“The Fly in the Ointment”
“ What a little thing is sufficient to bring down to oldwifeishness such a rough tyke as I consider myself! ”
Livingstone.
WHAT prevented Livingstone from mak-
ing his mission settlement in that desirable land was nothing more nor less than—a fly! But that special kind of fly has played the mischief with many a welllaid scheme in Africa. When the early adventurers tried to penetrate into the interior of Zambesia, it was this fly that stopped them. When Portugal, later on, made plans to found a great African Empire, again it was this fly that put an end to their dreams. What nothing else could do—the tsetse fly did. Probably if one were to ask a modern statesman what still prevents the Zambesi valley from being one of the greatest granaries of the world, he would answer: “Malaria and the tsetse.” The reason why this is such a formidable insect is that it carries the germs of a terrible disease called “ the nagana,” and when it bites cattle, horses or goats, this disease kills them off in thousands. We know now, though Livingstone IOI did not know it then, that when the tsetse fly bites a man it is liable to infect his blood with the germ of the “ sleeping sickness,” a disease that has decimated whole populations, especially among the negroes.
The tsetse fly itself, whose name is the native attempt to imitate its buzz (fortunately a pretty loud buzz, for one can hear it coming! ), is only a little larger than an ordinary house fly; it has a brownish body with yellow stripes. But it belongs to a family called by scientists the Glossina, which, as Sir H. H. Johnston once said, has been one of our most deadly foes in the history of the world, and is far more dangerous than any enemy that runs on four legs or on two. If Africa is to be opened up our motto must be: “ Kill that fly! ” There was no such thing as yellow fever in tropical America until the slave ships full of African slaves brought it from Africa, and in the same way the slave trade brought the sleeping sickness to parts of Africa where the dangers of the tsetse fly had never been known before. Livingstone could no doubt have preached a telling sermon from that text.
When he and Oswell found Lake Ngami, and tried to go up the River Tamunakle, they found the tsetse fly in full possession. It was hopeless to attempt a settlement in that district, for the cattle and horses all died of “ the nagana ” disease. There seemed to be no help for it, and
“ THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT ” 103 so they were obliged to go farther afield. Only within the last few years has it been found out how one may deal with the tsetse and do something to stop sleeping sickness. One must destroy the young tsetse larvae by clearing away the jungle where it is hatched; by killing the herds of wild pig, to which the tsetse is especially partial; by teaching people to be clean (a difficult job in Africa); and by injecting some stuff called atoxyl into a man’s blood if he is bitten by the fly. Perhaps those who read this little book may yet live to see the tsetse worsted—that appalling insect that Livingstone discovered, and which put such a stop to his plans.
He was sure that if he went north he would come upon a healthier spot for his mission station. So Livingstone went back to Koloben for his wife and children, and the whole party returned to the lake, en route for Sebituane’s country.
It was a very way-worn family party that arrived at Ngami. Mrs Livingstone was ill, and the three children were practically in rags, and so unmercifully bitten by mosquitoes that there was not a square inch of whole skin on their poor little bodies. Their father took them down to the shore, and they “took to playing in the lake as ducklings do.” “Paidling in it was great fun,” said they. They were the first white children who had ever seen that great lake or “ paidled ” in its waters. But fever drove them all back to Koloben, and there the fourth little baby Livingstone was born, and died six weeks after her birth.
When Livingstone and his wife went to see her parents at Kuruman, they were both ill, and their experiences quite horrified poor Mrs Moffat. She could not believe her ears when she heard that her son-in-law meant to take his wife and children back again to Ngami, and on still farther into the wilds. Had she known what privations they were really in for—how the party would be lost in the desert and nearly die of thirst; how her daughter’s fifth child, little Oswell, would be born in a kind of gipsy encampment in the desert sands, and all the other details of the next few strenuous years—Mrs Moffat would have been even more emphatic than she was. When Livingstone had left Kuruman he had a letter from her beseeching him, “in the name of everything that was just, kind, and even decent,” to abandon “ an arrangement which all the world would condemn.” In another letter she said that she prayed he might be “prevented by some dispensation of Providence ” from making arrangements “ not in accordance with Christian propriety.” Livingstone and his wife did not agree with her a bit. They loved her all the more for her dear, old-fashioned words, but quietly took their own way. There never
“THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT” 105 lived a pluckier woman than Mary Livingstone. She liked roughing it at all times; and if “ roughing it ” was too mild a word for what she and the children often endured, she stood it cheerfully for the sake of the cause. The fact was that she and her husband staked everything on finding Sebituane. They knew the whole future of the mission depended on Livingstone’s influencing that great African chieftain, so they set their teeth firmly and risked everything.
The risks were worth it all, for they had a warm welcome in Sebituane ’s kraal. Sebituane was the most redoubtable warrior in that part of Africa. He had played a big part in history. By sheer genius as a leader of his fierce armies he had conquered the whole Banwaketse country, the entire territory of Ngami as far as Damaraland, the countries of the Zambesi, and what is called Barotseland. If one looks at a map one realises what a mighty ruler Sebituane was. He had made all his conquests by ruthless method, and no general was ever better feared or followed. When he saw the enemy he would feel the edge of his battle-axe and say: “ Aha! it is sharp, and whoever turns his back on the foe will feel its edge! ”
On his return after the victory no skulker or “ slacker ” ever escaped the King’s wrath. “ Ah! ” he would say to the trembling wretches, “ so you prefer dying at home than in battle, do you? You shall have your desire,” and the unfortunates were immediately led out and executed.
