_TO THE NIGER._
Once outside the village, it behoved Park to be on the alert, and get
as quickly from the vicinity of the Moors as possible. With his horse
reduced to skin and bone speed was out of the question, while the
darkness and the nature of the country otherwise made progress slow.
And yet how much was staked on every dragging mile--every moment might
mean freedom or bondage, life or death to him. Half frantic at the
thought of recapture, he imagined an enemy behind each bush, in every
sound the tramp of pursuing horsemen.
It looked as if his worst apprehensions were about to be realised when
unawares he stumbled upon a Moorish watering-place. Before he could
retreat he was discovered by the shepherds. Immediately there was a
howl of execration, and he was set upon with stones and curses, and
driven forth as if he had been a prowling beast of prey.
Thankful to have escaped unhurt, Park, once rid of the fanatics, began
to be more hopeful. He was not to get away so easily, however. Suddenly
a shout rang behind bidding him halt. He hardly needed to look to know
the nature of the danger that threatened. Three Moors on horseback were
in full pursuit, ferociously brandishing their weapons, and screaming
out threats as they bore down on him. Escape was impossible--his jaded
steed was beyond all urging. With the dogged indifference of despair he
turned and rode back prepared for the worst. Unmoved he looked at the
upraised muskets of his pursuers--almost unheeding, so benumbed were
his faculties, he heard that they were sent to bring him back to Ali.
In reality, however, the Moors were robbers, and their object merely
plunder.
On reaching a wood the wretches ordered their prisoner to untie his
bundle. Great was their disgust to find nothing worth taking but a
cloak. But to Park his cloak was the sole protection from the rains
by day and the mosquitoes by night, and in vain he followed the
robbers, trying to move their compassion, and earnestly begging them
to return the garment. For sole reply, one of the band, annoyed at
his persistence, presented a musket at him, while another struck his
horse a brutal blow over the head. There was no resisting these hints,
and once more possessed by the keen desire for life and liberty, Park
parleyed no longer, but turned and rode off.
The moment he was out of sight he struck into the woods to avoid
similar encounters. As he passed on, the sense of security growing ever
stronger with the passing night, his sanguine temperament gradually
resumed its sway. He felt as one recovered from a dangerous illness--he
breathed freer, his limbs were as if released from cramping fetters,
while the Niger magnet drew him on irresistibly as ever. Life became
more desirable, earth and heaven more beautiful, and even the desert
lost half its terrors. Beggary and the miseries of the rainy season
grew less terrible to face with the growth of the hope that the
guerdon of success was yet to be won.
But man cannot live on hope alone. However fair it might paint the
vision of the future, it could not stifle the present demands of
nature. Only too painfully Park awoke to the fact that starvation
stared him in the face. He was destitute, and could not buy; unarmed,
and therefore could not take; hunted, and therefore dared not beg. His
every step was beset with innumerable dangers. His one chance lay in
reaching a Bambarra village, where he would be among the negroes, and
safe at least from the Moors.
To the pangs of hunger was speedily added the yet more painful agony
of thirst. The sun overhead beat down upon him from heavens of lurid
brilliancy. The scorching white sands, blinding to look upon, reflected
back the heat as from the mouth of a furnace.
From the tree tops not a trace of human habitation was to be seen.
Alone patches of thick scrub and hillocks of barren sand met the
eye. In pushing on lay the only hope of escaping death. With his old
undaunted spirit Park elected to push on--to struggle while his legs
would carry him.
Towards four in the afternoon he came suddenly upon the dreaded yet
welcome sight of a herd of goats. They were at once an indication of a
great danger, and of possible food and water. His joy was great when
after a cautious examination he discovered that the herd was tended
only by two boys. With difficulty he approached them.
“Water! water!” he gasped. For answer the goatherds showed their empty
water-skins, telling him at the same time that no water was to be found
in the woods. Sick at heart and well-nigh exhausted, Park turned away
to resume his weary tramp and almost hopeless quest.
Night was approaching, and already his limbs were failing him. His
thirst had become intolerable, and his mouth was parched and inflamed.
Sudden attacks of dimness at times came over his eyes, and more than
once he almost fainted. Each moment it became increasingly clear that
if he did not reach water before the dawn of another day he must
inevitably perish. To relieve the pains in his throat and mouth he
chewed the leaves of different shrubs, but only added to his agony.
In the evening he reached a ridge, and climbing a tree, gazed eagerly
over the land--only a barren wilderness deserted by God and man
spread out before him. “The same dismal uniformity of shrub and
sand everywhere presented itself, and the horizon was as level and
uninterrupted as that of the sea.”
