Thus was the River Niger for the first time reached by an European, and its eastward course determined. Park had left England inclined if anything to believe that it flowed west; but during his journey that opinion had gradually been undermined, and now with his own eyes he saw that its course was indeed towards the rising sun. There was no further question as to where it took its rise: its termination was now the great mystery which remained to be cleared up.

Sego, the capital of Bambarra, at which the white traveller had arrived, consisted of four distinct towns, two on the north bank of the Niger, and two on the south. Each was independently surrounded by high mud walls. Unlike the ordinary negro village, the houses were square with flat roofs, and built of mud. Some of them were two stories in height, and a few were whitewashed.

Besides these evidences of Arab influence, there were mosques in every quarter; and the whole town, with its thirty or forty thousand inhabitants, presented an air of civilisation and magnificence which Park was far from expecting. The river swarmed with large canoes, constantly crossing and recrossing; the streets were crowded with a busy population; and the whole surrounding country was in the highest state of cultivation.

Park speedily discovered that Mansong, king of Bambarra, lived on the south side of the river, and he prepared at once to cross and present himself at court. The crowded state of the ferry prevented him carrying out his intention immediately, as he had to wait his turn. In the interval the people gathered round him in silent wonder, full of speculation as to what could have brought the white man so far from the sea. With no small apprehension the weary traveller noticed among the crowd a numerous sprinkling of Moors. In each of the race he saw a malignant enemy who would stop at nothing to do him an ill turn, so indelible was the impression produced on him during his residence with Ali at Benaun.

An opportunity for crossing at last offered itself. Just as he was about to take advantage of it, a messenger arrived from the king to intimate that he could not possibly see his intending visitor until he knew what had brought him into the country. Meanwhile he was on no account to presume to cross the river without Mansong’s permission, and must lodge for the night at a distant village which the messenger pointed out.

This reception was eminently discouraging. But Park was inured to disappointments, and happy in so far as he had at least seen and drunk of the waters of the Niger, he could bear with more equanimity such further reverses as might be in store for him. It required all his philosophy to sustain him, however, when on reaching the village he was refused admittance at every door. Every one looked upon him with astonishment and fear as a being of unknown species, whose power of physical or spiritual mischief was incalculable, and had better not be tried by closer contact than could be helped.

Thus shunned and boycotted as a human pariah, and not knowing where to go to seek shelter, Park sat down under a tree, which at least protected him from the overpowering glare of the sun. Hour after hour passed, and still no one offered him food or lodging. The day drew to a close. The wind rose, and clouds gathered threateningly in the sky. Everything portended a night of storm.

The sun fell, and still he sat unheeded. Darkness began to gather round him with tropical swiftness, and he lost all hope of moving the compassion of the natives by his forlorn and helpless condition. To escape death from lions and hyenas, he prepared to ensconce himself among the branches of the tree. Before doing so he proceeded to take off the bridle and saddle from his horse, that it might have greater freedom and ease in grazing. While thus engaged a woman returning from her work in the fields passed him. It required no words to tell her the stranger’s plight. His dress and face spoke eloquently of weariness, destitution, hunger, and dejection. The negress stopped to ask his story. A few words told all that was necessary to move her woman’s heart, and without further questioning she picked up his saddle and bridle and bade him follow her to her hut. There she lighted a lamp and spread out a mat for her guest.

In a short time a fine fish was broiling on the embers of the fire, while the various members of the family sat looking at the stranger in gaping wonder. A few minutes more and Park had satisfied his hunger and disposed himself to sleep. The women resumed their work of spinning wool, and while they worked they sang. To sweet and plaintive melody they wedded kindliest words, and their guest was the burden of their song:—

And oft recurring came the chorus—

Such, literally translated, were the words of the improvised song, and listening to them, sleep was driven from Park’s eyes, as he turned and tossed a prey to the liveliest emotions of gratitude. Far into the night the women worked, and spinning ever sang—

while outside the tornado spent its violence in blinding flashes and deafening peals of thunder, in raging blasts of wind and drenching showers of rain.

In the morning, as a token of gratitude, Park presented his kindly hostess with two of the four brass buttons remaining on his waistcoat, the sole articles he possessed having any value in native eyes.

During the day numerous rumours of the inimical machinations of the Moors came to Park’s ears, but nothing definite concerning Mansong’s decision as to his fate.

On the following morning, the 22nd, a messenger arrived to inquire what present the white man had brought to the king.

On the 23rd another messenger arrived, bearing the king’s refusal to give Park an audience. It was accompanied by a present of five thousand cowries—the currency of the Sudan Basin—to enable him to purchase provisions, while indicating that his presence at Sego was undesirable, though he was at liberty to proceed farther down the Niger, or to return to the Gambia, as he pleased.

