Traveler, born at Fowlshiels, Scotland, Sept. 10, 1771; studied surgery at Edinburgh, and was 1792–93 assistant surgeon in India. Under the auspices of the African Association, London, he was the pioneer in the modern exploration of Africa. He journeyed up the Gambia (1795), suffering extreme hardships, and being a prisoner for some time in the hands of a Moorish king. Escaping on July 1, 1796, he reached the upper Niger, the great object of his search, at Segu, and followed the river toward Timbuctoo as far as Silla, where he was compelled to turn back. After seven months’ illness and great hardships he reached the mouth of the Gambia, having been nineteen months in the interior. This journey was described in his book, “Travels in the Interior of Africa.” The British Government sent him (1805) to descend the Niger from the upper river, and trace its entire course. Most of his party died of fever, and before the Niger was reached only five white men were left out of forty-four. The party set sail down the river, at first in two canoes, but soon built a little schooner, with which they descended the Niger some 1,500 miles, where they were treacherously attacked by a large party of natives, and Park and all his company perished in the attempt to escape by swimming. The journals he sent home and information collected by Clapperton and Lander have given all the facts that are known of his last expedition.

Personal

  It grieves me to the heart to write anything that may give you uneasiness; but such is the will of Him who doeth all things well! Your brother Alexander, my dear friend, is no more! He died of the fever at Sansanding, on the morning of the 28th of October; for particulars I must refer you to your father. I am afraid that, impressed with a woman’s fears and the anxieties of a wife, you may be led to consider my situation as a great deal worse than it really is. It is true, my dear friends, Mr. Anderson and George Scott, have both bid adieu to the things of this world; and the greater part of the soldiers have died on the march during the rainy season; but you may believe me, I am in good health. The rains are completely over, and the healthy season has commenced, so that there is no danger of sickness; and I have still a sufficient force to protect me from any insult in sailing down the river, to sea…. I think it not unlikely but I shall be in England before you receive this.—You may be sure that I feel happy at turning my face towards home. We this morning have done with all intercourse with the natives; and the sails are now hoisting for our departure for the coast.

  It might have been expected, that a person who had been so much accustomed to literary and scientific society, and who had lately been in some degree admitted into the fashionable circles of the metropolis, in which he had become an object of much interest and attention, would have felt great repugnance to the solitude and obscurity of a small market town. But this does not appear to have been the case. General society, for which indeed he was not particularly suited, was not much to his taste; and during every period of his life, he always looked forward to a state of complete retirement and seclusion in the country, as the object and end of all his labours. He had great enjoyment however in his own domestic circle, and in the society of select friends…. In his person he was tall, being about six feet high, and perfectly well proportioned. His countenance and whole appearance were highly interesting; and his frame active and robust, fitted for great exertions and the endurance of great hardships. His constitution had suffered considerably from the effects of his first journey into Africa, but seems afterwards to have been restored to its original vigour, of which his last expedition afforded the most ample proofs. Park’s family consisted of three sons and one daughter, all of whom, together with Mrs. Park, their mother, are now living. He also left a mother, four brothers (of whom one is lately dead), and three sisters.

  His character will be best understood by a careful examination of his life; but it may be useful to remark, in conclusion, that, although his natural prudence seems partly to have forsaken him during his second journey, few men have possessed in a higher degree the virtues of a traveller—intrepidity, enthusiasm, perseverance, veracity, prudence; his manners, likewise, though somewhat too stiff and reserved, must upon the whole have been agreeable, since he was able both in civilized and savage countries to gain and preserve many friends.

  During this autumn Scott formed the personal acquaintance of Mungo Park, the celebrated victim of African discovery. On his return from his first expedition, Park endeavoured to establish himself as a medical practitioner in the town of Hawick, but the drudgeries of that calling in such a district soon exhausted his ardent temper, and he was now living in seclusion in his native cottage at Fowlsheils on the Yarrow, nearly opposite Newark Castle…. His thoughts had always continued to be haunted with Africa. He told Scott, that whenever he awoke suddenly in the night, owing to a nervous disorder with which he was troubled, he fancied himself still a prisoner in the tent of Ali; but when the poet expressed some surprise that he should design again to revisit those scenes, he answered, he would rather brave Africa and all its horrors, than wear out his life in long and toilsome rides over the hills of Scotland, for which remuneration was hardly enough to keep soul and body together. Towards the end of the autumn, when about to quit his country for the last time, Park paid Scott a farewell visit and slept at Ashestiel. Next morning his host accompanied him homewards over the wild chain of hills between the Tweed and the Yarrow. Park talked much of his new scheme, and mentioned his determination to tell his family that he had some business for a day or two in Edinburgh, and send them his blessing from thence, without returning to take leave. He had married not long before a pretty and amiable woman; and when they reached the Williamhope ridge, “the autumnal mist floating heavily and slowly down the valley of the Yarrow,” presented to Scott’s imagination “a striking emblem of the troubled and uncertain prospect which his undertaking afforded.” He remained, however, unshaken, and at length they reached the spot at which they had agreed to separate. A small ditch divided the moor from the road, and, in going over it, Park’s horse stumbled, and nearly fell. “I am afraid, Mungo,” said the Sheriff, “that is a bad omen.” To which he answered, smiling, “Freits (omens) follow those who look to them.”

  What Ledyard wanted to complete his character, the famous Mungo Park eminently possessed. He had not so large a grasp of mind as Ledyard, but he was in no need of it. He had quite enough for his purpose, and not any of a doubtful sort to distract it. But who needs to be told what a thorough man for his purpose he was, what sufferings he went through with the simplest and most touching courage, what successes he achieved, and what a provoking, mortal mischance befell him after all? It was not so mortifying a one as Bruce’s, who broke his neck down his own staircase; but it was sadder by a great deal, so far from home and on the threshold of the greatest of his adventures.

