almost unrecognisable.
Previous to Dr Livingstone's return, she had
of necessity led a very restricted life ; but under
his loving guidance and the congenial atmosphere
around her, she now blossomed out in a way that
dehghted her friends. She had always been a
noticeably nice girl ; but as she gained in self-
confidence, her modest manners, her inteUigence,
and her lovely eyes won every heart, and she made
friends rapidly. Like her father, she was ever
ready to respond to kindness — a gift of no mean
order. Her love for her father increased as their
intercourse became more familiar and intimate.
To the onlookers it had a touch of pathos, because
of the inevitable separation that was before them,
although no one could foresee how heavy was to
be the weight of anxiety laid on those young
shoulders in the after years.
It may surprise some to learn that whilst at
Newstead Agnes was confirmed by the Bishop of
107

108 MAN AND SPORTSMAN [CH. xiv.
Lincoln,^ and thereby became a recognised member
of the Church of England. Her confirmation itself
must have taken place in one of the neighbouring
parish churches, but, in spite of enquiries, I cannot
at this date say which. It could not, however, in
any case have been at Newstead, for there has
never been a confirmation or marriage there since
the Chapter House was converted into its private
chapel, Newstead being still held to be extra-
parochial by some ancient exemption dating from
medieval times, and not coming, in consequence,
under regular episcopal jurisdiction. Although a
Presbyterian, and even a minister, Dr Livingstone
assisted in her preparation. In all such matters
he was, as is well known, the most wide-minded
of Christians, and absolutely devoid of denomina
tional prejudice. His own faith was too much
part of himself, his love of God too real, for him
to be otherwise.
As he once said pubhcly,
"In going about we learn something, and it
would be a shame if we did not ; and we look back
to our own country and view it as a whole, and
many of the little feehngs we had when immersed
in our own denominations we lose, and we look to
^ After Agnes Livingstone's marriage more than ten years later to
Mr A. Bruce, she conformed, during his lifetime, to the Church of
Scotland, of which he was an active, although very liberal-minded
member. As his wife, she felt it was right and fitting for her to attend
the same church, but a few years after his death she once more became
an Episcopalian. She told me this herself on one of the last occasions
that we met in Edinburgh. She added very simply that she was afraid
this step had surprised and distressed her Scottish friends and relations ;
but that since her confirmation years before at Newstead she cared so
much more for the services and teaching of the Episcopal Church that
she felt it her duty to return to it, and knew well that neither her
father nor her husband would have disapproved.

LIBERALITY OF CREED 109
the whole body of Christians with affection. I am
quite sure I look on all the different denomina
tions in Hamilton and in Britain with feelings of
affection. I cannot say which I love most. I am
quite certain I ought not to dislike any of them."
To imply that he had leanings towards the
Church of Rome would be, of course, absurd ; but,
even then, he was quick to recognise all that was
good in its individual members, and had a sincere
feeling of respect for its mighty organisation, and
the good sense as well as the devotion shown by
the old Jesuit missionaries.
A Scotch Presbyterian missionary sent out
from England in early Victorian days who could
not only think, but pubhsh in his first book that
for his part he would " much prefer to see the
Africans good Roman Catholics than idolatrous
heathens" must have had, at least, the courage
of his opinions.
His knowledge of the lives and writings of the
Early Fathers was much greater than was popularly
supposed, and he heartily reverenced and admired
their piety.
Conditions change with time and circumstance,
and in the first strenuous days of Christianity he
realised from his own African difficulties better
than others the advantages of monastic institutions
with aU their varied labours. I am not certain,
indeed, whether this thought did not add to his
appreciation of Newstead. He certainly under
stood far more clearly than many in those days
the part the monks had acted to the benefit of
agriculture and general civilisation.
Of course, he never himself officiated in the

110 MAN AND SPORTSMAN [CH. xiv.
church services in the old Chapter House; but
he attended both morning and evening service
each Sunday, when he sat in the gallery with us ;
also, he received the Holy Sacrament on the
Sunday after his first arrival, and at all other
times when it was administered. (To the best of
my recollection this was once a month.) Agnes,
after her confirmation, made her first communion
with him on one of these occasions.
At the time no one thought there was anything
in the least remarkable in this ; although, of course,
aU knew that Dr Livingstone did not belong to
the Anglican Church. That it was possible to
object to his receiving the Holy Communion never
struck any one as possible. The wonder would
rather have been to the contrary.
The Rev. Curtis Jackson, one of the most
charming and conscientious of men, was at that
time and for n^any years afterwards, chaplain.
He and my father were on the most friendly and
affectionate terms, and he had also the highest
regard for Dr Livingstone, whom he grew to
know weU.
I would not, indeed, have referred to this had
there not been quite lately a rather heated dis
cussion on this very point in one of our best-known
EngUsh weekly papers. When one thinks of Dr
Livingstone's simplicity over the matter at issue,
few can but find his was the better part; whUst
it is impossible to contemplate with satisfaction
the idea that any Anglican priest should deny the
privilege to such a man as Dr Livingstone.
But in all ways Dr Livingstone himself dis
played a delicate reverence in such matters.

OBSERVANCE OF SUNDAY 111
Even those who were habitually careless in speech
understood this, and no scoffing or hght word
was ever said before him. His personality forbade
such a thought, although he did not preach in
and out of season, and by his own geniality
encouraged innocent merriment and laughter.
In the African wilds, as at home, he had
always kept Sunday as a day of rest, and im
pressed this rule, likewise, on the hunters and
English traveUers he met there. -
I have myself always privately ascribed to
some promise of the kind made to him in those
far-off* days, my father's great dislike to giving
unnecessary trouble to servants or horses on
Sundays. This rigidity came to many of his acquaintances
as a surprise, knowing that he could not be
termed a strict churchman, but on this point
he was inflexible. Save on one occasion, when,
owing to an accident, there was urgent need of
an oculist's advice, I have never known him
aUow a carriage to be taken out on Sunday.
Having emphasised this, it will make Dr
Livingstone's moral courage in the foUowing
incident the clearer.
In one of the numerous ponds at Newstead
there was a fish trap, a wire arrangement very like
a huge rat trap. Service being over one Sunday
afternoon, he, Dr Livingstone, my mother, and
my uncle, Gerald Goodlake,^ wandered down to
^ Colonel Gerald Littlehales Goodlake, V.C, Coldstream Guards.
He served all through the Crimean war, and received the Victoria Cross
with two clasps for distinguished gallantry whilst in sole command of
the Sharpshooters furnished by the Division on the 28th October 1854,
when he held the Windmill Ravine below the Picket House against

112 MAN AND SPORTSMAN [CH. xiv.
this particular pond, and without, of course,
any remembrance at the moment that it was
Sunday, they, according to usual custom, drew
up the fish trap, which, as it happened, con
tained a remarkably big perch. It was such a
fine specimen, indeed, as to excite them aU. In
less time than it takes to describe, the prize was
secured, and Dr Livingstone himself was actually
carrying it home in triumph before the full
significance of the deed dawned on my mother,
and the scandal such a sight was likely to cause
in the household was reahsed.
The rest of the story must be told in the
words of an old friend, who was present at the
time. " It was Sunday, and your Uncle Gerald
came rushing up to me, saying, 'I do respect
Livingstone. He is a real good man ! He was
carrying a big fish in, and WUlie and Jane
wanted him to hide it, so that the servants
might not know he had caught it on a Sunday.'
* No,' said Dr Livingstone, ' if we did this thing,
let us not conceal it. There was no harm
in it.'" And so I fancy would all agree to whom
the spirit of truth means more than the mere
formalities of religious observance.
a much larger force of the enemy. Also for distinguished gallantry
on the 9th of November, on the occasion of the surprise of a picket
of the enemy at the bottom of the Windmill Ravine. When Her
Majesty Queen Victoria bestowed the Victoria Cross for the first time in
Hyde Park in June 1857, a rather amusing incident occurred, although,
of course, quite unknown to the Queen herself, for Her Majesty being
mounted and her horse somewhat restive, as she was attaching the
medal to my uncle's breast, the pin slipped and inflicted such a severe
scratch, that it might be said with truth that the only blood he lost
during the campaign was from the hand of his own sovereign.

A TRUE SPORTSMAN 113
Dr Livingstone's sympathies were with all
true sportsmen. He took the liveliest interest
in such matters, and knew so much of the
habits of fish and birds that my father used to
declare in jest, "that if Dr Livingstone had
not been a great explorer and missionary he
must have been a born poacher," and in
iUustration of this, used to relate with mis
chievous glee the foUowing anecdote.
There are, as already mentioned, many ponds
around Newstead. Two or three are even large
enough to be dignified by the name of lakes.
One of the largest and most remote is known
as the Lower Lake, and on this my father had
constructed a decoy for the many varieties of
wild duck that abounded on its quiet waters.
It was strictly preserved, and was, therefore,
the resort of all kinds of waterfowl, including
some uncommon birds.
Dr Livingstone shared my father's interest in
this decoy, and many pleasant hours were spent
beside it together, for they used to visit it
almost daily.
One evening they stayed on until twilight,
watching for duck, and it was only the fear of
being late for dinner that tore them away, just
as some promising victims appeared on the
scene. Both were haunted at night by dreams of
the self-same duck, and the foUowing morning
my father started out before breakfast to have
a look at them. His amusement may be
imagined when the first person he came across
n

114 MAN AND SPORTSMAN [CH. xiv.
proved to be Dr Livingstone, very wet, very
muddy, but blissful as a schoolboy, with a
couple of fine wild ducks dangling from his
hand. He had got up even sooner than my
father did to catch the early bird.
The risk of being captured by one of the
keepers as a poacher — his appearance was dis
reputable enough for anything — had only added
to the zest of the affair.

CHAPTER XV
THE AUTHOR AT WORK
During his stay at Newstead, Dr Livingstone
occupied the large sunny room in the Sussex
Tower, since known as the Livingstone Room.
It is one of the few reaUy modern parts of the
house, and had two large windows facing due
south, looking over the lawn with the oak tree
that Byron planted in its centre. Beyond this
garden were a lake and distant fields and woods.
The tree that Dr Livingstone planted, as well
as its feUow, planted later by H. M. Stanley, is
now to be seen on the opposite side of the lake,
otherwise the view is practicaUy unaltered.
The room in Dr Livingstone's time was hung
with rather vivid red ; and, in a kind of large
recess, stood the most enormous four -post bed
that I have ever seen. It had formed part of
the ancient furniture of the house ; tradition
assigned it to the wicked Lord Byron of the
eighteenth century, and furthermore asserted that
he had died in it. This tradition is substantiated
by the big gilt eagle on the vast canopy, and
the stiff baronial coronets surmounting the four
posts. There was a little inner dressing-room, only
115

116 THE AUTHOR AT WORK [CH. xv.
to be reached by a door and flight of steps from
the larger apartment, which later made a very
convenient lodging for Dr Livingstone's school
boy sons.
The furniture was mainly of dark carved
wood, of which a large old Dutch cabinet was
the chief feature. Its panels were decorated
with quaint scenes out of the life of St John
the Baptist in unusually high rehef. Of these, in
particular, the incident of Herodias receiving the
head of John the Baptist from her daughter,
was truly realistic, and used to impress me greatly
as a child.
Dr Livingstone wrote his book on a large
and black carved table. Square and solid, it was
roomy enough to hold all his journals and many
papers. He usually spent the morning in his
own room at this task, and I seem to remember
a good many playful aUusions to his daily
"lessons," for he detested the necessary writing
most heartily, and, as is weU known, wrote in
the preface to his first volume of "Missionary
Travels " that he " would rather cross the African
Continent again than undertake to write another
book." For the rest of the day, however, he kept
himself entirely free, and was able to shake off
his literary cares, and enjoy himself to the full
in his own quiet way. It was only towards the
end, when time pressed, that he ever sat up at
night to write.
He had begged Mr Oswell, as a continuance
of his past kindness, to look over and correct his
MS. before it was submitted to the publisher.

DR LIVINGSTONE'S BEDROOM, NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

{To face p. ii6.

GREAT MAN'S MODESTY 117
and nowhere could he have found a better or
more sympathetic helper.
Dr Livingstone's humility in all that con
cerned his own writings was so great that, in
addition to this, he often asked, with the most
disarming modesty, the criticisms of all those
near at hand, whom he considered had more
literary skiU than he himself possessed. In this
way an old friend of my father, Mr Robert
Morritt, of Rokeby, a charming and cultivated
man, and my aunt, Lady Lambert, were of great
assistance to him.
This help, it may be shrewdly suspected,
lay more in giving the author the encouraging
sympathy he needed than in mere verbal altera
tions. For it is a curious fact that, unlike most
of his kind, Dr Livingstone persistently under
rated his own hterary powers, and never realised
that his terse and straightforward style rather
heightened the effect of his descriptions than
otherwise. That the idea of a "book" paralysed his
powers puzzled his friends the more, as he wrote
letters, sometimes of a long and most scientific
kind, with the greatest facihty, and even took
pleasure in his voluminous correspondence.
Probably th# mere fact of its being regular
sedentary work, to which he was unaccustomed,
had more to do with his dishke than he was
aware of. Later he found the labour of making
a fair copy for the publisher so trying that there
came a time when all in the house who could
write a clear hand were requisitioned to help
him ; and although, even then, the divided labour
h2

118 THE AUTHOR AT WORK [CH. XV.
was considerable, there was no one who was not
proud of the honour.
In this way, not only Agnes Livingstone,
but my grandmother, Mrs Goodlake, and my
father and mother, in particular, copied an enor
mous amount of MS. My parents, oddly enough,
without any effort at imitation on their part,
wrote so nearly the same hand that it is almost
impossible to distinguish between their handi
work, a fact that always shook my faith in the
theories of self-styled graphologists, as the actual
characters of my parents were most dissimUar.
My dear Grannie, in her love for me, declared
that I must also help in the work of transcrip
tion, so that in my old age I should remember
the occasion. As my writing, more especiaUy
with pen and ink, was then a very recent accom
plishment, it was necessary, after various unsuccess
ful attempts, for her to write out a minute portion
in pencil, which with infinite care and labour
I traced over in ink.
At the time she was laughed at for her
trouble; but her tender fancy fulfilled its aim,
since, after all these years, I do, in conse
quence, remember the manuscript form of the
famous travels. It was written on white ruled
foolscap, and seemed to me then of interminable
bulk, packets of it invading as they did every
available writing table in the house; so that
when I contemplated it, I wondered at Dr
Livingstone's murmurs over his "lessons" no
longer. It is a characteristic touch that when in
April the arduous task was concluded, it was

CHRISTMAS 119
to his daughter, Agnes, that he deputed the
pleasure of writing "finis." It may be doubted
which was the happier of the two when the
last of the heavy packets was safely despatched
to its destination.
The Christmas of 1864 was kept in true old-
fashioned style. The more so, perhaps, on Dr
Livingstone and his children's account ; and
also to give the heartier English welcome to
Colonel and Mrs Palmer, who were also spend
ing the winter months with us.
They had gone through the Indian Mutiny
since my father had last parted with them at
Simla, and still bore traces of its tragic memories,
but not even all she had suffered could quench
Mrs Palmer's high spirits and her brightness
and vivacity. She was very musical, and, in
consequence, quickly made friends with our
governess. Miss Eleanor A  . To this we owed
many gay evenings in the newly-instituted school
room, at that time a curious, long, low room,
with four stone columns in the midst, the space
between being easily converted by temporary
curtains into an impromptu stage.
Thus, after entertaining my mother, and our
other grown-up guests at school -room tea, we
relinquished our rights, and took the place of
audience, when Mrs Palmer would organise
charades, sing, play duets with Agnes and Miss
A  , and even on occasion dance quadrilles, the
last being ostensibly on Agnes's account, and
also to initiate my sister Geraldine and myself
into their mysteries.

120 THE AUTHOR AT WORK [CH. XV.
1 am not at aU sure, indeed, whether on
more than one occasion Dr Livingstone was
not induced to be more than a mere spectator;
for I seem to remember his being piloted through
some of the figures, as well as myself.
Altogether it was a bright and innocent
time, and his and Agnes's evident enjoyment
was not the least of its pleasures.
I remember next, the Christmas Eve in the
big stone dining hall, whose walls were decorated
with banners and armour, besides many of my
father's best trophies from Africa, in particular
the head of an enormous rhinoceros over the big
stone mantelpiece seemed to dominate all the
rest, and to be lost in wonder at its incongruous
wreath of hoUy.
The large fireplace was one of the principal
features of the hall, projecting as it did far into
the room, in shape almost like a miniature house.
Underneath its carved stone roof blazed the
enormous fire, giving out that true glow of the
Midlands, which all who have been brought
up in that region know so well.
We were a large house party of children
and grown-up people, including Agnes and, I
think, both her brothers. I know Dr Livingstone
joined in all the Christmas games in the true
boyish spirit.
We ended with bhnd man's buff, and he
was caught and blindfolded; but this brought
the evening to an abrupt and rather unfortunate
conclusion, for in his energetic attempts to
catch us, he dashed himself against the sharp
stone corner of the afore-mentioned fireplace,

THE DINING HALL AT NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

[To /ace p, 120.

READINESS AND KINDNESS 121
which by iU-luck was exactly the height of his
forehead, so that he cut himself rather badly. I
need hardly say he made light of it, but the cut
bled a good deal, and he was obhged to have it
promptly bathed and plastered up. Our evening's
sport, therefore, ended in some confusion.
There was later another accident, happily
less serious, when my sister Geraldine missed
her footing and rolled the whole way down a
broad and shppery flight of stairs leading from
my grandmother's room to the corridor below.
Dr Livingstone chanced, fortunately, to be
passing; and was able to catch her in his arms
and carry her off shrieking to the drawing-room,
where he examined her with professional care.
Great was the rehef, I remember, when it was
found that her small arm was only badly bruised
and not broken, as was at first supposed — a frag
mentary picture, but showing his ready hand, as
well as his kind heart. He was invariably good
to us, and seemed to love all young things.
My mother's sister Olivia,^ then a mere child
herself, for she was the most juvenile of aunts,
remembers clearly how fond she was of Dr
Livingstone, and how he used to take her off"
for walks by herself. He discovered that her
great dread was being asked questions ^before
people, so at luncheon time he would turn to
her and say mischievously, " What is the capital
of Timbuctoo?" adding in a whisper, "Say
capital T, of course" — a trifle, but it is by
such trifles that character is revealed, and a
loving memory buUt up.
^ Now the Marquise de Lasteyrie.

CHAPTER XVI
THE FAMOUS MRS COTTLE
The New Year of 1865 brought with it,
amongst other festivities, a ball given by our
near neighbours, Mr and Mrs Chaworth Musters,
at Annesley. This was one of the loveliest old houses in
Nottinghamshire, full of interesting associations
and pictures, and as it was certain with its
charming young hostess to be a very pleasant
dance, it was decided by my mother, with
Dr Livingstone's fuU approval, to be a fitting
opportunity for Agnes to make her first appear
ance in public. '
My mother, at that time, was not well enough
to chaperon her ; so Agnes was entrusted to the
care of Mrs Frank Palmer, who, as might be
expected from her tastes, was delighted to
undertake the charge of such a handsome girl.
She was immensely proud of Agnes's success;
and I recoUect hearing afterwards how much
her charge had been admired and how she had
been called "the belle of the evening." We
had never heard the term used before ; and it,
therefore, mystified our childish minds not a
little, as we only connected it in our ignorance
with the great bell in the Sussex Tower, which
122

BELLE OF THE EVENING 123
rang for daily prayers and meal- times. Amongst
my childish recollections, none stand out more
vividly than those of that particular evening.
Tn the first place we were allowed as a
special favour to sit up to see Agnes dressed
for the event ; and this in itself was an unknown
excitement, whilst for days past little else had
been discussed and thought of in the nursery.
Although we were solaced at intervals with
milk and sponge cakes, the time seemed long,
indeed, before we were summoned to view her
in her glory.
In my mind's eye I can stUl see the lofty
shadowed room with its big carved bed and crewel
worked curtains, the picture of Lord Byron's dog
Boatswain looking down on us from the waU,
whilst in the midst stood Agnes herself surrounded
by admiring maids holding candles, so that she
seemed to stand in a little island of hght.
Very quiet and rather shy, she yet looked extra
ordinarily handsome, her velvety eyes and cheeks
alike glowing, and her dark brilhant face set off^
by the knots of cerise velvet which her elders had
decreed should supplement for once the regulation
"coming out" white baU-dress.
In those days it was almost an unwritten law
that aU blondes should wear white with pale blue
and brunettes pink; but Agnes's beauty was so
Spanish in character and colouring as to make
even the pink impossible, and the briUiant cerise
which would have overwhelmed most complexions
certainly suited her to perfection.
The dress I only remember as a cloud of snowy
white ; but I have since heard that it consisted of

124 THE FAMOUS MRS COTTLE [OH. XVL
many flowing overskirts of soft white tulle over
white silk, looped here and there with a bow of
the same cerise. The general effect was certainly
poetical in spite of the crinoline.
To add to aU, NaNa hovered around highly
elated with the success of her handiwork, and
directing the attention of all present in particular
to Agnes's elaborate Grecian plaits, which were
her special pride. The abundance of Agnes's black
and silky locks, and her great docility and patience
under NaNa's hands — qualities which I am afraid
as children we did not share — assisting in this
achievement. The result to Agnes's appearance as a whole,
either on account, or in spite, of the said plaits was
eminently satisfactory, and even in her old age
Agnes used to speak of our nurse's pride in her
with a tender smile of amusement.
As for us we were never likely to forget
that night, for the incredible number of plaits
that NaNa made, and their extraordinary length
became a tale that was told and retold in the
nursery for years afterwards, when we became
restive under NaNa's hands in such matters.
Agnes's good looks were, especiaUy in her first
girlhood, most striking. Attractive she ever
was, with her beautiful candid eyes, expressive
face and slow but very bright smile ; but care
and sorrow made her lose her girlish bloom
comparatively early, and as she grew older her
likeness to her father became more pronounced.
Slim and rather above the middle height, she
had the dehcate hands and feet of a Spanish
woman, her type was singularly unlike one of

A SWEET CHARACTER 125
northern descent, although her style of beauty
is by no means rare in the West Highlands,
and she probably owed it to some of her
ancestors there, as she certainly did her soft
voice. She had a most gentle and attractive
manner, and her speech rather slower than is usual
in England, but without any trace of Scottish
accent, emphasised her good looks the more.
I have never seen her beauty mentioned elsewhere,
and yet it was an undoubted factor in her life at
this time, since it interested so many strangers
in her at first sight.
Dr Livingstone, although he attached no
undue importance to good looks, and even
possibly underrated their powers on others, was
excessively proud of Agnes, and in good truth
had every reason to be so, since in her case her
face was only a reflection of her fine character.
As for Agnes, she always appeared (and I
think was) absolutely unconscious that she was
in any way remarkable. Her absence at all
times of self- consciousness being not the least
of her attractions. She was naturaUy and rightly
proud of being her father's daughter, but in all
other ways was singularly lacking in personal
vanity. Another episode of this month's doings requires
a little prehminary explanation.
There existed a certain eccentric Mrs Cottle.
I suppose she is now forgotten, but in the sixties
she was a weU -known personage, regarded by
pubhc men as a nightmare or a joke, according
to the temperament of those favoured with her
embarrassing attentions.

126 THE FAMOUS MRS COTTLE [cH. xvL
So far as I can gather at this distance of
time, she was in reality the respectable and
elderly widow of a rich manufacturer. Pecuhar
to the verge of folly, her craze took the ambitious
form of devising a new form of religion, which
she named "The Cottle Dispensation," the
said "Dispensation" being founded on her own
private interpretation of sundry texts in the
Bible. In England, however, that land of
liberty in all religious matters, no one could
restrain or interfere with her, and being possessed
of ample means, she was enabled to gratify her
fancy, and to have what she was pleased to
term her " works," printed for private circula
tion on an extensive scale. She was in the
habit of sending huge packets of this unwelcome
literature to all whose name came in any way
before the pubhc. I have heard, indeed, that
no member of Parliament, however obscure,
could complain of her neglect for his spiritual
welfare. It can readily be understood, therefore, that
Dr Livingstone was a special object of her
generosity, the more so since his name lent itself
aU too easily to her novel interpretations of
scripture, and she referred to it freely, to the
owner's great chagrin, as " The Living Stone."
I believe her writings were as dull as they
were voluminous, and only remarkable for their
apparently quite unconscious irreverence. I was,
in consequence, never allowed to open them;
but the outward appearance' of the bulky paper-
covered volumes I remember well enough, also
the groans of dismay with which each fresh

"WENT TO HEAVEN IN A CHAIR" 127
consignment was received by Dr Living.stone.
Their end was, of course, to be handed over to
the housemaids to light the fires with ; but once
or twice some adventurous spirit had the curiosity
to try and read them, and a few quotations
survived as family jokes. One or two samples
wiU suffice to show their quality, and to explain
Dr Livingstone's natural antipathy to their author.
I believe these quotations are accurate, but, under
the circumstances, cannot, of course, foUow the
wise injunction "to verify your references."
Mrs Cottle's method was indeed a simple one.
She printed on the one page any chance text
that took her fancy, and on the opposite one
added her notes and interpretation. These were
often ludicrous in the extreme, for she not only
looked on each text as a literal prophecy, but
constantly apphed it to her own most trivial
personal affairs. Thus after the words, "There
shall be great tribulation in those days," there
followed on the opposite page in a "Note" by
Mrs Cottle : " which was accomplished last month,
when Susan, my cook, quarrelled with Sarah, the
housemaid, and the whole kitchen was in an
uproar." OccasionaUy, she rose to higher flights, as
when, after transcribing, " He was taken from
us," she added in the usual "Note by Mrs
Cottle," "which came to pass when my lamented
husband, Mr Cottle,
" Went to Heaven in a chair
Made by Ward of Leicester Square."
Not that Mrs Cottle often soared into verse.

