THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN ON GERMAN SOIL
Our glorious rest of three months at “the Cape” came to an end—months
which had been filled with the joy and appreciation of men who had come
out of scenes that had borne something of nightmare into the full light
of life, among people of their own kind, in a beautiful, peaceful land.
The intellectual uplifting was supreme. Minds that were fever-weakened,
and depressed, and unresponsive—and few had not been affected by
prolonged hardship and equatorial climate—came again to life and ordinary
buoyant activity.
But our rest was over. On 12th May, 1917, we regretfully bade good-bye
to Cape Town and travelled by train overland through the bleak Karroo
Veldt, and on to Durban, to embark again there for East Africa on
19th May. Durban had for some days been the gathering-point for this
movement, and many troops were congregated here when we arrived. Five
ships, loaded with troops and stores, made up the convoy which sailed
from Durban for East Africa, a considerable reinforcement that promised
an immediate recommencement of offensive operations now that the rainy
season was over. Then, too, on the _Caronia_, which was one of the ships
of the convoy, were General Van Deventer and General Beves, and their
staffs, hastening back to take again the field. This great liner, the
_Caronia_, was on her way to India with troops, and was only to touch
in on the East African coast, but serious combustion set in in her coal
bunkers and threatened to delay her voyage, and therefore, on nearing our
destination, those of us going to East Africa transferred to naval craft
at sea, and thenceforward proceeded to port.
On the morning of 29th May, I and a few comrades, who had been travelling
overnight on an auxiliary cruiser, found ourselves on deck, and the ship
standing off the low white sand shore of Lindi Bay, a mile or more from
land. Thus we had again come in sight of East Africa—again we looked on
the silent land that lay before us, darkened with that unforgettable
growth of bush thicket that reached to the very borders of the sea. We
viewed the shore with mixed feelings: adventure still held an attraction
to us, but the country had, in its latent possibilities, the power to
appal the searchings of imagination, and it was with feelings more sober
than otherwise that we contemplated the land before us. For there lay the
bush-land, as it had always lain before us, an over-dark picture which no
man could surely read, though he knew, since he had seen it in another
light, and had looked at it closely, that behind the foreground in view
there was concealed the vague lines of startling drama.
[Sidenote: LINDI]
Meantime a small steam tug had put out of Lindi, and when this drew
alongside we boarded her, and, bidding cheery good-bye to the officers
of the cruiser, who had been brief but the best of comrades, the little
tug “jug-jugged” earnestly in for shore. Approaching shore we again
transferred—this time to a row-boat, which in turn grounded on the
shallow beach before the town; and we finally landed dry-shod on the
backs of the native crew, who waded ashore.
Lindi, a town of some 4,500 native inhabitants, is about sixty miles
north of the Portuguese border, and about eighty-five miles south of
Kilwa (Kivenje). Lindi, before it fell into our hands, had been the
southern head-quarters of the Protectorate, and at the north end of the
town there is a large, stone-built fort and extensive barrack buildings.
Along the shore front, facing the sea, there are a number of large,
colonial, commercial buildings and residences: otherwise the town, which
extends inland from the sea, is comprised of palm-shaded streets of
grass-roofed, mud-walled huts, with an odd whitewashed hut inset here and
there—the barter-den of an Arab or Goanese trader. Lindi is low-lying
and unhealthy, as is the Lukuledi Valley, south of the town, where the
broad swamp estuary of the Lukuledi River flows into the bay. Moreover,
the brackish-flavoured well water of the town was very bad, and added to
the tremendous difficulty that was experienced in maintaining the health
of white troops in this area. Behind Lindi the ground rises to a low
hill-crest, the ridge of which runs north parallel to the coast line, and
it was along this crest, overlooking the roads inland, that our present
line terminated. In pre-war days sisal, palm oil, and rubber had been the
chief products developed in this area by settlers, and large, carefully
cultivated estates were plentiful in this neighbourhood.
[Sidenote: VON LETTOW’S FORCES]
At Lindi we were soon fully occupied preparing for active operations.
