Off the Map

by Fergus Fleming

Clapperton was back in Kuka by 8 July, so wracked by his journey that he collapsed in his hut. Not having seen the man for eight months, Denham came to investigate. ‘So satisfied was I,’ he wrote, ‘that the sunburnt, sickly person that lay extended on the floor, rolled in a dark-blue shirt, was not my companion, that I was about to leave the place when he convinced me of my error by calling me by name.’ When Denham heard Clapperton’s news he immediately proposed an expedition across the desert to Egypt. But good sense prevailed, and the three Europeans – Hillman was now much better and had passed his spare hours making a throne and ceremonial carriage for El Kanemi – crossed the Sahara once again, reaching London in May 1825.

  They received a mixed welcome. The Edinburgh Review said they had covered more ground and opened more expanses of uncharted desert than any other African expedition to date – in which there was some truth. But Barrow was dissatisfied: for all the information the explorers had brought home, they had not solved the riddle of the Niger. As he wrote: ‘The information obtained by Clapperton has entangled the question more than before.’ Another expedition was therefore necessary. Having secured his promotion, Denham wanted nothing more to do with the desert, so the job fell to Clapperton. A repeat journey through the Sahara was deemed too expensive and troublesome, so he was ordered to take his chances in the tropics. His task, as outlined by Barrow, was monumental: he was to cross the Niger, ascertain what had happened to Park, retrieve his journal, then travel via Sokoto to Timbuctoo* before returning down the Niger. He left London on 27 August 1825 with three officers and a manservant named Richard Lemon Lander.

  Lander was a 20-year-old Cornishman who had grown up in the West Indies. He was poorly educated but intelligent and displayed what he described as ‘rambling inclinations’. Remembering the black women who had nursed him as a child, these inclinations led him to Africa. ‘There was always a charm in the very sound of [its name], that always made my heart flutter on hearing it mentioned,’ he wrote, ‘whilst its boundless deserts of sand, the awful obscurity in which many of the interior regions were enveloped; the strange and wild aspect of countries that had never been trodden by the foot of a European, and even the very failure of all former undertakings to explore its hidden wonder, united to strengthen the determination I had come to.’ He had visited South Africa in 1823 as servant to a colonial administrator, and when he heard that Clapperton was departing to ‘ascertain the source, progress and termination of the mysterious Niger’, he volunteered his services at once. He was accepted because he seemed straightforward, dependable, honest and obedient.

  On 30 November Clapperton’s men landed at the port of Badagry, not far west of modern Lagos. To cheer their transport on its way Lander pulled a small bugle from his pocket and played ‘Over the hills and far away’. The party then set off inland, enticing so many expatriate adventurers that it eventually swelled to nine (not including the small column of porters who carried the white men’s goods and, often, the white men themselves). But disease took its usual toll, and by January the group had shrunk to three: Clapperton, Lander and an African interpreter named Pasko, of whom only Lander and Pasko were able to walk. (The boots Clapperton had purchased in London did not fit; so, after experimenting with slippers, he was carried in a hammock for the rest of the journey.) They encountered the Yoruba, whose state seemed near heavenly. According to Clapperton they were a kind people, at ease with each other and their rulers. Their government was ‘conducted with the greatest mildness’ and their carvings, of which they were justly proud, were in Lander’s words ‘[the] rival, in point of delicacy, [to] any of a similar kind I have seen in Europe’. To the north, however, the land was tyrannized either by Sultan Bello from Sokoto or Sheikh El Kanemi from Kuka.

  Clapperton, Lander and Pasko pressed on, buying their way north with trinkets and trade goods, brandishing documents that proved their friendship with both Bello and El Kanemi. They reached the town of Bussa, near the Niger, where people told them how Mungo Park had met his death at the hands of bowmen who had fired on him from both banks and how his canoe had overturned in the rapids. They even pointed out the spot where it had happened. But when questioned about Park’s belongings they became ‘very uneasy’ and muttered contradictorily. They had been destroyed, they said; they had been taken away by ‘learned men’; they had no idea what had happened to them; they had been children at the time; but if they were anywhere they were upstream with the Sultan of Yauri. When Clapperton wrote to the sultan to inquire, a message came back to the effect that he did, indeed, have some of Park’s books and would sell them for the price of a rifle. But the white men would have to collect the goods themselves.

