When the old man had gone, Gran'pa winked at me and said: "You'll find that he'll be as good as gold for the rest of the voyage. A great man is Stringer. . . . He's like a bromide draught. Hope he has the same effect on the gorillas. . . . Meanwhile, we might get him to have a chat with the others. They all look a bit nervy. It's the change, I expect." Stringer thus became a sort of institution for soothing the worries of the aged. With remarkable tact and perseverance, he took them in hand one by one, quelled their naturally quarrelsome dispositions, eliminated their homesickness, and even comforted them when they were sea-sick. He was here, there, and everywhere--far more like a ministering angel than a gorilla hunter--and I really believe that the old people at last grew to love him. It became an interesting speculation as to whether Stringer hoped to be remembered in some of their wills, or whether he behaved as he did purely from a deep sense of duty. Gran'pa maintained that he was not as simple as he looked. On the other hand, Sally Rebecca thought that he was the noblest man she had ever met--a confession that made Gran'pa childishly jealous. The main thing, however, was that the voyage was a great success. Once we were well out at sea, no one quarrelled (except Gran'pa and I); no one was seriously ill; and no one exhibited any desire to "back out." We evolved into a brotherhood. There were card parties, chess and domino matches, smoking concerts, and even dances. Perhaps the less said about the dancing the better. The spirit of the old men was certainly willing, but the flesh was very weak--and the partners of the opposite sex were limited to two only, so the "boys" mostly shuffled about with one another--a jerky, gyrating mass of black clothes, white whiskers, and shiny, bald heads. Thus the days passed. When we at last sighted the northwest coast of Africa, Captain Morgan--a thin, taciturn individual--crept out of his shell and began to give us fatherly advice. It appeared that he knew almost every inch of the country we intended visiting, and he strongly urged us to set up the sanatorium for the aged at Windhuk, and to make the Island of Corisco the headquarters of the expedition itself. As the climate there was more healthy and equable than on the mainland, we changed our plans accordingly and despatched a wireless to Libreville telling Oakley, our air chief, to arrange for the 'planes to be taken over to the island. We also informed the old men that their rendezvous would now be at Windhuk and not the Kalahari. Six days later we received the businesslike reply: "_Aerodrome and 'planes ready. Corisco._" And on the morning of the third day after this we sighted the Promised Land. All hands and passengers came on deck and let up three mighty cheers. "Hurrah! . . . _Hurrah!_ . . . HURRAH!"