128 THE FAMOUS MRS COTTLE [ch. xvL
nor even, indeed, into such coherence of idea, but
from the above specimens it will be clear that
Dr Livingstone was exactly of the nature to
suffer acutely from her adulation.
He might have tried to laugh at it, had
she confined herself merely to sending him her
printed productions ; but growing bolder as time
went on, she not only continued to bombard him
with her books and pamphlets, but with auto
graph letters as well. Silence and discouragement
were alike useless — no rebuffs seemed to daunt
her. At last she declared nothing would satisfy
her but a personal interview. This prospect
reduced Dr Livingstone to absolute terror,
although it was a source of great amusement to
his friends, and especially to my father. The
whole household, indeed, knew and laughed over
Mrs Cottle's possible advent ; for the very house
maids wearied of the big packages of putty -
coloured books that had to be continuaUy dis
posed of. Yet well as Mrs Cottle was known
by name, none of us, nor even any of our
acquaintances, had beheld her in the flesh. It
was thus possible to draw on our imagination
to any extent as to her appearance, and my
father did this to the fuU, for he had a lively
fancy and a sense of humour.
Such was the state of things when one
snowy afternoon, just as it was growing dusk,
an unknown lady appeared at the front door,
and announced herself to the butler as having
come to see Dr Livingstone.
She was dressed in rather an old-fashioned
way, and seemed of uncertain age. She did not

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 129
give any name, but said she was Mrs Cottle's
niece, and had been sent by her celebrated
aunt to interview the not less celebrated Dr
Livingstone. Taken aback as he was by her unexpected
invasion at that late hour, Dr Livingstone rose
bravely to the occasion in his relief at finding
that the stranger was not the dreaded Mrs Cottle.
He received her in the library, and was
informed by his visitor that she had driven the
long eleven miles from Nottingham, in spite
of the snow, to have the privilege of speech
with him at her aunt's request. She explained
further that Mrs Cottle was at the time far from
weU, or she would certainly have come in person,
but intended to do so next time without fail !
One can imagine Dr Livingstone's sigh of relief
at this respite. My father and mother were
overcome with inward laughter at his despairing
looks, but while pitying his dismay, it was
difficult for them to help him to get rid of
the intruder in their own house without actual
rudeness. He was, therefore, left to take what
measures he thought advisable under the cir
cumstances. His visitor proved too obtuse for
ordinary hints. In vain he offered her tea,
which she refused firmly ; in vain he showed
her various objects of interest in the house ;
she did not care to see them, she had been
sent by her aunt to pay homage to Livingstone,
and that alone would satisfy her.
At last, he suggested that as it was getting
late might he not order her carriage? Here

130 THE FAMOUS MRS COTTLE [ch. xvi.
she rephed it had been left at the stables on
account of the heavy snow, and she would
have to walk back to it. Now the stables at
Newstead are a considerable distance from the
house, but charmed at the idea of his release,
Dr Livingstone said promptly he would in that
case accompany her, and inwardly exultant he
escorted her down the stairs to the front door.
Very cold and, very deep did the snow look
that night, and far, far away the stable lights
appeared. For the first time the stranger hesitated, and
then, turning round between shame and laughter,
confessed that the whole affair was a practical
joke devised by Mrs Palmer, and carried out by
herself, and that she was young Miss A  ,
who had been living in the same house aU the
winter. It was Mrs Palmer who had dressed her up ;
thereby disguising her youth and prettiness so
cleverly, that no one who had seen " Mrs Cottle's
niece" had the faintest idea of her identity.
Dr Livingstone was far too kind, and, it
may be inferred, too thankful at being spared
the prospect of the real Mrs Cottle's promised
appearance not to enter into the humour of the
situation, even though he were the victim.
Perhaps some tradition of the old mystifications
that were so popular in Edinburgh earher in the
century made him the more ready to enjoy the
wit and fun of the incident. My mother as a
rule never allowed a practical joke in her house,
as she properly detested them, but at this she
could but smile.

A HAPPY ENDING 131
Miss A  was made to appear amongst us
afterwards in her disguise; and even then was
hardly to be recognised, for the various clever
touches Mrs Palmer had added to her dress
and general make up, caused her to appear quite
an elderly woman. She must have had the
makings of a good actress, for she had carried
out her part to perfection, neither by voice nor
manner betraying herself for an instant. She
said, indeed, that but for Dr Livingstone's
politeness in accompanying her, and the idea
of the walk in the snow in her thin house shoes,
she could have kept up her assumed character
to the end.
The joke had, at least, the effect which
possibly Mrs Palmer anticipated (for she was
fuU of worldly wisdom), that from henceforward
Mrs Cottle's name was but a signal of laughter
for aU, Dr Livingstone included. His fictitious
visitor had displaced his dread of the real
prototype.

CHAPTER XVII
friends, neighbours, and acquaintances
Fifty years ago week-end visits were not invented.
Friends then were friends, and arrived to stay
for a leisurely ten days or fortnight at the least.
And if this entailed some loss in variety, there
was a gain on the other hand in visitors having
the opportunity of laying the foundations of a
life-long friendship.
Dr Livingstone greatly disliked being lionised ;
at the same time it was natural that many of
my parents' old friends, who had hitherto only
been acquainted with him slightly or by report,
should wish to know him better, and found
his presence at Newstead an additional attraction.
Sir Roderick and Lady Murchison he had
known since his first return to England in 1856,
through his connection with the Royal Geographical
Society, so they cannot be included in this category ;
but between October and Christmas Sir Henry and
Lady Rawlinson, Mr E. Denison (afterwards Lord
Ossington, the Speaker of the House of Commons
at the time). Sir WUliam Eraser and his two
soldier brothers, Colonel Charles and Colonel
Keith Eraser, my grandparents, Mr and Mrs
Goodlake, and my uncle, Colonel Gerald Good-
132

SIR RODERICK AND LADY MURCHISON 133
lake, and many other clever and charming
friends found their way thither that autumn.
These, at least, were at Newstead before
Christmas, as weU as others of whose names
I can find no record. A few may have come
merely from desire to see a man so much talked
of, but none left without a warmer, even an
affectionate, interest in Dr Livingstone and in
his daughter.
Few of his friendships, perhaps, gave more
gratification to Dr Livingstone than that with Sir
Roderick Murchison whose Highland descent,
as well as his noble character and fine talents,
appealed to him. From the beginning of his
career as an explorer, and when comparatively
unknown, he had always met from him with the
most generous recognition, and Dr Livingstone
was ever grateful for this.
I remember myself both Sir Roderick and
Lady Murchison very clearly, the more so as
for some years their visit was annually repeated.
Sir Roderick, tall and rather stately, with an
upright bearing, reminding us that he had been
a soldier before he became a great geologist:
he had the courtly and rather elaborate manners
of the old school, and was in this a contrast
to Lady Murchison ; in her way equally
remarkable. Admittedly three years older than
her distinguished husband, she looked more,
and with her tiny figure, expressive face, and
vivacious manner, reminded me always — so
irreverent is childhood — of a benevolent, pretty
old witch ; whilst, to complete the resemblance
her famihar spirit seemed ever in attendance in
i2

134 FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS [ch. xvii.
the shape of an equally diminutive, close-haired
Skye terrier, not unlike herself. This little
creature she carried under one arm ; it even
sat in her lap during meals, to the great
amusement of us children and the veiled annoy
ance of many of the elders ; but nothing would
induce her to separate herself from her pet.
She was an extremely clever woman, and (I am
told by one who knew her well), an excellent
conchologist, besides being weU read in botany
and astronomy. It was mainly by her influence,
as he himself always testified, that her husband
was won to scientific pursuits. So long as
health permitted, she was his constant companion
and helper in all his geological travels from the
wUds of the North Highlands to the Alps. To
her skUful pencil was due the first delineation of
the famous "Fossil Fox" of Ehningen, which
sketch enabled the great Cuvier to describe that
novel animal. Her tongue was witty past
belief, although not always as discreet as it was
diverting; but whenever she chose to exert her
powers of conversation, it was the signal for a
ripple of laughter, and there was no man who
did not prefer to sit next to her at dinner than
to any one else in the room.
Sir Roderick used at times to become rather
disturbed at her sallies, and the scene then grew
almost worthy of comedy, since his attempts
to repress her were as futile as they were
droU. In particular I recall a luncheon at which
Lady Murchisbn's description of a large country
house party given in honour of H.R.H. the Duke

A REGENCY HOUSE PARTY 135
of Clarence, in the days of her girlhood, became
at last altogether too much for Sir Roderick's
equanimity. According to her account, and there
is no reason to doubt her veracity, for it was in
the days of the Regency, the chief feature, next
to the presence of the royal duke, was the quantity
of wine the gentlemen of the party could dispose
of after dinner.
With her bright old eyes gleaming with
mischief, she recounted how all the ladies left
the dining-room as quickly as they could, and
thankfully retreated upstairs, there to hear from
afar the revels of the men below. Of the enor
mous amount of bottles of aU kinds of wine
provided, and of how a chain was brought in
by the butler and solemnly padlocked round the
chairs, so that none of the party could, even
if they would, leave their carouse until the next
morning, when it was as solemnly unlocked, and
all the intoxicated guests were carried off helpless
to their rooms by their respective valets, there to
sleep off" the effect of their potations.
All this with a wealth of iUustration that
must be left to the imagination. We children,
as might be supposed, listened wide-eyed to the
recital. Sir Roderick, who had become more and
more restive with each fresh detail, finding his
frowns and whispered ejaculations quite ineffective,
at last broke in with an agonised, " Really, reaUy,
my dear — surely you mistake, or at least not — ^not
the Duke of Clarence — not good King WiUiam ! "
"Why, the Duke was the worst of the lot I"
came the unabashed answer. "He was found

136 FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS [ch. xvil.
lying under the kitchen table, and in the day
time, although how he got there nobody knew."
At which there was a general explosion of
laughter, as much at Sir Roderick's discomfited
face as at her retort.
Notwithstanding her love of teasing him in
this way, they were on the best of terms, and
she was a most kind and good woman. Under
neath all her sparkle and fun she was sincerely
religious. When the news of her death reached
Dr Livingstone in Africa some years later, it
may be remembered how much affected he was
at hearing at the same time that she had always
prayed for his safety.
As he put it in his journal, " If I had known,
it would have been a great encouragement to me."
She was a charming fellow-guest, and when
not talking and amusing others, used to amuse
herself by playing " patience " ; and an old friend
of mine, who was one of the party, tells me
that Lady Murchison taught her no fewer than
fourteen varieties of this tranquillizing game during
this very visit to Newstead.
It will seem almost incredible, not to say
ludicrous, to hear that even as late as this,
modern geology was regarded by many other
wise exceUent and educated people with a good
deal of suspicion. It was thought " upsetting "
to the then idea of revealed religion, and even
rather sacrilegious.
We can smile at this now; but in those
days it was often no laughing matter, and
my mother suffered a good deal from hearing
my father's opinions criticised pretty severely.

A GEOLOGICAL PREDICTION 187
although such disapproval was based mainly on
the great interest he took in geology. It is
true that from his inherent love of fun, he was
rather given to shocking the more narrow-minded
of his acquaintances by his geological assertions
as to dates and times — a piece of amusement
that is always a mistake (since none are so
obstinate as the ignorant), and one that Sir
Roderick himself always discountenanced.
The eminently sane and reasonable views of
Dr Livingstone in aU such scientific matters,
joined to his known intense feeling for true
religion, had far more value than is, perhaps,
now reahsed on both sides of the question at
the time.
Even if no orthodox beliefs were supposed
to be involved, the very accuracy with which
the presence of minerals below could be predicted
from the formation of the strata above, was
thought hardly "canny." I have heard it said
how "queer" and strange it was thought that
Sir Roderick and my father during this very
visit should one afternoon, whilst out shooting
with a large party, suddenly become so absorbed
in "some old stones" as not only to neglect
their birds, but to be discovered stiU discussing
them when the day's sport came to an end. To
complete the surprise of the party Sir Roderick
declared that the day would shortly come when
the face of the whole country around would be
dotted with coUieries, as he was sure from his
examination of the " old stones " that coal existed
beneath the whole district.
At this time the nearest collieries were at

138 FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS [ch. xvil.
Hucknall, and of very recent origin ; but within
a dozen years from his words pits were sunk at
Annesley, Linby, Newstead, Bestwood, and else
where, so that his prophecy was fulfilled.
I tell the story here because I have heard
it said that my father bought Newstead, knowing
there was valuable coal under the estate ; but
this is not correct, for he had then only a very
superficial knowledge of geology, and it was
Sir Roderick who first spoke of it with authority,
for although, of course, all had known for years
that coal was likely to be found anywhere in
Nottinghamshire, it was merely a vague idea.
Sir Roderick was always most good to me
as a child, and I was so used to seeing him that
he did not even make me feel shy, save when
in fun he would hail me as the future president
of the Royal Geographical Society and his suc
cessor — a form of banter I disliked much, the
reason for this being that my mother, soon after
my fourth birthday, had initiated me into the
first mysteries of geography, by showing and
explaining to me an atlas.
I knew already how to read pretty weU, so
that in a short time, greatly to her surprise and
pleasure, I was able to answer her geographical
questions with, apparently, no trouble. She told
my father, and he, amused and somewhat mys
tified, tried his best to puzzle me ; but in vain.
Lastly, in his turn, he took to showing me
off to his geographical friends, always with the
same result. In the end it became almost the
custom, when he had friends staying with him,
and we chUdren came down in our prickly

MY CHILDISH MEMORY 139
white frocks before dinner, that I should be
examined, and, if possible, found wanting. But
I do not think I ever made a mistake, although
this arose from no merit of my own, and certainly
not from love of knowledge. In fact, I could
not answer incorrectly, for, although at the time
aU thought me a smaU wonder, the real truth
was that I possessed naturally what is now, I
beheve, termed a good visualising memory, and
had but to close my eyes to see the map
required as clearly as if it were open before me.
Sir Roderick's questions would otherwise have
been the most difficult to answer, for, as befitted
his position as President of the Royal Geographical
Society, he was too wary and wise to be contented,
as others generally were, with mere names in
answer to his enquiries, but insisted on my giving
the locahty, and whether the place lay north,
south, east, or west of that previously mentioned.
Even this, of course, was easy enoughj for, as
I said, in my childish fashion I had but to shut
my eyes, and then I saw the map in my head.
It seems rather singular, according to modern
ideas, that none of the very able and learned
men who used to amuse themselves with my
pecuharity ever enquired into the method by
which I arrived at the result ; but modern
psychology, as now understood, was then in its
infancy, and I was praised for a faculty which I
could no more help than the colour of my eyes.
At the time, however, I was neither shy nor
elated by the notice I received, for I had no room
for such feelings, and my only thought in the
matter was to please my father. It used to

140 FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS [oh. xvn.
delight him to put me in the centre of a group
of his scientific friends, and to see their amaze
ment at the way in which the very smaU child
before them reeled off the long African and other
names without the smallest hesitation. I have
far more shyness now when I look back on the
scene than I ever had at the time. Whether I
could have done it as easUy with the present
crowded and complicated map of Africa, I doubt ;
but in those days the Dark Continent was
deliciously easy, a fringe of coast towns, and a few
very sparsely scattered names throughout the vast
interior, being at that time all that was required.
I could, of course, manage all the other con
tinents also, and the principal European countries,
but Africa was generally chosen by my father for
his examinations. The only way that I could be confused, I
found, was by being shown several different maps
of the same country, as then my mental image
became blurred. This made me liable in my
schoolroom days to various severe remarks from
my teachers as to my curious predilection for the
oldest atlas, and my absurdity and affectation at
saying no others were of "any good to me."
It was the same with learning poetry by heart,
for, if the edition were changed, I was at a loss,
and had all the trouble of learning it over again.
I had a similar experience later with music, so
that the story of the young lady who declared
that she could not play Chopin in a cheaper
edition than her own, did not amuse me in the
least, since, from my point of view, it would only
have been sober fact.

A VANISHED GIFT 141
I must apologise for this somewhat egoistical
digression, but as it may explain, and possibly
excuse, some poor child's supposed stupidity over
its lessons, this must be my excuse. I can write
of my youthful gift the more easily, in so much as
with years it has almost, if not quite, vanished ;
and I am now no brighter as to memory than
ordinary people, and possibly even at a greater
disadvantage, as I was so accustomed to rely on
the old faculty that it is now as if a permanent
,book of reference had been taken away.
NOTE
In the ruined Chapel of St Clement at Dingwall, which was the
burial place of Sir Roderick's maternal ancestors (the Mackenzies of
Fairhurn) during three centuries, is the following inscription : —
To the Memory of
Sir RODERICK L MURCHISON, Bart., K.C.B.,
G.C.St.A., G.C.St.8., etc.,
One op the Founders op Modern Geology,
Son op Kenneth Murchison of Taradalb,
Grandson of Roderick Mackenzie op Fairburn,
Born at Taradale Feb. 19, 1792,
Died in London Oct. 22, 1871.
Served in the 36th Regiment of Foot and 6th Inniskilling Dragoons.
Was Present at Roleia, Vimiera, Carrying the Colours of his Regiment,
and Corunna ; also at the Siege of Cadiz.
Generous, Chivalrous, Magnanimous, in Duty Fearless, a Faithful,
Perfect Friend, his Heart ever remained True to the Land of his
Forefathers.

CHAPTER XVIIl
MR A. HAYWARD, Q.C.
It was the end of January 1865 when Mr Hay
ward came to Newstead, principaUy, it may be
inferred, to see Dr Livingstone. At that time
he was, apart from his undoubted hterary talents
as shown by his brilliant reviews and historical
essays, a noteworthy character in political circles.
He possessed an extraordinary influence with the
Government, and was regarded, and in truth was,
the unofficial but regular political agent of Lord
Palmerston, who made use of him as an emissary
on various important occasions. It was in this
capacity that he had been entrusted with the
task of finding out from Dr Livingstone himself
what he desired the Government to do for him;
and it was only many years later, when in Africa,
that Dr Livingstone realised how much more he
might have asked at the time, not for himself
but for his chUdren. It was, perhaps, the only
worldly regret he ever expressed in his life, when
he wrote to Agnes, referring to this visit of Mr
Hayward to Newstead : —
"It never occurred to me, that he meant
anything for me or my children, tiU I was out
here. I thought only of my work in Africa, and
answered accordingly." 142

DR LIVINGSTONE'S NEGLECTED INTERESTS 143
At the time all Dr Livingstone thought of
asked for, and obtained, was free access to the
African highlands by means of the Zambesi and
Shire rivers, to be formally ratified by treaty
with Portugal, an object which, although clearly
most desirable, was only attained after much delay
by our Foreign Office.
That Dr Livingstone's personal interests were
singularly neglected at this time by the said
Foreign Office must be confessed, for although a
httle later (in March) he received a commission
giving him authority over the African chiefs
from the Portuguese boundary to Abyssinia, he
was at the same time informed officially that he
was to expect neither salary nor pension for his
services. As he had asked for neither, this seemed
needlessly offensive, and he felt it keenly at the
time. It was explained, by way of apology after
wards, that the unhappy wording of the letter
had been unintentional and due to the mistake
of some under -official, but the actual meaning
was clear and remained unchanged, and was not
to the credit of the authorities.
Mr Hajrward in aU probability had no idea how
straitened were Dr Livingstone's means, for the
latter was far too proud and too little alive to his
worldly interests to speak of such matters, more
especiaUy to a stranger, and my parents, from
motives of delicacy, would never have mentioned
the subject, whatever good they may have hoped
should proceed from the meeting. They could,
and did, provide a suitable opportunity and facilities
as far as possible for the discussion of the matter
between their two friends, but to use their own

144 MR A. HAYWARD, Q.C. [ch. xvm.
personal influence with either I know they would
not have thought right.
My mother in such matters was the most
honourable woman I have known. The words
Dr Livingstone wrote on his own wife just after
death might, with equal truth, have been applied to
her. " A right straightforward woman was she."
In any case Dr Livingstone so far as he was
personally concerned, missed his chance, although
even if he had fuUy comprehended at the time
all it implied it is doubtful whether he would
have said anything. Possibly, indeed probably,
he did not find Mr Hayward himself altogether
sympathetic, for many did not, and although it
is difficult for a girl to judge of any one in their
decline, I never could myself understand his past
briUiance, and the effect that he certainly had pro
duced on his contemporaries. He was in appear
ance a small and insignificant man ; even from
my earliest recoUections he looked grey and old.
Indeed, he seemed to belong to the species who
never have been young. He had keen blue eyes
that cut like a steel knife, and a mouth in keeping
with them. I believe his speeches were often as
cynical as they were witty.
Many years later I used to see him at parties
in London, looking hke a sad, little, grey ghost,
evidently very infirm. I used to wonder what
pleasure he could find in such scenes. I think
he sometimes wondered at it himself, for once at
a party when I went to greet him, he said some
thing to that effect, and gave a sigh of such deep
regret for his younger days that I felt distressed
about it for a long time afterwards.

