Livingston’s Saga: Part 2 - The Wild Takes Hold

Livingston’s Saga: Part 2 - The Wild Takes Hold

By Wild Frontier Society | February 27, 2025

Welcome back to Expedition Chronicles, where the untamed calls and legends breathe. At Wild Frontier Society, we’re tracing David Livingstone’s epic journey through Africa’s wild soul. In Part 1 - Into the Unknown, we left him among the Bakhatla, restless and dreaming of uncharted rivers. Now, in Part 2 - The Wild Takes Hold, we follow him as he cuts deeper—facing beasts, fevers, and a land that tests every ounce of his fire.

Beyond the Outpost

By late 1841, Livingstone was itching to break free of Kuruman’s dusty edges. The Bakhatla had welcomed him—listening to sermons, letting him mend their wounds—but he wasn’t built to stay still. Africa’s interior tugged at him, a vast riddle of jungles and plains. In early 1842, he pushed north again, this time to the Bakwains, a tribe led by Chief Sechele. His journal hums with the leap:

“Feb. 1st, 1842. Left for the Bakwains. The wagons jolt over rough ground, the air thick with dust. I feel the thrill of moving toward the unknown—God’s hand guides me still.”

He settled at Mabotsa, a wilder stretch 200 miles north of Kuruman. There, he built a mission—mud walls, thatched roof—and threw himself into the work: preaching, doctoring, learning. But the wild wasn’t tame. Lions prowled close, their roars splitting the night. Livingstone didn’t blink.

The Lion’s Jaws

Mabotsa tested him in ways books couldn’t teach. In 1844, a lion struck, tearing into livestock and threatening the Bakwains. Livingstone grabbed a musket and faced it down—a reckless move that nearly ended him. The beast charged, crushing his left arm in its jaws before a bullet dropped it. His account chills the blood:

“The lion caught me by the shoulder as I fired. He shook me as a terrier does a rat. The shock dulled the pain—then came the crunch of bone. I thought it was over, yet I lived.”

That shattered arm never fully healed, a jagged scar he’d carry for life. But it didn’t stop him. If anything, it stoked his fire. He patched himself up, leaned on his faith, and kept pushing. The Bakwains saw a man who’d stare down death—and they listened harder.

Fever and Horizons

The wild wasn’t just claws; it was sickness too. Malaria crept in, a fever that burned through him in waves. He fought it with quinine and grit, scribbling in delirium:

“June 1844. Fever lays me low, but I cannot rest. The country beyond calls—rivers flow there, unseen by white eyes. I must see them.”

That call grew louder. From Mabotsa, he heard tales of a great river—the Zambezi—snaking through the interior. Natives spoke of it with awe, a lifeline cutting through jungle and savanna. Livingstone’s heart raced. He wasn’t just a missionary now; he was a seeker, dreaming of paths no European had trod. His restless spirit spilled onto the page:

“The interior is a sealed book—slavery its curse, ignorance its veil. I long to open it, to trace those waters to their source.”

A Man Forged

Livingstone was changing. The wild was carving him—stubbornness hardening into resolve, faith deepening into something fiercer. He married Mary Moffat in 1845, binding himself to Africa’s soil, but even family couldn’t anchor him. He hated slavery’s stain more each day, vowing in his writings:

“The slave trade is a monster—I’ll fight it with every breath. Commerce and Christianity must replace it.”

Mabotsa was a crucible, not a destination. The river’s whisper was pulling him on. In Part 3, we’ll chase Livingstone as he abandons the mission posts, chasing the Zambezi’s roar into Africa’s beating heart. Stay with Wild Frontier Society as his saga burns brighter.