the Damara chiefs, breaking in the oxen and hoping for the rains. It is a charming place, and almost a sufficiency of game was killed to feed us. CHAPTER V. Personnel.—Commissariat.—Daily Allowances.—Start on the Expedition.—Damara Obtuseness.—Inability to count.—Information withheld.—Kahikenè sends to us.—Arrive on the high Tableland.—Superstitions on Food.—Meet Kahikenè.—His Difficulties.—Gives me Advice.—Information about the Road.—Four Oxen stolen.—The Culprits are punished.—Recognising lost Oxen.—Hear of another Road.—Reach Omatako.—African Puma.—Eshuameno.—Chipping the front Teeth.—View from the Hill.—Ja Kabaca.—Climb Omuvereoom.—A Snake.—Seriously obstructed by the Thorns.—Reach Otjironjuba.—How to make Soap.—We catch some Bushmen.—Learn a little and travel on.—Doubts about our route.—Arrive at a Werft.—Are guided onwards.—Omanbondè.—Hippopotami. The morning of March the 3rd found us packed up, and starting for our exploring journey. We tugged along the heavy Swakop sand, and outspanned after three hours at a fountain, passing at length into a country which, I believe, no European eye had ever before witnessed. I may now review our caravan: it consisted of two waggons, both filled with things; the large one had a solid deck over all, and was curtained into two compartments; Andersson slept in the front one and I in the back if the ground was wet. Spare guns were lashed inside this waggon, and canvass bags for books and for other etceteras, but we could never make the waggon a place to read in with any comfort, for it was far too full of articles of exchange. The small waggon was the receptacle for the men’s sleeping clothes, besides its regular freight. Nobody slept in it except during heavy rains. John St. Helena drove the large waggon and led the way; Phlebus the small one. John Williams, Onesimus, and John Allen were all engaged as leaders, but in practice Onesimus always led the large waggon and any odd Damara led the other. Hans, John Morta and Timboo were the remaining servants. My natives were constantly changing. I am quite unable to give the names of the Ghou Damups, for two reasons: the first, perhaps a sufficient one, is that they are totally unpronounceable to any European mouth, and altogether beyond the powers of our alphabet to represent;—the second, that they were invariably christened afresh by my men as soon as they entered my service. The sort of names these negroes answered to will perhaps convey a better notion of their character and style than a longer description—there was a “Grub,” a “Scrub,” a “Nicodemus,” a “Moonshine,” and a “Toby.” The Damaras generally retained their own names; they were much the more stylish of the two. My Damara party at starting was something as follows:—