In vain Livingstone told them
that they would die if they went to so cold a country.
"That is nothing," said one; "let me die at your feet."
He at last decided to take with him Sekwebu, the leader of the party,
to whose good sense, bravery, and tact he owed much of his success.
The sea-waves rose high, as the boat conveyed them to the ship. Sekwebu,
who had never seen a larger body of water than the shallow Lake Ngami,
was terrified.
"Is this the way you go?" he inquired.
"Yes; don't you see it is?" replied Livingstone, encouragingly.
When Livingstone reached his countrymen on the ship he could scarcely speak
his native language; the words would not come at his call.
He had spoken it but little for thirteen years; and for three and a half,
except for a short time at Loanda, not at all.
Sekwebu became a great favorite on shipboard, but he was bewildered
by the crowd of new ideas that rushed upon his mind.
"What a strange country this is," he said, "all water!"
When they reached Mauritius, he became insane, and tried to jump overboard.
Livingstone's wife had, during her visit to their country,
become a great favorite with the Makololo, who called her `Ma Robert'
- "Robert's Mother" - in honor of her young son.
"Come, Sekwebu," said Livingstone, "we are going to Ma Robert."
This struck a chord in his bosom.
"Oh yes," said he; "where is she? Where is Robert?" And for the moment
he seemed to recover.
But in the evening a fresh accession of insanity occurred.
He attempted to spear one of the crew, and then leaped overboard,
and, though he could swim well, pulled himself down, hand over hand,
by the cable. His body was never recovered.
From Mauritius Livingstone sailed for England, which he reached
on the 12th of December, 1856 - four and a half years after he had parted
from his family at Cape Town.
He was received with unwonted honors. The President of
the Royal Geographical Society, at a special meeting held to welcome him,
formally invited him to give to the world a narrative of his travels.
Some knavish booksellers paid him the less acceptable compliment
of putting forth spurious accounts of his adventures, one at least of which
has been republished in this country. Livingstone, so long accustomed
to a life of action, found the preparation of his book a harder task
than he had imagined. "I think," he says, "that I would rather
cross the African continent again than undertake to write another book."
We trust that he will yet do both. He would indeed have set out
on another African journey nearly a year ago to conduct
his faithful Makololo attendants back to their own country,
had not the King of Portugal relieved him from all anxiety on their account,
by sending out directions that they should be supported at Tete
until his return.
