Although Mansong refused to admit our traveller into his presence, and seemed at first to neglect him, it soon appeared that this conduct did not arise from any churlish or inhospitable feelings; for while he persisted in his refusal to see him, and signified his pleasure that he should forthwith depart from the city, he sent him a present of five thousand cowries and a guide to Sansanding. Park immediately obeyed the royal command, and learned from the conversation of his guide on the way, that the king’s motives for thus dismissing him without an audience were at once prudent and liberal, since he feared that by the least show of favour he should excite the jealousy and envy of the Moorish inhabitants, from whose inveterate malice he might be unable to protect him.
With this guide he proceeded to Sansanding, where he was hospitably received by the dooty, and would, as the king’s stranger, have enjoyed much quiet and consideration, had he not had the misfortune to meet with some of his old enemies the Moors, who insisted on conducting him to the mosque, and converting him into a Mohammedan at once. However, the dooty, by exerting his authority, freed him from these fanatics, and ordered a sheep to be killed, and part of it dressed for his supper. “About midnight, when the Moors had left me,” says Park, “he paid me a visit, and with much earnestness desired me to write him a saphie. ‘If a Moor’s saphie is good,’ said this hospitable old man, ‘a white man’s must needs be better.’ I readily furnished him with one possessed of all the virtues I could concentrate, for it contained the Lord’s Prayer. The pen with which it was written was made of a reed, a little charcoal and gum-water made very tolerable ink, and a thin board answered the purpose of paper.”
From Sansanding he departed early in the morning, before the Moors were stirring. The road now lay through the woods, and the guide, who understood the dangers of the way, moved forward with the greatest circumspection, frequently stopping and looking under the bushes. Upon observing this, Park inquired the reason, and was told that lions were very plentiful in that part of the country, and very often attacked travellers in the woods. While they were conversing on this subject Park discovered a camelopard at a little distance, the fore-legs of which, from a hasty glance, appeared much longer than the hinder. “Shortly after this,” says he, “as we were crossing a large open plain where there were a few scattered bushes, my guide, who was a little way before me, wheeled his horse round in a moment, calling out something in the Foulah language which I did not understand. I inquired in Mandingo what he meant. ‘Wara billi billi’ (a very large lion)! said he, and made signs for me to ride away. But my horse was too much fatigued; so we rode slowly past the bush from which the animal had given us the alarm. Not seeing any thing myself, however, I thought my guide had been mistaken, when the Foulah suddenly put his hand to his mouth, exclaiming, ‘Soubah an alluhi’ (God preserve us)! and to my great surprise I then perceived a large red lion at a short distance from the bush, with his head couched between his fore-paws. I expected he would instantly spring upon me, and instinctively pulled my feet from my stirrups to throw myself on the ground, that my horse might become the victim rather than myself. But it is probable the lion was not hungry; for he quietly suffered us to pass, though we were fairly within his reach.”
About sunset they arrived at Moodiboo, “a delightful village on the banks of the Niger, commanding a view of the river for many miles, both to the east and west. The small green islands, the peaceful retreat of some industrious Foulahs, whose cattle were here secure from the attacks of wild beasts, and the majestic breadth of the river, which is here much larger than at Sego, render the situation one of the most enchanting in the world.” Park was now so worn out with fatigue and suffering, that his landlord, fearing he might die in his house, hurried him away, though he was scarcely able to walk, and his horse still less able to carry him. In fact, they had not proceeded far before the poor beast fell down, and could no more be made to rise; so that, taking off his saddle and bridle, our traveller with extreme reluctance abandoned him to his fate, and began to toil along on foot after his guide. In this way they reached Kea, a small fishing-village on the Niger, where Park embarked in a fisherman’s canoe which was going down the stream, while the guide returned to Sego.
