_STILL STRUGGLING TOWARDS THE GREAT RIVER._
Park in his letter home was careful only to look backward: it is now
our business to accompany him forward, and see what happened as he
passed across the Senegal basin on his way to the Niger.
On the 7th of June he crossed the Samaku, which flows north to join
the Falemé, and in fear of an attack, travelled rapidly through an
uninhabited district by a forced march. Here two of the donkeys had to
be abandoned, and there being no guiding pathway, as darkness came on,
muskets were frequently fired to prevent the men losing each other.
Early next day the Falemé was seen in the distance. The carpenter, who
had become very ill, could not sit upright on a donkey, and time after
time threw himself off, declaring that he would rather die. Latterly
it took two men to hold him in his seat by force, and at the Falemé,
which was crossed in the course of the day, he had to be left behind in
charge of a soldier. He died a few hours after.
That night a heavy tornado burst upon the caravan. Five soldiers who
had not been under proper shelter, and got a wetting, became ill in
consequence.
It could no longer be ignored that the rains were at last upon them,
and that just when they were in the network of streams into which the
Senegal and the Niger divide in their uppermost reaches. One terrible
necessity of their situation was, that sick or not sick, there could
be no halting to allow of possible recovery. They must push forward
towards their goal, though the route should be marked by the dead
bodies of their comrades. The longer the delay, the more difficult
would the march become, from flooded rivers, more incessant rains, and
the increasing swampiness of the country.
Up to this time Park had followed his former return route. He
now determined to strike a line further north in order to avoid
the Jallonka Wilderness, of whose horrors he had such a lively
recollection. The new route was hard and rocky, and very fatiguing to
the donkeys. As the day went on many of the sick became hopelessly
unfit to drive their animals. One of them Park mounted on his own horse
while he himself assumed the part of donkey driver. Even then four of
the donkeys had to be left in the woods, and he himself did not reach
camp till long after dark. Before the tents could be pitched a tornado
came down upon them and drenched them to the skin. The ground was
speedily covered to a depth of three inches, and in this uncomfortable
plight--fireless, tentless, dripping--they had to pass the night. A
second tornado about two in the morning completed their discomfiture.
This night, in Park’s own words, was “the beginning of sorrows....
Now that the rain had set in, I trembled to think that we were only
half way through our journey. The rain had not commenced three minutes
before many of the soldiers were affected with vomiting, others fell
asleep, and seemed as if half intoxicated. I felt a strong inclination
to sleep during the storm, and as soon as it was over I fell asleep on
the wet ground, although I used every exertion to keep myself awake.
The soldiers likewise fell asleep on the wet bundles.”
The immediate result of that night was the addition of twelve men
to the sick list. Next day all the horses and spare donkeys were
requisitioned to carry such as were unable to walk. The road proved
to be a difficult one along the base of the Konkadu mountains, whose
precipices overhung the line of march in threatening masses.
Barely had camp been reached when once more a tornado burst in all its
fury, but thanks to the proximity of a village, with less disastrous
results than on the previous evening.
The storm past, Park proceeded to examine some gold diggings; after
which, accompanied by Scott, he set off to the top of the Konkadu
hills, finding them cultivated to the highest elevations. There also he
found villages romantically situated in delightful glens, with water
and grass in abundance throughout the year; and there, “while the
thunder rolls in awful grandeur over their heads, they can look from
their tremendous precipices over all that wild and woody plain which
extends from the Falemé to the Bafing or Black River.”
To struggle forward handicapped with incapable men and driverless
donkeys was now hard work. Half the caravan were sick, or too weak to
exert themselves with effect. The result was never-ending confusion
and delay. Unable to hold together, men and donkeys alike went astray,
keeping Park, who could not be in a dozen places at once, in a state
of continual watchfulness and motion, doing his best to bring up the
incapables, and “coaxing” them to further exertions each time they
insisted on lying down, indifferent alike to robbers, lions, or the
fevers of night.
In spite of his iron constitution and sanguine heroic spirit Park
himself was not altogether invulnerable, and he too became fevered at
times--only, however, to show himself superior to suffering by virtue
of his marvellous will and the exigencies of his situation. Conscious
that the whole fate of the expedition depended upon his keeping well,
he dared not give way. He was a second self to every one--without him
all were absolutely helpless.