Travels

  But the essential merit of this book, and that which has conferred a lasting distinction on the name of its author, consists in the authentic and important information which it contains. Considered in this point of view, it must unquestionably be regarded as the greatest accession to the general stock of geographical knowledge, which was ever yet made by any single traveller. The claim of Park to this distinction will be apparent from a short view of his principal discoveries.

  It is difficult for imagination to conceive a project of a more commanding, or, to a daring and contemplative spirit, a more attractive aspect, than that which Park returned to Africa, resolved to execute, or perish in the attempt. It was perfectly new, and it was vast to sublimity. It combined, in a singular manner, a definiteness of principle with a boundlessness of scope. Nothing could be more precise than the law of its execution, to follow with undeviating fidelity the course—indeed, to go with the stream—of a noble river, the directions of which had been perfectly ascertained, to a great distance, by the traveller himself; but then, no man could tell him whither this river was to carry him, in what wilderness of lakes or sands it might desert him, or into what ocean it might, with the pride of accumulated waters, bear him down. On any hypothesis, immensity of scene was before him.

  We now lay aside this interesting volume; and bid a mournful farewell to that amiable and illustrious man, whose last sufferings and exploits it is destined to record;—sufferings, borne with an unaffected cheerfulness of magnanimity, which must both exalt and endear him to all who are capable of being touched with what is generous and noble in character,—and exploits performed with a mildness and modesty, and ardour with which they were conjoined. In Mungo Park, we are not afraid to say, that the world has lost a great man,—and one who was as well qualified, as he was undoubtedly inclined, to have been one of its greatest benefactors. The account which is here given of him, is in the highest degree interesting,—not merely to those who care about Africa, but to all who take delight in the spectacle of unbounded courage and heroic ardour, unalloyed with any taint of ferocity, selfishness, or bigotry.

  Park,—a man of the most peculiar and splendid qualifications. His journey was unquestionably the most important ever performed by a European.

  Few books of travels have acquired so speedy and extensive a reputation as this of Park’s. It was sought for with an eagerness which might have done credit to a novel; and the reader—whilst his imagination was exalted by the remoteness, the eminent perils, and strange scenes of the journey—could not help feeling something like affection for a person so kindly, so resolute, and yet so unassuming. It still continues one of the most popular works of its class, and the qualities, both of its subject and manner, well deserve this pre-eminence. In pursuing it we follow the traveller with a keen anxiety; we participate in all his toils and dangers, and hairbreadth escapes, portrayed with a brief and touching simplicity, which at once awakens our sympathies by its indubitable air of truth; we are instructed and entertained by his delineation of those vast countries and the rude tribes which people them; we admire his modest though unshaken fortitude; we love the honesty and benevolent candour everywhere displayed by him. Many travellers have possessed more learning, more philosophy, and greater intellectual endowments; but none has ever known better the secret of concentrating our attention and calling forth our esteem. It required not only extraordinary strength of mind to accomplish this undertaking; no common powers of fancy and judgment were also requisite to describe it so agreeably.

  Park was the first of the devoted band who returned to tell what he had seen, and his narrative was received with extreme eagerness. To this day, though many have gone, and some have returned like him, to give us knowledge, and then gone back to perish, Park’s name is the most tenderly spoken, and every fragment of his experience, and of information about him, is still caught up with a stronger interest than any of his successors have ever commanded.

  Thus perished Mungo Park, in the thirty-fifth year of his age; a man whose natural enthusiasm, scientific acquirements, undaunted intrepidity, patience of suffering, and inflexible perseverance—in short, every quality requisite for a traveller in the path he adopted, have never been surpassed, and who, had he survived, would no doubt have reaped those laurels, which more fortunate successors in the same career have won. To these qualities in his public character, it is pleasing to be able to add those of amiable simplicity of manners, constancy of affection, and sterling integrity in private life.

  The style is simple and manly, and replete with a fine moral feeling.

  The journal of Mungo Park lacks the diffuseness and the inflated style which is so objectional a feature in Bruce’s narrative. It is simple, straightforward, and possesses all the qualities of truthful history. It was at once received with favor, and still ranks among our most valuable narratives of travel in Africa.

  In lecturing and writing on the question of the innateness of conscience, or the moral sense in man, I have found no testimony as to the moral condition of the lower strata of humanity more explicit, instructive, and evidential than that given in the records of Mungo Park’s “Travels in Africa,” which I have not seen for more than sixty years, but which in my childhood I read with delight and wonder.

  Although Park was not spared to solve the problem which he had set himself, his discoveries and his observations enabled others to finish what he had begun; he was the first European in modern times to strike the Niger river, and he drew a correct inference when he convinced himself that the Niger “could flow nowhere but into the sea.” In his travels he proved himself an explorer of untiring perseverance and inflexible resolution. His heroic efforts served to stimulate the enthusiasm of travellers who during the next twenty years followed in his footsteps, and they roused a keen public interest in African discovery and development. After James Bruce, who, like himself, was a Scotsman, he was the second great African traveller of British origin. The unaffected style and simple narration made use of by Park in the “Travels” increased the popularity of what would have been in any case a much-read book. The accuracy of the general narrative has never been impugned; but, owing to an unfortunate mistake in reckoning thirty-one days in April, the observations of longitude and latitude are not to be depended upon. The work was translated into both French and German the year after publication, and subsequently into most European languages; it has passed through a great number of editions, the quarto edition of 1799 being the best.