In this canoe our traveller reached Moorzan, whence he was conveyed across the river to Silla, a large town on the opposite shore. It was with great difficulty that he here obtained admission into the strangers’ room of the dooty’s house, a damp, uncomfortable place, where he had a severe paroxysm of fever during the night. Here his resolution and energy, of which no traveller ever possessed a larger share, began at length to fail. No hope of success remained. He therefore, with extreme sorrow and anguish of mind, determined on returning whence he had come; but let me lay before the reader his own simple and manly account of the matter, which cannot fail to impress even the most insensible with veneration for a degree of courage and intrepidity amounting to heroism. “Worn down by sickness, exhausted by hunger and fatigue, half-naked, and without any article of value by which I might procure provisions, clothes, or lodging, I began,” says Park, “to reflect seriously on my situation. I was now convinced by painful experience that the obstacles to my further progress were insurmountable. The tropical rains had already set in with all their violence; the rice-grounds and swamps were already overflowed; and in a few days more travelling of every kind except by water would be completely obstructed. The cowries which remained of the King of Bambarra’s present were not sufficient to hire a canoe for any great distance; and I had but little hopes of subsisting by charity in a country where the Moors have such influence. But, above all, I perceived I was advancing more and more within the power of those merciless fanatics; and from my reception both at Sego and Sansanding, I was apprehensive that, in attempting to reach even Jeuné (unless under the protection of some man of consequence among them, which I had no means of obtaining), I should sacrifice my life to no purpose; for my discoveries would perish with me. The prospect either way was gloomy. In returning to the Gambia, a journey on foot of many hundred miles presented itself to my contemplation, through regions and countries unknown. Nevertheless, this seemed to be the only alternative; for I saw inevitable destruction in attempting to proceed to the eastward. With this conviction on my mind, I hope my readers will acknowledge I did right in going no farther. I had made every exertion to execute my mission in its fullest extent which prudence could justify. Had there been the most distant prospect of a successful termination, neither the unavoidable hardships of the journey nor the dangers of a second captivity should have forced me to desist. This, however, necessity compelled me to do.”
When he had come to this resolution, he thought it incumbent upon him before he left Silla to collect whatever information might be within his reach respecting the further course of the Niger, and the situation and extent of the various kingdoms in its vicinity. Subsequent travellers have solved the problem, the honour of explaining which was denied to Park. We now know that this great river, after having flowed to a considerable distance eastward of Timbuctoo, makes a bend or elbow like the Burrampooter, and, after pursuing a south-westerly course, falls into the Atlantic Ocean on the coast of Benin.
On the 30th of July our traveller commenced his return westward, by the same route through which he had reached Silla. In a few days he recovered his horse, which had in some measure regained its strength, though it was still too weak to be ridden. The rainy season having now set in, the whole of the plain country was quickly inundated; so that our traveller was often in danger of losing his way while traversing savannahs many miles in extent, knee-deep in water. In several places he waded breast-deep across the swamps. The huts of the villages in which he passed the night, being undermined or softened by the rain, often fell in; and the noise of their fall sometimes kept him awake, expecting that his own might be the next. His situation was now even worse than during his progress eastward. A report had been widely circulated that he was a spy, in consequence of which he was in some places civilly refused admittance into the towns, in others repulsed from the gates with violence; so that he now appeared inevitably doomed to perish of hunger. However, when the fatal hour seemed at hand, some charitable being always appeared with a poor but seasonable supply, such, perhaps, as a little raw corn, which prolonged his life, and supplied him with strength to achieve his memorable journey. “On the evening of the 15th of August I arrived,” says Park, “at a small village called Song, the surly inhabitants of which would not receive me, nor so much as permit me to enter the gate; but as lions were very numerous in this neighbourhood, and I had frequently in the course of the day seen the impression of their feet upon the road, I resolved to stay in the vicinity of the village. Having collected some grass for my horse, I accordingly laid down under a tree by the gate. About ten o’clock I heard the hollow roar of a lion at no great distance, and attempted to open the gate; but the people from within told me that no person must attempt to enter the gate without the dooty’s permission. I begged them to inform the dooty that a lion was approaching the village, and I hoped he would allow me to come within the gate. I waited for an answer to this message with great anxiety; for the lion kept prowling round the village, and once advanced so very near me that I heard him rustling among the grass, and climbed the tree for safety. About midnight the dooty with some of his people opened the gate, and desired me to come in. They were convinced, they said, I was not a Moor; for no Moor ever waited any time at the gate of a village without cursing the inhabitants.”