  Clapperton did not have the time. The rains were at hand and he wanted to be in the healthier climate of Sokoto before they arrived. He was already suffering from malaria and dysentery, neither of which would improve if he stayed where he was. Park’s belongings could be collected on the way back. He reached Sokoto on 19 October 1825, only to find that Sultan Bello of the Hausa was now at war with El Kanemi of Bornu and that he, Clapperton, was regarded as a spy for the opposite camp. Bello, his usual well-informed self, told Clapperton that he had been warned the English had designs on his nation and, given a chance, would ‘seize on the country and dispossess him, as they had done with regard to India’. As for Timbuctoo, he could not possibly go there: it was too dangerous. Meanwhile, if Clapperton did not mind, he would relieve him of his weapons. But he was welcome to stay in Sokoto. Indeed, there was no question but that he must stay in Sokoto. And lest he be concerned about his baggage and trade goods, Bello would take care of them on his behalf. Stripped of his possessions and placed under virtual house arrest, Clapperton became angry. ‘At no time am I possessed of a sweet and passive temper,’ he wrote, ‘and when the ague is coming on me it is a little worse.’ But there was nothing he could do. He and Lander were allotted a hut that resembled an ‘immense bee hive’, in which Clapperton paced to and fro, clad in dressing-gown and slippers, and smoking cigars. Of an evening Lander played cheery tunes on his bugle. On Christmas Day Clapperton gave him one of his six remaining gold sovereigns in recognition of his efforts – ‘for he is well deserving, and has never once shown want of courage or enterprise unworthy of an Englishman’.

  Festering in his beehive, Clapperton lost all strength. ‘It is most violently hot here,’ he wrote. ‘I fancy the weather has already made some impression on my health, for I feel now and then a little feverish and unwell. I sincerely wish it may not increase upon me. Heaven knows I have had enough of sickness since I first set my foot on African soil.’ As for Timbuctoo, it was impossible. A group had just arrived from the place, and ‘had with the greatest difficulty been allowed to come here with nothing but a staff and a shirt, and had been twelve months on the road owing to the war’. In these conditions, ‘were I to go, all the country would hear of me, and his enemies would have me and all my baggage before I had been two months on the road’. They spent six months as unwilling guests in Sokoto until, on 12 March, Bello scored a crushing victory over El Kanemi and announced they were free to leave. But that same evening Clapperton was struck by such a fierce bout of dysentery that he could go nowhere. ‘I believe I shall never recover,’ he told Lander. For a month he drifted in and out of consciousness, in his waking moments instructing Lander how to proceed without him. Then on 10 April he said, ‘Richard, I shall shortly be no more. I feel myself dying.’ Surprisingly, he improved. By the 12th he was eating well and was convinced he would pull through. On the 13th he sat up unaided for the first time in weeks – only to shudder in Lander’s arms and fall dead.

  For a man who was in theory just a servant, who did not really know where he was, and who had no authority, Lander showed great resource. First, he forced Bello to provide a suitable funeral for Clapperton, complete with camel cortège and an array of slaves to dig the grave. ‘I read the impressive funeral service of the Church of England over the remains of my valued master,’ he wrote, ‘
the English flag waving slowly and mournfully over them at the same moment. Not a single soul listened to this distressing ceremony, for the slaves were quarrelling with each other the whole of the time it lasted.’ Then he demanded Bello repay him for the goods he had seized from the expedition. Surprisingly, Bello did so – not to the full value, but enough for Lander to make his way home. But how would he get there? ‘I could not help but be deeply affected with my lonesome and dangerous position,’ he wrote, ‘a hundred and fifteen days journey from the nearest sea-coast, surrounded by a selfish and cruel race of strangers, my only friend and master mouldering in his grave, and myself suffering dreadfully from fever.’ Clapperton had suggested he catch a caravan to Tripoli, but Lander had other ideas. He would complete the expedition’s task and follow the Niger to its mouth, accompanied by a couple of slaves and the interpreter Pasko, who had hitherto lurked unobtrusively in Sokoto’s suburbs.