On leaving Fankia on the 15th of June, most of the men were ill,
some of them even delirious. In this condition the caravan had to
commence the ascent of the Tambaura mountains. The road was excessively
steep--the donkeys terribly overloaded under their double burden of
sick men and goods. Owing to the nature of the ground, each animal
would have required at least one separate driver to guide and assist,
but in the present case this was impossible. The result was a scene
of dreadful confusion and disaster. Loaded donkeys were constantly
tumbling over the rocks or falling exhausted on the pathway, while sick
men, indifferent to their fate, threw themselves down, declaring they
could go no further. The natives, discovering the predicament of the
caravan, crept down among the rocks and stole what they could when a
favourable opportunity offered.
At length, by means of superhuman exertions, Park succeeded in bringing
all safely out of the perilous pass to a village, where he had the
inexpressible pleasure of meeting the Mohammedan schoolmaster who had
been so kind to him at Kamalia, and while travelling with Karfa. As an
earnest of his gratitude for past favours, Park gave him a handsome
present of cloth, beads, and amber, with which the good old man was
delighted. The God-fearing Scotchman did not neglect to add an Arabic
New Testament to his other gifts.
The history of the expedition was now one of growing trouble, sickness,
and disorganisation. Tornadoes were almost of daily occurrence, and the
country and the streams became more and more difficult to traverse.
Up to the 17th of June two men had died, and on that date two more
were left behind at the point of death. The three days following Park
himself was sick, as were now more than half his men, though still
they struggled on. To add to the dangers of their situation, they were
utterly unable to keep proper watch over their goods either by day or
night--a fact the natives speedily learned, and constantly dogged their
footsteps, intent on plunder.
At one village the inhabitants turned out _en masse_, prepared to find
the white man’s caravan so reduced by sickness as to fall an easy
prize. As a preliminary to further depredations one of the villagers
seized the bridle of the sergeant’s horse and tried to lead it and its
apparently helpless owner inside the village walls. The presentation
of the rider’s pistol made him think better of it. At the same time
others made as if they would drive away the donkeys. They had reckoned
without their host, however. Galvanised into new life, the soldiers
promptly loaded their muskets and fixed their bayonets, at sight of
which warlike preparations the natives were not slow to quit their prey
and retire to a safer distance.
[Illustration: ROCK SCENERY OF THE UPPER SENEGAL.]
Having driven their animals across a torrent, the soldiers left certain
of their number to guard them, and returned to the village, ready to
give its inhabitants a lesson in courtesy and hospitality. At this
moment Park arrived on the scene. Ever anxious to avoid bloodshed, he
called a palaver, and speedily convinced the chief how insane it would
be for him or his people to molest him. At the same time, desirous of
leaving a favourable impression behind, in case any sick men might have
to repass this way, Park gave the chief a present, with the remark that
it was to show he did not come to make war, though if he were attacked
he would fight to the last.
Beyond this point the country became picturesque beyond words,
resembling in its physical features all sorts of architectural forms,
ruined castles, spires, pyramids. One rocky hill looked so like a
ruined Gothic abbey that the whole party had to approach close to it
to satisfy themselves that its various features were not really what
they seemed. Beyond this _lusus naturæ_ a compact mass of red granite
stood up bare and gaunt, absolutely destitute of a relieving blade of
grass. Here and there were villages clustering in the curved niches of
giant precipices, alike secured from tropic blasts and the devastating
attacks of men. Everything was rugged and grand--the sterner features
only enhanced by the interchange of beautiful fertile hollows and
silvery streams winding through the green fields and darker forest
tracts.
Similar scenes characterised the whole journey through Konkadu, and
the caravan at length reached the borders of Wuladu at the Bafing. The
crossing of this river in small rickety canoes was not accomplished
without a sad fatality, one of them capsizing with three soldiers, of
whom one was drowned.
The people of Wuladu had a notorious reputation as thieves, the justice
of which was speedily illustrated by their various more or less
successful attempts to lift from the strangers whatever they saw, thus
keeping the latter continually on the alert.