FRIENDSHIP WITH MY MOTHER 145
There is no bitterness to some natures like that
of having outlived one's reputation. At the time
of which I write, however, Mr Hayward was still
at the height of his influence, and enjoying his
power, although he owed it almost as much to the
dread and fear of his caustic tongue as to his abilities.
I have heard he was always in his happiest and
most genial mood at Newstead, for, although no
two people could have been apparently more unlike,
a true friendship existed between the odd, worldly
little man and my mother. He showed her his
best side. Nearly aU men hked and admired my
mother. Her great directness and simphcity. of
character, joined to her single-hearted devotion to
my father appealed to their better nature as much
as her extraordinary vitality and Irish type of
beauty — for both of which in her youth she was
so remarkable — did to their aesthetic perceptions.
I have often heard it said by those who knew her
best, that she was far more like a charming boy
than an ordinary woman, especially in her total
absence of vanity and coquetry. Beautifully neat
in her appearance as she always was, she cared
reaUy nothing for dress, and never even looked
in a glass for weeks together.
That her brightness, youth, and kind ways
should have attracted Mr Hayward, it is easy to
understand ; but that she had a genuine liking —
I may almost caU it affection — ^for him is more
difficult to reahse; yet this certainly was the
case, and even when she did not see him, he was
one of the few people with whom she corresponded
regularly. There may, perhaps, have been a touch

146 MR A. HAYWARD, Q.C. [oh. xvm.
of natural vanity in the fact that Mr Hayward,
who was so able, so much sought after, and who
cared for so few people, should take trouble to
please her. He not only talked his best in her
company, but wrote to her for years from the
Houses of Parliament the most clever-^and delight
ful letters full of pohtical and literary witticisms,
besides giving her, in wittiest form, the current
news of the day.
Even apart from such attractions this was a
genuine friendship ; and although few guessed its
origin, it was built on a firmer foundation than was
supposed. To such friendships there is, perhaps,
no truer basis than a similar literary taste ; and
little as Mr Hayward looked the part, he was in
reality as much a poet as a critic, and although
he lacked the power of expression, he would
himself have preferred the higher gift. He
exemplified the old saying that a critic is only
"an artist turned sour." In his case without
doubt his favourite production was the excellent
prose translation of Goethe's Faust, which he
had published in his youth, the year before he
first made my mother's acquaintance. This was
then, and for long held to be, the best version of
its kind in existence.
Now little as any guessed it, my mother was
not only a very fair German scholar, at a period
when to know the language well was by no means
usual, but as a young girl she had, on her own
account, and with the sublime audacity of youth,
herself begun a translation of Faust. Marriage
prevented her going on with the mighty task ; but
the first part of it survived among her private

TWO TRANSLATIONS OF FAUST 147
papers, written in her pointed, delicate hand in
many ruled copy books, and the memory was
still dear to her. Years later, she once showed
them to me between tears and smiles; and
although I joined with her in her amusement at
her ambition, I felt at the same time astonished,
not at the imperfections of the translation, full
of shortcomings as it doubtless was, but at the
absolute sincerity and simplicity with which even
most difficult passages were rendered, or, I should
rather say, attacked.
If my mother confessed her early attempt to
Mr Hayward, and, perhaps, was persuaded to show
him her elementary and naive translation, the two
must have found a great deal in common, for she,
at least, could appreciate his difficulties in the task.
That he possibly was aware of her attempt is
justified by the inscription in the copy of his
translation that he gave to her. She herself
knew a great part of Faust almost by heart in
German ; and it was always one of her best cared
for books.
There was another and much less romantic
side to Mr Hayward's friendship. He was well
known as a great "gourmet," both as to wines
and cooking, and had written a book, once
famous if now only known to the few (but then
far more esteemed than his translation of Faust),
called "The Art of Dining." This had had an
immediate popular success ; and to entertain the
author as a constant guest was thought a great
honour by hostesses, since it implied the possession
of a cook beyond criticism.
My father, hke many other men who have on

148 MR A. HAYWARD, Q.C. [ch. xvm.
occasion roughed it without a murmur, was in
his own house exceedingly exacting where cook
ing was concerned, and all the arrangements this
department had to fulfil his idea of perfection.
My mother, whose chief object in life was to
please him and give him as little trouble as
possible over household affairs, spared no pains
as to the cuisine ; and rarely, if ever, did her
efforts fail in that direction. At the time Dr
Livingstone was at Newstead there was always
a French cook, and " Monsieur," as the servants
called him, in his white cap and apron was a
well-known figure in the household. To make
the picture complete, he was generally attended
by an elderly French poodle, which had taken up
its quarters in the kitchen.
"Monsieur" cooked admirably; but there, 1
fear, his virtues ended, and the very morning of
the day Mr Hayward and a large party of other
guests were expected, " Monsieur " had been
detected in such reprehensible conduct as to
necessitate his immediate dismissal. My father,
in such cases, for all his apparent indolence,
always acted without any hesitation.
My mother, of course, approved ; but at the same
time her feelings as hostess can be imagined, for
even if she telegraphed to London for a substitute,
it was hardly probable that she could procure a
cook of the culprit's calibre at such short notice.
But she only cheerfuUy told my father not to
think of it, and that it would not matter, although
she herself repaired to the kitchen with a very
heavy heart.
There she found, as she expected, the whole

A DOMESTIC CATASTROPHE 149
staff awaiting her, in the usual state of pleasurable
excitement that the faU of a tyrant evokes in
his underhngs. Her heart sank yet more under
her pretended calm, when, instead of the familiar
white-garbed, sleek figure, Sarah, the head kitchen-
maid, presented herself — a tall, well-made girl,
clear-skinned, blue-eyed, and capable, but looking
even younger than her twenty-two years. Dis
consolately my mother eyed her, recaUing as she
did so, that although reported to be a clever girl,
she was considered over young to be even head
kitchenmaid. With a sigh she turned to the
gigantic kitchen ledger on the table, where the
day's biU of fare was duly entered along with the
names of aU visitors to the house, the quantities
consumed, and other pertinent details. It was a
work of art and calculation in its own way, and
my mother was proud of its accuracy.
" We must try and see what we can do this
evening, Sarah," she said encouragingly, although
her words belied her feelings. "Of course, a
very simple dinner, and by to-morrow evening, I
daresay I can get another cook down from London
— but perhaps for this one night you can manage."
She stopped short in surprise as she glanced
at the menu in the book before her. It seemed
to her as elaborate as ever.
A quiet twinkle was in Sarah's eyes.
" Oh, ma'am," said a calm, young voice, " in
deed you need not be in the least afraid about the
dinner to-night. If only you knew how often I
have cooked for you before, when Monsieur was
away in Nottingham with his friends at the theatre 1 "
k2

160 MR A. HAYWARD, Q.C. [CH. xvm.
My mother gave a gasp. Sarah looked so
astonishingly young, so rosy and almost child
like, yet the quiet voice went on beside her with
great firmness, as if echoing her thoughts.
" Yes, ma'am, I know I look young ; but reaUy
I do not think you need trouble about getting
another man-cook down. At least wait until you
have given me a trial."
And such was the effect of the girl's quiet
self-confidence that my mother did not telegraph
that day, as she had intended doing.
The afternoon brought Mr Hayward and the
rest of the party, and once at dinner with his
critical face beside her, my mother's tremours
began again. The first few courses seemed to
her much as usual, all perfect even down to the
usual little printed menu cards, and her spirits
rose accordingly. No one, except herself, knew
of the change ; even my father, secure as he
always was of her domestic good management
and resources, had apparently forgotten the diffi
culty, although a complex entree had just been
served. At this moment Mr Hayward's voice
dashed aU her hopes once more. He did not
even question, it was a dogmatic assertion.
"You have changed your cook," he said abruptly.
"Yes," she answered feebly, half wondering
whether it would not be better to confide in him the
domestic upheaval and throw herself on his mercy.
"I knew you had from the first moment,"
said the author of "The Art of Dining" with
some self-complacency; "I congratulate you.
He is even better than your last."

CORRESPONDENCE WITH MY MOTHER 161
Sarah cooked brilliantly all that week, and
before the end of the month was formally
instaUed as permanent cook. She remained
with my mother over eleven years, and only left
on her marriage. She is still alive, and the
owner and manager of one of the most popular
private hotels in London. A fine example of
what natural talents and hard work can accom
plish when joined to modest self-confidence — aU
of them grand things in their way.
To conclude about Mr Hayward. When it was
proposed to publish a selection of his correspond
ence, so many notes were found amongst his papers
of letters to my mother that the editor wrote
asking if she would allow some of these letters
to be included in the forthcoming volumes. My
mother was rather gratified by the request.
The next day she came to me with a large
packet of Mr Hayward's letters, which she showed
me with some pride. They were all most amusing
and interesting, far more so than any of the letters
that were subsequently published; but when I
remarked how delighted the editor would be at
such a "find," my mother shook her head and
told me she had already sent a regretful letter
of refusal. I asked her why, and she said quite candidly :
"Yes, I am myself sorry. I should have liked
very much for people to have known in the
future that such charming, clever letters were
written to me by so weU- known a critic as Mr
Hayward ; but if you read them again, you wiU
see that there is not one letter but has some
thing unkind in it about someone one knows

152 MR A. HAYWARD, Q.C. [ch. xvm.
— frequently, too, about a woman; and I would
never run the chance of such things being seen
by others."
I looked over the letters again ; and what she
said was true. It was as if an ugly httle snake
lay hidden in each one ; but still I demurred,
and said, as I thought at the time reasonably
enough, that the passages in question could be
easily omitted, and that in many cases the people
mentioned were long ago dead, and the scandals
touched upon had become too much pubhc
property to signify any longer; but she would
not be moved.
" No," she said, " one could never be sure.
I would never hke to feel there was a chance
of such stories being revived through any act
of mine. I was sorry at the time when Mr
Hayward wrote such things, and they should
die with him. Yes, the people themselves may
be dead, but they have children or other relatives
who might be hurt stiU by such gossip. We
will never think of it again," and she took away
the letters, and, I think, probably burnt them aU.
This was very like my dear mother, who
impatient and impulsive as she was by nature,
had truly a noble heart. In aU the years I knew
her, I never heard her say, or even aUow to be
said in her presence, anything reaUy Ul- natured
against another woman. Men knew this, and
in proportion respected her for it. My father
once told me with a great deal of feelmg that
he had been much impressed on various occasions
by her conduct, even as quite a young married
woman ; he spoke of the way in which she always

MY MOTHER'S GOODNESS 153
tried to extinguish scandal instead of spreading it,
as too often through mere heedlessness is done.
Her own goodness and unassailable position as
a devoted wife, of course, gave her far more
authority and influence where such matters were
concerned than her years would otherwise have
warranted.

CHAPTER XIX
return to AFRICA
On the 25th of April, just ten days after his book,
"The Zambesi and its Tributaries," was finished,
Dr Livingstone and Agnes left Newstead for
London. They had spent exactly seven months
with us, and I truly believe the regret with which
they left their "Newstead home," as my mother
liked to hear them call it, was as heart-felt on the
one side as the other, for the intimacy of the long
winter spent together had only deepened their
original feelings.
Dr Livingstone departed leaving a blessing
behind him, for in his journal he writes :
"Parted with our good friends the Webbs.
And may God reward them and their family."
Little did he guess at the time how often in
after years his kindly prayer has been a help and
encouragement in hours of depression to one of
their number, or the gratitude felt to the friend who
first drew attention to " the blessing of Livingstone."
The news of the assassination of President
Lincoln electrified the whole country the very
morning after Dr Livingstone's arrival in London.
To him it seems to have been a greater shock
even than to others, for he appears to have looked
154

WHIRL OF ENGAGEMENTS 155
on it in a somewhat pecuhar hght as a kind of
vicarious expiation of the horrors of slavery by a
good and innocent man. At least his remarks in
his private journal, written after he had heard a
sermon preached by Dr Hamilton on the subject,
can only bear this interpretation. The thought
of slavery and all its attendant horrors never
was at any time far from Dr Livingstone's mind,
and even when he seemed most absorbed in
other affairs and preparations for his approaching
departure once more for Africa, he found time
to express his opinions on this subject with his
customary directness.
For the next few weeks in London he lived in
a perfect whirl of engagements, as not only was
he expected to be present at many public functions,
such as the Royal Academy dinner, and, to him
personally, the more important one of his examina
tion on African affairs before a Committee of the
House of Commons ; but with true fatherly feeling
he devoted much of his time to Agnes, whenever
he could find a few free hours. Thus on the 29th
AprU we find in his journal : —
"Went down to Crystal Palace with Agnes
to a Saturday Concert. The music very fine.
Met Waller and lost a train. Came up in hot
haste to the dinner of the Royal Academy."
He writes also to this effect to Mr Oswell,
but even whUst declaring he is "almost run off
his feet, Agnes is doing it aU," and playfully
demanding compassion, "pity the poor old man,"
one can easily gather how proud and happy he is
at giving his beloved child some of these innocent

156 RETURN TO AFRICA [ch. xix.
pleasures of her age. It is, indeed, good and
pleasant to remember that they had this brief
holiday time together to help them through the
years of future separation. After the recent hard
work over his book, a complete change of ideas
was, in fact, almost a necessary relaxation.
Of the Academy dinner he writes with far
more interest and detail than is usual with him
in describing public proceedings of the kind.
" Sir Charles Eastlake, President ; Archbishops
of Canterbury and York on each side of the chair.
AU the Ministers present except Lord Palmerston,
who is Ul of gout in his hand. Lord Russell, Lord
Granville and Duke of Somerset sat on other side
of table from Sir Henry Holland, Sir Roderick
Murchison and myself. ... I was not told I was
expected to speak until I got in, and this prevented
my eating. My speech not reported."
This latter omission was much commented
on the next day, and was greatly regretted by aU
who were present, for although, as we have seen,
quite unprepared, the speech was thought most
characteristic and all the more impressive in its
unstudied directness. To many it was the dis
tinguishing feature of the evening.
Dr Livingstone had too little vanity to be
offended at the newspaper's neglect, although the
kindness of those who, by their appreciation, tried
to repair the slight was not thrown away on him.
His thoughts were far more taken up with the
African slavery question, as can be easily seen by
a long letter written to my father, immediately
after Dr Livingstone's own examination before
the House of Commons' Committee. It is so

LETTER TO MY FATHER 157
entirely expressive of the man, that I cannot but
give part of it here.
" I told the Committee I had heard people say
Christianity made the blacks worse, but did not
agree with them. I might have said it was ' rot '
and, truly, I can stand a good deal of bosh, but to
tell me that Christianity makes people worse.
Ugh! TeU that to the young trouts. . . .
" You know on what side I am, and I shall stand
to my side. Old Pam fashion, through thick and
thin. I don't agree with all my side say and do.
I won't justify many things, but for the great
cause of human progress I am heart and soul,
and so are you."
Dr Livingstone truly understood my father
when he wrote these last words. For although
they did not always hold the same views on all
political matters, as was, perhaps, inevitable ; yet
amongst Dr Livingstone's many gifts, " God gave
him largeness of heart as the sand on the sea
shore"; and difference of view never made any
difference in the affection of the two men for
each other.
It was about this time that he received the
happy news from Newstead of the birth of my
brother, Algie. He was a most beautiful and
healthy child from the first, and with the coming
of the longed-for son, it really seemed as if my
parents' felicity was complete, and that Dr
Livingstone rejoiced with them in their great joy
can easUy be understood.
He was not, however, to leave England without
another sorrow in his own family, for at the end of
May, when he returned to Hamilton to take leave

158 RETURN TO AFRICA [cH. xix.
of his three younger children, he found his mother
so weak and her mind so wandering that she did
not recognise him, but took him for one of his
own sons. He knew that the end could not be far
off; but as she rallied in a wonderful way for a
time, and he had already promised to go to Oxford
to deliver an address, he went there to fulfil his
engagement. It was whilst there that a telegram
reached him announcing that all was over. He
started at once for Scotland, arriving in time for
the funeral, and thus fulfilling his mother's great
wish that one of her "laddies" should lay her
head in the grave.
He was not one of those to spend time in idle
mourning, however sad he might feel at heart,
when work was to be done; and before he left
Hamilton, he was persuaded by his old friend and
neighbour there, Dr Loudon, to attend the examina
tion at Oswell Livingstone's school, and even to
deliver a short speech to the pupils. Oswell on
this occasion received certain prizes ; and this must
have gratified his father greatly. He took little
Anna Mary with him to see her brother's honours,
and when he concluded his speech to the boys
with the words he had "just two things to say to
them all. Fear God, and work hard," one feels
that it was his last injunction to them as a father,
as well as an exhortation to all in his more general
capacity. He could leave no better motto behind him
than these his last public utterances in his own
country. The end of July found him once more in
London with Agnes, who appears in the interval

AGNES'S STAY IN PARIS 169
to have been left with friends there, as Dr
Livingstone had already decided that she should
spend the next year of her life in any case in Paris
to study French and music.
To many of his old friends, this plan came as
a surprise ; and one can hardly wonder at their
criticising it, as in those days the modern habit of
sending girls abroad to complete their education
was unusual, and Paris, in particular, was regarded
by many as a kind of modern Babylon.
It certainly sounded a strange arrangement for
the daughter of Dr Livingstone ; and, as at the
time I beheve my own mother's influence was
considered the moving power, I feel I should state
here that it was entirely Dr Livingstone's own
wish and decision, and that, strange as it seems,
the explanation was not only far simpler, but even
dated from his earliest missionary days in Africa.
It may be remembered that the nearest
missionary station to Kuruman was Motito, which
was founded by the French Reformed Church, and
was most successful in its work. The French
missionaries and their wives and Dr and Mrs
Moffat were throughout their whole career on the
most friendly and affectionate terms. The stations
were only some thirty miles apart, and this in an
uncivUised country made them comparatively near
neighbours. In course of time, Mrs Livingstone's younger
sister, Ann Moffat (the heroine of the adventure
with lions before recorded), married M. Fr^doux,
a French missionary at Motito and had several
children. To most people it may be new that
Dr Livingstone had at this time some half dozen

160 RETURN TO AFRICA [ch. xix.
French nephews and nieces, and yet such was the
case. He had kept up his friendship with his old
French coUeagues, whom, by the way, he seems
to have preferred to those of his own country in
South Africa at that time ; so that when he cast
about where he could best place Agnes, during
his long absence, it was natural that these trusted
old friends and connections should recur to his
mind. The Rev. M. Lemue had been for many years
the head of the Motito Mission and his excellent
wife the devoted friend of old Mrs Moffat, whilst
out there. They had a niece, Madame Hoc^dd ;
and it was to her care that Dr Livingstone pro
posed to confide Agnes for the next year at least.
Madame Hocddd was a charming and cultivated
French woman, who had for some years been
governess to our own young English Princesses.
She had been at Windsor during the time of the
lamented Prince Consort's illness and death ; and,
unfortunately for herself, had quite innocently
written home privately to her relations an account
of the sad events, and these letters had not only
been shown to others without her knowledge,
but, in course of time, had found their way into
print in France. The letters themselves, I have
heard, were quite harmless; but, of course, in
Madame Hocddd's position it was a grave mistake
ever to have written them. The reticence of those
times was far greater in all such matters than now,
and she was dismissed from her post forthwith.
The story, although it never became really
pubhc, was known to many, and there was a good
deal of sympathy felt for Madame Hocddd as she

MADAME HOCEDE 161
was much liked personally, and seemed to have
been hardly dealt with on all sides. Having, how
ever, great energy as well as ability, and as it was
imperative for her to make her living in some way,
she made up her mind to start a small and superior
school for Protestant Enghsh girls in Paris.
My mother had nothing whatever to do with
the arrangement, and did not even know Madame
Hocddd by name until it was all settled. The
most she may have done was to approve of Agnes
learning French thoroughly well; for satisfactory
as her education was otherwise, she had hitherto
little chance of speaking it fluently.
Dr Livingstone may also have been influenced
in some degree by hearing aU the ladies he met
whilst at Newstead speaking that language, with
more or less ease, and as a matter of course.
Agnes, herself, was too sad at parting with her
father to care much what became of her at this
period of her hfe. To have left her at Hamilton
with her aunts had serious drawbacks ; for, excellent
as they were in many respects, they were hardly
the most suitable guardians for her, nor was she
likely to be so happy with them as in having the
opportunity of improving her mind amid fresh
scenes and surroundings. Dr Livingstone in the
whole matter was certainly guided, and in the
hght of Agnes's unforeseen future truly he " builded
better than he knew."
In two places in his journal he writes : —
"Everything good for me will be given, and I
take it aU as a httle chUd does from its father."
And again some weeks later, " Whatever is good
L

162 RETURN TO AFRICA [CH. xix.
for me and mine the Lord will give," and only
to those who have the blessing of children can
the Faith necessary to include the "mine" be
appreciated. It may be told here that the plan answered
admirably. Agnes, in fact, was not exactly at
school, as has been understood apparently by some
of Dr Livingstone's biographers ; but was what
was then termed a " parlour boarder " ; and as such
had various privileges and much more liberty than
the ordinary pupils. In fact, Dr Livingstone
anticipated the modern fashion of sending girls
to Dresden and Paris. In those days such an
arrangement was so rare that even in this he
showed his pioneer spirit.
Agnes always spoke with enthusiasm of the time
she spent with Madame Hocddd, and profited so
much by her instruction that she returned to
England quite proficient in French. This acquire
ment was in after years of the greatest use to
her as hostess, and in her intercourse with the
many foreign travellers and men of science whom
she came across.
My parents came to London to bid Dr Living
stone farewell, at the beginning of August; and
on the 8th he went in the morning to the
Zoological Gardens with my father and Dr Kirk.
I can myself imagine the party so well, for such
visits to the animals with other companions who
had also known their world were of much interest
to my father, and many are the times I have been
taken by him on such occasions. Among all my
father's friends, none was so good a cicerone as the

PARTINGS— MY PARENTS 168
late Sir Samuel Baker, with his inexhaustible
store of anecdotes concerning the wild life of
the creatures. Mr Bartlett, the kind and clever
curator, and aU the keepers knew my father and
Sir Samuel weU, and gave us many privileges
not accorded to the general public, so that to go
there under their auspices was a very different
experience from the usual visit merely to ride
the elephant and feed the bears with buns.
It was the last "ploy" the three old friends
shared together ; for the very next day Dr
Livingstone took leave of my parents, as it
turned out, for ever. He records it thus in his
journal : —
" ^th August. — Parted with my friends, Mr and
and Mrs Webb, at King's Cross Station to-day.
He gracefuUy said he wished I had been coming
rather than going away, and she shook me very
cordiaUy with both hands, and said, ' You will
come back again to us, won't you?' and shed a
womanly tear. The good Lord bless and save them
both, and have mercy on their whole household I "
After this there is only a record of fareweUs.
His dear friends, Mr and Mrs OsweU, came up
to London to say good-bye to him, at the same
time offering "to go over to Paris, at any time,
to bring Agnes home, or to do anything that a
father would."
This offer was characteristic of Mr Oswell.
The next year he fulfUled it, and escorted Agnes
home. Kind and gracious words and deeds were
second nature to him at all times. In a letter
to my father written a month or two before,

164 RETURN TO AFRICA [ch. xix.
Dr Livingstone had said in reference to Dr
Arnold : —
" You know Oswell was one of his Rugby boys.
One could see his training in always doing what
was brave and true and right."
And, again, in another letter to my father he
writes of Oswell: —
" I love him with true affection, and I believe
he does the same to me, and yet we never
show it."
The last glimpse we get of Dr Livingstone in
Europe is from Marseilles, after his parting with
Agnes, in a letter to Mr Oswell, who evidently
stiU had qualms as to the wisdom of leaving
Agnes in Paris, for Dr Livingstone writes to
him thus explaining the situation : —
"I think A,gnes is aU right. The Rev. M.
CaUiatte, the father of her instructor . . . lives
principaUy at a village near Dreux. She is with
them there . . . during the vintage. Mme.
CaUiatte is sister to Mme. Lemue, whom you
remember at Motito. Agnes goes to Paris in a
month or so. Poor thing, she was very much
cut up at parting with me . . . and felt rather
alone in the world. I told her to write to you
in any case in which she required counsel, as 1
am quite sure you would give her wise hints on
her guidance. We sail hence to-morrow. God
bless you all. — Ever affectionately yours,
" David Livingstone."
And in the anxious years that were to come
to Agnes, never was confidence better bestowed
than this of Dr Livingstone to his old friend ;
and "my adopted one," as Mr Oswell called

MR OSWELL'S KINDNESS 165
Agnes fi-om this time, was no mere figure of
speech. In any time of trouble he was always
at hand to help her. He wrote once: —
" If you are within a hundred miles of me, let
me know, and I wiU come and shake you by the
hand. I will always come even to the end of
the earth, if I can be of any use to you, or you
want me."
Of aU that early group of fine African pioneers,
no one came nearer to the best popular type of
hero than Wilham Cotton Oswell, truest of ftiends,
bravest of hunters, and most chivalrous of Christian
gentlemen, a fact that should never be forgotten
either now or in the far-off future.

l2

CHAPTER XX
the FRERES
" May the Almighty qualify you to be a blessing
to those around you, wherever your lot may be
cast. I know that you hate all that is mean and
false. May God make you good, and to delight
in doing good to others. If you ask He will give
abundantly. The Lord bless you."
Such were the last words written to Agnes
Livingstone by her father from Marseilles — words
that thus seen in the light of the distant future
appear almost prophetic, combining as they do
prayer, message, and blessing in one. And never
was blessing more truly fulfUled in God's good
time, nor, we may say, more truly deserved.
From this time Dr Livingstone wrote to his
eldest daughter continually, telling her all his
inmost thoughts, in a manner that shows how
complete was the perfect sympathy between them.
Now describing any trifle that struck his sense of
humour, or again giving her wise and homely
advice as to her behaviour and conduct in the
future, for instinctively, with the wisdom of great
love, he seems to have foreseen some of a girl's
difficulties in her rather unusual position.
In one of his letters he writes : —
" When you return home you will be scrutinized
166

SIR BARTLE FRERE 167
to see if you are spoilt. You have only to act
kindly and naturally to all your old friends to
disarm them of their prejudices."
But judicious and true as this gentle warning was,
Agnes scarcely required it ; for, like her father,
she was too well-bred to fall into this vulgar fault
of common natures.
In Shakespeare's words she was always "true
to herself," modest and gentle, but independent,
and thus she avoided, instinctively, any suspicion
of superiority to her old friends, or apology to
her new ones — ever the Scylla and Charybdis of
those whom circumstances have placed in a some
what different sphere to their original surroundings.
It is from Dr Livingstone's constant letters to
Agnes that we hear of aU his movements when
in Bombay ; and how, on his arrival, he stayed
for some time at Government House with Sir
Bartle Frere, to whom, hke all who came in con
tact with him, he took a strong liking, besides
greatly appreciating his talents and benevolence.
This was only to be expected, for there were few
men lining whose winning manners expressed more
sincerely the good heart that inspired them than
Sir Bartle Frere.
He was not merely courteous, but charming
to aU he met, from the greatest personages down
to a shy girl at her first ball. He never neglected
an opportunity — however slight — of doing a kind
ness. I can say this from personal experience ; for at
my first big London ball he came up to speak to
my mother. I had never seen him before, and
was as much impressed by his fine appearance and

168 THE FRERES [ch. xx.
bearing, as by the orders that he wore ; for it was
a big ball, and the Prince of Wales being present,
in some ways a sort of official one.
In a moment's glance he seemed to realise the
situation, and, seeing that I knew no one and was
hardly likely to have much dancing, he not only
asked me to dance the next quadriUe with him,
but contrived somehow to procure me other and
younger partners, thereby earning, of course, my
gratitude for life. He did this also in such an
easy and natural manner as to make me feel it
was really a pleasure to himself, and not merely
out of compassion and kindness.
A more delightful family than the Freres it
would be difficult to imagine, for their kindness
and goodness matched their talents. It is not
surprising, therefore, that Dr Livingstone ex
pressed to Agnes at this time his warm admira
tion for Miss Frere, the eldest daughter, who,
although even younger than herself, was, during
the temporary absence of Lady Frere, doing the
honours of Government House.
He was much impressed, as well he might be, by
her charm and talents and her kindness and clever
ness. In another letter of this time he notices the
comfort he found during a brief visit to a house
managed only by men, and on this point makes one
of his rare references to Mrs Livingstone : —
" Your mama was an exceUent manager of the
house, and made everything comfortable," adding
a sentence that comprises the whole art of a
hostess, " I suppose it is the habit of attending
to little things that makes such a difference in
different houses."

