So far they had heard nothing of Livingstone, nor had they any clew as to the direction in which they should go.  There was no ray of light or hope to cheer them on their way, yet Stanley never for a moment thought of giving up the search.

Once, amid the terrors of the jungle, surrounded by savages and wild animals, with supplies almost exhausted, and the remnant of his followers in a despairing condition, the young explorer came near being discouraged.

But he would not give way to any feeling that might lessen his chances of success, and it was at this crisis he wrote in his journal:—­

“No living man shall stop me—­only death can prevent me.  But death—­not even this; I shall not die—­I will not die—­I cannot die!  Something tells me I shall find him and—­write it larger—­ find him, find him!  Even the words are inspiring.”

Soon after this a caravan passed and gave the expedition news which renewed hope:  A white man, old, white haired, and sick, had just arrived at Ujiji.

Stanley and his followers pushed on until they came in sight of Ujiji.  Then the order was given to “unfurl the flags and load the guns.”  Immediately the Stars and Stripes and the flag of Zanzibar were thrown to the breeze, and the report of fifty guns awakened the echoes.  The noise startled the inhabitants of Ujiji.  They came running in the direction of the sounds, and soon the expedition was surrounded by a crowd of friendly black men, who cried loudly, “Yambo, Yambo, BANA!” which signifies welcome.

“At this grand moment,” says Stanley, “we do not think of the hundreds of miles we have marched, of the hundreds of hills that we have ascended and descended, of the many forests we have traversed, of the jungle and thickets that annoyed us, of the fervid salt plains that blistered our feet, of the hot suns that scorched us, nor the dangers and difficulties now happily surmounted.

“At last the sublime hour has arrived!—­our dreams, our hopes and anticipations are now about to be realized!  Our hearts and our feelings are with our eyes, as we peer into the palms and try to make out in which hut or house lives the white man with the gray beard we heard about on the Malagarazi.”

When the uproar had ceased, a voice was heard saluting the leader of the expedition in English—­“Good morning, sir.”

“Startled at hearing this greeting in the midst of such a crowd of black people,” says Stanley, “I turn sharply round in search of the man, and see him at my side, with the blackest of faces, but animated and joyous—­a man dressed in a long white shirt, with a turban of American sheeting around his head, and I ask, ’Who the mischief are you?’

“‘I am Susi, the servant of Dr. Livingstone,’ said he, smiling, and showing a gleaming row of teeth.

“‘What!  Is Dr. Livingstone here?’

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘In this village?’