But Sebituane was altogether a different type of African king from the brutal Chaka, or Dingaan. Chaka, whose Zulu impis the Boers had at last overcome, is said to have caused the death of about a million negroes in Southern Africa. He was the king who put his own mother to death and then had seven thousand women killed to celebrate her funeral. He was an obstinate old heathen. But Sebituane, having won his empire, set to work to make it prosper, and when he heard of the white man he eagerly tried to open up trade with him. If all Sebituane’s history could be set down it would be one of the most thrilling stories ever written. Sir Rider Haggard might have taken him as a hero of one of his wonderful romances.
This black King was especially pleased at the confidences Livingstone showed in him by bringing his wife and children to his kraal. He gave them a royal welcome and made Livingstone free of all his territory. But almost directly after their arrival Sebituane fell sick, and the Doctor found himself in an awkward situation. He did not dare to prescribe for the King, lest his courtiers should blame him if the royal patient died. The present writer remembers very well being told by an English medical man, a well-known writer and traveller, how he was once placed in a rather similar
“ THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT ” 107 predicament. That time, however, it was in a hostile tribe, and it was only because the king was ill and needed the white doctor’s medicine that he spared the poor medico’s life. “ In fact,” said the doctor, “ I had to keep him ill.” But in Livingstone’s case he probably could not have saved Sebituane. It was acute inflammation of the lungs, and it carried off the King in a day or two. As he lay dying, Livingstone and little Robert crept in through the narrow opening of the royal hut to visit the King. “ Come near,” said Sebituane, “and see if I am any longer a man; I am done.” After sitting with him for a while and praying, Livingstone left the hut, and the last thing he heard Sebituane say was: “ Take Robert to Maunku Tone of his wives] and tell her to give him some milk.”
“ I never felt so much grieved by the loss of a black man before,” wrote Livingstone, “ and it was impossible not to follow him in thought into the world of which he had just heard before he was called away, and to realise somewhat of the feelings of those who pray for the dead.”
Sebituane’s daughter succeeded as chieftainess, and she was most friendly to Livingstone. He might have set out with his wife and children in comparative safety through her dominions. But when he and Oswell discovered the Zambesi, Livingstone realised that no settlement was possible in those parts. The tsetse fly and fever would prevent them from founding a mission. So, after putting off the decision as long as they could, Livingstone and his wife came to the conclusion that for the sake of the children she must let him travel on alone. It would only be for a very short time, they thought. Anyhow, it had to be. Livingstone took his wife and the children up to Cape Town, saw them safely on board a vessel for England, and then made his way bravely back with Oswell. They neither of them guessed that it would be four and a half years before Baba Daud and Ma Robert would meet again.
During all this time Oswell had been a friend indeed to the Livingstones. When their third boy was born they named him after the hunter. Little Oswell was born at the turn of the Zuga in one of the wildest spots imagin able, and many years afterwards Mr Oswell wrote to Agnes Livingstone describing the place, and telling her how he and she had sat together under the old cameeldorn trees by the riverside, and Agnes, then a very “ tiny tot,” had played at making tea, with pods and seeds for tea-things.
When the Livingstones set out for Cape Town Oswell came with them part of the way, and then suddenly and rather mysteriously announced his intention of hurrying on in advance of their caravan. For the moment
“THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT ” 109 they were a little puzzled, and a trifle disappointed, at their friend’s undue haste to be gone; but on reaching Cape Town the mystery was explained. Oswell had bought a whole new outfit for Mrs Livingstone and the children. Certainly they needed it badly, for their clothes were reduced to rags, and poor Mrs Livingstone would have been hard put to it to face civilised society. Even then, however, she hesitated before accepting such a generous gift. But Oswell assured her that the elephant tusks he had gained during his travels in their company would more than pay for their little outfit. “ Surely,” said he, “ you have a right to a share of the game on your own preserves.”
Another close friend of the Livingstones was William Frederick Webb of Newstead. An old Eton boy (where he had been one of Lord Salisbury’s fags and afterwards captain of the boats), he had given up his commission in the 17th Lancers and had come to Africa in search of sport and adventure. The Livingstones met him on the River Zuga, and afterwards at Koloben, when Mr Webb’s hunting brought him into that district, and a friendship began which lasted during the rest of Livingstone’s life. The natives called him M’tutla (the Giraffe) in allusion to his height. He stood six feet four inches in his socks; and as a mighty hunter his name was known all over Africa. Livingstone often thought that it would be hard to find anywhere two more splendid figures of Englishmen than his two hunter friends, Oswell and Webb.
An incident on one of William Webb’s voyages shows the kind of man he was. When his ship was passing through the Red Sea there was a sudden cry of “ Man overboard! ” and it was discovered that two of the lascars had fallen into the sea.
“ Surely the captain is going to stop the ship? ” was the first query.
“ No,” came the answer, “ not for mere lascars.”
“ Then perhaps they will stop for a passenger,” cried Webb, and in another moment he plunged into the water.
Livingstone and Webb were, in fact, kindred spirits, and when the Doctor returned to England he spent many months with the Webbs at their beautiful home, and wrote there one of his famous books of travel and adventure. During long years of absence from his family, Livingstone always knew that his boys and girls in England had unfailing friends and guardians in those true old fellow-travellers of his, Tlaga and M’tutla—Oswell and Webb.