Well might the wanderers cry out in their delight, seeing that at length, after eight months of perilous travelling from the coast, they beheld the walls of their city of rest, of the golden Ophir of the Bible.

Their company had started from the eastern port, numbering fifteen hundred men, besides women and children, and of those not more than half were left alive.

Once a savage tribe had ambushed them, killing many.

Once the pestilential fever of the low lands had taken them so that they died of it by scores.

Twice also had they suffered heavily through hunger and thirst, to say nothing of their losses by the fangs of lions, crocodiles, and other wild beasts which with the country swarmed.