THE LAST SEFARI 433 
going on with Wanyamwazi, Massai, N’dorobo, Karamojo, 
till late into the night. 
Then, leading the column, steadily stalks Juma, the 
Wanyamwazi head porter, who, though he carried ninety- 
six pounds, told me on the last day of the sefari I had never 
given him a heavy enough load. 
Along comes David Rebman, following the last lazy 
or tired porter into camp. The best headman in East 
Africa when he keeps away from “‘pomba,” which (it is but 
fair to say) he usually does. Brave, competent and loved 
by his men David, who has tramped up and down all East 
Africa since the eighties, a very Ulysses in his many wan- 
derings, though unlike Homer’s boastful hero, modest 
and ever faithful to his black Penelope! 
David who bore his part bravely in the desperate fight 
at Lubwas when first in the open, at but a few yards’ dis- 
tance, brave men shot each other down and then in grass 
and cover, desperately engaged in a life and death struggle 
for hours on the issue of which it is no exaggeration to say 
hung the fate of Uganda. Poor, forgotten, unrewarded, 
unthanked David, who like many another who served 
England well in her hour of extreme need, has not even a 
bit of riband or raedal to show for it. 
David, an intrepid leader of men, a devout communi-. 
cant in the Anglican church, and at the same time a pro- 
found believer in, and sufferer from, Mohammedan dowa* 
(medicine of witchcraft) .* 
Poor David, already past his prime, and like all his 
kith and kin, with not one penny saved. 
I shall see oftener than any of the rest, and closer than 
the others, my brave Wakamba “Brownie” and my little 
faithful John, the two friends who always looked after my 
well-being with an untiring, unselfish care in the field and 
in the camp. I had from them always a faithful service 
*T tell in another place my experience with David R. and the witch doctors. 