The main force of the enemy—excepting the smaller force near Mahenge
under Tafel, and opposed to General Northey—were now confined to a
limited area in the south-east corner of the Colony, and were facing our
forces at Lindi and Kilwa. This force, under General von Lettow-Vorbeck,
was estimated to be 4,000 to 5,000 strong. Against these forces a new
offensive began under the command of General Van Deventer, who at the
end of May relieved General Hoskins; and from June onward was carried on
relentlessly, while the enemy, with their backs to the wall, as it were,
fought desperately.
Behind the Kitulo hill, which rose immediately west of Lindi, lay a broad
flat swamp through which crossed the Mtupiti and Ngongo Rivers on their
course to the Lukuledi estuary. Across this waste the enemy were holding
a strong line, on a nine-mile front, in the rubber plantations and bush,
with particularly strong fortifications at Schaafer’s Farm and Mingoyo
village on this line.
On 10th June it was decided to attack, and on that day columns left Lindi
to flank widely those positions on their north and south extremes. The
force to the north, which marched inland from Lindi, was composed mainly
of a battalion of King’s African Rifles and some artillery. The force
operating south was comprised of another battalion of King’s African
Rifles, our own battalion—the 25th Royal Fusiliers—and South African
Field Artillery. Under cover of darkness the latter force was to proceed
some miles inland up the wide river estuary, and effect a landing,
if possible, in the centre lagoon of the three at the head of the
estuary, where a trolley line from Mkwaya terminated at a small timber
landing-stage. General O’Grady was in command in this area, and the
operations were carried out under his direction, and personal supervision
in the field.
On the evening of 10th June, toward sundown, scenes that were strange,
and that must have astonished the native inhabitants, were afoot on the
water-front at Lindi. Out in the sultry, windless channel, with their
bows up-stream, lay the active-looking warships H.M.S. _Hyacinth_ and
H.M.S. _Thistle_, while between them and shore fleet motor-boats plied
busily on ordered errand. Inshore wide-beamed lighters with steam tugs in
attendance lay off the end of the shallow-draught pier, while a number of
large open boats, linked together in twos and threes by their bow ropes
and towed by motor-craft, lay outside in the current—all in readiness
to take aboard their human freight. And then, into the town marched
soldiers in fighting kit; a battalion of British infantry appearing from
the north, while black troops and some artillery came down from the
hills: all to come to a halt in a long column on the dust-thick road
on the shore front near to the pier. As dusk approached, embarkation
commenced, under naval and military direction, and under orders of strict
silence—and gradually the boats filled while the line on the road melted
away until none remained on shore!... All were aboard! and we drew off
shore and lay to in the bay waiting for darkness—an ominous force, in
their silence that was nigh to sullenness, but in reality filled with
suppressed excitement over the novelty and promise of adventure.
We had not long to wait for darkness. Soon it crept down rapidly, as is
its habit in Africa. Under naval direction the craft then cast loose
one by one, and the dark forms on the water, each in the wake of the
other, followed silently on their way up-stream. In the lead were the
patrol launches armed with machine-guns, and some of the intermediate
motor-boats were likewise prepared for emergency.
[Sidenote: A NIGHT LANDING]
Hour after hour we crept up the wide stream with black, threatening
shores on either beam, and all remained quiet, and nothing stirred
on land to break the stillness of the sultry night nor our pent-up
expectancy. Our destination was eight miles up-stream. About half-way
we passed through the narrow neck between Kombe and Kala islands, and
a short time later our motor-boat, when hugging the east bank, had the
misfortune to ground on a sand-bar and hold fast. While we lay there,
phantom dark craft passed us, going up-stream and returning down. One
heard a low, tense word or two spoken across the gloom, the muffled beat
of the engines; and then the darkness swallowed everything. After some
delay and much exertion with poles and oars, we got afloat again and
proceeded, now more slowly, up-stream, keeping our course by following
a tiny bright light, like a firefly, that showed now and again in the
distance ahead, where the leaders were in the stream or had landed at an
important bend in the channel.