OUR INDIAN BOXES 169
He himself also attended to "little things,"
for it was soon after his arrival in Bombay that
he despatched to my mother three small glove
boxes of Indian workmanship, begging her to give
them to my two younger sisters and myself as a
remembrance of him, and at the same time asking
her that his special playmate, little Ethel, should
be allowed the first choice.
Now of these three boxes, one was of bright
inlaid mosaic-work outlined in silver, whilst the
other two were of sweetly scented sandal-wood,
a perfume I have always loved from its vague
suggestion of the East. As was natural in such
a very httle girl, my small sister at once selected
the gayer mosaic box for herself, and to this hour
I can remember the pleasure and relief when one
of the longed-for sandal- wood boxes was placed in
my hands. My own box had, appropriately enough,
two elephants carved in relief on its lid, and I
have it, of course, carefully preserved, among my
treasures, although long usage and many travels
have left it slightly the worse for wear.
That he should remember us children in the
midst of the momentous work of preparation he
had in hand at that time, seems to me now very
touching. So much had he to settle that it was
not until March of the next year, 1866, that Dr
Livingstone finally started from Zanzibar. From
henceforward his real journey may be said to begin,
and for years he was only heard of by his family
and friends through the rare letters that reached
home, via that place.
His former young colleague Dr (now Sir John)
Kirk, had just been appointed British Consul there

170 THE FRERES [ch. xx.
to Dr Livingstone's great content. Sir Bartle
Frere having told him of the good news on the
previous New Year's Day.
I myself can remember little or nothing more
concerning him and Agnes for the next year or two,
for Agnes was stiU with Madame Hocdde in France,
and my parents had set off late that autumn for a
prolonged tour in Egypt and the Holy Land, at that
period a considerable undertaking, since there was
no method of traveUing in either country save by
"dahabeah" or on horseback. They went up the
Nile first as far as the second cataract, and saw every
thing that it was possible to see on the way, besides
having the interesting experience of paying a visit
to Lady Duff Gordon, with whom my mother
was much struck.
The great desire of my mother's heart, however,
had always been to visit the Holy Land, and to
her, at least, it was a very real and true pilgrimage.
To the end of her life she was very proud of
her pilgrim's ring, which only those who have
themselves been at Jerusalem could procure or
rightfully wear. She always wore it at night, and
during illness, and I have heard her say she hoped
to be buried with it on her finger.
Years before, when a young girl, she had met
Samuel Wilberforce, the famous Bishop of Oxford,
and he had been very kind to her. One day he
had asked her, half in fun, what was the wish she
would most like granted, and she had replied, rather
to his surprise, " To visit the Holy Land," and he
then told her that it was also one of his own great
wishes. They had never seen each other since
her girlhood, but on her return to England she

MY MOTHER'S CHARACTERISTICS 171
had remembered this conversation and sent him
a little copy of the Gospel, bound in olive-wood
which she had brought back from Jerusalem —
the wood being supposed to have been taken
from one of the trees on the Mount of Olives.
With the book went a little note reminding him
of their former talk, and telling him how, with
time, her wish had come true, and she hoped
his might likewise.
He replied in a charming letter of thanks, for I
think he was both genuinely touched and pleased
by her remembrance of him after so many years.
In little kindly acts like this my mother
never faUed ; but as she rarely mentioned
them, it has generally been by mere chance that
they have come to my knowledge, often many
years after her own death ; and it accounts in
part for the way many loved her, even those
who knew her comparatively little. In her
younger days, also, before iU-health and sorrow
broke down her spirits, her brightness and liveli
ness were unsurpassed. I have been told that it
was almost impossible to feel dull or depressed
for long in her presence: for although her
sympathy in real trouble was ever ready, she
had, to a supreme degree, that still rarer although
almost indefinable gift, called by the French
"entrain," which one associates with joy rather
than sorrow. Of aU qualities it is, perhaps, the
most appreciated at the time, and the most
elusive afterwards ; for although none are insen
sible to its charm neither canvas nor pen can
capture it. It is felt rather than seen or heard.
For this reason any attempts to picture my

172 THE FRERES [oh. xx.
mother were always a failure, and her photo
graphs even greater libels. The only portrait
at all like her, I have been told by those who
knew her in early days, was the rather fanciful
one engraved in the then fashionable "Book of
Beauty." This, of course, showed her in quite
early youth, and was after the special style
affected by such collections.
Upon this subject Agnes Livingstone once
told me that in one of her father's letters to her
never published, written when he was living for
so long in the Manyuema Country at the village
of the cruel black chief, Cazembe, he spoke of
the superiority in beauty and in goodness of
native women to their mankind. One of the
chiefs wives in especial had been most kind and
considerate towards the lonely travel-worn white
man, and had even sent him little presents of
food which had touched him.
"She is, although, of course, nearly black,"
his letter ran, "a very pretty woman; indeed,
although you may smile, the best idea I can
give you of her appearance is that she is more
like dear Mrs Webb than any one I have ever
seen ; for, barring her colour and her woolly hair,
she has very good features and the same bright
smile and joyous laugh."
I quote, of course, from memory and after
many years ; but I think these were almost the
actual words he used. Agnes also gave this
description to my mother, who was not only
amused at the idea of her black double, but
pleased to hear she had proved such 9, friend in
need to her "dear Dr Livingstone."

ik

'¦J V,

\...

MISS. GOODLAKE, AFTERWARDS MRS. WEBB.
Prom a Sketch in the possession of Madame la Marquise de Iiasteyrie.

MR YOUNG OF KELLY 173
There is not much to relate of the long
years of waiting which followed, for although
on her return from France Agnes spent much
of her time at Newstead, I saw most of her
when we were practically alone, as then she often
shared our schoolroom walks with our governess.
She came and went, I think, much as she
liked, and divided the greater portion of her
time between us and Dr Livingstone's old friend
Mr Young of Kelly, who was equally fond of
her, both for her own and her father's sake. My
parents would, indeed, have been well pleased if
she had lived with us altogether, but this she
never would hear of. She always held that her
real home was at Hamilton with her old aunts
and httle sister. I think she always arranged
that she should be there for Anna Mary's and her
brothers' holidays, so that none of Dr Livingstone's
chUdren should feel the want of a centre in
common. The Youngs were very good to her, and amply
fulfUled Dr Livingstone's prediction that she would
find them true friends during his absence. She
spent her summers, so far as I can recollect, chiefly
with them, as in one way, I think, she found it
pleasanter than Newstead at that season, for they
had a most beautiful yacht, and with them she was
taken to see many new places.
Like her father she always loved travelling, and
in this way she grew to know practically all the
British coast-line and its islands. One year, at
least, they went further afield on a more adventur
ous expedition to Iceland. On this occasion they
saw the Great Geyser, and I think ascended Mount

174 THE FRERES [ch. xx.
Hecla, besides exploring the island on all sides.
They rode on Iceland ponies, and thoroughly
enjoyed themselves, in spite of suffering almost
as much from mosquitoes as if they had been
in Africa. Agnes delighted in this expedition,
and my interest in all she had to tell me of it,
although second hand, was very great for she
described it most vividly. It is strange how
such bents are inherited, for if Agnes had been
a boy it is almost certain she would have followed
in her father's footsteps, and it was with full
knowledge of her character that he wrote to her
from Africa after Sir Samuel Baker had discovered
the Albert Nyanza : —
"You remark that you think you could have
travelled as well as Mrs (Lady) Baker, and I
think so too. Your Mama was famous for rough
ing it in the bush and was never a trouble."
I sometimes think that if ever there were any
one Agnes could have envied, it was Lady Baker,
not for the praise and honours the latter received
in England, but for all the actual hard work she
had gone through in Africa, and the help she had
been to her husband whUst there.
Even as it was, Agnes's brave words never failed '
to cheer her father in his solitude ; and he felt
her spirit echoed his own, as when he writes much
later : —
" I am delighted to hear you say that much as
you wish me home, you would rather hear of my
finishing my work to my own satisfaction than
come merely to gratify you. That is a noble
sentence."

A MISSIONARY CAREER 175
He recurs to this again in his journal and even
more expansively, for he adds : —
"Rightly and nobly said my darhng Nannie.
Vanity whispers pretty loudly ' She is a chip of the
old block.' My blessing on her and on all the rest."
Yet one thing stands out distinctly. Never at
any time, either by letter or speech, have I ever
heard of his expressing a wish, or influencing any
of his children to adopt a missionary career. This
arose not fi-om indifference to his high calling or
lack of zeal in his Master's service, but rathc^ that
he placed his aim so high in such matters that,
without a distinct vocation, he desired none to
undertake such work. Also in the case of a
woman, he knew too well the special difficulties
that beset them in distant uncivilised lands at that
time, and that it was not even right to expose
them to the sufferings and hardships it entdled.
He did not expect the missionaries' wives to be
idle or to hve in luxury ; but as he says in a letter
to Mr Young: —
"The missionaries are not to think of them
selves deserving a good English wife till they have
erected a comfortable abode for her."
His own ideas as to the future of his children
may best be seen in a letter to his son Thomas.
"Whatever you feel yourself best fitted for,
'Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in
Him, and He wiU bring it to pass.' One ought
to endeavour to devote the peculiarities of his
nature to his Redeemer's service, whatever these
may be."

176 THE FRERES [ch. xx.
And in another letter to the same son he says
again :
" None of you must become mean, cravenhearted,
untruthful, or dishonest ; for if you do, you don't
inherit it from me. I hope you have selected a
profession that suits your taste. It will make you
hold up your head amongst men and is your most
serious duty."
Independent and hardworking himself, he
expected the same qualities from others, and he
rightly held that no blessing could be looked for
otherwise ; but his absence of any compulsiorl in a
special direction is marked, and was even more
unusual in a parent in those times than it is now.
The nearest approach to advice of the kind is,
perhaps, a faint hint in a letter to Agnes, in which
he teUs her he has had a letter from a lady near
Bath respecting some plans for the benefit of poor
orphans. "If you thought of going to Bath it might be
well to get all the insight you could into that and
every other good work. It is well to be able to
take a comprehensive view of aU benevolent enter
prises, and resolve to do our duty in life in some
way or other, for we cannot live for ourselves
alone. A life of selfishness is one of misery, and it
is unlike that of our blessed Saviour who pleased
not Himself."
" A comprehensive view of all benevolent enter
prises" he had certainly managed to achieve for
his own part.
But even in his special work, one of his
children was to follow him closely, and although

MRS LIVINGSTONE WILSON 177
the method and working out has been different the
spirit is curiously the same ; and to any close
observer of Dr Livingstone's character must evoke
reflections on the problem of inherited moral gifts
and qualities equally with physical likeness. His
daughter, Anna Mary, that almost unknown chUd,
has followed in his steps. But for a few charm
ingly fatherly letters to her as a child and a
brief three week's sight of her during his last
visits to Hamilton she had herself seen nothing of
her father. Nevertheless, as she has been in some
ways the nearest to him in his hfe's work, it seems
only right to enter into her history rather fully, as
the fact that one of Dr Livingstone's children has
devoted so much of her time to valuable missionary
work is apparently generally unknown.
Anna Mary was educated at a Quaker School
near Kendal, thereby showing once more how
little importance her father attached to any mere
outward distinctions where he was certain of
true Christianity.
Whilst at Kendal she met and renewed an
early childish friendship with Mr Frank Wilson,
the nephew of Dr Livingstone's old friend and
correspondent, Mr Braithwaite. An attachment
grew up on both sides, which resulted in their
happy marriage in 1881.
Mr Frank Wilson was engaged in business
at Kendal when he married, but his heart like his
wife's had ever been in mission work, and even
then they both contrived to do a great deal of
good to those around them, and of at that time
a very novel kind, for they spent their summer

178 THE FRERES [oh. xx.
holidays each year on the little mission ships
then recently started to minister to the spiritual
and material needs of the deep sea fishermen
when afloat.
The lives of the workers on these mission ships
are not without trials and even perils, and more
especiaUy is it a rough life for any woman ; but,
in spite of all hardships, Mrs Livingstone Wilson
accompanied her husband on all his voyages,
and her womanly kindness and services made her
presence a very material aid to-the work.
Mr and Mrs Wilson had two children, a boy
and a girl, but until both were of a fitting age to
be left without their own care, their parents wisely
and rightly devoted themselves to their bringing
up. In this they followed certainly, even if un
consciously, Dr Livingstone's own views, for on
no point did he insist more strongly than this in
his more intimate letters to such of his friends
as had children of their own. That he had
acted otherwise himself, made him only the more
insistent, perhaps, on this point in others.
He writes very touchingly to Mr Oswell on
this very subject.
"In looking back to Kolobeng I have one
regret, and that is I did not feel it my duty to play
with my children as much as to teach the Bakwains.
I worked very hard at that, and was tired out at
night. Now I have none to play with. So my
good friend play whUe you may. They will soon
be no longer bairns."
Dr Livingstone's confhcting duties to his
children and to his African work made him

MRS LIVINGSTONE WILSON 179
undoubtedly at times very unhappy. It was the
one point upon which he could not always be at
ease, and even though, at last, he settled that his
work in Africa was in his case his own vocation,
he was always most anxious that others should not
in this be guided by his example. It was a case
of the axiom that "The exception proves the
rule." That he would, therefore, have cordially
approved of his son-in-law's and daughter's conduct
in this matter we may be sure.
The whole of this time, however, Mr and Mrs
WUson had privately resolved that when the
proper moment arrived they would devote their
whole energies to foreign mission work, and in
the meanwhUe contented themselves with giving
all their spare time to the stout hearted
fishermen. At the end of 1895 after the death of Dr
Livingstone's two old sisters who had found a home
with their niece,^ Mr Wilson did even more, for
he gave up all his business, broke up the home
in Kendal, and moved to London, there to under
take the post of Deputation Secretary to the Deep
Sea Fishermen Society. The duties of this post
kept the Wilsons' time fully occupied all the
winter, whilst in the summer they continued their
practical work afloat amongst the fishermen as
usual. In 1902 Mr and Mrs Wilson's two children
being then of an age no longer to require their
immediate care, the long-wished-for opportunity
came. Mr and Mrs Frank Wilson, therefore,
' Dr Livingstone's two old sisters, Agnes and Janet Livingstone, after
they had parted with their little home at Hamilton, lived at Kendal
until they died, hoth in this same year 1896.

180 THE FRERES [CH. XX.
now exchanged their work amongst the Deep
Sea Fishermen for that of assisting the Church
Missionary Society in Sierra Leone.
Mrs Livingstone WUson, herself a member of
the Church of England, had already been at Free
town on a short visit with the then Bishop of
Sierra Leone, so that she had some acquaintance
with the place and the need of workers there.
After working a term, however, under the Church
Missionary Society's direction, both she and her
husband came to the conclusion that they could
accomplish far more practical good by working
independently, and amongst the soldiers and the
many white men employed in business there.
They had very good and sound reasons for this
decision, partly the very practical one that being
no longer young, they could not acquire the native
language readily, and the African branch of the
Church Missionary Society was essentially devoted
to work amongst the " heathen."
But this was not their only reason, for the need
of the many solitary young Englishmen in a
strange land to be "fathered and mothered," as
Mrs Livingstone Wilson herself termed it, was
very urgent.
It is a want that no one who has seen the
conditions of life in such places can fail to under
stand, although it is difficult to explain adequately
to those at home, to whom any missionary work
amongst the natives appeals far more.
To raise the standard of morals and self-respect
amongst the white residents will, in the end, un
doubtedly go further to benefit the natives than
any ordinary " conversion " of the black people, for

WORK IN SIERRA LEONE 181
it wUl go far to prevent many of the worst evils
in the future — evils that are always to be found
ready to spring up where two unequal races have
to live side by side.
For full four years Mr and Mrs Wilson laboured
on in this way at Freetown. Mr Wilson was not
ordained, but he was appointed a lay reader to the
West Indian Regiment quartered there, and took
the parade services in this capacity. At first the
Wilsons gave up the ground floor of their own
house to serve as a sort of general meeting place
and soldier's institute, where all were made
welcome. In time they came to be regarded as
a kind of link between the missionary and the
secular hfe of the whole town, and one may feel
sure to the mutual advantage of both.
Later, thanks to the goodwill and liberahty of
the officers and English residents, who saw how
much real good was being affected by Mr Wilson's
means, a regular haU on similar lines was built
and duly opened, being caUed, by the unanimous
wish of its supporters, the Wilson HaU.
Before this event, however, four years of the
exhausting climate began to teU heavily on Mrs
Livingstone WUson's health, and she was com
peUed to return to England to recruit. After
taking his wife home^ Mr WUson returned to
Sierra Leone for further service, and after two
more terms purposed to retire. But when the time
approached he asked her consent to delay his return
two or three months, in order to take the place
of a fellow worker who, he thought, required the
change more. In the true Livingstone spirit, she
m2

182 THE FRERES [oh. xx.
agreed at once to his self-sacrifice, but humanly
speaking but for this most unselfish act he would
now be still alive. For within these extra months
an outbreak of yeUow fever swept over the town,
and Mr Frank Wilson was one of the first victims,
dying on 31st May 1910. It was terrible for his
wife not to be by his side at the last, but that he
died doing his duty was her greatest comfort.

CHAPTER XXI
suspense
In this manner the years passed. Rather grey
years they must have been to Agnes, punctuated
only by the irregular arrival of long letters from
her father. He never failed to write to my parents
at the same time, and on these occasions we used
to hear parts of his letters read aloud; and if
Agnes chanced to be with us there would be a good
deal of conversation about what Dr Livingstone
was likely to do next, and his last halting-place
would be shown to us on the map, although, of
course, only approximately, as he was then in quite
unexplored regions.
Then came a time when the long letters ceased
altogether, and in spite of little being said we felt
rather than knew that it was better not to mention
Dr Livingstone's travels for the time. Agnes was
with us for a very long period in that particular
autumn, and I know now better than I did then
how great must have been the suspense ; although
beyond the fact that she was unusuaUy quiet and
that her beautiful early bloom seemed to have
passed from her, we children saw little change in
her. The anxiety about her father's fate was too
heavy to be discussed in a casual way at luncheon,
and very wisely the schoolroom party heard little
183

184 SUSPENSE [CH. xxi.
of what their elders were going through on Dr
Livingstone's account at this time.
The first knowledge of it came to us one
morning, when, as usual, we were taking our
ordinary walk with our governess and Agnes.
We were that day in the Park, some distance from
the house, and were coming through the little
valley which hes between the two bracken-covered
hiUs below Hag Nook farm, when, to our surprise,
we heard a cry, and, looking up, saw in the distance,
outlined against the sky - line above the nearest
hill, my father and mother. They were callingto
us to come to them at once, and beckoning us
to hurry, appeared to be much excited. Rather
alarmed we began to climb the steep little ascent
as fast as we could ; for my mother had always so
much business to attend to in the morning that
it was an almost unprecedented event for her to
leave the house before luncheon.
As we got nearer we were even more bewildered,
for we saw they were both not only greatly excited
but also much pleased ; and as we reached their side,
breathless with haste, my mother greeted Agnes
with the joyful news that they had just heard of
Dr Livingstone's safety and that he was at Ujiji.
From their excitement and evident relief one
could easily gather how great had been their former
dread and anxiety. My mother, always impulsive,
showed her feelings as unreservedly as any child.
She talked, laughed, and even occasionally cried
all the way home ; and, I fancy, was rather dis
appointed at the very quiet manner in which
Agnes received the intelligence ; for she said hardly
a word, and directly we reached the house went off

RUMOURED MURDER OF DR LIVINGSTONE 186
at once silently to her own room. Only when she re
appeared at luncheon-time her pale face and softened
eyes showed what depths of thankfulness had been
stirred in her inmost soul. It was evident that her
outward impassiveness arose from the very force of
her feelings which were too great for mere words.
This incident must have taken place in October
1867. It wiU be remembered that a circumstantial
report of the murder of Dr Livingstone, between
Marenga and Maklisoora near Lake Nyanza, had
been brought back to Zanzibar by his rascally
former servant Musa and the cowardly Johanna
men, to cover their own faithlessness to him.
Their account had been fully believed even by
Dr Kirk and other residents at Zanzibar, as also
by Sir Samuel Baker, and had, in consequence,
been generaUy accepted in England. Sir Roderick
Murchison, Mr Horace Waller, Mr Oswell, and
my father stood almost alone at this time in
refusing credence to the rumour, although the
intense relief shown by my parents gives the
measure of their previous anxiety.^
' A friend has sent me the following note : " It has been some
times said or implied, that in his stedfast resistance to the general
belief in Dr Livingstone's death. Sir Roderick was actuated rather by
warmth of friendship then by grasp of the facts of the case. That was
not the opinion of a very competent critic, the late F. M. Lord Napier
of Magdala. For in a letter of my father's, written from London in
June or July 1868, he mentions that Lord Napier and Sir Roderick
had then just met, and that the former had expressly congratulated
Sir Roderick, not merely in the matter of having proved right as to Dr
Livingstone's safety, but still more on the careful reasoning by which
he had been able to satisfy himself of the probable falsity of the generally
accepted reports. ' Your confidence,' said that great soldier, ' did not
rest on mere guesswork, but was the result of very careful and close
reasoning from the available data.' When I reminded Lord Napier of
this saying in after years, he made a remark to the effect that it was
a saying which he was glad should be remembered. — A. F. Yule."

186 SUSPENSE [ch. xxi.
When later, letters from Dr Livingstone himself
arrived corroborating the good news, there was, of
course, great rejoicing, but, alas, the silence and with
it an ever-increasing anxiety once more descended
hke a pall, and for poor Agnes in particular the
succeeding years of waiting must have been in
creasingly hard to bear. These years left their
mark on her; for although always attractive,
uncomplaining, and even cheerful, the wonderful
brightness and glow which were such a distinguish
ing part of her early girlhood passed away little by
little, and she did not in future years regain them.
She appeared in some measure, also, as one
set apart from ordinary girlhood, with its little
pleasures, griefs, and gaieties ; and in good truth
so she was, for much responsibility, as regards her
brothers and little sister, even then rested upon
her slight shoulders, and her whole thoughts and
interests were wrapt up in her father and his
journey and aims.
A search expedition had been sent out in June
1867 by the Royal Geographical Society, under
the command of Mr Young. It was, so far as
it went, successful, in as much as in a few months
it brought back the authoritative tidings that
Dr Livingstone had been seen without doubt
alive and well a few months previously, and there
the matter ended. There was no attempt to join
him, for at that time no one seemed to have ever
contemplated the possibility of Dr Livingstone
being in any need of assistance, still less the real
destitution which he subsequently went through.
Nor, in fact, would there have been any material
necessity, if the ample supply of necessary stores

OSWELL LIVINGSTONE 187
had been duly despatched to Ujiji, and had not
been most dishonestly appropriated during transit,
so that, instead of a fresh store awaiting him at
Ujiji, he found himself well-nigh destitute. He
was actuaUy three years without receiving any
letters from home, in this way was even worse off
than Agnes, as although many of his communica
tions had been lost a very few had still reached
Zanzibar after lengthy and circuitous journeys.
The expedition of Mr Young was not, however,
the only one, for in 1871-72 the continued absence
of recent news occasioned such uneasiness, increased
by the report of the war then proceeding between
the Arabs and the natives of Ujiji, that the Geo
graphical Society, urged on by Sir Roderick
Murchison — who, however, died before the ex
pedition left — again despatched another small
search party under the command of Lieutenants
Dawson and Henn. They were accompanied
by Oswell Livingstone, then a delicate lad barely
twenty years old, who was most anxious to do
aU in his power to see his father once more.
This expedition, as all know now, came abruptly
to an end after proceeding a very short distance,
for encountering Stanley on his return journey
after his successful meeting with Dr Livingstone
at Ujiji, the leader at once threw up his command,
and the whole undertaking came to a conclusion.
OsweU Livingstone, indeed, at first desired greatly
to proceed alone to see his father, but was dissuaded
from the attempt, and probably with good reason,
so far as mere prosaic common sense was concerned.
For even at home he was never robust, and with
his youth and inexperience it would have been

188 SUSPENSE [CH. XXI.
hardly possible for him to have succeeded alone in
a journey which had tried even Stanley's powers.
Nevertheless, I think that he himself always
regretted his compliance with the strong advice,
so strong as almost to be called the orders of his
elders, and felt in after years that he had lost a
glorious opportunity of distinguishing himself.
Some stay-at-home folk actually blamed him for
his remissness, which was, to those who knew
the real difficulties of his position, most unfair.

CHAPTER XXII
STANLEY
We w^ere all settled for the summer as usual at
Arrochar on Loch Long, when the news of
Stanley's meeting with Dr Livingstone first
reached England. It was followed by the arrival
of Dr Livingstone's own letters to my parents
describing the whole occurrence. These letters
expressed the joy and relief he felt, and his
own glowing gratitude towards Stanley, in no
measured terms. Dr Livingstone asked them,
as a personal favour, to pass on to Stanley
aU the affection and friendship they had shown
him, and to look upon aU they could do for his
new friend as if it were done to himself. In all
these long letters he dwelt much on the past;
and made so many minute enquiries after every
member of the Newstead household and family as
to show how famished he had been for news of
home. Even down to the pets and my father's big
black dog. Nelson, no one was forgotten by name.
The relief and joy those letters brought, it is
almost impossible to realise. It seemed, after
the prolonged strain, almost as if their beloved
old friend had been given back to them even
from the grave ; whilst to poor Agnes it was
like the infusion of fresh life. On the other hand,
189

190 STANLEY [ch. xxii.
to hear of the sufferings he had been called upon
to endure — many of them unnecessarily — was sad
reading. Then came the British Association, which
that year met at Brighton, too far off for my
parents to get to it easily from Arrochar, which
in those days was not even accessible by railway.
They also had the house filled with shooting
guests, and although they knew Stanley was to
be present they had no reason to anticipate any
thing disagreeable in his reception.
It is true that they had, some time before, to
their amazement, received some enquiries as to
whether they thought the letters they had received
from Dr Livingstone were genuine; which in
view of the details I have given, seemed to them
too absurd for serious consideration, and they had
answered all such doubts as to their authenticity
to that effect, even with slight indignation. That
my father's presence might possibly be required
as a support to Stanley had never even crossed
their minds. Mr OsweU, being close at hand in
Kent, and in consequence more in touch with what
was being said, foresaw what might happen ; and
therefore, at some inconvenience to himself, made
a special point of attending the Brighton meetings ;
but this they did not realise until after the event.
Then came the storm and the extremely regrettable
and discourteous reception of Stanley.
My parents were thunderstruck when the news
papers reached them, two days afterwards. I can
vividly recall my mother's indignation even now.
If there were one thing she hated it was want of
fair play and any breach of hospitality. She stood.