After crossing the Bafing, many of the sick who had struggled on
bravely so far began to lose all spirit. An unconquerable lassitude
at times seized them, and no matter what the danger of the situation,
their only desire was to lie down and be left to die. To escape the
cajolery and coercion to which they were subjected, they frequently
left the track, and gave their leader no end of worry and trouble
hunting them up after camp was reached. In this way several men
disappeared altogether, bringing up the total losses on the 29th June
to nine.
Besides its human cormorants, Wuladu proved to be infested with various
beasts of prey, whereby further anxiety and watchfulness were entailed
on the harassed and despondent little band, weak, and growing every day
weaker.
Anderson and Scott, on whom Park so much depended to encourage and
push on his followers, besides themselves doing the work of three or
four, now became incapacitated, while as far as we can gather from
the journal, Lieutenant Martyn never seems to have been of any use.
Everything, accordingly, devolved on the leader himself, who, ailing
as he was, had to put forth superhuman exertions--driving refractory
and exhausted donkeys, lifting the fallen, and reloading such as had
kicked off or dropped their burdens--at every step spurring on the
sick and despondent to strive towards their destination, and not allow
themselves to be murdered by natives, devoured by wild beasts, or
overcome by the deadly malaria of the jungles. In camp he had as little
rest as on the road. No one else was fit to do anything--or being
fit, was not willing--so that he had to be man-of-all-work to nearly
forty men. The night brought neither oblivion nor relaxation--only
new anxieties and new duties. Sleep he could only get in short
snatches--between whiles taking his astronomical observations, and
making the round of the camp to stir up indifferent and sickly
sentinels. Not unfrequently he had to mount guard himself throughout
the whole night to save the donkeys from being killed or stampeded by
the wild beasts which kept constantly prowling about. The stormier the
night, the greater necessity was there for him to be up and doing, no
matter what the cost to himself personally.
On the 4th of July the Furkomo River, another important tributary of
the Senegal, was reached. The number of deaths now amounted to eleven,
most of them having occurred within the last fortnight.
In crossing the Furkomo or Bakhoy, Isaaco had a narrow escape from a
crocodile. When near the middle of the river, he was seized by the left
thigh and pulled under water. With wonderful presence of mind he thrust
his finger into the reptile’s eye, with the result that it let go its
hold. Ere he could regain the shore, however, the crocodile returned
to the attack, and seized him by the other thigh. Again he thrust his
finger into its eye, with a similar happy result, and before it could
come at him again, bleeding and lacerated, he reached land. That night,
though it threatened rain, every one was so sick and exhausted--even
Park being unable to stand upright--that it was only with the utmost
difficulty that the tents were put up and the loads placed inside.
Isaaco’s wounds made travelling impossible for him, and as the caravan
was largely dependent on his services, a three days’ halt was decided
on.
With the guide’s partial recovery the march was continued to Keminum,
the neighbourhood of which they reached with apprehension. The town was
fortified in a remarkably strong fashion. There was first a ditch 8
feet deep, backed by a wall as many feet high. Inside was a second wall
10 feet in height, within which was a third of 16 feet.
The chief and his thirty sons were neither more nor less than an
organised band of robbers who terrorised over the whole district. Ample
evidence of the manner of his rule was afforded by the heap of human
bones outside the walls, where he executed such prisoners as were not
made slaves of. During the night all the energies of the caravan were
employed in seeking to protect themselves from the incessant attempts
of the natives to steal; but so helpless were most of the men that they
allowed themselves to be deprived of great-coats, muskets, pistols,
almost without resistance.
The morning brought no reprieve. The chief’s sons, not satisfied with
their share of the present and the plunder, did their best to secure
some valuable souvenirs of the white man. This one of them first tried
to do wholesale by simply lifting a load from a donkey, but the culprit
was chased and had to drop his plunder. The confusion produced by this
incident gave another thief a chance to bolt with a musket.
Innumerable exasperating attempts of a similar nature kept Park in
constant alarm lest some of the soldiers should use their weapons and
precipitate a fight. Accordingly, his chief anxiety became to get away
as quickly as possible. Riding a little way out of the village to see
the nature of the road ahead, one of the chief’s sons distracted his
attention while he halted, whereupon the other suddenly snatched away
the traveller’s loosely held musket. At once Park gave chase with
brandished sword. Anderson, seeing what had occurred, rushed to his
assistance with upraised gun; but observing who was the offender, he
hesitated to fire, with the result that the thief escaped safely to the
rocks. Meanwhile the brother had leisurely helped himself to whatever
loose property he found on Park’s horse.
