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 medal 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 



* I tell in another place my experience with David R. and the witch doctors. 