The history of this journey now becomes nothing more than a repetition of similar sufferings. Hunger, fatigue, and depression of spirits attack the traveller by turns. Nothing, however, subdues his courage. Obstacle after obstacle yields to his persevering intrepidity, and he pushes forward with invincible ardour towards the coast. In one place, at the request of a native who had grown opulent by industrious application to commerce, he wrote charms for a good supper; and, finding the contrivance productive, continued the practice next day for small presents of various kinds. On other occasions, where superstition did not come to his aid, humanity interposed, and snatched him from starvation. At Bammakoo he was hospitably treated, even by a Moor, who, having travelled to Rio Grande, had conversed with Christians, and conceived a favourable idea of their character. The rains had now increased the Niger to a vast size, and rendered impassable almost every road; but, as our traveller’s finances had long been exhausted, he found himself compelled to proceed, the charity of the natives not extending so far as to the maintaining of a stranger for several months. The ordinary roads being obstructed by the rains, the only practicable route, wild, dreary, and desolate, lay over steril rocky mountains, over which, it was feared, a horse could not pass.
Finding that a singing-man was about to proceed by this road to Sibidooloo, Park placed himself under his guidance, and quitted Bammakoo. He had not proceeded far, however, before his companion, finding that he had taken the wrong path, escaped among the rocks, and left him to find his way how he might. He soon arrived at a village, where he was entertained with hospitality, and where he passed the night. Next day, as he was quietly pursuing his course, a troop of peasants presented themselves, whom he at first took for elephant-hunters, but who very shortly proved themselves to be banditti. Pretending to arrest him in the name of the King of the Foulahs, they commanded him to follow them, until, having reached a dark lonely part of a wood, one of them exclaimed in the Mandingo language, “This place will do!” and immediately snatched his hat from his head. “Though I was by no means free from apprehension,” says Park, “yet I was resolved to show as few signs of fear as possible; and therefore told them, that unless my hat was returned to me I should proceed no farther. But before I had time to receive an answer another drew a knife, and, seizing upon a metal button which remained upon my waistcoat, cut it off, and put it into his pocket. Their intentions were now obvious; and I thought that the easier they were permitted to rob me of every thing the less I had to fear. I therefore allowed them to search my pockets without resistance, and examine every part of my apparel, which they did with the most scrupulous exactness. But, observing that I had one waistcoat under another, they insisted that I should cast them both off; and at last, to make sure work, stripped me quite naked. Even my half-boots, though the sole of one of them was tied on to my foot with a broken bridle-rein, were minutely inspected. While they were examining the plunder, I begged them with great earnestness to return my pocket-compass; but when I pointed it out to them, as it was lying on the ground, one of the banditti, thinking I was about to take it up, cocked his musket, and swore he would lay me dead upon the spot if I presumed to put my hand upon it. After this, some of them went away with my horse, and the remainder stood considering whether they should leave me quite naked, or allow me something to shelter me from the sun. Humanity at last prevailed; they returned me the worst of the two shirts and a pair of trousers; and, as they went away, one of them threw back my hat, in the crown of which I kept my memorandums; and this was probably the reason why they did not wish to keep it.”
This was the most terrible misfortune that had hitherto befallen him, and at first, his mind appeared to sink under the united influence of grief and terror. For a while he sat in sullen dejection, half-persuaded that he had no alternative but to lie down and perish. Presently, however, thoughts of religion, and a reliance upon Providence, succeeding this extreme dejection, his mind gradually regained its fervent tone:—