About midnight, when we were still persistently working up the channel,
which had narrowed considerably, exclamations and low voices drifted to
us out of the darkness ahead. In a moment more we knew that we were at
our destination, while voices directed us to the landing-place close
on our right. It was very dark—so dark that one could at best see a
yard or two—so, groping along the boat-bottom, you got near to where a
voice said “jump,” and in doing so found yourself immersed to your very
knees in deep, holding mud through which, after you had got rifle and
equipment clear of the mess, you waded heavily ashore; no longer dry and
fairly comfortable, but wet, mud-plastered and chilled, and thoroughly
uncomfortable.
On our arrival we learned that, at the landing, a German picket had been
alarmed and driven in, and therefore we knew that the enemy command would
soon be warned that danger threatened.
Back from the landing there was a long, narrow, level mud-flat, clear of
the bush that bordered it blackly on either side, and here our forces
formed up as they landed. Finally, when all were accounted for and in
position, word was passed round that we were to remain here for an hour
or two, and men stretched themselves on the hard tidal-damp ground and
shivered; yet slept as only tired soldiers can sleep.
At 3 a.m. we were up and on the move again; slowly marching up the
trolley line that led inland, in a southerly direction, toward Mkwaya.
Breaking the stillness of a bush-land that apparently lay asleep and
without inhabitant, I remember a solitary cock, at some near-by dwelling,
crowed clear and full-voiced as we neared Mkwaya; declaring habitations,
and promising the coming of dawn. Almost immediately afterwards the
first faint shade of daylight was heralded by the boom of artillery from
the direction of Mingoyo.
[Sidenote: ARTILLERY ENGAGED]
Overnight the monitors had moved into the estuary, and it was on H.M.S.
_Thistle_, who had nosed her way far up-stream, that the Germans opened
fire. Reply came immediately from the ships, and, as soon as it was full
daylight, they were heavily shelling all enemy positions within range.
During the action H.M.S. _Thistle_ received one disturbing direct hit,
but not a vital one, and she remained seaworthy through the action.
Aeroplanes were up all morning busily “spotting” for our guns, and
observing enemy movements as best they could in the darkly screened bush.
[Sidenote: ZIWANI]
Meantime, our turning-point had been reached at Mkwaya, and we now headed
westerly in the direction of the Mohambika valley, behind Mingoyo, while
the King’s African Rifles, who were an hour or so in advance of us, were
now well out on our left flank and moving parallel to us. Some two hours
later we had reached the valley crest at Ziwani, and overlooked the
Mohambika valley and across to the opposite crest where lay hidden, in
the bush and forest, the large native village of Mrweka and Schaadel’s
Farm. Large numbers of the enemy were seen, about 1,500 yards distant,
moving along the edge of the bush in rear of Mrweka, while smoke-puffs
of gun-fire from the enemy artillery could be plainly seen farther
down the valley toward Mingoyo. An advance was attempted down into
the valley, and action thereafter commenced, but the valley was found
to be almost impenetrable—a wide sugar-cane swamp in which the enemy
were already located, and which they commanded from the opposite valley
crest—and, as the left column were by this time heavily engaged and not
making progress, we were ordered, meantime, to dig in on the Ziwani crest
while the enemy kept up persistent long-range machine-gun fire on us.
Enemy soon appeared to be everywhere on our front and left, for whenever
patrols left the ridge and commenced descent into the valley they
encountered enemy in force, and were driven in. Finally, the situation
culminated when, about 2 p.m., the enemy launched a terrific attack on
our left flank and attempted to storm our position. On the left the
ground fell away, as in front, and they had crept up the valley side in
the grass and bush, until no more than thirty yards from our line—when
their fire burst on us like a thunder-clap. From then on one lost all
reckoning of time, all reckoning of everything, except that there was
something big on that kept every energy alive and working at fever speed.
