Into Africa: The Epic Adventures of Stanley & Livingstone by Martin Dugard

prayed for grace and truth and God’s mercy. The goats died during the first two weeks of 1867. Game was nowhere to be found, and Livingstone took his ‘belt up three holes’ from starvation. ‘I feel always hungry, and am constantly dreaming of better food when I should be sleeping,’ he wrote.
    The rains of January overflowed the rivers and raised the levels of swamps, bringing misery and sickness. The land seemed like one giant marsh. The only foods to forage were mushrooms and leaves, and Africa’s myriad assortment of dangers was everywhere. ‘Sitting down this morning near a tree my head was just one yard from agood sized cobra, coiled up in the sprouts of its roots,’ Livingstone wrote. ‘A very little puff adder lay in the path.’
    The twentieth of January 1867, however, brought the blow that sent Livingstone reeling. In a carefully planned escape, two more porters deserted, stealing as much of the expedition’s supplies as they could carry. The theft was devastating. ‘They left us in a forest and heavy rain came on, which obliterated every vestige of their footsteps. To make the loss the more galling they took what we could least spare — the medicine box, which they would only throw away when they came to examine their booty,’ Livingstone wrote. ‘The forest was so dense and high there was no chance of getting a glimpse of the fugitives, who took all the dishes, a large box of powder, the flour we had purchased dearly to help us as far as the Chambeze, the tools, two guns, and a cartridge pouch. But the medicine chest was the sorest loss of all. I felt as if I had now received the death sentence.’
    Livingstone struggled to find God’s presence in the loss. Instead of diminishing his faith, or leading him away from Christianity towards African beliefs in ancestor worship and witchcraft, the explorer’s years in Africa had deepened and transformed his Christian faith. It was his habit each Sunday to read the Church of England service aloud, but otherwise he set aside organized religion in favour of a more personal relationship with God. In the manner of King David probing God’s nature through the Psalms, so Livingstone undertook a series of one-to-one conversations with God in his prayers and journal. He sought God’s presence in all things, in good times and bad, speaking and writing words that came from the heart. Even in the furthest reaches of Africa he prayed on his knees at night and read his Bible daily. So when the precious medicines that protected him from malaria were stolen, Livingstone began a rambling discussion with God, wondering how he was going to survive without those vital supplies. ‘Everything of this kind happens by the permission of One who watches over uswith most tender care, and this may turn out for the best,’ he wrote. ‘It is difficult to say “Thy will be done,” but I shall try.’
    He concluded his prayer, though, with an admission that worry was threatening to supersede his faith. ‘This loss of the medicine box’, he wrote, ‘gnaws at my heart terribly.’
    Despite his fears, Livingstone placed his trust in God. Instead of turning back to race for the safety of the coast, he resumed his search for the Source. He pushed on as the trail entered thick woods and chin-deep swamps. He looked for God’s hand in the loss of his medicines, and prayed for the strength to prevail. Livingstone was in a land of empty silence, gloom and thick air. Blood-sucking leeches crawled down his clothing, into his shoes, attached themselves to his genitals. Their s-shaped, black-and-blue bruise marred his body for days after he’d picked them off ‘with a smart slap of the palm’. For food, Livingstone ate rats. Travelling in heavy daily rain, through a land of ‘dripping forests and oozing bogs’, he found himself almost destitute. It was a testimony to their loyalty that Chuma, Susi and the small handful of porters remained at Livingstone’s side.
    Then, just when