In Mansong’s refusal to see him, Park could only see the “blind and inveterate malice of the Moorish inhabitants,” though he could not but admit that the manner of his appearance among the people of Sego, and the to them incredible explanation of the object of his journey, warranted suspicion. To see the Joliba! Absurd! Were there then no rivers in the white man’s own country that he should face such hardships and dangers to see ours? There must be something else behind. Send him away, but being destitute, let us supply his wants, so that the stigma of his death lie not at our doors. Such, it may be presumed, was Mansong’s mode of reasoning, and such naturally the conclusion he arrived at.

Park was now called upon to make up his mind as to his future course. Would he go on or turn back? Surely he might return with all honour now that he had reached the Niger itself. Destitute as he was, what could he do? And yet it was hard to have to retrace his steps with such a glorious work before him. No, onward at least some distance he must go, to see and learn something more of the river’s course and termination, perchance even to reach Timbuktu.

Park did not reach this conclusion without some misgiving, for he heard vague reports that the farther east he proceeded the more numerous became the Arab tribes, and that Timbuktu itself was in the hands of “that savage and merciless people.” Whatever his horror of the Moors might be, however, he could not let his plans be stopped by “such vague and uncertain information, and determined to proceed.”

Thus dauntlessly did our hero gather his rags about him, and with his bag of cowries proceed on the 24th on the exploration of the Niger River. On the first day he passed through a highly cultivated country, resembling the park scenery of England. The people were everywhere collecting the fruit of the Shea tree, from which the vegetable butter so named is produced. Park found the Shea butter whiter and firmer, and to his palate of a richer flavour, than the best butter he ever tasted made from cow’s milk—a strange statement certainly, since to the palates of degenerate travellers and traders of the present day its taste is abominable. Even among the natives it is only used by the very poorest for cooking purposes, being considered infinitely inferior to palm oil.

In the evening Park reached Sansanding, a town of some two thousand inhabitants, largely resorted to by Moors from Biru engaged in exchanging salt and the commodities of the north for cotton cloth and gold dust. To slip as quietly into the town as possible, Park passed along the riverside, and by the natives was everywhere taken to be a Moor. At length a real Moor discovered the mistake, and by his exclamations brought a crowd of his countrymen about the stranger.

Amid the shouting and gesticulating mob Park contrived to reach the house of Counti Mamadi, the DutÉ of the place. The Moors, with their customary arrogance and assumption of superiority, pushed aside the negroes, and began to ask questions concerning Park’s religion. Finding that he understood Arabic, they brought two men whom they called Jews, and who in dress and appearance resembled the Arabs, and were said to conform so far to Islam as to recite in public prayers from the Koran. The Moors insisted that the stranger should do the same as the Jews. He tried to put off the subject by declaring that he could not speak Arabic, when a sherif from Tawat started up and swore by the Prophet that if the Christian refused to go to the mosque, and there acknowledge the One God and His Prophet, he would have him carried thither.

Willing hands were ready to carry out this determination, but happily the DutÉ interfered, and declared the white stranger should not be ill treated while under his protection. This stopped immediate violence, but did not end the persecution. The crowd continued to swell, and grew ever more ungovernable. The clamour and excitement intensified every minute. Every coign of vantage was covered with multitudes eager to see the newcomer. That every one might be gratified he was compelled to ascend a high seat near the door of the mosque, where he had to remain till sunset, when he was permitted to descend and seek refuge in a neat little hut having a court in front of it. Even here, however, he found neither peace nor quiet. The Moors, though in the country only as traders, seemed to be allowed to do very much as they liked. They climbed over the court walls and invaded Park’s privacy, desirous, as they said, of seeing him at his evening devotions, and also eating eggs. The latter operation Park was by no means loth to accomplish, though the intruders were disappointed on discovering that he only ate them cooked.

It was not until after midnight that the Arabs left the traveller alone. His host then asked him for a charm in writing, which was at once supplied in the form of the Lord’s Prayer.

From Sansanding, Park proceeded to Sibila, and thence to Nyara, where he stayed on the 27th to wash his clothes and rest his horse.

At Nyami, a town inhabited chiefly by Fulahs, the head man refused to see Park, and sent his son to guide him to Madibu.

Between the two villages the travellers had to proceed with very great caution, as the district was notorious for its dangers from wild beasts. A giraffe was seen, and shortly afterwards, in crossing a broad open plain with scattered bushes, the guide who was ahead suddenly espied traces of a lion in the path, and called loudly to Park to ride off. His horse, however, was too exhausted for flight, and he continued to ride slowly on. He was just beginning to think that it had been a false alarm, when a cry from the guide made him look up in renewed trepidation. There was the lion lying near a bush, with his head couched between his fore-paws. To fly was impossible. Instinctively Park drew his feet from his stirrups, to be ready to slip off and leave the horse to bear the first onslaught if the lion should spring. With eyes riveted on the enemy he slowly advanced, expecting each moment that the lion would be upon him. The brute did not move, however, having probably just dined, and being in a peaceful mood in consequence. All the same Park was so held by a sort of wild fascination that he found it impossible to remove his gaze until he was a considerable distance out of danger.

