In the Wilds of Africa | Page 2

my duty when there, and my conscience
was at rest on that score. Misfortunes overtook my father's house;
speculations were entered into which proved unsuccessful; and his
long-established and highly-esteemed firm got into inextricable
difficulties. In vain he and his partners struggled to maintain their credit.
The final crash came, and although my mother's marriage settlement
saved the family from penury, he had no capital with which to
recommence business. I was too young to take his place. One of his
partners died broken-hearted, and he had not the energy left to
undertake the onerous duties he would have been called upon to
perform. He and my mother and sisters retired to a modest cottage in
Cheshire; while his boys, of whom I was the third, had to seek their

fortunes in the world. He had done his duty by us. He had given us a
good education, and ever striven to instil into our minds the principles
of true religion and honour. I shall never forget his parting advice when
I started on my first expedition. "Ever trust in God, Andrew," he said.
"Recollect that you were `bought with a price,' and `are not your own.'
You have no business to follow your own fancies, or to gratify any of
the propensities fallen nature possesses, even though we do possess
them, notwithstanding what the devil and the world may say to the
contrary. God has given you a body, but ever remember that he has
given you a mind to regulate that body. To the animals he has given
bodies, and indued them with instincts which we may say are unerring;
whereas man's mind, in consequence of sin, is prone to err; but then
again, in his mercy, he has enabled man to seek for strength from above
to counteract the effects of sin, and so to regulate his mind that it may
properly guide the body. I have no faith in high principles, unless those
high principles are kept in order by a higher influence. Therefore,
Andrew, read your Bible daily for guidance; go daily to the throne of
grace for enlightenment and direction, that you may keep your high
principles bright and ever fit for action. Do not trust your feelings; they
may mislead you. Do not trust the world or your companions; they may
prove faithless monitors or guides. Do not trust, as people say,
`manfully to yourself.' Self often proves treacherous." More to the same
effect my father said. I have given briefly his observations. I did my
best to carry out his counsel; and through it gained the calmness and
courage with which I encountered difficulties and dangers which would
otherwise have appalled and overwhelmed me. I was never addicted to
talking to my companions of myself, or my principles and feelings; and
I sometimes blame myself for not endeavouring more perseveringly to
inculcate on others those principles which I knew to be so true and
valuable. I now mention the subject, because I can say on paper what
my lips have often refused to utter. But I have said enough about
myself.
We had several other passengers on board, who, notwithstanding the
risks which they knew must be encountered on the African coast, had,
for the sake of seeing the country, come on board with the intention of
proceeding on to Cape Town, to which, as I said, we were ultimately

bound. I will mention first Captain Stanley Hyslop, a near relation of
mine, a nephew of my mother's. He was a military officer, and having
sold out of the service, was going to settle in the Cape Colony, where
his parents already were. He was accompanied by two younger brothers.
David was one of the nicest fellows I ever met. He had been educated
as a surgeon, and purposed practising in the country. The youngest,
Leonard, or Leo, as we always called him, was an amusing little chap,
always thinking funny things and saying them, and yet there was a
simplicity about him which was very attractive. He had been sent to
school in England, but being considered somewhat delicate--not,
certainly, that he looked so--it was recommended that he should return
to breathe his native air at the Cape. David was also, I should say, an
enthusiastic naturalist, and the hope of increasing his knowledge at the
places we might visit, had, besides his regard for me, induced him to
take his passage on board the Osprey, just as his brother expected to get
a few days sporting while the brig remained at anchor. I had seen but
little of Stanley, but for David I had always felt a warm regard.
There were, however, two other members of the family, in one of
whom, at all events, I must own I felt still more