FIRST VISIT TO NEWSTEAD 191
paper in hand, alternately reading out passages
and exclaiming in her indignation. Her blue eyes
flashed with anger, and at last she actually shed
tears of compassion for " that poor Stanley," whom
neither she nor my father had then met, while she
regretted their absence from the congress. She
declared, I think with reason, that if my father
and she had been present, the situation could never
have arisen, for it would have been impossible to
resist the combined authority of such old friends
as Mr Oswell and themselves.
It took her several days before she could talk
calmly of these matters and recover her equanimity ;
yet in the end I sometimes think it was all the better
for Stanley, since it made her the more anxious for
my father and herself to do what they could to make
up for his Ul - treatment. He was at this time
unknown to her, save as Dr Livingstone's friend ;
but from henceforward her interest in him was
far warmer. To have been the victim of calumny
was always a sure means of enlisting my mother's
sympathy. In this case, it took the form of at once sending
another and more pressing invitation to Stanley,
begging him to come and stay at Newstead, as
they longed to make his acquaintance, and thank
him in person for all he had done for their dear
friend Dr Livingstone.^
In the usual course of events, my parents would
1 I cannot now find the exact date of this first visit, but my
impression is, that he accepted at once, and that it took place
immediately after our usual return from Scotland to Newstead in
October of the same year (1872) and before Stanley started on his
tour of lectures in the U.S. A. It may, however, possibly have been
in the following spring, just after his return.

192 STANLEY [ch. xxii.
probably have had a party of friends to meet
Stanley, inviting, of course, only those who would
have been likely to be speciaUy interested in him
as Dr Livingstone's friend ; but under the circum
stances, with intuitive sympathy, she felt this was
hardly advisable. So she did what was better, and
arranged that when he came she and my father
should be alone, and that he should be treated not
as Stanley, the traveller and celebrity, nor even as
an ordinary acquaintance, but hke an old friend.
She had Dr Livingstone's letters teUing her what
manner of man he had found the stranger, and to
the letter as well as in spirit she set herself to
carry out her old friend's request, and treated
Stanley as if he were Livingstone himself.
One of my mother's favourite axioms was,
" If you do a thing be sure you do it gracefully."
This time in no detail did she spare pains to
make Stanley's first visit pleasant and happy.
He was lodged in Dr Livingstone's old rooms,
and the first day or two of his stay were spent in
hearing all that he had to tell of Dr Livingstone,
and in showing him Newstead, of which he had
already heard much. There seemed, indeed, httle
that he did not know, so well had Dr Livingstone
in far away Africa portrayed the contents and
inhabitants of Newstead to him, and so retentive
had been his memory.
From the very first, and in spite of all his
drawbacks of manner and appearance, my mother
liked Stanley and recognised instinctively his best
qualities. For to be truthful, I must say, he was
at that time very rough in all his ways, and as
unlike the Stanley of his later years as a prickly

HIS APPEARANCE 193
chestnut burr is to the smooth brown chestnut
within. He was, to begin with, as at this time was
only to be expected, before everything the typical
American journalist, almost aggressively so both
in accent and behaviour. Moreover, sensitive, and
hot-tempered as he was by nature, he was naturally
enough smarting and bruised throughout his whole
moral being, from the way he had been treated
in England, and that by those from whom he had
least expected it. My mother exaggerated nothing
when she described him afterwards as being on his
first arrival at Newstead, "A perfect Ishmaelite
with his hand against every man, and feeling
every man's hand was raised against him — at
any rate in England."
Even with her and my father, he seemed for
the first few hours, hardly to believe in their
friendhness ; but when as time went on, and he
found they did not even cross- question him, and
that all they wished was really to pass on to him
their affection for Dr Livingstone, taking his
sympathy for granted, he changed completely,
and in a short time, especially when alone with
my mother, poured out all the confidences of his
heart. In a few days' time he had even confided to
her all his sad early story — that wonderful story
which now all can read for themselves in his
Autobiography, but which in those days, be
it remembered, was unknown to any one.
I myself saw little of him, except at luncheon,
for at that time I was still only in the schoolroom. N

194 STANLEY [ch. xxii.
He was very abstemious in his habits and rather
silent, but we all noticed the change which each
day seemed to make in his appearance, and how
he grew gentler and happier, whilst the hard lines
on his face became less visible. He had at this
time the most extraordinary and wonderful eyes I
have ever seen. They were like smaU pools of grey
fire, but the least provocation turned them into
grey lightning. I have never seen eyes like those
of Stanley when he was angry. They seemed to
scorch and shrivel up all he looked at. But his
whole personality at this time gave one the im
pression of overwhelming and concentrated force,
a human explosive power that only required a
mere chance to turn towards good or evil. Many
who met him then felt this, I think, un
consciously, and dreaded and even disliked him
greatly without being able to explain why.
But my mother was by her temperament
singularly fearless, and, in consequence, was not the
least in awe of him. Stanley himself knew this well
and appreciated her frank friendship the more in
consequence. Years afterwards he wrote in his
journal in reference to a pleasant visit in Wales ^ : —
" I have been more talkative in this house than
I have been in any house that I can remember,
^ At Dolancothy, Llamwrda, South Wales, with Sir James and Lady
Hills- Johnes. Lieutenant - General Sir James Hills- Johnes, V.C,
G.C.B., who was dangerously wounded in the Indian Mutiny, where
he won the Victoria Cross for his extraordinary valour. He was
afterwards Governor of Cabul.
It may interest some people to know that in her youth, Lady Hills-
Johnes — a most cultivated and charming woman — was the fortunate
recipient of Bishop Thirlwall's delightful letters, afterwards published,
but without giving her name.

MY MOTHER'S APPRECIATION 195
except Newstead Abbey, where one was stimulated
by that exceptional, most loveable being, Mrs
Webb."

And she was at that time of his life, perhaps,
the best friend he could have had. Busy woman
as she always was, she gave up all her time to
him during his visit, and saw that he never had
a duU or lonely moment. She took him for long
drives alone in her pony phaeton every afternoon,
walked with him, talked with him, and above all
encouraged him to talk to her; thus she got to
understand his character as no one at this time
had cared to do, and to see that with all his
success he had a great loneliness of heart. He
told her of his boyish hardships, of his many
disappointments, of his journalistic triumphs after
Magdala — in fact his whole life-story, now a well-
worn tale, but then quite unknown, and, although
she was far too loyal to his confidence ever to
retail his conversation, it, of course, made a great
difference to her estimate of him.
Little by little, and thanks chiefly to her
sympathy, he lost his bitter feelings to the world
in general, and to the English in particular. It
is significant that ever after this visit my mother
always spoke of him still in private as "poor
Stanley," a term that to those who only knew
him superficially, or by report, seemed absurdly
inappropriate. To her it was but the literal fact ;
and, I think, given the knowledge that we have
now, is much nearer the truth than any one
could have supposed. I recollect once, soon after
this time, some casual visitor spoke of Stanley

196 STANLEY [ch. xxii.
as "doubtless a rough diamond," and went on,
half jestingly, to say that possibly he showed more
roughness than diamond to the world at large.
My mother turned on the speaker in her own
quick way and flashed out :
" You none of you understand Stanley at all.
None of you really know him ; but I do, and if
you only knew his story and all he had had to
struggle against, you would feel towards him like
myself. He has under all his roughness one of
the most affectionate natures I have ever met
with, and quite the most grateful; and I am
certain of one thing, if some day he could meet
and marry a really nice and good woman, she
could make anything of him. You would all
be amazed at his transformation. Yes, you may
all smile now at what I say" (this, I fear, was
true, for to think of Stanley, as he was at that
time, as a domestic character seemed very incon
gruous), "but I am sure of this. Only — she
would have to care for him enough."
So seriously and with such conviction did my
mother speak, that all were impressed, and no
one said another word. It showed her intuition,
for never was a truer prophecy. That she herself
should not have lived to see Stanley's happy
marriage to gifted and charming Miss Dorothy
Tennant, always seemed pathetic ; for few things
would have rejoiced my mother more than to have
seen her prediction thus amply fulfilled. I think
she always looked on Stanley and his happiness
as being in some sense the legacy left to her
charge by Dr Livingstone.
Neither she nor my father ever entered into or

STANLEY AS PLAYMATE 197
took part in any of the controversies that Stanley
aroused, probably for this very reason. They
always held themselves carefully aloof from such
disputes where he was concerned. To them he was
first and foremost " Dr Livingstone's best friend."
One afternoon of that first visit stands out in
my memory very clearly. It was towards the
end of his stay, and my parents took us all,
including Stanley, on what was always familiarly
called by us "a patriarchal walk" round the
park, to call at one of the farms. I have often
wished for one of these walks since they have
gone for ever, but at the time they were not
very popular with us, since they were always
lengthy, and much time was wasted, in our eyes,
by dawdling about and standing over drains,
fences, and other "improvements." On this
particular day I, for some reason was excused
being one of the long string of children and
dogs which formed the tail of the party ; but
I was made to regret my defection when they
returned at tea-time.
My brothers and sisters were radiant at the
delightful afternoon they had spent, thanks to
"Mr Stanley" and his unforeseen genius as a
playmate. He had seen that the long standing
about was very irksome to the younger ones ;
he may even be excused if he himself found it
so. And to him was due the entrancing proposal
of a new game — an Exploring Expedition in
Africa, to be led by himself.
With a word of explanation to my mother,
he had started forthwith, foUowed by all the five
n2

198 STANLEY [CH. xxii.
children ranging in age from fourteen to my
youngest little brother of six. He had plunged
straight into the nearest brake of furze, and gone
without hesitation through plantations, thickets,
and woods, until after many adventures he had
brought them out close at home. He had
described everything as they went along, and had
" made believe they were in Africa," so they said,
most beautifully, so that they felt they had in
very truth passed through perils and dangers of
all kinds. If they saw a fallen tree it was a
terrible crocodile, a big stump a hippopotamus
or an elephant, sheep and cows, antelopes or
buffaloes ; whilst even imaginary lions had not
been wanting, and, of course, any stray folk they
saw in the distance had been avoided as hostile
tribes. Their bright eyes and cheeks showed how
the whole band had enjoyed themselves, and
Stanley himself not the least of the party. I
never saw him look so boyish and happy as on
this occasion. He was always at his best with
children, and most careful of them in all ways,
gentle both in speech and manner. He had so
much the heart of a boy hidden underneath his
manifold experiences, that he played, not with
them, but as one of themselves.
The following year his visit was repeated, and
this time he was accompanied by the little African
boy, Kalulu, whom he had rescued from slavery
at the time of his Livingstone Search Expedition.
Stanley had sent him in the interval to school in
England ; and I rather think it w^as during his
Easter hohdays that he brought him to Newstead.
Kalulu was in all respects a very nice little lad.

KALULU 199
good-looking, and apparently of a higher type than
the ordinary native. Being still hardly more than
a child, he used to be allowed to play with us
out of doors, as otherwise it would have been
lonely for him.
Stanley took great care of him, and was proud
of his excellent manners and general inteUigence.
He also, but as we thought with less grounds,
considered him a splendid runner, and when he
introduced him to the schoolroom, said that his
name, " Kalulu, the Antelope," described him
exactly ; but we found him in this at fault, for my
sister Geraldine, who was nearest to Kalulu in age,
easily surpassed him in aU our races. It is only
fair, however, to say that from her earliest child
hood she had been a veritable Atalanta. Probably
also Kalulu's European garments made some differ
ence in his powers. Stanley himself was quite dis
appointed at Kalulu's failure to impress us more as
to his fleetness of foot.
In other ways he surprised us, however, for not
only could he tell us the most amusing African
fairy tales about animals, but when we were alone
he would take red hot cinders out of the schoolroom
fire and play with them in a most marvellous
fashion, taking one or two in his hands and tossing
them to and fro with apparently as much impunity
as if they were merely hot chestnuts. I have even
seen him play at knucklebones with them, but this
last, I suspect, was bravado, for when asked he
did not seem anxious to repeat the performance.
Of course on his black skin traces of slight burns
would not be perceptible, but I do not think he
used any secret preventative beforehand. We

200 STANLEY [ch. xxii.
told our father of it afterwards, and he said he had
often, when in Africa, noticed the Kaffirs' and
Hottentots' apparent immunity to burns, and that
when sleeping at night with their feet close to the
camp fire they would aUow their soles to become
quite scorched and cracked before they removed
them from what would have been intolerable pain
to any European.
One morning we were out of doors playing with
Kalulu as usual, when the servants' dinner-bell
rang. We were at some distance from the house,
and did not want our game to be interrupted, so
we persuaded Kalulu, without much difficulty,
not to attend to it and to remain with us.
When half an hour later, we went in to the
house for our luncheon, he began, poor boy, to be
much perturbed as to his own chance of dinner,
and, very thoughtlessly, we told him it did not
matter, and that as it was our fault we were sure
that for once he could have luncheon with us.
He, therefore, followed us into the dining-room
and sat down between two of the younger ones,
and began to eat as only a hungry boy can.
Stanley was sitting by my mother at the other
side of the table, but immediately perceived him.
There was a frown and sudden flash of his eyes,
followed by a few stern words in an unknown
tongue, and in a moment Kalulu, looking very
abashed and dejected, rose and, plate in hand,
moved to one of the side tables, where he was
allowed to finish his repast.
" He has presumed and he knows it. He had
no right to sit at our table without first asking
my permission," was all Stanley said in reply to a

A KIND MASTER 201
word of my mother, and although we felt it was
rather severe on Kalulu at the time, my father
afterwards said that Stanley was absolutely right
in maintaining the correct African etiquette with
the little feUow even in England. But although
strict, he was also a very kind master ; and no
sooner was luncheon over than he walked to the
now depressed Kalulu, still sitting in disconsolate
isolation at his side table, and with an interchange
of a few words in dialect, put matters straight
between them, and the boy was once more his
own merry self.
He was quite devoted to Stanley and never
tired of singing his praises. He thought there was
no one like him ; and no one who saw them
together could doubt that in spite of his good
discipline, he had ever been a kind master. The
boy was so well cared for in all ways, so neatly and
warmly dressed and in every way attended to.
Poor Kalulu I he was drowned only four years
afterwards on the Congo, being carried with some
others in a canoe over the dangerous falls that are
stiU known by his name.
Stanley came several times subsequently to
Newstead, and on two of these occasions gave
lectures at Mansfield and at Nottingham.
He lectured well and was remarkably fluent,
but was heard at his best in the purely de
scriptive part relating to Africa. He sometimes
extemporised, and in these passages did not shine.
My mother always managed so that when he
came to stay with us we were alone, as Stanley
himself evidently much preferred this. Also it
was much pleasanter for all concerned. At first

202 STANLEY [ch. xxii.
she had tried the experiment of asking a few
neighbours to meet him at luncheon, but at that
time he seemed to look on strangers with such
distrust that he never showed his best side to
them. He never said anything actually rude,
but was so ready to take offence and to look
angry that he frightened people. On the last
occasion when some harmless friends took their
leave with evident precipitation, my mother, half
laughing, turned to Stanley and said to him,
with friendly frankness : "I reaUy will never
ask people to meet you again. It is hopeless.
You are always so very nice when you are with
us alone, but directly a strange face appears you
are — well, you are a perfect porcupine with all
your quiUs out, and I can do nothing with you."
She said it so naturally and in such an amusing
way, and the simile was such a true one, that we
all laughed, including Stanley himself, but she
really meant it, and in fact acted on it in the
future, although as time passed, and Stanley began
to make many friends in England, and his position
became assured, it happily ceased to apply to him.
He never resented anything my mother said,
and took it all in good part, for he knew that
she reaUy desired his welfare. From the first she
was able to give him little hints in minor matters,
even as to manners and dress, as only a woman
could. Her friendship with Dr Livingstone and
the advantage of her being some years older
than Stanley made this the more easy.
One could always notice afterwards how care
fully he had followed her small injunctions in
such matters. /

GIFT TO MY MOTHER 203
Upon his return from his Congo expedition,
he gave her a massive silver ring of very simple
design, and told her it was one of the large number
he had had made as a reward for all his followers,
men and women alike, who had gone through
that memorable journey — "the faithful" as he
called them, and, added Stanley : " You must have
one also, for although you were not with them,
you have of aU my English friends been my most
faithful from the first." My mother told me this
after he left, when she showed me the ring. She
was reaUy touched, and I do not wonder, for he
could hardly have shown his gratitude to her in
a prettier way.

CHAPTER XXIII
DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE
We were in London when the news of Dr
Livingstone's death reached England. I was iU
at the time, so I remember it less clearly than I
should otherwise have done, but echoes reached
my sick room of all that was happening downstairs
and of the many African old friends — Stanley,
Mr Waller, Dr Kirk, and others — who came
unexpectedly to sympathise together in common
over the death of their much-loved.
Agnes, looking very ill and white, was in
London and often at our house. Her composure
was marveUous, but she seemed to find much
comfort in being with my mother at this trying
time. Her brother, OsweU, was staying with us for
about ten days. He was then a very nice, quiet
young doctor whom we liked much. Shght and
delicate - looking, unlike Agnes and his brother
Tom, he was rather fair than dark. He was very
silent and melancholy looking, but the circum
stances may have accounted for this impression.
My father was asked with Mr Oswell to
represent the Livingstone family at the necessary
official identification of Dr Livingstone's body
at the Geographical Society's rooms. He could
204

FUNERAL 205
not well have refused, but the painful duty had
such an effect on him and he returned so
thoroughly exhausted by the self-control he had
been obhged to exercise in restraining his feelings,
that my mother was much distressed about him.
He could never speak of it again to any one, but
told her on his return home that the contrast
between the kindly, cheerful face he remembered
at their parting eight years before at King's
Cross Station and that which had been brought
back, had completely unnerved him, making him
reahse more than ever what a friend he had
lost and how much he had dwelt upon seeing
him again in this life. He said he felt this
the more vividly, as, apart from the broken
arm, there was not the shghtest doubt as to the
identity, both face and features being perfectly
recognisable. I was taken by my mother to see the coffin
Ijdng in state, surrounded by palms and arum
lUies, in the big Council Room of the Royal Geo
graphical Society's old quarters in Savile Row.
I do not know who had suggested the improvised
background of flowers, but it was curiously appro
priate, and far more effective, I thought, in its
simplicity than more elaborate decorations.
I was not considered strong enough to go to
the funeral, which I have always regretted, but
my mother, grandmother, and aunt were there.
Indeed, my mother and Agnes stood by each other
close to the coffin whilst it was lowered into its
resting-place. My father was one of the pall-bearers, together
with other of Dr Livingstone's best known friends.

206 DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE [ch. xxni.
each in their several ways associated with his
African life.
Mr OsweU, Mr Waller, Sir Thomas Steele,
Mr Young of Kelly, Stanley, Dr Kirk, and lastly
Jacob Wainwright, whose dark face suggested that
he represented those faithful black followers with
out whom the whole ceremony would never have
taken place.
I heard lately from one who was there that
my father looked positively gigantic on this
occasion, towering as he did by his great stature
above all the other men present, although Mr
Oswell, Mr Waller, and Dr Kirk, all stood well over
six feet high. Also that he was so overcome by
his efforts at self-control, and looked so deadly
white in consequence, that my mother was quite
alarmed by his appearance at one time, and very
thankful when all was over and the tension
relieved. It was, I have always heard, one of the most
impressive public funerals that has ever taken
place even in Westminster Abbey, for the heart
of the nation was stirred, and the contrast between
the lonely African death -bed and the present
pomp and ceremony seemed to add to its pathos.
The whole Livingstone family came to London
to attend it ; and it was a few days later that I
saw Agnes's two old aunts, who, with Anna Mary,
had luncheon at our house. They were nice,
sensible - looking, elderly women, looking very
square and solid in their deep mourning ; their
dark, strong faces not unhke that of Dr Living
stone. They spoke little, and when they did so
it was, unlike their brother, in broad Scotch ; but

ANNA MARY 207
they were not without a certain homely dignity of
their own, amidst their unwonted surroundings.
I do not think any English women in the same
circumstances could have acquitted themselves so
weU, or shown such self-possession; for so far as
I know it was the first time they had ever even
crossed the Border, and feehng themselves, where-
ever they went, objects of general attention must
have been no smaU ordeal after their quiet life
at Hamilton. They looked alien in all ways to
Agnes with her graceful bearing ; and made one
feel that her life must have had little in common
with them ; nevertheless, as might have been
expected, her respectful manners and affection to
them were perfect.
That mournful week must have been trying
to Agnes; as besides her own individual feeling,
she was for a few brief days so very much under
popular observation as to be almost the chief
personage whenever she appeared in public. She
bore herself throughout with such unaffected
modesty and tact as to gain the highest opinion
of aU who saw her, and almost to surprise her
friends, who knew what a strain it all implied to
one of her retiring nature.
It was the day after the funeral, I think, that
I met, for the first and only time, her younger
sister, Anna Mary, then a school-girl of about
the same age as myself She had sweet, intelligent
blue eyes, and sunny fair hair, and I thought her
extremely pretty, but a great contrast in her
colouring to Agnes and her brother, Tom, who
were both almost Spanish in appearance.
Dr Livingstone, ten years before, had himself

208 DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE [ch. xxiil.
described Anna Mary as emphaticaUy "a nice
little girl " ; and one had only to exchange a few
words with her to see that she had grown up on
the same hues, for she had a singularly winning
expression and manner.
Strangely enough, I never met her again — a
loss I have always regretted, for I liked her so
much that I longed to see more of her, and even
from our few words together found her singularly
attractive. I heard afterwards that we had at
least one taste in common, in our great love of
Hans Andersen's fairy tales and stories. This I
heard not from Agnes, but from Denmark itself;
indeed, it was Anna Mary who had given the
Danish writer one of his greatest pleasures in his
old age. For as a child, prompted by nothing
but her own feelings, she had written and sent him
on her own account, a most delightfully expressed
letter, to tell him how much his lovely fairy fancies
had meant to her ; and had gone on to teU him,
with aU a child's innocent pride, who she was, and
how her own father was Dr Livingstone, who —
as he must have heard — was then far away in
Africa. This letter was so exactly after Hans Ander
sen's own heart, that he not only answered it in
the same spirit, but ever afterwards kept it to
show to his friends and visitors as one of his
greatest treasures. Letters from the little friends
made through his fairy tales were the reward he
loved most of all things on earth.
Very soon after the funeral we left London
for Newstead, where my brothers and. sisters had
had already been for some time. A few days

A QUIET SUMMER 209
later Agnes and her brother Thomas, joined us
there to spend the rest of that spring and summer.
They both looked worn and tired on their arrival ;
indeed, perfect rest and, as far as was possible for
her, freedom from anxiety were absolutely essential
for Agnes ; but she still had much to do in
answering the multitudes of kind letters she had
received from hterally aU quarters of the globe ;
and melancholy as the task of reading and acknow
ledging them was, she found the sort of sad comfort
we all do at such times in the fervent expressions
of sympathy and admiration of her father, and also,
perhaps, in being in a house where everything
reminded her only of happy days passed with him
there. My mother had a few friends staying with
us at times ; but for the most part it was a very
quiet summer, mainly devoted to Agnes and to Dr
Livingstone's memory. Most of the guests were
associated with his affairs in some way or the
other, and there was no attempt at any gaiety, for
which neither my father nor mother felt inclined,
even if Agnes and her brother had not been
with us.

