From my tent I overheard the
following conversation between Memba Sasa and the cook:
"The grass is high," said the cook. "Are you not afraid to go
after a wounded lion with only one white man?"
"My one white man is enough," replied Memba Sasa.
It is a quality of courage that I must confess would be quite
beyond me-to depend entirely on the other fellow, and not at all
on myself. This courage is always remarkable to me, even in the
case of the gunbearer who knows all about the man whose heels he
follows. But consider that of the gunbearer's first experience
with a stranger. The former has no idea of how the white man will
act; whether he will get nervous, get actually panicky, lose his
shooting ability, and generally mess things up. Nevertheless, he
follows his master in, and he stands by. If the hunter fails, the
gunbearer will probably die. To me it is rather fine: for he does
it, not from the personal affection and loyalty which will carry
men far, but from a sheer sense of duty and pride of caste. The
quiet pride of the really good men, like Memba Sasa, is easy to
understand.
And the records are full of stories of the white man who has not
made good:
