“Three heavy breech-loading double-eight elephant guns, weighing about fifteen pounds each, to carry a charge of eleven drachms of black powder.”  Two of these were by a well-known London firm, most excellent makers, but I do not know by whom mine, which is not so highly finished, was made.  I have used it on several trips, and shot a good many elephants with it, and it has always proved a most superior weapon, thoroughly to be relied on.

“Three double-500 Expresses, constructed to stand a charge of six drachms,” sweet weapons, and admirable for medium-sized game, such as eland or sable antelope, or for men, especially in an open country and with the semi-hollow bullet.

“One double No. 12 central-fire Keeper’s shot-gun, full choke both barrels.”  This gun proved of the greatest service to us afterwards in shooting game for the pot.

“Three Winchester repeating rifles (not carbines), spare guns.

“Three single-action Colt’s revolvers, with the heavier, or American pattern of cartridge.”

This was our total armament, and doubtless the reader will observe that the weapons of each class were of the same make and calibre, so that the cartridges were interchangeable, a very important point.  I make no apology for detailing it at length, as every experienced hunter will know how vital a proper supply of guns and ammunition is to the success of an expedition.

Now as to the men who were to go with us.  After much consultation we decided that their number should be limited to five, namely, a driver, a leader, and three servants.

The driver and leader I found without much difficulty, two Zulus, named respectively Goza and Tom; but to get the servants proved a more difficult matter.  It was necessary that they should be thoroughly trustworthy and brave men, as in a business of this sort our lives might depend upon their conduct.  At last I secured two, one a Hottentot named Ventvoegel, or “windbird,” and one a little Zulu named Khiva, who had the merit of speaking English perfectly.  Ventvoegel I had known before; he was one of the most perfect “spoorers,” that is, game trackers, I ever had to do with, and tough as whipcord.  He never seemed to tire.  But he had one failing, so common with his race, drink.  Put him within reach of a bottle of gin and you could not trust him.  However, as we were going beyond the region of grog-shops this little weakness of his did not so much matter.

Having secured these two men I looked in vain for a third to suit my purpose, so we determined to start without one, trusting to luck to find a suitable man on our way up country.  But, as it happened, on the evening before the day we had fixed for our departure the Zulu Khiva informed me that a Kafir was waiting to see me.  Accordingly, when we had done dinner, for we were at table at the time, I told Khiva to bring him in.  Presently a tall, handsome-looking man, somewhere about thirty years of age, and very