  So great was Lander’s new-found confidence that he might well have made it. But when he reached Bussa he found that the middle reaches of the Niger were once again involved in a war. He therefore travelled overland through Yoruba territory, relying on the generosity of its inhabitants to supplement his dwindling supply of trade goods. He was very lucky to reach the coast – but unlucky to reach it when he did. He arrived while King Adele, the ruler of Badagry, was transferring a large – and illegal – consignment of slaves to Brazilian and Portuguese vessels. Persuaded by the slavers that Lander was a spy, Adele arrested him and sentenced him to trial by poison. If he drank it and survived, all would be well; but if he died, it was proof of his guilt. Having endured so much, and being now so close to salvation, Lander was infuriated ‘that my life should be destroyed; that my skull should be preserved as a trophy by heartless savages, and my body devoured ... by birds of prey’. Before an audience of 500 to 600 people, he drank the bowl of poison. It was poison, of that Lander was sure, but it was a slow-acting one. Feeling dizzy, he pushed through the crowds to his hut and took an emetic. When he had finished vomiting he was congratulated by Adele: nobody had survived a trial by poison in years; in recompense for the inconvenience to which he had been put he was to consider himself a guest of the town. For obvious reasons neither the Brazilians nor the Portuguese were willing to have him aboard, so Lander had to wait for a British ship to take him home. He arrived in Portsmouth on 30 April 1828, dishevelled, sunburned and weary, but still carrying Clapperton’s chest of papers.

  When the trunk was opened the authorities were disappointed. Clapperton seemed to have fulfilled none of his primary goals, and although he had learned a little about Park’s death had not retrieved his journal. In fact, the only physical trace of anything to do with Park was a shirt labelled ‘Thomas Park’ that Lander had purchased in the last stages of his journey. Thomas, the son of Mungo, had taken three years’ leave from the navy to search for his father. He had never been in Africa before, but it seemed to him obvious that to survive in the tropics one should act as he had heard Africans did. He therefore smeared himself with oil and clay and strode inland from Badagry carrying little food, fewer clothes and no medicine. He died two days after leaving the coast.

  Clapperton’s failure – for that was how it was seen, despite the fact that in the course of his two expeditions he had become the first European to find a route from the Mediterranean to the Gulf of Benin – necessitated a third expedition. Timbuctoo had already been found by Gordon Laing, so that was out of the way; but it was imperative to find Park’s journal and trace the Niger to its mouth. Forward stepped Richard Lander. He would complete the business, he told Barrow, for the sum of £100 in travelling expenses, £356 for trade goods and equipment, plus a pension of £100 for himself and his wife while he was away. And, if it was acceptable, he would take his brother John with him – free of charge. Of all the strange proposals advanced in the history of African exploration this seemed the most far-fetched. How could two untrained men, of lowly social status, be expected to succeed where their betters had fared so disastrously? Why, Lander didn’t even know how to use a sextant. It was laughable. On the other hand, Lander was an intelligent young man who had already travelled in West Africa, and his expedition was outstandingly inexpensive. If he succeeded, well and fine. If he and his brother perished a few miles inland, like so many others, it would not matter a jot for, as Lander was the first to admit, ‘the gap we may make in society will be hardly noticed at all’. Barrow took a chance. The two Landers left Portsmouth on 9 January 1830, and on 22 March coasted through the Badagrian surf to be ‘flung with violence on the burning sands’.

  Hitherto, all Niger expeditions had been bedevilled by a very British question of propriety. What clothes should one wear in front of the natives? One faction supported the adoption of regional fashions. George Lyon had stated: ‘I am confident that it would never be possible for any man to pass through Africa unless in every respect he qualified himself to appear as a Mohammedan; and should I myself return to that country, I would not be accompanied by anyone who would refuse to observe these precautions.’ Others said this was an insult to the flag and that Westerners should wear the garb of civilized men. Thus, on Clapperton’s first expedition to Africa he, Denham and Oudney wore thick serge, with waistcoats and brass buttons – sometimes also dress uniform. It was uncomfortable but, Oudney wrote, ‘I have not once experienced any opposition on account of being a Christian and a Briton. It is much easier for us to support our own character than one that must not but be hard even after several years of experience.’ The Landers supported Lyon and arrived at Badagry in the clothes they thought Arab traders might wear. Emerging from the sea in baggy trousers, long gowns and wide-brimmed straw hats, they were greeted with hilarity.