In the end, toward night, we had won, and won handsomely; finally routing
the foe from their offensive at the point of the bayonet, and capturing
two of the three machine-guns which they had in the line. To add one
final trial to this grim encounter, hives of bees had been shot down
from the trees during the action, and their inmates descended on us at
the end of the day in infuriated swarms to drive us almost crazy with the
agony of their stings. They inflicted such punishment that many men could
barely see through their half-closed eyelids on the following day, while
everyone suffered from cruel yellow-poisoned face scars.
The attack had been a tremendously bold venture on the part of the
enemy, who were, for the present, under Von Lettow in person, apparently
in large and even superior force in the neighbourhood, and it gives
an idea of their strength and desperation, and the gameness of their
fighting—which one cannot help but admire. Had we been native troops,
the result of such a daring blow might have been different; and even as
it was, one looked back and thanked God for one thing—and that was that,
even at point-blank range, the enemy’s shooting had been bad, for their
deadly sweep of fire was, in general, too high. Had they got the correct
elevation, their machine-guns alone were sufficient to deal terrible
havoc along our short, hastily and half-entrenched line.
Meantime the column in the bush—wide on our left—had met with opposition
that they could not well break through; and no word had come in from the
inland column that was operating in the north, which was momentarily
expected to converge on to the position across the valley, and relieve
the pressure on that side; and so, for the night, there was nothing for
it but to hold on where we were.
One had here a striking example of the difficulties of bush operations;
of the disappointments, of the almost impossible task of keeping in touch
with each force, across wide areas of dense, untouched, unfamiliar bush
miles ahead of the base. One never knows, at the commencement of a day,
the full difficulties to overcome; one can never altogether foresee the
obstacles that will be encountered to enforce delay, be it an impassable
swamp, impenetrable forest, an unbridged river, a loss of direction, or
an unknown enemy force. It has been called a difficult campaign; but the
difficulties have been so gigantic that the wonder one has is that the
men who direct it have not grown old and grey with the weight of the
anxieties imposed.
Next morning, too late, the force on the north occupied Mingoyo and
Mrweka, for overnight, under cover of darkness, the enemy had evacuated
their positions, and had fallen back on their second line of defence
across the trolley rails at Mohambika village.
The battalion remained the day at Ziwani, and the following day, leaving
other troops to hold the line, we crossed the valley and proceeded by
stages, overland, back to Lindi. The enemy force, through the sudden
appearance of new companies on this front, apparently now outnumbered
ours, and it was, it appeared, necessary to hold on and recuperate our
forces, as far as possible, which were becoming increasingly difficult
to keep up to reasonable establishment owing to overwhelming sickness
and lack of proportionate reinforcements. Also, our column was operating
in conjunction with the Kilwa column, which had a much longer distance
to advance before both would close in on Massassi, the enemy base of
operations. Therefore those causes accounted for our again “holding on”
for a period at Lindi.
[Sidenote: SICKNESS RIFE]
On 15th June we were again back in Lindi. A week later the battalion was
experiencing a fell wave of coast fever, which thinned our ranks at an
appalling rate. On 26th June the S.M.O. inspected the men remaining on
duty, to inquire into their general physique and endeavour to trace the
plague to any local fault, and at that time less than half our fighting
strength were on parade. Other units were suffering in similar manner,
but were losing men somewhat less rapidly. Next day camp was moved to
higher ground, above Lindi, but though sickness abated it still continued
to find daily victims, and it was heart-breaking to be thus weakened of
our fighting strength; more especially as we were not long returned from
our rest at the Cape, which it had been thought would surely resuscitate
our health for further campaigning. But looking back now it is apparent
that the hardships of the first two years in Africa had sapped far more
than the mere surface strength of the men, and the short change, though
it brightened everyone outwardly, had not time to repair completely the
debilities of thoroughly exhausted systems. Moreover Lindi, and the
Lukuledi valley, were undoubtedly the most unhealthy country it was ever
our misfortune to enter, and we had been in more than one bad area in the
past.