Orders were now given to shoot the first person found stealing. But the
princes were not easily frightened, and during a tornado that burst
overhead, one of them got off with a musket and a couple of pistols.
An attempt was next made to drive off the donkeys, but fortunately
was frustrated. By way of example, a native detected in stealing was
promptly fired at. On the march being resumed, every foot of the road
was dogged by the plundering wretches, who scented their prey in every
man who lagged behind, and every donkey that fell or strayed from the
path.
It was dark before a camping place was reached, and the night was
passed in much misery, man and beast lying on the wet ground without
shelter, exposed to the excessively heavy dews.
The march through Wuladu was simply a daily repetition of the
experiences at Keminum. Thieves hung on the skirts of the caravan like
hyenas on the track of blood, never quitting them by night or by day.
All stragglers, human or animal, they made their prey, and by their
attempted depredations kept the unhappy travellers in constant alarm.
Each morning and evening had its tale of loss. Everything, however, was
tolerated, that bloodshed might be avoided--a forbearance only looked
upon as weakness and cowardice by the natives, who were encouraged
accordingly to continue their marauding with increased audacity. Park
was at length driven to stronger measures, and on one occasion pursued
a robber on horseback, and after hunting him down, shot him through
the leg. This example had a most salutary effect for a time, though
that day’s tale of spoliation alone included the more or less complete
stripping of four sick men, and a donkey loaded with the muskets, &c.,
of the other invalids.
Let us quote a characteristic day’s proceedings from Park’s own
journal:--
“_July 19th._--Having purchased an ass in lieu of the one stolen, we
left Nummabu, which is a walled village, and proceeded onwards. Had two
tornadoes. The last, about eleven o’clock, wetted us much, and made
the road slippery. Two asses unable to go on. Put their loads on the
horses and left them. Mr. Scott’s horse unable to walk. Left it to our
guide. At noon came to the ruins of a town. Found two more of the asses
unable to carry their loads. Hired people to carry the loads, and a
boy to drive the asses. Passed the ruins of another town at half-past
twelve, where I found two of the sick who had laid themselves down
under a tree and refused to rise. They were afterwards stripped by the
negroes, and came naked to our tents next morning. Shortly after this
came to an ass lying on the road unable to proceed with its load. Put
part of the load on my horse, which was already heavily loaded. Took a
knapsack on my back. The soldier carried the remainder, and drove the
ass before him. We arrived at the Ba Winbina at half-past one o’clock.”
Here follows a description of how a bridge was built, which, though
instructive in the extreme, is too long for insertion. “Our people
being all sickly, I hired the negroes to carry over all the baggage,
and swim over the asses. Our baggage was laid on the rocks on the east
side of the river, but such was our weakly state that we were unable
to carry it up the bank. Francis Beedle, one of the soldiers, was
evidently dying of the fever, and having in vain attempted, with the
assistance of one of his messmates, to carry him over, I was forced to
leave him on the west bank, thinking it very probable that he would die
in the course of the night.”
Day after day the same disheartening tale had to be told. Now a man is
found expiring, and no time can be lost waiting for his death. Anon
another left for dead is galvanised into life by the appearance of
wolves ready to make a meal of him. On the 27th July one man had to
be left in camp at the point of death--four more dropped down on the
road and refused to proceed, wishing only to die. Park himself was
“very sick and faint, having to drive my horse loaded with rice and an
ass with the pit saw. Came to an eminence from which I had a view of
some very distant mountains to the east half south. The certainty that
the Niger washes the southern base of these mountains made me forget
my fever, and I thought of nothing all the way but how to climb over
their blue summits.” But to his men the sight gave neither health nor
inspiration, and but for the fact that to go back was as difficult as
to push forward, they would speedily have shown in what direction their
desires tended.
What the inmost thoughts of the intrepid explorer were at this time
we would give much to know. In his journal he nowhere lifts the veil.
Throughout there is only the bare statement of fact that to-day
so-and-so has died--yesterday such another had to be left to his fate:
here a donkey was plundered--there an astronomical observation taken.
The one thing that can touch his feelings is the sight of the blue
summits of distant hills whose bases are washed by the waters of the
Niger.