“David. David. Come here. I’ve got something to show you,” Charles’s voice rang out through the hills.
David looked up from his botany book and frowned. The sun was far to the west—an hour or more must have passed since he had started reading. David scrambled to his feet. “Coming,” he yelled, tucking the book under his arm.
“Look what I found,” Charles proudly yelled as David came closer, his chubby little finger pointing at the ground.
David followed his brother’s finger. Charles was pointing to a tiny skeleton about the size of a mouse.
“What is it?” Charles asked.
“I don’t know yet,” replied David, bending down for a closer look. “Let’s see. Is it a bird or an animal?” he asked, turning to his little brother.
Charles shrugged. “How can we tell?” he inquired.
“Well,” said David, “let’s think of something a bird has that say a mouse doesn’t. Then we’ll look and see if those bones are there.”
“Wings,” Charles shot back proudly. “Mice don’t have wings!”
“That’s a good start,” replied David. “Now let’s see if we can see any wing bones.”
The three boys examined the skeleton and came to the conclusion that indeed it did have wing bones and so must be the skeleton of a small bird, though David could not tell exactly what kind of bird.
“I’m going to find another skeleton,” yelled Charles as he raced off.
David smiled. He dared not tell Charles that what they’d just done was “science.” There was so much science to be done in the world, and it seemed a great pity to David that it was so unchristian to think about it and pursue it.
The afternoon sped by, and before long, the brothers were racing down the hill towards Shuttle Row. Their father had a strict rule on Sunday that anyone who came home after sundown had to spend the night sleeping outside on the doorstep. Since all three boys had endured this hardship more than once, they were eager to be on time. When they got back, Grandpa Livingstone was still telling stories and drinking tea.
“They’re home. The boys are home, Ma,” squealed seven-year-old Janet, in obvious delight that her brothers were back.
David patted Janet on the head and tickled baby Agnes.
“Take off your coats, and I’ll pour you a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Livingstone, reaching for the huge copper teapot that hung over the hearth. She poured three cups of the hot brew and stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into each one. She handed a cup to each of her three sons.
David took a deep whiff of the tea. “Is this the new blend?” he asked his father.
“Yes,” Mr. Livingstone replied. “I think I like it.”
David took a sip. “Me too,” he said.
Mr. Livingstone smiled. “I have three sacks of it, so I hope it sells well.”
David nodded. He understood how important it was for his father to choose popular blends of tea. Mr. Livingstone was a tea peddler. He bought sacks of tea from a wagon that came through from Glasgow, repackaged them into small bags, and walked the length and breadth of Lanarkshire selling them door to door. Although this did not produce much money for his growing family, it did allow him to do the one thing he loved most of all. Wherever he went, Mr. Livingstone talked about God, prayed for people, and gave away hundreds of Christian tracts. When he got home each night, he would tell the children all about the adventures of his day. To children who spent fourteen hours a day in a hot, stuffy mill, they were the most exciting stories they had ever heard.
The following morning, David rose with the rest of the family at five o’clock. (The single room they all shared made it impossible for anyone to sleep late.) It was the start of another long week at the mill. After eating their bowls of porridge, David and John walked to the mill together, joining the throng of other youngsters headed there. As they walked, David looked at the other children. They all had so much in common. They were all poor and had been sent to work at a young age to help their parents pay the rent on the single-room apartments they lived in. David wondered whether this was the life he would always lead. Would he grow up and marry one of the girls from the mill? Would his children walk the same street to work in the same mill? David could see his life stretched out in front of him like the continuous reams of cotton he watched over each day. It was a life of working six days a week, attending church on Sunday, and snatching time to read whenever he could.
Never in his wildest imagination could David Livingstone have dreamed how different his life was destined to be.
Chapter 3
Rotten Row
Science or religion? The choice had haunted David Livingstone for eight years now. David wanted to become a Christian, but so many wonderful scientific discoveries were taking place in the world that it was hard for him to think of turning his back on them to give his life to God.
David constantly puzzled over the dilemma before him, until 1832, when a book came to his rescue. Philosophy of a Future State by Dr. Dick was loaned to David by the Reverend Moir, pastor of the Congregational Church the Livingstone family attended. Although the title of the book did not sound exciting, the book’s contents grabbed David’s attention from the start. Dr. Dick was a thoroughly Christian man, and in the book he argued that God was a scientific designer and that the diligent study of biology, botany, chemistry, and astronomy would draw the student closer to God. According to Dr. Dick, who was himself a famous Scottish astronomer, a person could pursue both God and science. The two could go together! David was stunned. This was exactly what he had thought, but he’d never found any evidence that others agreed with him. Now he was free to become a Christian without having to reject science and a knowledge of the natural world around him.
After praying and asking God to guide his life, David was still a little unsure how to go about telling his father that he wanted to pursue science and that it wasn’t an evil thing to know about the insides of the body or the reason why the stars crossed the night sky.