  Ignoring the mockery, Richard Lander employed his old slave Pasko, plus a couple of ‘wives’ he had acquired on his last trip, and then set off with his brother John for the Niger. On 17 June they reached Bussa, whose ruler forgot that he had no knowledge of Park’s belongings and happily showed them a book that had been taken from the scene of the murder. As he unwrapped the volume their hearts ‘beat high with expectation’. But it was not Park’s journal, merely a book of logarithms, containing a tailor’s bill and an invitation to dine with Mr and Mrs Watson of the Strand. The king of Bussa refused to sell the book, claiming that it was revered as a household god, so they paddled upriver to Yauri to collect the journals that the sultan had promised Clapperton. Their optimism was boosted by the scenery. ‘Beautiful, spreading trees adorned the country on each side of the river, like a park,’ Richard Lander wrote, ‘corn, nearly ripe, waved over the water’s edge; large, open villages appeared every half-hour; and herds of spotted cattle were observed grazing and enjoying the cool of the shade ... The river was as smooth as a lake; canoes laden with sheep and goats, were paddled by women down its almost imperceptible current.’ At Yauri, however, their hopes were confounded. It was a miserable village, swamped by pools of sewage-filled water. Everyone was poor and unhealthy, and the sultan reigned from a dingy courtyard covered in swallows’ droppings. Worse still, he said he did not have Park’s journal and was affronted by the very suggestion. ‘How do you think I could have the books of a person that was lost at Bussa?’ he sneered. Then he refused to let the Landers leave until they paid a large enough bribe. It took a letter from the king of Bussa before they were at last permitted to quit their cockroach-ridden quarters and paddle down the Niger.

  At Bussa, however, they were given similar treatment. A canoe was on its way from the Sultan of Wawa downriver, the king explained. A small payment would secure it. The payment was made, but the canoe did not materialize. They waited and waited, using their limited trade goods to buy food – typically, rancid hippo meat – and by 6 September they were becoming anxious. ‘Our resources... are diminishing rapidly,’ John Lander wrote, ‘and when they are gone, we know not what we shall do.’ They managed to procure various items of Park memorabilia – a gown, a gun, a sword, a sprung seat from his c
anoe and other oddments – but while this fulfilled one of their objectives, the Niger seemed daily more impossible. A canoe did finally appear, but it was patently inadequate for their needs, despite having cost almost all they had. Richard Lander lost his temper. ‘There is infinitely more difficulty and greater bustle and discussion in simply purchasing a canoe here,’ he raged, ‘than there would be in Europe in drawing up a treaty of peace, or in determining the boundaries of an Empire.’ He told the king that if they couldn’t buy another vessel they would leave without it. Miraculously, a second canoe appeared. It was not much bigger than the first, and in no better condition, but it would do. They paid for it and left.

  Their journey down the Niger was as frustrating as their stay at Bussa, only longer. The canoes leaked so badly that they had to find new ones. But wherever they stopped it was the same story: a good, big canoe was nearby; all they had to do was wait. As they waited, they spent their ever-dwindling resources. ‘They have played with us as if we were great dolls,’ wrote John Lander. ‘We have been driven about like shuttlecocks ... Why this double-dealing, this deceit, this chicanery?’ Tired of dickering and waiting, they eventually stole the canoes they needed and pressed on. They met the mouth of the Benue – the river Denham might have discovered had he been able to – but finding its current too strong for their canoes, they continued with the flow. On 22 October the sight of a seagull told them they were near the coast. The river became busier, the banks lusher. Grey parrots whistled from palm trees and bits of Western detritus could be found on the shore. The villages appeared daily more prosperous. They anticipated at any moment the sight of friendly traders who could escort them for the rest of their journey, and on 5 November their hopes were realized. Plying upriver came a flotilla of vessels, bedecked with flags. They were unusual flags, some of them displaying bottles and glasses, others chairs and tables, one of them a leg; but above the motley fluttered the Union Jack. Their certainty that they had reached civilization was underlined when they noticed that the rowers wore shirts and coats – it was as quickly dashed, however, when the flotilla unveiled its cannons and began to fire at them.