While he was thus waiting for a passage, the news was conveyed to Mansong that a white man was on the banks of the river coming to see him. The king, who seems to have been alarmed at this intelligence, immediately despatched a messenger, who was directed to inform the stranger that he would not be admitted into the royal presence until the purport of his mission were made known; and that, in the mean while, he was prohibited from passing the river. He was likewise told that the king desired him to seek lodgings in one of the villages in the vicinity of the capital. As there was no alternative, he at once set out for the village, where, to his great mortification, he found that no person would admit him into his house. “I was regarded with astonishment and fear,” he observes, “and was obliged to sit all day without victuals in the shade of a tree; and the night threatened to be very uncomfortable, for the wind rose, and there was great appearance of a heavy rain; and the wild beasts were so very numerous in the neighbourhood, that I should have been under the necessity of climbing up a tree, and resting among the branches. About sunset, however, as I was preparing to pass the night in this manner, and had turned my horse loose that he might graze at liberty, a woman returning from the labours of the field stopped to observe me, and, perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired into my situation, which I briefly explained to her; whereupon, with looks of great compassion, she took up my saddle and bridle, and told me to follow her. Having conducted me into her hut, she lighted up a lamp, spread a mat upon the floor, and told me I might remain there for the night. Finding that I was very hungry, she said she would procure me something to eat; she accordingly went out, and returned in a short time with a very fine fish, which, having caused to be half-broiled upon some embers, she gave me for supper. The rites of hospitality being thus performed towards a stranger in distress, my worthy benefactress, pointing to the mat, and telling me I might sleep there without apprehension, called to the female part of her family, who had stood gazing on me all the while in fixed astonishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they continued to employ themselves great part of the night. They lightened their labour by songs, one of which was composed extempore, for I was myself the subject of it; it was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in a sort of chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words literally translated were these:--‘The winds roared, and the rains fell; the poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree; he has no mother to bring him milk, no wife to grind his corn.’ Chorus:--‘Let us pity the white man, no mother has he,’ &c. Trifling as this recital may appear to the reader, to a person in my situation the circumstance was affecting in the highest degree.