We went all to Anthuse’s house to supper in violent rage, such anger as is usual with hungry men. We brought with us from the palace three of my brother Baalomaals, and one who had stood to make up the number, though he was not in office; his name was Guebra Mascal, he was a sister’s son of the Ras, and commanded one third of the troops of Tigré, which carried fire-arms, that is about 2000 men. He was reputed the best officer of that kind that the Ras had, and was a man about 30 years of age, short, square, and well made, with a very unpromising countenance; flat nose, wide mouth, of a very yellow complexion, and much pitted with the small-pox; he had a most uncommon presumption upon the merit of past services, and had the greatest opinion of his own knowledge in the use of fire-arms, to which he did not scruple to say Ras Michael owed all his victories. Indeed it was to the good opinion that the Ras had of him as a soldier that he owed his being suffered to continue at Gondar; for he was suspected to have been familiar with one of his uncle’s wives in Tigré, by whom it was thought he had a child, at least the Ras put away his wife, and never owned the child to be his. This man supped with us that night, and thence began one of the most serious affairs I ever had in Abyssinia. Guebra Mascal, as usual, vaunted incessantly his skill in fire-arms, the wonderful gun that he had, and feats he had done with it. Petros said, laughing, to him, “You have a genius for shooting, but you have had no opportunity to learn. Now, Yagoube is come, he will teach you something worth talking off.” They had all drank abundantly, and Guebra Mascal had uttered words that I thought were in contempt of me. I believe, replied I peevishly enough, Guebra Mascal, I should suspect, from your discourse, you neither knew men nor guns; every gun of mine in the hands of my servants shall kill twice as far as yours, for my own, it is not worth my while to put a ball in it: When I compare with you, the end of a tallow-candle in my gun shall do more execution than an iron ball in the best of yours, with all the skill and experience you pretend to.