These instructions are very notable, and perhaps one may read between the lines some anxiety, and even apprehension, for he knew that the success of the expedition no longer entirely rested on himself, and might be marred by ill-advised and unchristian action on the part of any single member. It was well that he could not forecast the future. The years that were to elapse until his return to England in 1864 were in many respects tragic years. They were years of accumulated disappointments, bereavements, failures and rebuffs, faced with courage and borne with resignation, but none the less leaving upon his life the shadow of great and crushing sorrow which never wholly lifted. The course of the “Pearl” was down the West Coast of Africa; and the first bitter disappointment was when his wife and son had to be left behind at Cape Town owing to ill-health. Fortunately, Dr. and Mrs. Moffat had journeyed down country to meet them, and took their daughter and her boy back to Kuruman. But “it was bitter parting with my wife--like tearing the heart out of one.” Livingstone was fated to do his work in loneliness. The “Pearl” reached the mouth of the Zambesi on May 14th, 1858. She was anchored in the “mangrove swamps,” a deadly place for fever, and Livingstone insisted on the small launch, “Ma Robert,” being fitted together immediately, for he feared the consequences to the newcomers if they did not speedily get away to a healthier locality. This meant working on Sunday, for which if life can be saved there is sound Scripture warrant; but the order created no small criticism. “It is a pity,” writes Livingstone, “that some people cannot see that the true and honest discharge of every-day life is divine service.” The next trial was in the resignation of the naval officer, a matter in regard to which Livingstone was fully exonerated by the Foreign Office, but which none the less brought home to him the difficulties of his new position. Instead of waiting for a new officer, Livingstone proceeded to run the ship himself. “It was imagined we could not help ourselves,” he wrote later, “but I took the task of navigating on myself, and have conducted the steamer over 1,600 miles, though as far as my likings go I would as soon drive a cab in November fogs in London as be ‘skipper’ in this hot sun; but I shall go through with it as a duty.”