On 1st July I received orders to take up a position on Mtanda Plateau,
with fifty rifles and two machine-guns, and there to establish an outpost
one and a half mile from Lindi on the Noto Road, defending the approach
on Lindi from the north-west, and north, where coast tracks led away to
Kilwa, on which the enemy might retire, from before the Kilwa column,
and here congregate. Mtanda Plateau was a broad ridge, overlooking Lindi
and the sea from its south-east bank, and, crossing to the other side,
where the ground again fell away to low country, its north-west aspect
overlooked great distances of hill-broken, bush-covered country. The
plateau was a jungle of breast-high grass and low bush, within a forest
of stately mango trees.
Routine on the outpost was to have strong, alert pickets posted near the
road at night, and, through the day, to patrol the country out before
us, sometimes to an outward-bound distance of ten miles. In view of the
possibility of a night attack, on one or two dark nights the monitor
H.M.S. _Severn_ experimented with her flash-lights, turning them on to
our position from where she lay in the bay, and weirdly those lights, lit
up the jungle.
We remained twenty-four days on this outpost, but experienced in that
time no untoward incident. One or two German natives came in and gave
themselves up, claiming at the same time to be porters, but sometimes
such deserters had the military bearing of Askaris, and no doubt were
really such, and had discarded their equipment and rifle in fear of
terrible punishment for having fought against us—which was a belief
taught them by their white masters.
[Sidenote: ON OUTPOST AT LINDI]
On the morning of 25th July the detachment evacuated the outpost, and
rejoined the battalion at Lindi in preparation to again resume the
offensive. On the 26th the battalion trekked from 4.30 a.m. until 2 p.m.
via Naitiwi, to Mayani, a planters’ station, having then come thirteen
miles, by track, out into the country of our June operations.
We stayed a few uneventful days at Mayani, and on the night of 1st
August moved on into Mingoyo, there to join the column, on the eve of
an offensive against the enemy, who were holding a front which had its
centre before Mohambika village, on the trolley line, its extreme north
flank on Kipanya Ridge, and its extreme south flank on Tandamuti Hill: in
all a front of some four miles. The next day we were in action, which I
can, perhaps, best describe in quoting the following notes:
[Sidenote: FIGHTING AGAINST LARGE FORCES]
One a.m., night of 2nd August, up and getting ready to move. Left Mingoyo
at 3 a.m.—our battalion, with the main column, which was to operate on
the left flank, and which advanced slowly through thick bush in the
direction of Tandamuti Hill. Enemy first encountered about 6 a.m. Engaged
in force 9 a.m. and 3/4 King’s African Rifles in attack. They were a
newly recruited battalion, and this was their first time in action,
and the wear of attack told heavily on them, particularly when finally
opposed to the fortifications on Tandamuti Hill crest. It was then that
two companies of our unit went forward to reinforce the front line.
They lost no time in charging the enemy position, but found themselves,
ultimately, against a dense, thorn-built boma fence, through which they
could not break and, under telling fire, they swung off to the left
flank, and withdrew. The battalion machine-guns were now established
fifty yards from the boma, after casualties had lost me four of the most
able and invaluable gunners, and thenceforward the boma and fort were
raked with heavy machine-gun fire, and shelled by Stoke’s guns; until
finally, about 3.30 p.m., the enemy response was completely silenced
within the fort, while German bugles rapped out their rallying calls
in the valley in the rear of the hill. But orders were now received
to retire, as the other two columns on the right had been held up; in
fact, the central force, operating immediately south of the trolley
line near to Mohambika, had even been forced to retreat, by weight of
the numbers opposed to them. This was indeed a day brimful of adventure
and expectancy, while everyone was aware of the great strength opposed
to us, and the desperation of the fighting. But this was not the end of
it. Soon after commencing the retirement heavy firing broke out in our
original rear. It transpired that Kraut, in command of a company, had
broken into our line of communication, and had attacked and scattered the
whole of the 1st-line transport porters and their escort. The defenceless
porters had flung away their loads and fled, leaving everything to the
mercy of the enemy, and we encountered inconceivable disorder on the
baggage-littered track when we came along. But, just before reaching this
point, we, too, were pounced on by an ambush on the left, and terrific
firing again ensued until the enemy were driven off. We then came to
the advanced Field Hospital, where it was found the German raiders had
entered, and even had had the audacity to order the native orderlies to
supply the German whites with tea, while they removed all the quinine and
such medicines of which they were in need. But the whites had treated the
wounded with consideration, and, with revolvers drawn, had ordered their
wildly excited blacks to stand clear of any possibility of interference.
