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:-- “The winds roared and the rains fell, The poor white man sat under our tree; He has no mother to bring him milk, No wife to grind his corn.” And oft recurring came the chorus-- “Let us pity the white man, No mother has he.”[5] 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-- “Let us pity the white man; No mother has he;” 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.