34 THE. LAND OF (PHE LION 
native cook I verily believe, in all Africa who would not 
make a hotch-potch of the best packed and assorted “‘chop 
box” * in one hour. But John saves me, for every chop 
box is locked, and kept locked, and he carries the keys. 
Simple, faithful little soul, never out of temper, never 
bringing tales of anyone however badly he may be served, 
you come by your fine, capable nature right honestly, 
for your father before you, John Connop, was one of the 
two or three indomitable black boys that no suffering or 
danger could drive from the side of the lonely, great man, 
Livingstone. All over unknown Africa they tramped with 
him, tended by them only he died. And down to the dis- 
tant sea coast they brought his body. Needless to say, 
John, too, is a Christian and a mission boy. 
I am not drawing a fanciful picture or writing a novel; 
I am only stating facts, a few of many that might be 
stated. John, among a considerable variety of employ- 
ments, served as a nurse for a year in a hospital. When 
we had one of our men mauled by a lion, and when for 
six weeks twice daily, the wounds had to be treated with 
boiled water and antiseptic, John could and did for days 
together undertake the man’s treatment. He can march 
all day with the best porters, and as he does so carries an 
extra gun for me. He lives on one meal a day, boiled 
rice if he can get it. If not that, any potio going, and he 
doesn’t have that one meal till he has seen the tents up, 
the beds made, the mosquito nets hung, our dinner cooked 
and eaten. Then he has his meal, and I know — though 
I can never catch him at it — one cigarette afterward. 
Porters are to the sefari what the Macedonian phalanx 
was to Alexander’s armies. ‘There can be no safari without 
them. Successful sportsmen there have been who de- 
pended for transport almost entirely on donkeys or ox 
wagon, but as between the donkey and the porter, many 
* Box containing personal foods and delicacies. 