[Illustration: TANDAMUTI.]
Finally we marched wearily into Ziwani, to camp about 11 p.m., very
tired after being twenty-two hours on our feet. So ended another day of
battle, one of hard fighting and heavy casualties, and one which goes
to show that at periods we had not got it all our own way by force of
numbers, nor by superior fighting qualities, and that the final defeat
of the enemy was the result of many a hard knock, given and taken. As
General Van Deventer said, later, in a dispatch dated 21st January,
1918:—“The completion of the conquest of German East Africa could only be
brought about by hard hitting and plenty of it”—which has, has it not?
much of the theory which General Foch had on the battle-fields of France.
On 9th August preparations were again afoot to resume the offensive, and
a column under Colonel Taylor—which contained, in part, the remnants of
the 8th South African Infantry, lately landed in Lindi from farther up
the coast—left about midday to strike east into the Lukuledi River, and,
thence, southward, to be in a position to outflank widely Tandamuti on
the following day.
[Sidenote: TANDAMUTI FRONT CLEAR]
On 10th August our force advanced up the Mohambika Valley in touch with
the trolley line, which was on our right. At evening we camped west of
the old Tandamuti position, having passed Mohambika village and come
to our halting-place without encountering any sustained resistance....
On the morning of this day at 7 o’clock, and again recommencing at 1
p.m., Tandamuti Hill was heavily shelled by the long-range guns of the
monitors _Severn_ and _Mersey_, from where they lay up the river estuary
some eight to ten miles to the north-east, and also by the howitzers of
the Royal Garrison Artillery, and the field guns of the South African
Artillery. And this cannonade, and the threat of impending attack of
the same severe nature as in the preceding week, apparently decided
the enemy’s retirement, for by the evening we had advanced and were in
possession of all the positions which we had fought so hard for a week
before. Next day, but now leaving the trolley track and striking deeply
into the bush, the advance continued, and during the forenoon we joined
in with the left column, which then preceded us in a southerly direction,
through tall grass and much bad bush. Light engagements occurred from
time to time with the advance guard, but the column kept moving on,
though progress was painfully slow, while every new aspect of the country
ahead was being carefully investigated, for well was it known that any
100 yards of fresh ground might hold an ambush and a trap. At the end
of a wearisome day we reached the Lukuledi River, where it flows for
some miles on a course due east, and then camped about 1½ mile west of
Narunyu, which was reported occupied by the enemy.
_12th August._—Thoughts recall the grouse moor, and this day of days at
home, but again it passes with but memories. All porters have gone back
to bring forward rations, while we halt here near Narunyu.
From 13th August to 18th August we remained closely in one area, where
low hills and ridges encompassed us on all sides. West of us the enemy
had established a line defending the approach to Narunyu, and our line
dug in before them, while engagements daily occurred here and in the
neighbourhood, and we were fitfully subjected to shelling by the enemy’s
artillery.
The weather at this time broke down, and we had five consecutive days of
heavy rain, which, as we had no blankets or grass-hut shelters, made us
very cold, wet, and miserable, while during the nights we slept lying in
rain-soaked mud—a condition of things that brought out even more fever
than usual.
[Sidenote: FIERCE FIGHTING]
_18th August._—Overnight, under cover of darkness, part of our forces
evacuated camp and travelled northerly, and then westerly, until we
drew in to the trolley line: then we lay down and waited until early
morning. At 3 a.m. we were moving again, and the column had crossed
the open avenue of the trolley line, and were lost again in the bush,
before daybreak. All morning we moved, through truly terrible thorn-bush
country, in a south-westerly direction, thereby widely circling round
to attack the Narunyu position from the west, while our other forces,
at the camp we had left, would hold the enemy’s attention on the east.
