_Facing Spears and Arrows_
Only the sing-song chant of the Africans as they swung their paddles,
and the frightened shriek of a glittering parrot, broke the stillness
as the boat pushed northward against the river current.
The paddles flashed again, and as the boat came round a curve in the
river they were faced by a sight that made every man sit, paddle in
hand, motionless with horror. The bank facing them in the next curve
of the river was black with men. The ranks of savages bristled with
spears and arrows. A chief yelled to them to turn back. Then a cloud
of arrows flew over the boat.
"Go on," said Livingstone quietly to the Africans. Their paddles took
the water and the boat leapt toward the savage semi-circle on the
bank. The water was shallower now. Before any one realised what was
happening Livingstone had swung over the edge of the boat and, up to
his waist in water, was wading ashore with his arms above his head.
"It is peace!" he called out, and waded on toward the barbs of a
hundred arrows and spears. The men in the boat sat breathless, waiting
to see their leader fall with a score of spears through his body.
But the savages on the bank were transfixed with amazement at
Livingstone's sheer audacity. Awed by something god-like in this
unflinching and unarmed courage, no finger let fly a single arrow.
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