Thankfully, something happened that changed David’s father’s mind. At church, the Reverend Moir read a long letter, entitled To the Churches of Britain and America on Behalf of China, to the congregation from a Dr. Charles Gutzlaff. In the letter Dr. Gutzlaff told of the tremendous need for missionaries in China and recommended medical training as the best kind of training for a missionary. As a doctor, a missionary could speak to the people about God while healing them physically. As David sat next to his father listening to the letter being read aloud, his heart raced. Here was a missionary suggesting that a man get medical training, scientific training, before going to the mission field! Here, at last, was a reason why a Christian should learn about science.
As the family walked the three miles home from church that morning, David and his father fell into step together. “So what did you think of Dr. Gutzlaff’s letter?” David asked nervously, afraid his father would disagree wholeheartedly with it.
“Fascinating, fascinating,” replied Mr. Livingstone. “Perhaps I’ve been a little harsh in regard to learning about science. If science can open a Chinese man’s heart to God, it must have some merit after all.”
David could hardly believe what he was hearing. Did his father mean it? He had to know. “So you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a few books about medicine to read?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.
His father walked in silence for several minutes. “No, lad,” he finally said, and then added, “but I don’t know what good it will do you working in the mill and all.”
Mixed emotions surged through David. On the one hand, his father was giving him permission to pursue science. On the other hand, it was true—he worked at the mill for fourteen hours a day. He was nineteen years old, he still lived at home, and nearly every penny he earned went towards paying the rent for the family apartment and funding the three younger children’s education. David only wished he could have had the same chance at education as his younger siblings, but it was too late now. Still, somehow, he assured himself, he was going to become a medical missionary.
When he told his grandfather of his plans, Grandpa Livingstone tried to sound enthusiastic. Deep down, though, David knew he was worried about any of his grandchildren leaving Blantyre. Grandpa Livingstone had had five sons. Three of them had gone off to fight in the Napoleonic wars and had never returned. A fourth son, a clerk in Glasgow, had been captured by a press gang and taken aboard a British navy ship, where he had been forced to work until he died on board several months later when the ship was in the Mediterranean Sea. Neil Livingstone, David’s father, was the only one of the five sons left alive. Grandpa Livingstone had good reason to fear his grandchildren’s leaving the village where they had been born and raised.
Still, the more David thought and prayed about it, the more he felt God was calling him to be a medical missionary. As outrageous as it seemed, the idea would not go away. David discussed it with his pastor and his parents. Although they all thought he had the intelligence to be a doctor and the determination and faith to be a missionary, all three of them shook their heads and told David there was no practical way it would happen. David, however, would not give up. The tiny seed that had been planted in him when he heard Dr. Gutzlaff’s letter had grown within him. David knew he would burst if he did not find a way to go to medical school.
One night David sat on his bed in the family’s one-room apartment while his sisters Janet and Agnes sat at the table. Thirteen-year-old Janet was playing schoolteacher, quizzing eight-year-old Agnes on English grammar rules for a test at school the next day. As the two girls worked away, David wrote some numbers on a scrap of paper. He looked at them. Twelve pounds. It would cost twelve pounds to attend Anderson College in Glasgow for a term. Anderson College was the least expensive college David had been able to find that offered courses in basic medicine. David would need another twelve pounds for lodging, food, and books. The numbers he had written down revealed the depressing truth. David now made five shillings a week working as a spinner in the mill. Since there were twenty shillings in a pound, he earned one pound a month. He ran his hands over his face. If he saved every penny he earned, it would take him an entire year to have enough money to pay for one term of college. But of course, he could not do that. He had to buy his own clothes and help pay for both the rent and Charles, Janet, and Agnes’s schooling. On top of that, he helped to buy food for the family and gave generously to the church. He jotted down some more calculations. Three years. If he saved every extra penny he could, in three years he would have enough money saved to attend medical school for one term. By then he would be twenty-three years old.
David looked up from his calculations. They were not discouraging; rather, they gave him hope. It could be done. It might take a while, but with some determination and hard work, he would go to medical school and then on to China as a missionary. He had made up his mind. Nothing was going to stop him now!
When David told his parents of his plans, they doubted he could save that much money. Surely, they argued, he would change his mind before three years were up. Some girl would come along, and like his older brother John, he would settle down with a wife to raise a family right in Blantyre. But David was determined, and in November 1836, he had finally saved enough money to go to Anderson College. Not only that, he had not had a single girlfriend in the entire three years for fear the temptation to get married would stop him from reaching his goal.
It was a cold, snowy morning when David and his father set out together on the eight-mile walk to Glasgow. Between them they carried everything David would need for five months: a change of clothes, several hand-sewn notebooks, a plate and cup, a bone spoon, and a woolen blanket. In his pocket David had twenty pounds and the addresses of some cheap boarding houses where a friend had told him he might be able to rent a room.