About 11 a.m., when drawing in to the hill-crest overlooking Narunyu,
which is situated in a valley bottom, the first-second King’s African
Rifles, in the lead, encountered large forces of the enemy, and entered
into action. On their establishing a firing line, the rear of the column
was drawn in, and a perimeter was formed, for, in the thick bush we were
then in, attack might threaten from any direction. This was a wonderfully
wise and fortunate precaution, for no sooner were our lines on all sides
established than the enemy opened a determined attack on our right flank;
and, as the fight continued, fierce and sustained attacks developed
later, even in our rear and on our left. In other words, the enemy were
all around us and trying to break through our “square” in the bush.
It was a day of tremendous battle. There were, within the circle, the
first-second King’s African Rifles, 25th Royal Fusiliers, and Stoke’s
Guns, and back to back they fought, without one minute’s cease in the
deafening fusillade, until long after dark. It was here that one saw, and
realised, the full fighting courage to which well-trained native African
troops can rise. The first-second King’s African Rifles was one of the
original pre-war regular battalions, and magnificently they fought here;
and we, who were an Imperial unit, felt that we could not have wished for
a stouter, nor a more faithful, regiment to fight alongside of. About 8
p.m. the firing ceased and we had at last a breathing space and could
hear each other speak in normal voice. But all was not yet over. At 9.30
p.m. an enemy whistle blew sharply—and instantaneously a great burst
of enemy fire swept the square from the right flank, and from closer
quarters than before. An enemy force had crept in in the darkness and
silence, and tried to take us by surprise. But they reckoned wrongly, and
in the end, after a fierce encounter, they were driven off and silenced:
though movement and groans, from beyond our front, continued long into
the night while the enemy collected their dead and wounded.
There was now opportunity to review the situation and its vital points:
the King’s African Rifles were very short of ammunition, and it was felt
that the situation might become serious in the event of a sustained night
attack—what ammunition could be spared was handed over to them by our
battalion.
Casualties, after such extremely heavy fighting, were not excessively
heavy, which was undoubtedly due to the lie of the ground, for our
position was in a slight dip that could not be detected from the enemy
lines. We were out of touch with G.H.Q. and the reserve column, and a
patrol was sent out to try to get through to Head-quarters, though we had
now no fear of joining up, for we had confidence we could hold on, and
had in the fighting worn down the enemy’s will to strike. _Water_ was our
greatest need—there was none within our square.
[Sidenote: AN ANXIOUS NIGHT]
At last our anxieties ceased. Weary, powder-blackened, mud-filthy,
thirsty beyond the telling, the line slept fitfully through the
remainder of the night.
Dawn found everyone standing to, and patrols investigating the bush out
in front of the lines. Some patrol fighting took place close in, but the
enemy trenches of yesterday were found to be evacuated, and the enemy
line now some 700 yards away on our right flank and front. At 9 a.m.
General O’Grady arrived in camp, and relief was felt that we were again
in communication.
Heavy fighting had been experienced at all points yesterday, and
casualties of comrade acquaintances, in other units, were learned of with
regret.
It was decided that we were to hold on here, and arrangements were made
to bring water to camp, while bully and biscuit would be our ration—no
tea, no cooked food, for no fire could be allowed on account of the
smoke, which would have marked our position to enemy artillery. The enemy
were shelling the square and shooting dangerously close, but were unable
to locate us exactly, or tell where their shells were landing, in the
dense bush. To-day all ranks were very exhausted after the past week of
blanketless, half-sleepless nights and the extreme strain of yesterday.
For five days we lay in the confined square in our shallow trenches,
drinking sparingly of foul water, and holding impatiently on, while
smaller engagements went on with the enemy, who continued to invest our
front closely and right flank. Our porters had a bad time here. In time
cooked food was sent up for them from the rear, but on the first two days
it was common to see the poor creatures hungrily munching their uncooked
ration of hard rice-grains. At the end of the five days, many of them
were almost unable to walk, and could not be burdened with an ammunition
load.
