"It is easier to guess than to describe the situation of my mind at that moment—standing in that spot which had baffled the genius, industry, and inquiry of both ancients and moderns for the course of near three thousand years! Kings had attempted this discovery at the head of armies, and each expedition was distinguished from the last only by the difference of the numbers which had perished, and agreed alone in the disappointment which had uniformly and without exception followed them all. Fame, riches, and honour had been held out for a series of ages to every individual of those myriads these princes commanded, without having produced one man capable of gratifying the curiosity of his sovereign, or wiping off this stain upon the enterprise and abilities of mankind, or adding this desideratum for the encouragement of geography. Though a mere private Briton, I triumphed here, in my own mind, over kings and their armies! and every comparison was leading nearer and nearer to presumption, when the place itself where I stood, the object of my vainglory, suggested what depressed my short-lived triumph. I was but a few minutes arrived at the sources of the Nile, through numberless dangers and sufferings, the least of which would have overwhelmed me but for the continual goodness and protection of Providence. I was, however, but then half through my journey, and all those dangers which I had already passed awaited me again on my return: I found a despondency gaining ground fast upon me, and blasting the crown of laurels I had too rashly woven for myself."
There is nothing which stamps authenticity more strongly upon Bruce's narrative than the artless simplicity with which he writes; and it is only justice to infer, that he, who so honestly expresses what he feels, must be equally faithful in relating what he sees; for how many more inducements have we to conceal the truth in the one case than in the other! To describe what we see is an easy and no unpleasing task; but to unbosom our feelings is almost always to expose our weakness! But Bruce has no concealments; and his thoughts and sentiments, whatever they are, are always frankly thrown before his reader. How very natural are his feelings on reaching the fountains of the Nile, and what a serious moral do they offer! For a few moments he riots in the extravagance of his triumph, exulting that a Briton had done what kings and armies had been unable to accomplish; and yet he suddenly finds himself overpowered with a melancholy which, at such a moment, might first appear even more singular than any of the very extraordinary scenes which he had previously described; still, as the artless child of nature, how much real cause had he for such feelings! It may appear strange that Bruce should dread, on his return, dangers which, in advancing, he had so carelessly and daringly encountered; but he had then his object to gain: the inestimable prize was before him, to his ardent imagination decked with ten thousand charms, and beckoning to him to advance: when, however, he had reached the goal, he suddenly awoke as from a dream—the vision now vanishes—nothing remains before him but "a hillock of green sod;" and then, with Byron, he is ready to exclaim,
"The lovely toy, so keenly sought,
Has lost its charms by being caught."
The Nile was no more an object of anxious curiosity. Bruce had no longer to fly towards its source on the light wings of expectation; but, like the bee laden with its honey, he must now carry his burden to his distant hive; and, thus freighted, his shattered frame worn by fatigue, exhausted by a burning sun, and no longer supported by the excitement of his mind, he naturally trembled at the dangers which threatened to intercept him.
The texture of the human mind is so delicately fine, that it is often affected by causes which to the judgment are imperceptible; and, although Bruce does not declare it, yet it is not improbable that his melancholy sprang mainly from the thought, how little, after all, his discovery was worth the trouble it had cost him. It had, it was true, "baffled the genius, industry, and inquiry of both ancients and moderns for near three thousand years," and it was equally true that "a mere private Briton had triumphed over kings and their armies;" but, after all, did the source of the Nile, in the great scheme of creation, rank as an object worthy of so much attention? What proportion did a puny rill, that might flow through a pipe of two inches in diameter, bear to that vast rolling mass of waters which gave fertility to Egypt? And again, Was the "hillock of green sod before him" actually the source of that immense river, or did it only nourish one of the innumerable streams which fed the "father of waters?" In short, had not human curiosity been pushed too far, and had it made any other discovery than of its own weakness?
Bruce, drooping, bending in despondency over the fountains of the Nile, forms a striking picture, strongly exemplifying the practical difference between moral and religious exertions; for although, among men, he had gained his prize, it may justly be asked, What was it worth? The course of a river is like the history of a man's life, and all of it that is useful is worth knowing; but the source of the one is as the birth of the other, and "the hillock of green sod" is the "infant mewling and puking in its nurse's arms."
Bruce, however, soon recovered from his despondency, though he could not reason it away; and he says, "I resolved, therefore, to divert it till I could, on more solid reflection, overcome its progress. I saw Strates expecting me on the side of the hill. 'Strates,' said I, 'faithful squire! come and triumph with your Don Quixote at that island of Barataria to which we have most wisely and fortunately brought ourselves! Come and triumph with me over all the kings of the earth, all their armies, all their philosophers, and all their heroes!' 'Sir,' says Strates, 'I do not understand a word of what you say, and as little what you mean: you very well know I am no scholar. But you had much better leave that bog: come into the house, and look after Woldo; I fear he has something farther to seek than your sash, for he has been talking with the old devil-worshipper ever since we arrived.' 'Come,' said I, 'take a draught of this excellent water, and drink with me a health to his majesty King George III., and a long line of princes.' I had in my hand a large cup, made of a cocoanut shell, which I procured in Arabia, and which was brimful.[31] He drank to the king speedily and cheerfully, with the addition of 'confusion to his enemies,' and tossed up his cap with a loud huzza. 'Now, friend,' said I, 'here is to a more humble, but still a sacred name; here is to—Maria!'[32]. He asked if that was the Virgin Mary. I answered, 'In faith, I believe so, Strates.' He did not speak, but only gave a humph of disapprobation. 'Come, come,' said I, 'don't be peevish; I have but one toast more to drink.' 'Peevish or not peevish,' replied Strates, 'a drop of it shall never again cross my throat: there is no humour in this—no joke. Show us something pleasant, as you used to do; but there is no jest in meddling with devil-worshippers, witchcraft, and enchantments, to bring some disease upon one's self here, so far from home, in the fields. No, no; as many toasts in wine as you please, or better in brandy, but no more water for Strates.'"
A number of the Agows had appeared upon the hill just before the valley, in silent astonishment at what Strates and Bruce could possibly be doing at the altar. Two or three, who came down to the edge of the swamp, had seen the grimaces and action of Strates; on which they asked Woldo, as he entered into the village, what was the meaning of all this? Woldo told them that the man was only out of his senses, having been bitten by a mad dog; with which they were perfectly satisfied, observing that he would be infallibly cured by the Nile, but that the proper mode of effecting the cure was to drink the water in the morning, fasting. "I was very well pleased," says Bruce, "both with this turn Woldo gave the action, and the remedy we stumbled upon by mere accident, which discovered a connexion, believed to subsist at this day, between this river and its ancient governor, the dog-star."
After this scene of affected cheerfulness, Bruce retired to his tent, where he was again haunted by the reflections which he had in vain endeavoured to shake off. He says, "Relaxed, not refreshed, by unquiet and imperfect sleep, I started from my bed in the utmost agony. I went to the door of my tent; everything was still; the Nile, at whose head I stood, was not capable either to promote or to interrupt my slumbers; but the coolness and serenity of the night braced my nerves, and chased away those phantoms that, while in bed, had oppressed and tormented me."