CHAPTER XXIV
SUSI AND CHUMAH
It was just before Whitsuntide that the Rev.
Horace WaUer accompanied by his wife arrived at
Newstead for a short visit that was to combine
business with pleasure, as there were various
matters connected with Dr Livingstone's " Last
Journals" to be discussed with Agnes and her
brother, whilst, at the same time, and for the
same purpose, it had also been arranged that Susi
and Chumah, Dr Livingstone's faithful servants,
should meet Mr Waller at Newstead on their way
north to stay with Mr J. Young at Kelly. It was
through his generous kindness that they had been
sent from Zanzibar to England, and provided with
all necessaries in the way of outfit. They were
pleased at their services being acknowledged in
this manner, the more so as they were naturaUy
desirous of meeting the family of their revered
master face to face, so as to teU all they only could
of his last days on earth, and of what had really
happened afterwards. Indeed, their presence was
almost necessary to set at rest many doubtful
points before the "Last Journals" appeared, if
the book were to be thoroughly rehable and
trustworthy. After Mr and Mrs Waller had been refreshed
210

INTRODUCTION 211
by tea, Susi and Chumah were sent for, and with
some ceremony were ushered into the drawing-
room. I can see them now in my mind's eye, as
they bowed low at the open door with a rather
un-English salutation, and then stood stiU for a
moment hke two big children, as if uncertain
what to do. Then, as Mr Waller indicated my
father, they bowed once more to him, and seemed
greatly pleased when he advanced and spoke to
them kindly, and then introduced them to my
mother and to Agnes and Tom Livingstone. On
hearing the weU - loved name, their dark faces
beamed and they bowed once more, and even
lower than before. They then stood upright
whUst they were asked a few questions as to their
journey and what they preferred in the way of
food, when, with a few more words of cordial
welcome, they were dismissed and handed over to
the good offices of the butler and the kind-hearted
old housekeeper, who were instructed to look after
their comfort generally during their stay. From
the first they made a favourable impression. In
spite of their colour, no pleasanter countenances
could have been seen anywhere, although the two
comrades showed a marked difference in colour
and type, belonging as they did to different tribes
and locahties.
Of the two, Susi was much the elder, as well
as the taller. He was a Shupanga man, and had
been with Dr Livingstone even before the death
of Mrs Livingstone more than twelve years
previously, and he and Mr Waller were old
friends. Susi had also afterwards been one of the
woodcutters in the " Pioneer " boat. He looked as

212 SUSI AND CHUMAH [ch. xxiv.
if he had gone through a good deal of anxiety in
his time, and had a rather lined and careworn
face, slightly marked by the smallpox, which,
strangely enough, invariably shows its traces more
on black than on European complexions. He
was also two or three shades darker than Chumah.
The latter was of a light chocolate hue, and of
a very smooth skin. He was a far more vivacious
character, as was easily to be discovered by his
bright, dancing, and roving eyes. He appeared
to be taking in his novel surroundings with
great interest.
One felt instinctively that the two were on
the best of terms. Although Susi was evidently
the responsible superior, Chumah surpassed him
in quickness of perception. Throughout their
visit, it was pretty to notice Chumah's deference
to his elder. He took care at all times to show
he looked on him as his leader.
Chumah had once been a slave, and was
rescued by Dr Livingstone in 1861. He was
originally a Wanyau boy, and later had sailed with
Livingstone in the adventurous voyage to Bombay
in the Nyassa. He had a varied experience
of hfe, as, whilst his master was in England,
he had been placed by him in the Free Church
College near Bombay, under the care of Dr Wilson.
They were dressed in European attire, in very
thick blue serge jackets, with bright round buttons
— reefer jackets, I believe they are caUed — and
blue serge trousers. They found even the June
weather chilly, but never wore caps or hats even
out of doors ; and although I have a vague
impression I have at times seen them with

THE REV. HORACE WALLER 213
f
striped red silk kerchiefs knotted round their
heads ; it was more for the sake of adornment
than aught else.
They were immensely proud of their new
Enghsh clothes, but evidently found them rather
irksome; and in spite of their satisfaction in
wearing socks and shoes walked as if un
accustomed to their use.
As they became more at home, the favourable
impression they had from the first produced was
increased by their behaviour, for directly they
had recovered from their slight embarrassment,
they answered all questions put to them, not
only in fair Enghsh, but with a modest readiness
that pleased every one, upstairs and downstairs
ahke. From our maids, also, we learnt that
their good manners at meal times, and their
quickness at conforming to Enghsb habits had
impressed the English servants immensely. In
all ways, indeed, Susi and Chumah did the highest
credit to Dr Livingstone's long training. Without
making any ostentatious profession of religion,
they showed themselves sincere Christians, both
in conversation and conduct. On Sunday, as a
matter of course, they attended morning and
evening service in the Chapel, where their
reverent demeanour was remarked by all to be
an example to many English churchgoers. Mr
WaUer's treatment of them seemed to me perfect ;
and, I think, must have been much hke Dr
Livingstone's own, being most considerate and
gentle, but never familiar. They looked up to
and respected him in consequence as he deserved. 0 2

214 SUSI AND CHUMAH [ch. xxiv.
It wUl, doubtless, be remembered that of all
his missionary associates Dr Livingstone had a
special regard and friendship for Mr Waller, whose
goodness and thoroughness he had every oppor
tunity of testing under severe trial in Africa,
where he proved himself a man after his own
heart, not only by his kindness and sympathy,
but by his readiness to take his share of hard
work, including manual work, when it was
necessary. He had now given up his responsibUities
in Africa, and held the living of Twywell,
Northampton; but still had the mission cause at
heart, and was well known both in missionary
circles and on the Royal Geographical Society,
where his splendid presence made him a noticeable
figure. He was a striking looking man, being
nearly as tall as my father ; and, with his sun
burnt skin, dark deep-set eyes, eagle face, and
long, flowing black beard, had almost the appear
ance of an Arab chief.
Every morning he summoned Susi and Chumah
for a long serious talk for the purpose of elucidating
facts and details as to Dr Livingstone's last days
and what had happened afterwards. It was
important that absolute accuracy on these points
should be observed, as already many confused
statements were in circulation, and the public was
looking for the impending publication to settle
debateable details. Agnes and Tom Livingstone,
of course, were present at these interviews ; and
often my father also at their request.
Now and then, when Mr Waller thought
special explanation was requisite, he spoke to

WORK AT NEWSTEAD 216
them in their own African dialect, with which,
of course, he was weU acquainted in the past;
but their English proved so much better than
was expected that this happened but seldom.
They answered all questions clearly and concisely,
and in a quiet, straightforward manner that was
a great assistance to their interrogators. From
first to last they never appeared to be the least
conscious that their own actions had been any
thing remarkable, nor did they claim or seek
any reward beyond their ordinary wages. They
said they had simply done what they thought
was right ; and although evidently pleased at the
approbation of Dr Livingstone's family and friends,
looked not for other praise.
Besides these lengthy interviews, their help
was wanted to explain, as no others could, many
of the objects and curiosities that had been sent
home with their master's personal effects.
These were already in his daughter Agnes's
care at Newstead, and formed no inconsiderable
collection, the chief value of which lay, of course,
in their origin and association.
Amongst the articles that had been sent home
was, first and foremost, the precious "Last
Journal," with many notes and letters, the few
travel-worn clothes, and the consular cap and
sword ; also a few specimens of native work, and
a curious spear-head that had been treacherously
thrown at Dr Livingstone, and but for a
providential escape must have cost him his life.
This last was, by his own request, given to my
father, and is now preserved, with the other
Livingstone relics, at Newstead.

216 SUSI AND CHUMAH [ch. xxiv.
AU this task of examination and identification
took a considerable amount of time, as every
thing had to be looked over and compared with
the written list made by Jacob Wainwright under
Susi's directions at Ilala.
It was remarked at the time that they
mentioned Jacob but rarely, and except in
reference to the list, only one of the subordinates.
Of envy or hurt feeling as to his being first sent
for to England, or to the part he had been called
upon to take at Dr Livingstone's funeral, there
was no trace. To see this was rather a relief, for
there had been some fear to the contrary.
It was lovely weather during the whole of their
stay, and most of the cross-questionings took
place, in consequence, out of doors on the grass,
close to the Dog's Tomb, instead of in the billiard-
room, as had been originally planned. Never,
indeed, do I remember a more glorious summer, or
a season when there was a greater mass of bloom
on flowering trees and shrubs. In particular the
American azaleas, of which at that time there was
a profusion, made the air heavy with their honeyed
scent, whilst their blossoms of many colours —
orange and flame, white, lemon, and rose, as well
as the commoner golden yellow — were a sight
never to be forgotten. -
One morning, I recollect, a photographer
arrived, whether by mere accident I know not,
and asked to be allowed to take the group at the
big table with the journals and other things upon
it, with Mr Waller, Agnes, Tom Livingstone, and
the two Africans beside it. It was a much more
successful production than most of the kind, and

CHUMAH'S OBSERVATIONS 217
gave great pleasure to Susi and Chumah, as they
were much flattered at having their pictures taken
along with Mr Waller and their master's children.
They preferred Tom Livingstone, I think, to any
one else, partly, of course, because of his being Dr
Livingstone's son, and having an unmistakeable,
although slight, resemblance to his father. Tom
was very kind to them both, and often in the
afternoon took them for walks either in the
grounds or park, when he would encourage them
to ask questions as to all they saw, and give them
information about Enghsh trees and plants. He
used to be greatly diverted by some of their
confidences as to the strangeness of English life
and ways.
There was no trifle, however minute, that
escaped Chumah's sharp eyes. For example, his
bewUderment at having noticed, as he called
it, " flour on the face of one of the old English
ladies," which to him simply appeared a woeful
waste of good food. He was far too unsophis
ticated to imagine it could be regarded as a
beautifier. This amused Tom immensely, and,
stUl more, that the lady in question, one of the
passing guests in the house, should be considered
"old," but, as is usual with all dark races, any
woman over twenty-five appeared to Chumah
quite ancient.
It was with sincere regret that the whole
household parted with their pleasant guests, but,
Whitsuntide over, Mr and Mrs Waller had to
return to their rectory in Northamptonshire,
whilst Susi and Chumah were despatched to
Scotland for their long-planned visit to Mr J.

218 SUSI AND CHUMAH [oh. xxiv.
Young, of Kelly. He had, indeed, been already
doubly generous in sparing them to Newstead on
their way to him, but he understood weU the
reason as to the book, and recognised it would
be a relief to Agnes to hear all they could
tell her.
We heard a httle later from Agnes Livingstone
that their visit to Mr Young had also been a suc
cess, and that they left a very interesting memento
of their visit behind them ; for, on their host
questioning them closely as to the size and general
appearance of the hut in which Dr Livingstone
had died at Ilala, they promptly suggested that
the easiest method of satisfying his curiosity would
be for them to construct its facsimile on the spot.
It was nearly .haytime, and the grass was long and
thick in the fields, so that there was little difficulty
on the score of materials, for at that stage it closely
resembled the African native grass. With the
help of a few saphngs they quickly constructed a
most beautifully made hut, in essentials practically
the exact copy of the one at Ilala.
A photograph of this was sent on to my father.
This ingenious idea, and the clever way they carried
it into effect, proved of the greatest use in the
iUustration of the last journals when published.
A short time after this they returned to
Zanzibar in the same quiet and unobtrusive way
they had arrived ; and although, from time to time,
we heard from various sources good reports of
them, they gradually sank into obscurity.
By this present time Susi, at any rate, must
have taken his last long journey, for he was by
no means in his youth when I saw him.

DISINTERESTEDNESS 219
Except for this brief visit to England, I never
heard of their receiving any reward or recognition
for what may be truly called their great deed.
Nor did they look for any. They held what they
did as their simple duty.
And yet, so long as Dr Livingstone's name
is remembered in honour, those of his two faithful
servants are not hkely to be forgotten. We owe
it to their loyalty, courage, and honesty, not only
that Westminster Abbey is the richer by his grave,
but that the records of his last labours are not
lost to the world for ever.

CHAPTER XXV
JACOB WAINWRIGHT
A SHORT time after Susi's and Chumah's visit, whilst
we were still under the pleasant impression they
had left with us, we had another, but far less
agreeable, from Jacob Wainwright. It will be
remembered that Jacob Wainwright also had
been with Dr Livingstone during the last year of
his journeyings, although in a very subordinate
capacity, as he had only formed one of the fifty-
seven men and boys despatched to Dr Livingstone
by Stanley, to be used for general purposes as
porters and carriers. Jacob and John Wainwright,
however, were pupils from the Nassick College
near Bombay, and had been originally designed
to form part of Lieutenant Dawson's relief expedi
tion in 1872 — that ill-fated attempt that had come
to an abrupt and rather regrettable conclusion, after
hearing the news that Stanley had successfuUy
anticipated its aim.
Jacob Wainwright had received a certain
amount of education at the college ; and could,
at least, read and write after a fashion, although
to call him, as many newspapers did, "well
educated " was a great exaggeration. His writing
powers were very elementary, to judge from the
220

AS PALLBEARER 221
lists he had made at Susi's bidding of their dead
master's effects. These lists had been given to
Tom and Agnes Livingstone, and rather astonished
us all by their appearance. They were written
in a very large chUdish round hand, on big ruled
paper, with many mistakes, very different from what
had been expected, as they had been grandilo
quently termed "inventories" by the press, and
a great deal of stress had been laid on their
importance. It had been also by Susi's orders
that Jacob Wainwright had carved the inscrip
tion on the tree at Ilala, where Dr Livingstone's
heart was buried.
Jacob had, apart from this, acted, I believe, as
one of the cattle drivers, and was certainly not
promoted by Dr Livingstone to any responsible
position. He was, perhaps, then four-and-twenty,
and, no doubt, in his way, and under proper
control, a useful servant ; but he only came into
notice after his great master's death, because the
Church Missionary Society had the forethought
to send for him to accompany Dr Livingstone's
remains to England as being one of their own
pupils. In consequence of this step, at the time of the
funeral, Jacob, being on the spot, was chosen to
represent Africa, as one of the pall-bearers. The
idea in the abstract touched the popular feeling,
and was eminently right and proper, although to
those immediately concerned, who knew the real
circumstances, it was felt that the honour by rights
should have devolved on the devoted Susi and
Chumah, who had not only been Dr Livingstone's
most faithful servants from the beginning, but to

222 JACOB WAINWRIGHT [ch. xxv.
whom the whole scheme of bringing back his
body was due.
Unfortunately, in the excitement of the news
of their first arrival with their sad burden at
Zanzibar, it had been taken too much for granted
by all Dr Livingstone's friends in England that
Susi and Chumah would continue to accompany
the remains to England, therefore no one had
considered it necessary to enquire about them,
stiU less had thought of supplying the requisite
funds for their passage home.
There was much concern and regret expressed
by all when it was found that this neglect made
it too late for the two devoted servants to be
present at the funeral in Westminster Abbey.
Yet, although the opportunity had been allowed
to slip, it was difficult to attach blame to any one ;
and although, as I have already told, Mr Young
had done his best with his wonted liberality
to remedy matters, it was felt to be late in
the day.
In the meantime, Jacob Wainwright was being
taken round the country as the central attraction
of a series of large missionary meetings that had
been organised, and were drawing large attendances.
For this no one could blame the Church Missionary
Society, although one might not exactly admire
the feeling that prompted fuU material advantage
being taken of the public sentiment,- and the conse
quent subscriptions that resulted.
Jacob was announced to appear at a large
meeting in Nottingham one evening; therefore
it was natural enough that the missionary who
had him in charge, should interchange letters

BAD MANNERS 223
with my mother, proposing to bring him on to
Newstead with him for the day.
We were not quite such a large party as when
Mr and Mrs WaUer had been there, but Agnes
and Tom Livingstone remained with us, and I
suppose we must, as usual, have been about a
dozen in all. At that time it was rare for our
house party to be less.
It was a very hot June day, when a short
time before luncheon, the missionary foUowed by
his black companion, made his appearance in the
drawing-room. The missionary seemed quite a
nice man, although he did not strike us as a very
able or experienced one. I believe his training
had been more that of the college and platform
than of actual African practical work. It was the
demeanour of Jacob that most amazed my father,
and was a distinct shock to us all. It was not
merely that he was remarkably ugly, being almost
of an exaggerated negro type, in great contrast to
the pleasing and intelligent countenances of Susi
and Chumah. For that, those of us who had seen
him at the time of the funeral were prepared. Nor
was it because he was most unbecomingly dressed
in a dark semi-clerical costume, but it was that,
during the two months that had elapsed since the
funeral, he had deteriorated markedly in manners
and behaviour.
Now we have it on the authority of Proverbs,
that among the four things that the earth cannot
bear is "a servant when he reigneth," and Jacob
Wainwright was of this truth a complete example,
for he had evidently grown so much above himself,
and was so conceited, that his new manner was

224 JACOB WAINWRIGHT [OH. xxv.
painful to witness. He thrust himself forward in
conversation in an unlooked-for way, and unless
he was the centre of attention, was undisguisedly
annoyed and sulky.
My parents and Agnes and Tom Livingstone
were naturally astonished, and looked at the
missionary, expecting him to take steps to
control his charge ; but that good man seemed
to find nothing amiss, and even took pleasure
in bringing him forward, explaining with what
success Jacob's speeches were received by crowded
audiences nightly, and adding, no little to the
surprise of his auditors, that it was proposed that
Jacob should be ordained a missionary directly
the necessary examinations and formalities should
be got through, when he was to proceed to East
Africa on his own account. This statement, with
Jacob's presence before our eyes, seemed almost
incredible, especially as we all knew well, from Dr
Livingstone's last journals and letters, that such
an idea had never passed through his mind.
To listen without comment was the most that
my mother and Agnes could do, whilst to those
who best knew him, there was no question of my
father's keen, though sUent, disapproval. At this
juncture luncheon was announced, and there was a
moment's embarrassed pause. My mother hardly
knew what to do. The missionary evidently
expected his charge to join the luncheon party,
which would, as she well knew, greatly annoy my
father. The necessity for keeping negro servants
under kindly but due discipline was a point upon
which Dr Livingstone was extremely particular.
Moreover, etiquette in Africa is more rigid than

AN UNCOMFORTABLE LUNCHEON 225
in Europe. In the present case, of course, it
was not a mere question of colour, but of the
individual. However, there being no alternative
available, we all trooped downstairs together.
Jacob Wainwright and his guardian alone seemed
quite at their ease, or rather the former showed
signs of unmistakable elation at his promotion.
The luncheon that foUowed was, perhaps, the
most uncomfortable I have ever known. Jacob
began by talking volubly ; but as his remarks did
not receive much attention he consoled himself by
making a very hearty meal. To be fair to him, I
must say he had learnt good " table manners," as
they say in America, and managed his knife and
fork with skill.
My mother, always a kind hostess, addressed
herself almost exclusively to the missionary, and
tried to draw him into conversation on other
subjects, but he would stiU only talk of Jacob.
He struck us aU as being very weU meaning ; but
had evidently made the mistake of believing his
protege to be inspired by the same views and ideals
as himself. In Jacob's place he would have wished
sincerely to become a missionary ; and did not see
that with Jacob it was a mere parrot echo of
his present clerical surroundings, which he had
appropriated with the extraordinary facility for
imitation of his race.
My father sat in sUence at the foot of
the table, sometimes throwing back his head
with a deep sigh, a trick he had when annoyed,
and by which we all knew he was seriously
put out. Tom, who had been much in Egypt,

226 JACOB WAINWRIGHT [ch. xxv.
looked greatly disgusted and hardly ventured to
speak. At last, the ordeal was over, and with a sigh
of rehef we dispersed. My mother, though weary,
with her usual kindliness, proposed to take the
missionary round the garden and grounds, then
in the flush of their summer loveliness, until
it was time for him to be driven to the station
to catch his afternoon train to Nottingham.
My father simply vanished, being at once too
candid and too provoked to pretend to be polite
under the circumstances, nor did he reappear until
tea-time, when, the visitors having departed, we
reassembled under the Dog's Tomb to have tea out
of doors, and to discuss the incidents of the day.
My father was still very indignant, and declared
he had never seen such injudicious treatment of a
negro, especiaUy one of the low class that Jacob
appeared to be, and repeated, over and over again,
his wonder as to what "dear old Livingstone"
would have said had he been present.
Tom Livingstone, who had been looking
languidly amused for some time, then said he had
a surprising sequel to relate. Feeling very tired
and done up with the heat, he had returned to the
quiet of the big biUiard room to rest. He had not
long been there before, to his surprise, Jacob
Wainwright stroUed in through the open door
from the garden and sat down beside him. - He
had noticed a tray with soda water and tumblers
in passing through the room some time before, and
argued that where soda water was, brandy might
be. Anyhow it was for brandy that he asked Tom,
and very insistent were his demands, although

JACOB'S CONFIDENCES 227
Tom, having some regard for his poor, infatuated
guardian's feehngs, was adamantine in his refusal
to procure it for him. If he had been given the
least chance of getting hold of any, Tom was
certain there would have been little hkehhood of
a missionary meeting being held that night so far
as Jacob Wainwright was concerned. Jacob would,
however, not be shaken off or repressed, and grow
ing unpleasantly and gratuitously confidential, he
imparted into Tom's disgusted ears the great
boredom of his present life, which he could only
endure because at that time there seemed no way
out of it. He added the hope of better things
in the future, as once back in Africa he expected
to be his own master, and to have, among other
advantages, the means of procuring a great many
wives !
We were naturaUy much horrified at this
declaration of the would-be missionary, but, after
aU we had seen and heard, hardly surprised. There
was a good deal of discussion at the time as to
whether the clergyman who had charge of Jacob
should be written to and warned ; but this we felt
could only be done by Tom Livingstone himself,
and to this course Tom was most averse. He said,
with reason, that it would come with a very iU
grace from himself ; and that, as Jacob Wainvn-ight
had spoken to him confidentiaUy, he would certainly
deny or explain away the whole conversation.
Also, he pointed out that the bhnd confidence of
the clergyman in Jacob's integrity was such that
he was hkely to doubt aU our words sooner than
Jacob's, and so, on the whole, it was decided to
leave the matter alone.

JACOB WAINWRIGHT [CH. xxv.
I have often wondered if the conclusion were
a right one, but in one's own house the ties of
hospitahty are exacting, and the situation was
awkward. The next morning our feelings can be imagined
when we read in the local paper of Jacob's high
character and aims, in reference to his introduction
at the crowded missionary meeting, foUowed by
Jacob's set speech on, of course, the most con
ventional lines. I believe he was, to do him
justice, wonderfully fluent, having the excellent
word-memory of most negroes.
We all kept our own counsel at the time, as
we were desired to do so ; but at this date I
think this incident may serve as a useful lesson to
others, although the advance in experience and
knowledge in the way of treating native races
hardly makes it necessary. It may, perhaps, also
explain the coldness with which Agnes and the
rest of her family treated any reference to Jacob
Wainwright, and that their marked preference for
Susi and Chumah had nothing to do with the
Church Missionary Society, as, I think, may
possibly have been erroneously inferred.
It may be added that, as might have been
anticipated, Jacob Wainwright's career as a
missionary was a total failure.

CHAPTER XXVI
THE "LAST journals"
The intention was that Dr Livingstone's eldest
son, Thomas, who had really excellent abilities,
should undertake the editing of his father's " Last
Journals." It was thought that, with a little
technical supervision from Mr Waller, he was fully
capable of doing aU that was required, in spite
of his never having had any previous hterary
experience. With the courage of ignorance, he was at this
stage of the proceedings quite confident it would
be a comparatively easy task, and even Agnes,
who had had some slight experience in such
matters through helping her father as a young girl,
anticipated no difficulties, as the present journals
were most carefuUy written out and appeared to
be complete, save for the final chapters.
I fancy, also, that there would have been some
pecuniary economy in the result had Tom been
able to carry out this plan. Also, if it were sub
sequently discovered that he possessed a bent for
writing, it would have made his future prospects
brighter ; for although at that time no one realised
how precarious his health was, and he was able to
hold a hght post in some business house in Egypt,
whence he was now at home on leave, there was an
229 p2

230 THE "LAST JOURNALS" [OH. xxvi.
uneasy feeling that he might not, even in a warm
climate, be able to continue sustained work of the
kind. The financial affairs of the whole Livingstone
family were, at this juncture, admittedly at a low
ebb, and gave concern to their most intimate
friends. All knew their future depended greatly
on the success of the eagerly-awaited book.
The Government had, at the earnest recom
mendation of the Geographical Society, made some
small provision for Agnes and her sister ; but such
pensions are relative, and, although it would keep
them from actual want, it seemed, to all who knew
the circumstances, but a very inadequate provision.
There were, besides, the two old aunts at Hamilton
to consider, and her young sister's education was
still unfinished. All these points could not but
make it a time of anxiety for Agnes, although,
true to her character, she never spoke of her
troubles. She had, of course, many friends who
were only desirous of lightening her cares, but
had far too much of her father's fine independent
spirit to tolerate such a thought for a moment.
Until the end of June, just before our departure
for Scotland as usual, all was, however, supposed
to be going on well with the book. Tom said
little, but appeared to be working strenuously.
He spent all his mornings in his own room in
the Sussex Tower, surrounded by his father's
manuscripts and notes, and only descended each
day at luncheon time, when his pale face and
worn looks aroused some concern, as they gave
to aU the impression he was trying to do too
much for his strength. Then came a melancholy

AN UNFORESEEN BREAKDOWN 231
week, when he was evidently greatly depressed
and ill at ease ; and at last he was obliged to
confess to Agnes that he had made hardly any
progress with his task, and, in fact, found the
whole undertaking to be utterly beyond his
powers. He had, without doubt, tried to do his best, but
the result was so inadequate as to be practicaUy
nil, and at length he realised but too clearly that
he had neither the literary skill nor technical
experience required.
He was so miserable and humUiated under
his sense of failure that there was no room for
anything but pity for him at the time. The more
so that he was silent, and that, to be fair, there
was a certain sense that aU were to some degree
responsible for the position, for the work had
been rather pressed on him, and he himself had
rather comphed with others' wishes than volun
teered in the whole matter.
The dismay occasioned, however, by this
totally unforeseen breakdown of all arrangements
can hardly be expressed. It would be idle to
say it was not an intense disappointment to my
parents and Agnes ; more especiaUy was it bitter
to the latter, as she was devoted to Tom, and
had hitherto believed firmly in her brother's
powers. Nevertheless, she was at this time most
kind and considerate of his feelings.
It was a great comfort to all concerned later
that there had been no reproaches or recrimina
tions, for although no one was aware of it at
the time, it turned out that poor Tom's health
was even then in a most serious condition. He

232 THE "LAST JOURNALS" [ch. xxvi.
went about as usual, and never complained of
more than fatigue and headache, but he was in
reality so hopelessly ill even then, as fully to explain
afterwards his inability to rise to the situation.
There was now nothing left to detain him
in England, so he returned to his post in Egypt
at the end of the summer, and it was hoped the
change of scene and climate might do him good,
but he only grew steadily worse, and died there
the following spring.
A sad little romance was attached to his
premature death, for he had become engaged some
time before his stay at Newstead to a charming
girl, whose circumstances made it quite possible
ior their marriage to be contemplated after a year
or two's delay.
They were devoted to each other, and when his
condition became visibly alarming, she was sent for,
but she only reached Egypt in time to be with him
for the remaining few weeks of his life.
From first to last there was a pathetic touch
about poor Tom's life, for he had since early
boyhood never fully recovered from the hard
ships he had endured in Africa as a very young
child, and had in consequence seldom known the
blessing of real health throughout his short hfe.
He was much liked by all who knew him,
and of all Dr Moffat's many grandchildren, was
that fine old missionary's favourite.
In truth, Tom's whole personality was most
attractive. He had a charming voice and manner,
and an exceedingly handsome even noble face, in
which could, nevertheless, be traced an unmistak
able although softened likeness to Dr Livingstone.

