he may send an army which, if they live through the desert and the mountains, and can overcome the brave Kukuanes and their devilish arts, to which end many priests should be brought, will make him the richest king since Solomon.  With my own eyes I have seen the countless diamonds stored in Solomon’s treasure chamber behind the white Death; but through the treachery of Gagool the witch-finder I might bring nought away, scarcely my life.  Let him who comes follow the map, and climb the snow of Sheba’s left breast till he reaches the nipple, on the north side of which is the great road Solomon made, from whence three days’ journey to the King’s Palace.  Let him kill Gagool.  Pray for my soul.  Farewell.

Jose da Silvestra."[*]

[*] Eu Jose da Silvestra que estou morrendo de fome na pequena cova
    onde nao ha neve ao lado norte do bico mais ao sul das duas
    montanhas que chamei scio de Sheba; escrevo isto no anno 1590;
    escrevo isto com um pedaco d’osso n’ um farrapo de minha roupa e
    com sangue meu por tinta; se o meu escravo der com isto quando
    venha ao levar para Lourenzo Marquez, que o meu amigo ---------
    leve a cousa ao conhecimento d’ El Rei, para que possa mandar um
    exercito que, se desfiler pelo deserto e pelas montonhas e mesmo
    sobrepujar os bravos Kukuanes e suas artes diabolicas, pelo que se
    deviam trazer muitos padres Far o Rei mais rico depois de Salomao
    Com meus proprios olhos ve os di amantes sem conto guardados nas
    camaras do thesouro de Salomao a traz da morte branca, mas pela
    traicao de Gagoal a feiticeira achadora, nada poderia levar, e
    apenas a minha vida.  Quem vier siga o mappa e trepe pela neve de
    Sheba peito a esquerda ate chegar ao bica, do lado norte do qual
    esta a grande estrada do Solomao por elle feita, donde ha tres
    dias de jornada ate ao Palacio do Rei.  Mate Gagoal.  Reze por minha
    alma.  Adeos.  Jose da Silvestra.

When I had finished reading the above, and shown the copy of the map, drawn by the dying hand of the old Dom with his blood for ink, there followed a silence of astonishment.

“Well,” said Captain Good, “I have been round the world twice, and put in at most ports, but may I be hung for a mutineer if ever I heard a yarn like this out of a story book, or in it either, for the matter of that.”

“It’s a queer tale, Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry.  “I suppose you are not hoaxing us?  It is, I know, sometimes thought allowable to take in a greenhorn.”

“If you think that, Sir Henry,” I said, much put out, and pocketing my paper—­for I do not like to be thought one of those silly fellows who consider it witty to tell lies, and who are for ever boasting to newcomers of extraordinary hunting adventures which never happened—­ “if you think that, why, there is an end to the matter,” and I rose to go.