The sun sank, and with it went the fugitive’s last hope. He was too
weak to walk, and his horse, as much exhausted as himself, could not
carry him. Even in his own extremity he had yet a kind thought for
his faithful dumb companion, and that it might the better shift for
itself he took off its bridle. Even as he did so a horrid sensation of
sickness and giddiness seized him, and he fell on the sand, believing
that his last hour had come.
In one swift flash of thought he saw the end of his weary struggle, and
with it all his hopes of doing something worthy of remembrance. Then
the shadow of death gathered over him, and he sank back unconscious.
But all was not yet over--for Park life had still somewhat in store
of work and gladness. With the lowering of the temperature and the
rising of the cool night breeze he awoke from his death-like swoon,
and, gathering himself together, he resolved to make one more attempt
to keep death at bay. With his old strength of will, though weak in
limb, he staggered forward into the darkness of night, which seemed
only too like the prospect before him. A few minutes more and a flash
of lightning illumined the surrounding landscape. To him that flash
was a promise of rain, and gave birth to a new hope that his agonies
from thirst would soon be at an end. Soon flash followed flash, more
and more dazzling, nearer and nearer. With a painful eagerness the
exhausted wanderer watched the coming storm. He had no further occasion
to struggle forward. He had but to sit still and wait. But what hopes
and fears the while! Would it rain or not? Would the storm break on
him, or career past on either side? Another hour and the answer came.
On his ear fell the welcome sound of trees bending before the blast.
His fevered face felt the first cool puffs of wind. A black column,
dimly discerned in the darkness, and laden with moisture, as he
thought, reared itself before him. It blotted out earth and sky, and
tore onward borne on the wings of the wind. He rose to meet and welcome
it. His parched mouth was opened to taste the heaven-sent rain. When,
oh, misery! he found himself enveloped in a suffocating sandstorm.
Stricken with unutterable disappointment, he sank to the ground behind
a sheltering bush.
For above an hour the storm swept over him in choking whirlwinds.
When it ceased, Park with undaunted spirit resumed his way in the
darkness, though with ever intensifying thirst, ever lessening
strength--perilously near his last struggle.
Again the lightning flashed across the sky. He hardly dared to hope,
yet, nevertheless, he turned his burning face and stretched his shaking
hands towards the advancing storm-clouds, that he might feel the first
refreshing drops. This time there was no mistake, and tearing off his
clothes, he spread them out to collect the heaven-sent rain, while all
naked to the storm, amid the blinding glare of tropic lightning and the
frightful crash of thunder, he sucked in the moisture by every pore of
his body.
But he was only relieved of one series of pangs to be reminded that
others lay behind--the miseries of starvation had still to be faced.
There could be no rest, no sleep for him, till food as well as water
was obtained. Accordingly he resumed his way, directing his footsteps
by the compass, which the frequent flashes of lightning enabled him to
consult. Soon these welcome gleams ceased, and then he had to stumble
along as best he might. About two in the morning a light appeared.
Thinking it might proceed from a negro town, he groped about in the
darkness unsuccessfully trying to ascertain whether it was so or not,
from corn-stacks or other signs of cultivation. Other lights now became
visible, and he began to fear he had fallen upon a Moorish encampment.
Soon his worst doubts became certainties, and rather than fall into
the hands of his late persecutors he elected to face death in the
wilderness. As stealthily as possible, however, he tried to discover
the water. In doing so a woman got a glimpse of him, and her scream
brought up two men, who passed quite close to where he had crouched
to hide himself. Clearly this was no place for him, and once more he
plunged into the sheltering woods. He had not proceeded far when the
loud croaking of frogs told him where to slake his thirst.
This narrow escape inspired Park to renewed exertions. At daylight he
detected a pillar of smoke at a distance of twelve miles, and towards
it he painfully plodded. After five hours of extreme toil the village
from which the smoke arose was reached, and from a husbandman he heard
that it was a Fulah village belonging to Ali. This was unpleasant news.
To enter might possibly mean return to captivity, yet possibly, too, he
might be allowed to go unmolested. Meanwhile the immediate certainty
was that he was dying of hunger, and that his position could hardly be
made worse. Determined, therefore, to take his chance of the result,
he rode into the village. On his applying at the head man’s house, the
door was slammed in his face, and his appeals for food were unheeded.
Dejectedly he turned his horse’s head, seeing nothing before him but
death in the woods. As he was leaving the village he remarked some mean
dwellings. Might he not make another trial. Hospitality he remembered
did not always prefer the dwellings of the rich.