EDITORIAL DIFFICULTIES
But his continual ill-health, and the languor
resulting therefrom, handicapped him terribly at
aU times, and probably his early death saved him
from much misery, for he seemed constitutionally
unfitted for any struggle with the difficulties of
hfe. • ¦••••¦
July found my family, including Agnes, at
Arrochar, and the first week was mainly spent
in discussion and correspondence respecting the
"Last Journals," as to the best course now to
adopt. The time in which to prepare them for
pubhcation was growing terribly short, as the
book had been announced to appear in the
ensuing November. No wonder Agnes's feeling
was one almost of consternation, when she realised
how little had hitherto been accomplished towards
that end.
The pubhsher, Mr Murray, who, of course,
had been the first to be informed of the unlooked-
for breakdown in the arrangements, advised the
family under the circumstances to entrust the task
to the Rev. Horace Waller, as being in every
way the most fit and capable person for the task.
Mr Murray's own treatment of the Livingstones
had throughout been so liberal and considerate
as to make any suggestions of his carry the more
weight. Not only in literary but in financial
matters he had from the first been one of Dr
Livingstone's best and most generous friends.
At the actual time, however, Agnes turned
instinctively to her old friend, Mr Oswell,
and my father was of the same mind with
her. I do not know his special reasons for

234 THE ^'LAST JOURNALS" [ch. xxvi.
this, beyond that all who knew Mr Oswell had
such confidence in his varied abilities aiid such
reliance in his inexhaustible kindness as to look
instinctively to him for help; but in this case,
ih answer to her letter, although Agnes received
the kindest of replies, it was a regretful but firm
refusal, in which Mr Oswell gave excellent reasons
for not undertaking the work.
The letter was worthy of the writer, and
nothing could have been kinder or more sensible ;
nevertheless, at the time, it disappointed Agnes
much. There was now no alternative but to
place all the " Last Journals," notes, and paper
at once in the hands of Mr Waller, who, by a
great effort, managed to get the book completed
within the few remaining months, so that it
was issued at the date already fixed. Mr Waller
accomplished the work to the satisfaction of all
concerned, and, indeed, deserved immense credit
for this, as he had really to work at high pressure
and against time.
When the book appeared a presentation copy
was duly sent to Mr Oswell, to which he replied
by the following characteristic letter: —
"November, 1874.
"My dear Agnes, — I have received through
Mr Murray two volumes from the children of my
old and dear friend ; and I would thank them
most heartily through you for their affectionate
remembrance of me. I have begun to read the
book and the short, curt sentences, full of pith,
bring the dear old father so vividly before one.
I cannot believe I am never to see him again.
The dear old fellow, how quiet and gentle he has

MR OSWELL'S LETTER 235
grown in these his last journals. I do not mean
that he was ever the contrary; but though his
unflinching courage and determination remain
where they ever were, his gentleness seems to
have become even more and more diffused through
all he did ; he is not only suaviter in modo, but
in re too. I have always said, when asked, that
the most remarkable trait in him was quiet,
unostentatious endurance. I speak, of course, of
his character as a man 'par exceUence.' Thank
you, dear, for sending me the last records of his
work here. I am afraid you were hurt a little at
my not undertaking the great honour of compUing
his letters and notes ; but I was not fit for it, and
in the face of what Mr Murray said, it would have
been impertinence to have put myself forward.
Now that aU has been done and your heart is soft,
you wiU forgive me. — Believe me, very affection
ately yours, W. Oswell."
• ••¦•••
Amongst other visitors connected with Dr
Livingstone's memory, the Rev. W. G. Blaikie
came to Arrochar towards the end of this summer
to see my parents in order to get notes about Dr
Livingstone's stay at Newstead for his " Life of
Dr Livingstone." I think he even stayed a night
or two with us, and also at Newstead later; but
L-have only a vague recoUection of a big grey
Scotsman, who, like his quasi-namesake. Professor
Blackie, wore a plaid which he rolled round him
Out of doors instead of a great- coat. My mother
gave him a kind welcome and all the help she
could, lending him also many of Dr Livingstone's
earher letters to my father for his book ; but I do
not think they found each other really congenial
spirits.. Dr Blaikie's biography is, of course, the

236 THE "LAST JOURNALS" [ch. xxvi.
standard life of Livingstone, and, I think, deservedly
so; but he did not know him personaUy, and it
naturaUy suffers in consequence. Still more does
it suffer from the author starting it with a pre
conceived ideal, and, therefore, only choosing such
material as happened to suit his own point of view.
He could not fit my parents into his "picture,"
or imagine Dr Livingstone on the very affectionate
and happy terms he was with them at Newstead.
Probably he thought them both rather wanting in
earnestness, at least this is my impression.
Among the papers sent home from Zanzibar
with his journals were several letters from Dr
Livingstone addressed to my parents. They were
written, as were also many of the latter parts of
the journals, in a curious reddish-brown colour.
These, at first, were looked upon with shuddering
awe, as it has been whispered — although who first
started the report I know not — that all else failing,
the writer had been obliged to use his own blood.
This turned out on examination to be absolutely
untrue ; for, although the colour was most peculiar,
it proved to be, in reality, only the result of experi
ments he had made with the juice of various
plants when he found his supply of ink becoming
exhausted. Apart from this disturbing suggestion,
the letters were sad enough reading. My father
and mother were shut up with them all one
morning, for the angular and, in places, tremulous
writing they knew so well, required time to
decipher. When, at last, they reappeared, my
father was very silent, and my mother had
swollen eyes.

SAD LETTERS 237
She had wept profusely, and it was little to
be wondered at ; for ill, alone, and worn out with
the sickness of hope deferred, even Livingstone's
great brave heart had at times given way to the
horrors of abandonment, and in these letters he
poured out the bitterness of his soul in a manner
he had never done before. His bodily strength
was fast ebbing whilst the actual hardships of his
daily hfe were increasing. Thus he seemed at
times to have lost aU hope, far more so even
than in the period preceding Stanley's timely
rehef. >
No one who reads the records of his truly awful
sufferings can be surprised at this. Most pathetic
were his questions as to whether they and all
his other friends at home had forgotten him —
questions that seemed all the sadder, knowing as
we did, that even as he wrote, two separate
expeditions were on the way to relieve him.
It was my mother's wish that these sad out
pourings should never be read by other eyes,
feeling, as she did, they were only intended for
my father and herself.
It was most touching how in these letters he
recalled every little detail of his life at Newstead
and aU the habitual comforts of each day ; in his
sick fancy picturing even every course of the
long dinners and comparing them, almost against
his will, with his present scanty and unwhole
some fare. At times he was literally almost
starving. It is a matter of thankfulness that Dr
Livingstone's own journals are now open for
all to read, for these show throughout all his

THE "LAST JOURNALS" [ch. xxvi.
trials such indomitable faith and patience as made
his end in keeping with his noble life.
His temporary discouragements serve but to
heighten our sympathy and admiration for his
steadfastness. It is, perhaps, part of the suffering of the
finest natures that on them at times must also
fall some touch of the desolation of Calvary.
Yet it was only Livingstone's trust in man
that was shaken ; never in his darkest hour did
his trust in God wane or falter.
"The brighter the light from the Cross itself
the deeper the shadow at its foot."

CHAPTER XXVII
AGNES AND HER HUSBAND
The whole of the year in which the "Last
Journals" were published must have been a sad
time for Agnes ; although the quiet of the West
Highlands and the rest she now enjoyed could
not fail to do her health and spirits good after
the prolonged strain she had undergone.
The future cannot but have seemed gloomy to
her, and needed aU her faith to contemplate it,
since she not only had lost the hope of seeing her
beloved father again on earth, but also the one
abiding interest of her hfe. So strangely are we
mortals constituted that it is oftenest our cares
that we miss most when they are taken from us.
As to her future, my parents, with all her other
old friends, could not but be privately concerned
about it. Attractive as she stiU was and had
ever been, she never seemed to think of marriage
as a possible solution. She naturaUy had had
various admirers, but never seemed conscious of
them, far less spoke of them. I never once heard
her mention the prospect of some day being married
as young women sometimes do — or, at least, did in
those days. She was the last woman on earth who
would have married for the mere sake of a home,
239

240 AGNES AND HER HUSBAND [CH. xxvii.
whilst her standard was so high that very few
ordinary young men would have come up to it ;
especially as, being her father's daughter, she had
the privUege of knowing well the best and most
distinguished older men of the day. This was a
privilege that, great as it was, made her also the
more difficult to please; for Agnes was too
essentiaUy womanly not to feel she must look up
to and respect as well as love any man to whom
she gave her heart. At this time she may be said
to have had no acquaintance with her fiiture
husband, for, although he had once met her and
even may have been introduced to her in a per
functory fashion, a year or two subsequently, she
had herself no recollection of him, nor do I think
had she even heard his name.
Yet of all men on earth no one could more
exactly fulfU her own moral ideal, or was more
fitted to carry out Dr Livingstone's cherished
schemes as that great and good man, Mr Alexander
Bruce. I use the word " great " here in all soberness
and after due reflection of what it implies. For,
undoubtedly, some day in the far future, when
the true and inner history of the British African
Empire is written, the name of Alexander Low
Bruce will take its place amongst its founders.
Of solid rather than briUiant abilities, but with
a force of character that was only second to his
sterling goodness, he could, if he had cared for
such advancement, have easUy risen to a much
more prominent worldly position than he reached.
As it was, he preferred, as he said, to remain " a
hewer of wood and drawer of water " for others ;
content for them to have the credit, so long as

A FORGOTTEN UMBRELLA 241
the great cause of African progress was faithfully
served. Of all that Mr A. L. Bruce did for Africa
those who knew him in his public capacity can
speak far better than I ; but of how he came to
meet with, and to win Agnes as his wife, few of
the younger generation, at least, are aware.
She herself told the story to my mother, and
it is in itself such a strange little romance, and
also such an unusual one as to savour rather of
the proverbial fairy tale; although to those who
beheve in the direct workings of Providence, it
will seem much more than this, and they will
feel how mysteriously the Almighty takes care of
His own. And yet, wonderful as it was, the
means by which all was brought about were prosaic
and simple in the extreme.
Autumn had set in, and Agnes had left
Arrochar and was once more living with her old
aunts and younger sister at Hamilton. She had
occasion to go one day with her sister to
CampbeUtown, which entailed first a short journey
by train and then a voyage by steamer down the
Clyde. Mr Bruce was at that time a widower with
three chUdren, and, as Providence willed it, he had
elected to take the two elder ones for a day's
excursion also to CampbeUtown. In the hurry of
their departure it was not until they were well
started on their way to the station that he dis
covered he had left his umbreUa behind them. It
was a lovely day, fine and clear, but Mr Bruce
was a prudent man and had too extensive a

242 AGNES AND HER HUSBAND [CH. xxvii.
experience of the West Coast chmate to care
to venture so far without an umbrella. There
was no time to return for his own, so he promptly
stopped at an umbrella shop in Jamaica Street to
buy another. Once in the shop he was struck by
the sight of several umbrellas which had, instead
of the usual handle, the carved head of Dr
Livingstone in his consular cap, not certainly
a work of the highest art, but, nevertheless, an
unmistakable likeness. As it happened, Dr
Livingstone had always been Mr Bruce's greatest
hero, and nothing satisfied him now but to possess
one of these umbrellas, so that he might, as he
said afterwards, be always reminded of his ideal.
Well pleased with his acquisition and with his
thoughts still running on the original of the quaint
handle, his surprise may be guessed when on
getting with his children into the railway com
partment, he found the only other occupants were
two quiet-looking girls in mourning, and that
the elder was, undoubtedly, the daughter of Dr
Livingstone whom he remembered so well.
To any one who knew Mr Bruce, the absolute
goodness that seemed to radiate from his whole
personality made him at aU times above being
judged by ordinary conventionalities.
On the present occasion he looked at Agnes
again and again and then at his umbrella, and at
last addressed her by name and mentioned when
and where he had met her.
Agnes, naturally much embarrassed, made some
vaguely polite answer. She was quite at a loss to
identify her interlocutor, although his face did not
seem unfamiliar to her, and, in fact, so many of

THEIR HAPPY MARRIAGE 243
her father's admirers were presented to her that
the marvel would have been could she have re
membered half of them.
Her confusion was rather increased when
Mr Bruce drew her attention to his remarkable
umbrella handle, and told her in his earnest, kind
way how and why he had come to possess it.
After the train came the voyage on the same
steamer together, Agnes becoming more and more
puzzled as to who her new acquaintance might be.
She even at last tried by subtlety to find out
his name from, his eldest little girl, but the child
was too young to answer her enquiries, and only
repeated her Christian name, which, strangely
enough, was also Agnes.
At length poor Agnes's discomposure came to
a climax when Mr Bruce insisted in presenting her
with the fateful umbrella in token, as he said, of
his admiration for her father.
To refuse what was offered with such evident
sincerity and goodwill was difficult, but her per
plexity was greater, and it was with very mingled
feehngs that she returned to her home.
The result of his purely accidental meeting had
left, as may be inferred, a very different impression
on Mr Bruce.
He soon found means of being formally intro
duced to her at Hamilton. He had long been
interested in African missionary enterprises, and
knew well, by correspondence at least, her grand
father, Dr Moffat.
During the next spring Agnes and he were
married ; and from henceforth few wedded lives
could be more perfectly happy than their own,

244 AGNES AND HER HUSBAND [ch. xxvii.
for not only their characters but their interests
and ideals were completely in unison.
From the first, as one who knew them both
well, wrote years afterwards : —
"It always seems to me that the name of
Livingstone was the keynote to the fuU life
development of Mr Bruce, as it has been to many
others." And when twenty years later death parted their
beautiful married life here, another old friend wrote
thus to Agnes : —
" God gave you a wondrous husband, so full of
energy and wisdom and zeal, so abounding in
power to work for Him, and so fitted to be your
support and guide."
And no words could have been truer ; as all
who had the privilege of seeing them together felt.
For if, as the old proverb says, " Marriages are
made in Heaven," this was assuredly one of
them. That God had richly answered Dr
Livingstone's prayers for a blessing on his dearly-
loved daughter, few who knew her life in after
years would doubt.
It was marveUous to witness how she and
her husband were able together to aid in carrying
out many of Dr Livingstone's most cherished
dreams, and that as no others could have done.
The combination of Christian and at the same
time thoroughly liberal - minded and business
qualities is unfortunately rare ; but when it does
exist, it makes itself felt all the more strongly,
and causes all difficulties to vanish in an almost
miraculous way.

GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY FOUNDED 245
Mr Bruce had already traveUed much and
spent some time in the United States. Originally
a manager, subsequently a partner, in Messrs
Younger's weU-known brewery, he had a thorough
business training, with much experience of the
world and human nature abroad and at home.
He always made a point of seeing the best side
of both ; and, in fact, did so, for as Tennyson
was fond of saying, " Every man imputes himself,"
and Mr Bruce's own goodness generally called
forth a response in those he met. He was well-
off, and spent his money like water, with an
almost royal generosity in the cause of Africa,
principally in efforts to do away with the cruel
slave trade, and to further what he believed to
be best for the native interests, which to him
meant chiefly the rule of Great Britain. Although
a staunch Imperialist, he always put the good
of the natives before aU other interests.
As her father's old friend, Mr Waller, wrote
to Agnes: —
" Your husband was a prop and stay to every
thing which Dr Livingstone had most at heart.
No son could have been so loyal to his father's
wish as your husband was to his father-in-law's."
It may be said that to Mrs and Mr Livingstone
Bruce, Scotland chiefly owes the Royal Scottish
Geographical Society. It was at North Berwick
during the summer of 1884 that the project
of forming a Scottish Geographical Society was
casuaUy proposed before Agnes one Sunday
afternoon. Her eyes sparkled in their old way
at the idea. It was just what her father would
a2

246 AGNES AND HER HUSBAND [oh. xxvii.
have welcomed! "Why should it not be
possible?" she exclaimed at once. When Mr
Bruce appeared an hour later, she told him of
the dream ; and with his presence all difficulties
seemed to vanish, as was usual in any cause of
which he approved and worked at. In this
case he lost no time. Before midnight a pros
pectus was drafted. By the next day Professor
James Geikie had given it his blessing.
The amount of preliminary work to be done, even
after their energetic beginning, was immense ; and
for many weeks after their return to Edinburgh,
Agnes spent hours daily at their temporary
quarters in the Chamber of Commerce Rooms
in Melbourne Place, occupied not only in writing
the necessary letters and discussing plans, but
in helping even more effectively through her
sympathy and influence than can be told here.
She and her husband were then living in Mr
Bruce's old home in Regent Terrace ; and Mr
Bruce told me once that few things had struck
him more than the cheerful way in which she
had contented herself to remain on there, in
spite of a growing family and sundry incon
veniences, in order that he might have more
scope for his African schemes, rather than, as
many wives in her place would have done,
press him to give her first a larger house.
The Royal Scottish Geographical Society
was finally launched on the 28th October 1884,
with no less than four hundred names on its
roll of membership, and the Earl of Rosebery
as first President. Mr A. L. Bruce was the
Honorary Treasurer, whilst LI. M. Stanley came

VISIT TO CAPE COLONY 247
to stay with him in Edinburgh to deliver the
inaugural address.
With such an excellent start, its ultimate suc
cess was a certainty, but it may be mentioned here
that Mrs Livingstone Bruce not only continued
her connection with the society after her husband's
death, but in 1902 bestowed a gift of £1000 on it
for the endowment of a Livingstone Gold Medal
in memory of her father, to be awarded by the
Council for distinguished services in exploration
or geographical research. The first recipient was
Sir Harry Johnston. During the whole of
her association with the society, Mrs Livingstone
Bruce's unique receptions to meet the principal
traveUers and distinguished men of the day, no
matter what their nationality might be, were
quite a feature of Edinburgh intellectual life ;
and besides Stanley, Lord Roberts, Sven Hedin,
Admiral Peary, Captain Scott, Lord Milner,
Sir Harry Johnston, Sir George Goldie, and
many others, were all to be found amongst her
guests of honour.
In 1888 Mr and Mrs Livingstone Bruce went
with their eldest son to Cape Colony, where Agnes
had the great joy of revisiting in their company
her own birthplace of Kuruman, and her old home
at Kolobeng, both now connected with Cape Town
by the newly-opened raUway, and offering in that
way alone a great contrast to the days when her
adventurous aunt, Ann Moffat, had braved being
devoured by hons on her journey to and from those
mission stations.
Mr Bruce w^as, by this time, more taken up by
African plans than ever ; but in all those in which

248 AGNES AND HER HUSBAND [OH. xxvil.
he was involved there was a breadth and sanity of
vision that distinguished them from others of this
time. To his intimates, he made no secret of the
fact that his wife's influence had much to do with
his interest in such matters. To one who had
remarked on the good work Mr Bruce was doing
in the African colonies, we hear:
" Again and again, he said how much he owed
to his wife, and once when speaking to him of his
good work he said, 'Thank my wife. She has
been my incentive and my staff. But for her, I
should never have taken the part I have as to
Africa and public affairs.'"
It is always with reluctance that one speaks of
one's own intimate concerns. It brushes, one may
almost say, the bloom from our tenderest memories
to share them with others. Yet it is only by so
doing that the soul of a friendship can be revealed ;
and to show what Mr and Mrs Livingstone Bruce
really were in this way I must give one instance ;
although I could if I would multiply it by many
equally characteristic.
It was in 1889. My dear mother was then
hopelessly ill ; but as a last resource the South
African climate had been recommended to her,
and wisely so ; for although it could not save her
life, it could and did allay much of her suffering.
She was, I know now for certain, well aware of
her condition; but, inexplicably, my father never
seemed to realise her danger. Probably because,
as her one idea was to spare him pain, she was
always cheerful and hopeful in his presence. Try
ing as her illness was, and much as she suffered

MY MOTHER'S LAST ILLNESS 249
from weakness and depression, she always had a
smile ready for him. That the idea of revisiting
South Africa once more pleased him, made her
all the more eager to fall in with the proposal.
By her own special wish she desired that no
one of her family, except himself, should accompany
her; and even went so far as to ask us all, as a
favour, not to come to the steamer to bid her
farewell. This seemed at the time a sad and
strange request ; but I now see and recognise her
wisdom in making it. She alone knew the extent
of her weakness, and dreaded a breakdown at the
last on my father's account more than her own ;
and so earnest was she as to this injunction that
we had no choice but to obey her.
Up to this time Mr Bruce and Agnes were in
Edinburgh, and had there heard of my mother's
illness and approaching departure from England.
Possibly, as often happens with friends afar off, they
knew more of her real condition than the members
of her immediate family. They did not, however,
write and ask if they might come and take leave of
her ; but found out from the Steamship Company
the exact date of the passage, and when my
father and mother went aboard the boat they
found Agnes and Mr Bruce awaiting them.
It was their last sight of each other; and
although I could sometimes find it in my heart
to wish that I and my sisters had been in Agnes's
place, it is good to think, and with gratitude I
remember, that my dear mother's last English " God
speed " was heard from such true and affectionate
old friends.

250 AGNES AND HER HUSBAND [ch. xxvii.
My dear mother only lived for some two
months after her arrival at the Cape; for the
end came swiftly, silently, it may almost be said
mercifully, at the little wayside station at Matys-
fontein. At that time, although the healing
air of the Karoo gave her great relief, there
was no hotel accommodation of any kind in
such places, certainly none fit for an invalid ;
and she died in a little iron cottage, without
any regular attendants but her faithful maid and
my father.
It sounded, for those who only knew this outer
aspect, sad and forlorn enough, but it was not so
in reality. Her letters to me written on the spot and up
to the very day of her death, were brimful of
happiness. Her love for my father was wonderful
" passing the love of women," and her pleasure in
being once more, as she called it, " alone with him,"
was almost pathetic in its rapture. It made her,
so she wrote, " fancy she was young again " ; and
recaUed the first happy years after their marriage
and the quiet weeks together they used to spend
each year in some out of the way foreign
resort. Of the future she had no word of fear, only
a great and inexpressible peace enfolded her.
" Your father is, as he always is, so good to me,"
she wrote. "He is as happy at seeing his dear
Africa again and in showing it all to me, as I am
in seeing it," — and again — " I have no pain since
coming up here. The climate is perfect and
deserves all the praise he has told me of it, and
every one is so kind."

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE 251
Such are the passages that come back to my
memory as I write. In her last letter she ends
by saying :—
" We have just heard of Stanley's safety, and
I am so glad and thankful. He has made a
wonderful journey, and it is such a relief to know
he is weU."
I felt so glad she had the news that to her
meant so much, before she left this world. She
was given no time for last messages or words ;
but although she thought she was improving, my
father grew uneasy and sent to the Cape for a
doctor, there being none nearer at hand.
The daily train was due and he went down
to meet him, the little station being only some
two hundred yards away. Returning with the
doctor, even as they entered the room where my
mother was sitting up to meet them, she passed
away; but yet had time to give one of her own
bright smUes of greeting to my father. In this
she was herself to the last ; for her love for him
was part of her very life.
• • • • • • •
She lies buried in the lovely cemetery at
Weinberg, near Cape Town. Over her grave my
father had placed a beautiful recumbent cross of the
peculiar shape found in the Newstead Cloisters.^
^ My father, after my mother's death, spent most of his time in
travelling. Accompanied by my two sisters, he not only went round
the world, but visited Australia, New Zealand, and Alaska.
Africa was to him, however, his last love as it had been his first,
and he returned to it again and again. He died after a short illness
at Luxor, 23rd February 1899, and is buried at Cairo. To those who
knew him best, it seems but fitting he should also rest at the last in
the land he loved so weU.