On 22nd August our battalion received orders to withdraw under cover
of night to the reserve column at the main camp back some miles on the
trolley line and west of Tandamuti—a camp which was designated C.23.
The withdrawal was quietly accomplished, and at 9.30 p.m. we camped at
C.23. And then we had, what in the past few days we had come to dream
of—tea, tea, tea. Camp-fires were started everywhere, and we sat there
and feasted our fill of tea that tasted threefold more fragrant and
delicious than ever before, and on cooked food, warm and palatable, and
long we sat into the hours when weary heads should have been asleep.
We remained at C.23 until 4th September, and at intervals each day were
shelled by the enemy’s long-range guns, at aggravating intervals.
[Sidenote: TERRIBLY UNHEALTHY COUNTRY]
A large camp had sprung up at C.23, and additional forces and additional
stores were daily arriving. But we were in terribly unhealthy country;
the air was close and oppressive, and the sun merciless; and men went
about their duties with listless bearing. The hospitals were full of
sick, and troops and porters were being evacuated in hundreds every few
days. The native African was suffering as much as if not more than the
European. The 25th suffered no less than other units, and our forces were
sadly growing smaller and smaller.
On 4th September the battalion left C.23 and advanced to the centre and
left camps before Narunyu, to occupy the front line there; relieving the
8th South African Infantry, who were tottering with sickness and unfit
for further service in active fields.
Here utter physical exhaustion, and fever, which had gripped me for some
time, began slowly to master endurance. For a few days I struggled on,
having just enough strength to “stand to” by the machine-guns in the
early mornings, and afterwards to direct the day’s routine. Those days
were commonplace—there was sometimes some exchange of firing at daybreak,
and on some occasions the camp was shelled; while we were gratified to
see considerable numbers of porter and Askari deserters come in and give
themselves up.
On 5th September we had news that the Kilwa column had progressed
considerably and were at Mssinoyi River on 4th September, sixty
miles south-west of Kilwa, and some 110 miles off their ultimate
objective—Massassi.
On 9th September I had not strength to walk, and later in the morning
I was taken to hospital. I was beaten, hopelessly overcome, though no
man likes to give in. General O’Grady came to see me when I lay on my
stretcher at the Field Hospital—perhaps the bravest man I have fought
under, and the kindest—and, in my weakness, when he had gone, I hid my
face in the gloom of the low grass hut and broke down like a woman. I
had worked under his direction many times, on reconnaissance and other
special work, when he was Chief of Staff, and when he commanded a
brigade, and now he was sorry I was _done_—and I, ah well! my heart was
breaking because I could not stay on, as he and the last of my comrades
were doing.
[Sidenote: THE END]
There remains little more to add. By stages I was transported by
ambulance to Lindi, and thence by sea to Dar-es-Salaam, where at the end
of September I lay for a few days dangerously ill, and was pulled through
only by the tireless care of the doctor and sisters. On 2nd October I was
borne aboard the _Oxfordshire_ and sailed for South Africa.
My actual experience of the German East Africa campaign thus ended.
The Lindi column were, at the time of my departure, reinforced by the
Nigerians, and fighting of the same severe nature as I have described,
against Von Lettow and his concentrated forces, continued 1½ month more
in the fever-stricken Lukuledi Valley before the Kilwa and the Lindi
forces effected a junction.
Not long after that was accomplished, on 25th and 26th November, Von
Lettow avoided final surrender by crossing the Rovuma River south-west
of Massassi, and escaped up the Luyenda River into Portuguese territory;
while Tafel’s force—of some 2,000 to 3,000—which, too late, tried to
effect a junction with the main force, was cut off, and on 28th November
surrendered unconditionally.
On our side, there is one sorrowful disaster to record which touches this
narrative deeply. In the final action which my unit undertook—the only
one after my departure—the remnants of the band, steel-true men who had
come through everything till then, were pitted against overwhelming odds,
when covering a retirement, and fought till they were cut to pieces.
It was a tragic ending.