William Cotton Oswell, hunter and explorer; the story of his life, with certain correspondence and extracts from the private journal of David Livingstone, hitherto unpublished; . to the correspondence and dictated answersfar into the night. Not until the last letter was finisheddid he succumb. He soon rallied again, but his system was so saturatedwith the virus that he was liable to constant last he acquiesced in the wisdom of the urgent advice,tendered on all sides, that he should for a time abandonall idea of the visit to England to which he had so eagerlylooked forward, and t
William Cotton Oswell, hunter and explorer; the story of his life, with certain correspondence and extracts from the private journal of David Livingstone, hitherto unpublished; . to the correspondence and dictated answersfar into the night. Not until the last letter was finisheddid he succumb. He soon rallied again, but his system was so saturatedwith the virus that he was liable to constant last he acquiesced in the wisdom of the urgent advice,tendered on all sides, that he should for a time abandonall idea of the visit to England to which he had so eagerlylooked forward, and try whether Africa would restore hishealth as completely as it had that of many of his Indianfriends. 96 WILLIAM COTTON OSWELL In February, 1844, he broke his decision to his task he had to perform was a difficult one ; on theone hand he dared not say how very near death he hadbeen or how ill he still was ; on the other, he could notallow his patient, devoted mother to imagine he hadlightly rejected an opportunity of seeing her, after sevenyears separation. He anxiously awaited her acknow-ledgment of his announcement, writing meanwhile hisusual monthly PROPPED UP IN HIS BED AT THE DOOR OF HIS TENT. COLLEGAL, My dearest Mother, ^«^^^^ 20, 1844. Do you remember my present place of abode ? Iam out in my tabernacles for the collection etc. of JohnCompanys money, and have pretty nearly as much troublein raising the wind, metaphorically, as the wind appearsto have in raising itself litei^ally. That It is more blessedto give than to receive is not translatable into any Indianlanguage. Ive been away from Coimbatoor nearly six INDIA 97 weeks and dont expect to be back until that period hasagain elapsed. . Anything more beautiful than thetints cast upon the hills by the rising and setting sun, andthe way in which the green jungle is thrown out, cannotbe imagined; it is something that people in Englandwould go miles to see, and such as even I, accustomed asI am to bea
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