CHAPTER XXVIII
MR A. L. BRUCE
Each year, eaqh month almost, after this time saw
the increase of Mr Bruce's energies and power.
The wonder was how one man, however willing
and strong, could find time for all he had under
taken ; but those in authority had found out Mr
Bruce's value. For himself he had at no time any
thought. He was Chairman of the Scottish Liberal
Unionist Committee, and as such was Lord
Goschen's right-hand man.
He was the associate of Sir WiUiam Mackinnon
of the Imperial British East African Company,
then recently started, and Chairman of the recon
structed Lakes Company, besides having much to
do with the management of Uganda, together with
all entailed in that region as to missionary enter
prise and the struggle against the slave trade.
To suppress slavery was almost as near his heart
as it was to that of Dr Livingstone.
With all this activity abroad, neither his family
nor any good cause at home was ever neglected.
An attached member of the church of Scotland, Mr
Bruce was yet no sectarian. His earnest desire
was for the reunion of the several Presbyterian de
nominations of Scotland in a reconstituted church.
252

MR BRUCE'S DEATH 253
Occupied as he was with all his important
public affairs he always, whUst in Edinburgh,
taught regularly in the mission school attached
to his own church. A fuUer and more actively
useful life it is hardly possible to imagine ; nor
one that seemed more likely to add both to the
welfare of those on earth and the glory of God.
Its continuance was, however, comparatively brief.
Shortly after the opening of the session of the
Scottish Geographical Society in November 1893,
at which Lord Roberts gave the inaugural address,
the news came that Mr Bruce had caught cold ;
and before it was realised that he was ill, he died
on the 27th of the same month.
As he had lived, so he died, a true Christian
thinking of others and of Africa to the last. To
his sons he left as a legacy the 15th Psalm, the
beautiful psalm that he caused to be read to him
an hour before he passed away. It was sung
beside his grave. Never, perhaps, was there any
man who better exemplified in his own life the
teaching of that psalm.
Practical in every detail, he left in his sons' care
a considerable sum of money with the hope that
they would take an interest in the opening up of
Africa to Christianity, civilisation, and commerce,
on the lines laid down by their grandfather, Dr
Livingstone. Nor were his home-ties forgotten, for the day
before his death he added a codicU to his will,
leaving £100 to the workmen employed in Messrs
Younger's brewery, to go towards smoothing the
dechning days of those who had become incapaci
tated by old age or ill-health.

254 MR A. L. BRUCE [ch. xxviii.
But his last thoughts were for Africa, almost
his last words murmured of " a hundred and fifty
miles of unfinished road."
The grief with which the news of his death was
received by all who knew him was intense, not
only in Edinburgh (where most of the shops had
spontaneously half- closed their shutters) but by
those at home and abroad who had learnt by
experience how to value him, not solely for his
judgment in political and African affairs, but as
a friend. Lord Selborne, Lord Goschen, Earl Grey, Sir
Frederick Lugard, H. M. Stanley, Cecil Rhodes,
indeed, every prominent man of the day connected
with Africa joined in the universal chorus of regret
and sympathy— sympathy which, one can see from
their letters to Agnes, was far from that of mere
courteous convention.
Of these, Lord Milner 's letter to Agnes summed
up best the general feeling of them all when he
wrote : —
" If I told all I felt I might seem to exaggerate.
His death is a public disaster. He was one of
the most noble characters I ever knew, and the
most lovable."
Of what his loss meant to Agnes I hardly like
to write, although the wide-spread appreciation in
which her husband was held, and the overflowing
sympathy accorded to her and her family helped
in some measure to soften the blow.
In both the great sorrows of her life — the loss
of her father and now of her husband — she was, at
least, not alone. She could realise the grief and

AGNES AS A WIDOW 265
sympathy of many was with her; and this time
she had also the presence of her three children to
help her bear it.
Nevertheless, when I next saw her, I think
two years afterwards in Edinburgh, alone and in
widow's mourning, I felt she had, indeed, passed
through very deep waters since we had last met.
But she was brave and composed as ever, and even
tried to talk hopefully of the approaching voyage
she was contemplating with her children to the
Cape, as she wished to show the country to her
daughter, then nearly grown up.
We taUied a little of the past, that past so
much of which we had shared together ; but we
felt that neither of us could bear to dweU on it
just then.
With this I must leave dear Agnes. I saw
her, but only at rare intervals, during the latter
years of her life in her beautiful Edinburgh
home — that home where so many memories
and rehcs of her father and his life's work were
coUected together.
She appeared in her widowhood to find most
comfort in traveUing, and with her daughter and
occasionaUy her sons, she went not only several
times to Africa, but once to India and the East.
In this way she twice traveUed to the Zambesi,
and saw for herseK the wondrous Victoria FaUs,
discovered by Dr Livingstone over fifty years
before. To Agnes the contrast between their two
journeys must have been poignant, for where Dr
Livingstone had toiled wearily along day after day
through unexplored regions without even a path
to guide him, she made her own easy transit in a

256 MR A. L. BRUCE [cH. xxvin.
train which was practically an hotel on wheels.
Only the mighty falls with their smoke -like
columns of spray remain unchanged ; even their
mysterious magnificence is spanned by a marvellous
bridge, across which the line of railway passes
without interruption far away into the interior of
Africa. All this and more did Agnes live to see in
her old age, and if her father sowed the good
seed in weariness and sorrow, to his child was
given the sight of the rich harvest.
Twice did she 'visit Nyasaland, where she
had even more personal interest, as it is there
that the large estates of Magomero, founded
originally by Mr Bruce, are being worked on
the fines indicated by her husband.
Cotton, rubber, and tobacco are all being
cultivated on a large scale and with great success.
It is the realisation of Dr Livingstone's dream
and more — that dream that fifty years ago seemed
so impossible — for the whole vast country is
now no longer a mystery, but a fruitful and
friendly land, whilst the horrible slave trade (if
not entirely stamped out), is at least nominally
abolished, and the natives flourishing under wise
and careful rule on all sides.
On each of Mrs Livingstone Bruce's visits she
had a truly wonderful reception from the natives —
a reception well-nigh royal in character, all flock
ing in hundreds from far and near to greet her
as "the daughter of the great white chief," as
they caUed her.
On her way up the Zambesi River she had
the comfort of visiting her mother's last resting-

THE NEW NYASALAND 257
place at Shupanga. It has been for many years
a Roman Catholic Mission, and the grave is kept
in beautiful order by the Brethren stationed there. ^
In the summer of 1911 Mrs Livingstone Bruce
was once more in Nyasaland, and on a visit to
her son, Captain Alexander Bruce, at Magomero.
She was this time accompanied by her sister-in-
law, Mrs OsweU Livingstone, as her own daughter
was by this time happUy married.
Possibly, however, the fatigue of these very long
journeys was too much for Mrs Livingstone Bruce's
strength ; for upon her return to Edinburgh in
the autumn, she was so feeble and exhausted
that her condition alarmed her friends. At first
it was hoped that rest and care might restore
her, but nothing was of avail ; she faded slowly
away, and died on the 20th April 1912. With
her ended a noble life.
She had opportunities, such as are given to
few women, of seeing the marvellous transforma
tion of Africa — a transformation which, in spite
of the inevitable drawbacks and shadows attend
ant on aU such vast changes, has yet added in
calculably to the light and progress of the world.
' Much devoted work is being effected for the Christian faith on
all sides, and there are many well established Mission Stations in
Uganda (where there is even a cathedral), British East Africa, and
Nyasaland. In the Zambesi district in particular the French Reformed
Church is following up the fine work already accomplished by Frangois
CoUlard and his saintly and practical Scottish wife, Christina Mackintosh,
the spiritual successors of the Motito Mission near Kuruman of over
sixty years ago. Of all missionaries in spirit and character possibly
none have approached Dr Livingstone so closely as this simple-minded
and heroic countrywoman, for even amongst her devoted colleagues she
stands out as a figure apart to this day, and should be more known
than is the case in England. B

268 MR A. L. BRUCE [ch. xxvm.
In Mrs Livingstone Bruce's case, she could
with truth feel that most of the brighter features
of this change had been largely brought about
by those who were to her nearest and dearest,
in so much that to them had been vouchsafed
the honour of being the instruments of Higher
Hands than their own.
To look back to her childhood's days at
Kolobeng and all that foUowed them gives
room for thought. One can but feel the eternal
truth of the words so often quoted by Dr
Livingstone, " Commit thy way unto the Lord
and trust in Him and He shall bring it to pass."

INDEX

"Abraham' and "Sarah," lion
cubs, 32
A  , Miss Eleanor, 66, 119 ; as
Mrs Cottle's niece, 125-131
Africa, 6, 8, 41
African fever, 49, 86, 103
Annesley Park, 81 ; ball at, 122
Antelope, 6, 14, 29
Arrochar, 189, 241
Augustinian Canons Regular, 73
Austins, Black, 73
Baker, Lady, 174
 , Sir Samuel, 186
Balaclava, 4, 43
Bartlett, Mr, Curator Zoological
Gardens, 185
Bashi-Bazouks, 45
Bellis, Mrs (NaNa), 105, 122,
124
Biltong, 11, 36
Biscuits, Newstead water-, 69
Black Augustinians — Austin
Friars, 73
Black Friar, the, 74
Blackie, Professor, 235
Blaikie, Rev. Dr, 236
Bloemfontein, 6
Boatswain, Lord Byron's Dog, 93
Boers, 31
Bosphorus, ship, 9
Boulogne, 1
Boxes, Indian, Dr Livingstone's
present, 16
Braithwaite, Mr, 178
Bread, Mrs Livingstone's, 21
Brighton, British Association at,
189
British Association and Stanley,
190
 East African Company,
252

Bruce, 95
 , Mr A. L., 108, footnote;
first meeting with Agnes, 241 ;
happy married life, 244 ; share
in founding Royal Scottish
Geographical Society, 246-247 ;
work, 252 ; death, 263
 , Mrs Livingstone, vide
Livingstone, Agnes
Byron, Ada, 93
 , Augusta, 61
 family, 61 ; legends of, 73-
78
 , Little Sir John, 77
 ,.Lord, 80, 93, 94
 the "wicked" Lord, 81
Cairo, 251
CaUiatte, M. and Mme., 164
CampbeUtown, 241
Cape Colony, 36
 Town, 6, 33, 35, 38, 40, 217,
260, 265
Cazembe, chief, 172
Chaworth, Mr, 81
 Musters, Mr and Mrs, 122
Chermside, Lady, 119, 198
Chonuane 14, 22
Chopin, 138
Church Missionary Society, 221,
228
Clarence, H.R.H. Duke of, 135
Cloisters, Newstead, 60
Coal at Newstead, 137
Codrington, Captain WiUiam W.,
8, 28 ; return to England, 41, 43
Colesberg, 9, 27, 37
Confirmation, Agnes Livingstone's,
107
Congo, Kalulu drowned, 201 ;
Stanley returns from, 203,
249

259

260

INDEX

"Crackers," 33-34
Crickets and "Wicked" Lord
Byron, 85
Crimean War, 4, 43
Crozier, Livingstones heredity.
keepers of the, 90, footnote
Cuvier, Lady Murchison's draw
ing, 134
Dahabeah, 170
Dams, Newstead, 63
Dawson's, Lieutenant, Relief Ex
pedition, 220
Deep Sea Fishermen's Mission,
and Mr and Mrs Livingstone
Bruce, 178-180
Deffand, Madame de, 76
Denison, Mr E., Speaker, 132
Devonshire cream, 99
Dogs, African, 11-13
Dog, Lord Byron's, 92; Dog's
Tomb, 93, 215
Don Juan, description of Newstead
in, 61
Dreux, 164
Ducks, wild, 113-114
Duff Gordon, Lady, 170
Eagle Lectern, now at South
well, 63, footnote
Eagle Pond, 63, footnote
Eastlake, Sir Charles, 166
Egjfpt, Tom Livingstone's death
in, 232
Elephants, 6, 24, 29
Eton, my father at, 1-8 ; Captain
Codrington, Captain of the
Boats, 8
Evangeline, 33
Fairburn, Mackenzies of, 141,
footnote
Fish trap. 111
FossU Fox of JEningen, 134
Eraser, Sir William, 132
Fredoux, Madame (Miss Ann
Moffat), 17, 159
Freetown, Sierra Leone, 180-182
Frere, Miss, 168
 , Sir Bartle, 167-170
Funeral, Dr Livingstone's, 205
Geikie, Professor James, 246
Geology, 29

Glastonbury, kitchen at, 70
Goldie, Sir George, 247
Gold, South African, 27
Goodlake, General, V.C, 44, 111
 , Mrs, 118
Gordon Cumming, " Bill," fight
at Eton, 2
 , R.S. travels and book, 6
Goschen, Lord, friendship with
Mr Bruce, 252
Grahamstown, 24
Hamilton, Livingstone family's
residence at, 51, 157, 161, 173
241, 243
Harrison, J. B., artist, 91
Hayward, A., Q.C, 142-162
Hedin, Dr Sven, 247
Henn, Lieutenant, 187
Hills-Johnes, Sir James, V.C,
194, footnote
Hoce'de', Madame, 160-162, 170
Holy Land, 170
Hull, 82
Ice, green tea, 69
Iceland, Agnes's visit to, 173
Ilala, 94, 216, 221
India, 42 ; Dr Livingstone in,
167-169
Jackson, Rev. Curtis, 110
Jesuit missionaries, 109
Johanna men, 185
Johnston, Sir Harry H., 57, 247
Kaffirs, 7, 10, 25, 27, 29, 32, 199
Kaffir War, 6, 7, 36, 41
Kalahari Desert, 29
Kalulu, Stanley's native boy, 198-
200
Kaross, Secheli's present to my
father, 20
Kendal Quaker School, 177
Kirk, Sir John, 169, 186, 204
Kitchen, at Newstead, 70
Kolobeng, 7, 19, 21-26 ; Agnes re
visits it, 247
Kuruman, 14, 16, 25, 26, 43, 48,
247
Laut Nyassa, Dr Livingstone's
boat, 212
Lake at Newstead, 113

INDEX

261

Lake 'Ngami, 18-22
Lancers, 17th, 4, 43
Lasteyrie, Marquise de, 121
" Last Journals," 210, 215
Leen, River, at Newstead, 62
Lemue, Rev. M., 160
Limpopo River, 24
Lincoln, assassination of Presi
dent, 164
Linyanti, 47
Lion-cubs, 32
Lions, 12 ; Miss Ann Moffat and,
14, 169
Lismore, Livingstone and Bishop,
90, footnote
Livingstone, Agnes, 19, 52, 65
music, 66, 69 ; confirmation
107 ; assistance to her father-
118 ; first baU, 122-125, 142
leaves Newstead,154 ; in London
155 ; parting with father, 161
at Madame Hoce'de's, 162, 164
letters to, 166, 172, 174, 176
yachting, 176 ; waiting, 183
at her father's funeral, 203
father's journals, 213, 217
Jacob Wainwright, 220, 223
227; "Last Journals," 229
marriage, 240 ; widowhood, 264
 ,  (Dr Livingstone's
sister), 179, footnote, 206
 , Anna Mary (Mrs Living
stone Wilson), 61, 168 ; subse
quent work, 178 ; at Living
stone's funeral, 207 ; letter
to Hans Andersen, 208
 , Bruce, Mrs. See Living
stone, Agnes
 , Dr, 5, 16 ; cures my
father, 17-20 ; at Kuruman, 26,
47 - 50 ; second return to
England, 51-58 ; at Newstead,
59, 88 ; appearance and portrait,
89-92 ; opinion of B)rron 94,
96 ; kindness, 102 ; African
fever, 103 ; lion bite, 104 ;
character, i05 ; Agnes's con
firmation, 108 ; sjfmpathy, 109,
111 ; fish trap, 112 ; decoy, 113 ;
room, 116 ; as author, 117 ;
Christmas, 119, 121 ; with
children, 121; "Mrs Cottle,"
125-131 ; Sir Roderick Murchi
son, 132; geology, 137; Mr

Hayward, 142-144 ; in London
154 ; Academy dinner, 166 ;
before House of Commons Com
mittee, 166 ; good-bye visit to
HamUton, 168 ; places Agnes
in Paris, 169, 162 ; fareweUs,
162 ; letters to Agnes, 166-167
168, 172, 174, 176, 177 ; visit
to Sir Bartle Frere, i67 ; present
of boxes, 168 ; Mr Young of
Kelly, 173; letters to Tom,
174; to Mr Oswell, 179;
anxiety as to safety, 183 ; Mr
Young's expedition, 186 ;
Stanley's relief, 187; Dr
Livingstone's letter as to
Stanley, 188; death, 203;
identification, 204 ; funeral,
205; "Last Journals," 209;
property, 214 ; Dr Blaikie's
" Life," 235
Livingstone, Janet (Dr Living
stone's sister), 173, 179, 205
 gold medal, 247
 , Oswell, 17, 19, 48, 49,
168, 187, 203
 , Thomas, 176, 208, 210,
213, 216, 220, 223; "Last
Journals," 229, 231 ; death,
232, 233
 Wilson, Mrs, 178-182
IJamwrda, 194, footnote
Loch Long, 188
Loudon, Dr, 169
Luxor, 261
Mabotsa, 14, 22
Mackinnon, Sir WiUiam, 252
Magomero, 256
Maklisoora, 185
Mansfield, 91 ; Stanley lecture at,
20L.,
Manyuema, 172
Maquetra, Chateau de, 1
Marenga, 185
MarseUles, 164
Matysfontein, 250
Mihier, Lord, 247, 254
Missolonghi, 94
Moffat, Dr and Mrs, 16
 , Miss Ann (Madame
Fredoux), 14, 169 ; Dr Moffat,
243
Morritt, Mr Robert,of Rokeby,117
E 2

262

INDEX

Mortuary Chapel, 92
Motito French Mission Station,
169, 164
Mowena trees, 17, 27
MuU, 94, footnote
Murchison, Lady, 132-136
 , Sir Roderick, preface,
132-139, 133, footnote, 186
Murray, Joe, Lord Byron's
servant, 93
 , John, publisher, "Last
Journals," 233
Musa, 186
NaNa (Mrs Bellis), 99, 106,
106, 124
Napier, Lord, of Magdala, 185
Nassick College, 220
Nelson, my father's dog, 189
Newstead, 26, 55, 69, 62, 64, 66,
68 ; kitchen, 70 ; ghosts, 73,
81, 85 ; park, 86, 89, 97, 107 ;
fish trap. 111 ; lakes and decoy,
113 ; Dr Livingstone's room,
115 ; Christmas at, 120 ; New
stead stables, 130, 132 ; geology
of, 138, 142 ; cook, 148 ; Dr
Livingstone leaves, 154, 167,
173 ; Stanley at, 191, 194, 197,
201 ; Susi and Chumah at, 209,
214; Jacob Wainwright, 222-
228
'Ngami, Lake, .18, 19, 22
Northamptonshire, Rev. Horace
WaUer's Uving, 213, 216
North Berwick, Mrs Livingstone
Bruce, 246
Nottingham, 5, 83 ; Stanley's
lecture, 201, 221
Nottinghamshire, 8
Nyasaland, 266
Nyassa, Lady, boat, 212
Orangery, ancient, 92-94
Ostrich eggs, 29-31
Oswell, Mr WiUiam Cotton, 18,
22, 163, 178 ; letter to Agnes,
179
Oxford, Dr Livingstone at, 168
Pall-bearers, Dr Livingstone's,
204
Palmer, Colonel and Mrs, 119, 122,
130

Palmerston, Lord, 51
Paris, Agnes in, 163
Peary, Admiral, in Edinburgh,
247
Pilgrim's Oak, 84
Port Elizabeth, 24
Portrait, Dr Livingstone's, 91
Prince Consort, H.R.H., 160
Quaker School, 177
Bagged Rock, the, 82
Rawlinson, Sir Henry, 132
Red Sea, 42
Regent Terrace, Mr Bruce's home,
246
Rhodes, Cecil, 254
Roberts, Lord, in Edinburgh, 247
Rock cottages, 87
Rosebery, Earl of, 246
Ross, Sir Ronald, 95
Royal Academy dinner, 156
 Geographical Society, 186,
203, 213
 Scottish Society, 245
Salisbury, Lord, at Eton, 1
St Helena, 9
Scott, Captain, at Edinburgh, 247
Scottish Royal Geographical
Society, 245, 253
SecWli, chief, 20, 26
SheUey, Colonel Ernest, 18
Sheppard, Mrs, housekeeper at
Newstead, 74
Sherwood Forest, 66, 83, 86
Shupanga, Mrs Livingstone's
burial-place, 49, 62, 267; Susi
a native of, 210
Sierra Leone, 9, 48 ; Mrs Living
stone Wilson at, 180
Smike, 36-40
Smyrna, 46
Southwell Minster, 76
Stanley, H. M., 115, 188-203, 205,
246, 251, 254
 , Lady, 196
Susi, 210-219
Sussex, H.R.H. the Duke of, 66
 Tower, 65, 116, 122
Tarboosh, 46
Tennant, Miss Dorothy (Ladv
Stanley), 196

INDEX

263

ThirlwaU, Bishop, 194
Timbuctoo riddle, 121
Travels, Agnes Livingstone's, 173,
266, 266
Trout, 94, 95
Tse-tse, fly, 96
Twywell, Northamptonshire, 213
Uganda, 257, footnote
Ujiji, 186
Ulva, Isle of, 91, footnote
Victoria Falls, Zambesi, 255
 , Queen, and Dr Living
stone, 480
Wainwright, Jacob, 206, 216,
220-228
WaUer, Rev. Horace, 166, 185,
210, 217, 229, 233, 234, 245
Wanyau boy, Chumah a, 212
Webb, Miss Ethel, 63 (footnote),
97-99, 169
 , Mrs, marriage, 46, 54-56 ;
care of Byron relics, 61, 65, 76,
102, 111, 118, 122, 130, 138 ;
and Mr Hayward, 145-153, 159,
163, 169, 170-172, 184 ; friend
ship with Stanley, 191-196, 201-
203, 205, 209, 224-226, 235-
237, 241 ; last iUness, 248-250 ;
death in South Africa, 251
 , W. F., early life, 1-13 ; in
South Africa, 16, 35; Smike,
36-40 ; leaves Africa, 41 ; Red
Sea adventure, 42 ; brother's
death after Balaclava, 43 ;
voyage to Smyrna, 46 ; mar
riage, 46 ; invitation to Dr

Livingstone, 64 ; purchase of
Newstead, 66, 86, 88; trout
breeding, 94, 103, 111 ; Diary,
113; geological tasks, 137,140,
148 ; parting with Livingstone,
162, 185; Stanley, 189, 191,
201 ; Dr Livingstone's funeral,
204 - 206, 218, 223, 226, 248,
250 ; death, 261, footnote
wuberforce. Bishop Samuel, 170-
171
Wildman, Colonel, 63
 , Mrs, 67
Wilson, Dr, of Bombay, 211
 , Mr Frank, marries Dr
Livingstone's daughter Anna
May, 177; work, 181 ; death, 182
 , Mrs Livingstone (Anna
Mary Livingstone), 178, 182,
207
Wishing- WeU at Newstead, 62
Yorkshire, 65
Younger's, Messrs, Brewery, 245,
253
Young, Lieutenant, search expedi
tion, 174, 186
 , Mr, of Kelly, 173, 174;
pall-bearer at Dr Livingstone's
funeral, 204, 209 ; generosity,
217, 218
Yule, Miss Amy Frances, 94, 133,
185
Zambesi, 47-49, 143, 255
"Zambesi and its Tributaries,"
154
Zanzibar, 186, 217
Zouga River, 17, 19

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Memoir and Correspondence of the second John Murray, with an Account
of the Origin and Progress of the House, 1768-1843. By Samuel
Smiles, LL.D. Edited by Thomas Mackay. With Portraits,
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF LIEUTENANT-
GENERAL SIR HARRY SMITH, 1787-1819. Edited by G. C.
Moore Smith, With Map and Portrait.
A COTSWOLD VILLAGE; or. Country Life and
Pursuits in Gloucestershire. By J. Arthur Gibbs. With Illus
trations,
DOG BREAKING : the Most Expeditious, Certain,
and Easy Method. With Odds and Ends for those who love the Dog
and Gun, By General W, N, Hutchinson. With numerous Illus
trations.
THE VOYAGE OF THE " FOX " IN THE ARCTIC
SEAS IN SEARCH OF FRANKLIN AND HIS COM-
PANIONS. By the late Admiral Sir F. Leopold McClintock, R.N.
A Cheap Edition. With Portraits and other Illustrations and Maps,
THE STORY OF THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
By the Rev. G, R. Gleig. With Map and Illustrations.
LIFE OF ROBERT, FIRST LORD GLIVE. By the
Rev. G. R, Gleig. Illustrated.
THE WILD SPORTS AND NATURAL HISTORY
OF THE HIGHLANDS. By Charles St. John. With Illustrations.
*,* Complete List of the Volumes in this Series will be sent pQst free
on Application.

London : JOHN MURRAY, Albemarle Street, W.

YALE UNIVERSITY UBRARY

3 9002 04039 5973

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