Prompted by the thought he advanced towards an old woman spinning
cotton in front of her hut. By signs he indicated that he wanted food,
leaving his haggard face and sunken eyes to tell the rest. Nor did he
appeal in vain. The hut was opened to him, and such food as its owner
could give was placed in his hands. The first pangs of hunger allayed,
Park’s next thought was for the four-footed sharer of his toils and
agonies, and for it too a speedy supply of corn was forthcoming.
Meanwhile a dubious crowd gathered outside, and solemnly debated
what they should do with the stranger who had thus appeared among
them. Opinion was divided, however; and Park, seeing the danger of
his position, thought it better to leave, however footsore and weary
he might be. On seeing their unbidden guest prepare to depart, the
villagers came to the conclusion that their wisest course was to do
nothing.
Once clear of the town, and the boys and girls who followed him for
some time, Park, who had not slept for more than two days and nights,
sought the shade of a sheltering tree, and laid himself down to rest.
Early in the afternoon he was awakened by two Fulahs, but without
entering into conversation with them he continued his journey towards
Bambarra and the Niger. It was not till midnight that finding a pool
of rain water he again halted. Sleep, however, of which he stood
terribly in need, was out of the question. The mosquitoes assailed him
in maddening myriads, while the howling of wild beasts added to the
terrors of his surroundings.
After a miserable night, the day was hailed with relief and delight.
At midday another Fulah watering-place was reached, and here Park was
hospitably received by a shepherd, who gave him boiled corn and dates
for himself, and corn for his horse. Resuming his journey with fast
returning hope and vigour, the resolute traveller pushed on, determined
to journey all night.
At eight in the evening he heard wayfarers approaching, and had to hide
himself in a thicket, and there hold his horse’s nose to prevent him
neighing. At midnight the joyful sound of frogs apprised him of the
neighbourhood of water. Having quenched his thirst, he sought out an
open space in the wood and lay down to sleep, happily unmolested till
near morning, when some wild beasts compelled him to look after the
safety of himself and his animal. Resuming his tramp, Park crossed the
frontiers of Bambarra, and felt for the first time for many weary weeks
in comparative safety and free from the horrid Moorish nightmare which
had so long haunted him. At Wawra he was hospitably received by the
chief of the village, and at last worn out with excessive fatigue and
starvation, but rejoicing in the sweet new sense of security, was able
to lay himself down and enjoy the luxury of a deep sound sleep.
To Park everything now seemed hopeful and encouraging. He was destitute
and alone--a beggar in the heart of Africa; but now that he had safely
escaped from the deserts of the north, and from the clutches of their
fanatical and degraded Moorish inhabitants, his sanguine temperament
made small account of his personal troubles. It was sufficient to know
himself in a land of plenty, with villages at every mile, and among a
people of kindly nature.
His hopes were not belied. Everywhere his reception was hospitable.
The villagers gave of their food and shelter; the wayfarers their
company, assistance, guidance, and protection. At most places he was
not recognised as being a white man, but from his strange and destitute
appearance was assumed to be a pilgrim from Mecca, and treated by the
Faithful with the consideration such an one deserved. And thus the days
passed on, ever bringing him nearer the goal of his hopes, ever adding
to his assurance that the great prize for which men and nations had
struggled for three centuries was to be his.
On the night of the 20th July, Park took up his quarters at a small
village. Here he was told that he would see the Niger--or, as the
natives called it, the Joliba or Great Waters--on the morrow.
The thought was intoxication, and between it and the myriad mosquitoes
that preyed upon his unprotected body, sleep was out of the question.
Before daylight he was up and doing, and had saddled his horse long ere
the gates of the village were opened.
At length he got away. With eager eyes he looked towards the
south--towards what for many terrible months had been his Kiblah--his
Mecca. At last he was about to be rewarded for all the tortures of body
and mind he had so heroically endured, so resolutely faced.
The road was crowded with natives hurrying towards the capital. Four
large villages were passed, and then in the distance loomed up the
smoke of Sego--Sego on the banks of the Niger! A little further and
the joyful cry, “See the water!” announced to Park that the Niger was
in sight. Ay, truly, there it was, sweeping along in a majestic stream
towards the east, and glittering in the bright rays of the morning sun.
One long and ardent look, one sigh of supreme relief, and the pilgrim
of geography hastened to the brink, and after drinking of the water,
lifted up a fervent prayer to the Great Ruler of all things for having
thus crowned his endeavours with success.