To avoid any more such perils, Park took a circuitous route through some swampy ground, and at sunset safely entered Madibu. This village was perched on the banks of the Niger, of whose majestic stream it commanded a splendid view for many miles—a view further varied by several small green islands occupied by Fulah herds.

Here life was rendered almost unendurable by mosquitoes, which rose in such myriads from the swamps and creeks as to harass even the most thick-skinned and torpid of the natives. The nights were one continuous maddening torture, Park’s rags affording him no protection from their attacks. Unable to sleep, he had to keep ceaselessly walking backwards and forwards, fanning himself with his hat to drive off his pertinacious tormentors. Nevertheless, by morning, his legs, arms, neck, and face were covered with blisters. No wonder, under such circumstances, that he grew feverish and uneasy, and threatened to become seriously ill. Perceiving this, the DutÉ of Madibu hurried him off, lest he should die on his hands.

Park’s horse was as little able to carry him as he to walk. They had not struggled on many miles before the poor animal slipped and fell, and do what Park might, was not to be got up again. In vain he waited in the hope that after a rest the horse might come round. In the end there was nothing for it but to take off saddle and bridle, place a quantity of grass before him, and then leave him to his fate. At the sight of the poor brute lying panting on the ground his owner could not suppress a foreboding that he likewise before long would lie down and perish of hunger and fatigue. Oppressed with melancholy, many fears, and only too numerous physical ills, he staggered on till noon, when he reached the small fishing village of Kea.

The head man was sitting at the gate as he entered, and to him he told his story of destitution and sickness. But he spoke to one of surly countenance and crabbed heart, and his sole reply to the half dead stranger was to bid him begone from his door.

The guide remonstrated, and Park entreated, but all to no purpose. The DutÉ was inflexible.

At this juncture a fishing canoe arrived on its way to Silla, whereupon, to put an end to further parley, the DutÉ desired the owner to convey the stranger to that place. This, after some hesitation, the fisherman consented to do. Before setting forth Park asked his guide to see to his horse on the way back, and take care of him if he was still alive.

In the evening he reached Silla. Hoping that some one would take compassion on him, he seated himself beneath a tree, but though surrounded by wondering hundreds, no one offered him hospitality. Rain beginning to come on, the DutÉ was at length prevailed upon by Park’s entreaties to let him sleep in one of his huts. The hut was damp, and a sharp attack of fever was the result. Let the traveller describe his situation at this juncture in his own words.

“Worn down by sickness, exhausted with hunger and fatigue, half naked, and without any article of value by which I might get provisions, clothes, or lodging, I began 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 were already set in with all their violence, the rice grounds and swamps were everywhere overflowed, and in a few days more travelling of every kind, unless by water, would be completely obstructed. The cowries which remained of the King of Bambarra’s present were not sufficient to enable me 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 that 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 JennÉ (unless under the protection of some man of consequence amongst them, which I had no means of obtaining), I should sacrifice my life to no purpose, for my discoveries would perish with me.

“With this conviction on my mind, I hope my readers will acknowledge that I did right in going no farther. I had made every effort 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 danger of a second captivity, should have forced me to desist. This, however, necessity compelled me to do; and whatever may be the opinion of my general readers on this point, it affords me inexpressible satisfaction that my honourable employers have been pleased since my return to express their full approbation of my conduct.”

And who will not cordially coincide in their verdict? Never had a mission been more determinedly carried out, nor such inexhaustible patience and endurance shown in the face of every conceivable hardship, indignity, and danger—all of which were counted by the sufferer as naught compared with the inexpressible pleasure of achieving something of the task he had been despatched to accomplish.

When he thus made up his mind to return to the coast, Park had followed the Niger a distance of over eighty miles from Sego, finding that it still maintained its easterly course. In addition, he gathered from various traders the fact that it continued in the same direction for four days’ journey more, when it expanded into a lake of considerable size, named Dibbie, or “The Dark Lake.”

From Dibbie (Debo) the Niger was said to divide into two branches, enclosing a large tract of land called Jinbala, and uniting again after a north-easterly course near Kabra, the “port” of Timbuktu. From JennÉ to the latter place the distance by land was twelve days’ journey.

From Kabra, Park does not seem certain—at least he does not make it clear—what course the Niger took, though he correctly enough states that at the distance of eleven days’ journey it passes to the south of Haussa (probably what is now known as Birni-n-Kebbi, a large town in Gandu, one of the Haussa States). Beyond this nothing further was known. It seems evident, however, that Park confounded the course of the Niger with that of its great eastern tributary the BenuÉ, as had most of the geographers before him; and so was led astray from seeking for its natural termination in the Atlantic.