TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY IN GERMAN EAST AFRICA
[Illustration: GERMAN EAST AFRICA.]
Two Years’ Captivity
in German East Africa
_Being the Personal Experiences of
Surgeon E. C. H., Royal Navy_
[Illustration]
LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE ANCHOR PRESS LTD. TIPTREE ESSEX.
PREFACE
This little book relates my experiences as a prisoner of war in German
East Africa.
In the writing of it and the casting into book form I have received
invaluable assistance from one conversant with literary methods, but the
substance remains a plain, unelaborated narrative of facts.
I have tried to avoid dwelling unduly on the privations, discomforts and
insults endured, and considerations of space forbid more than a passing
reference to the wretched state of the native population. But I do not
hesitate to state my conviction that if East Africa ever again comes
under German rule it will be a lamentable disaster for the native races.
German rule in Africa is “the rule of the kiboko.” Kiboko is a word
probably unknown to the majority of Englishmen ... it is but too well
known to every native ... it means “the lash.”
E. C. H.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE LOOM OF WAR 1
II. IN TROPIC SEAS 16
III. TREACHERY 22
IV. TAKEN PRISONER 38
V. EN ROUTE FOR KILIMATINDE 52
VI. MY FIRST PRISON 62
VII. SHATTERED HOPES 75
VIII. OUR FIRST CHRISTMAS IN CAPTIVITY 86
IX. THE MAJOR’S VENTURE 90
X. NEW ARRIVALS 100
XI. MORE ATTEMPTS AT ESCAPE 110
XII. TYPHOID AT THE BOMA 120
XIII. GERMAN CRUELTY TO NATIVES 132
XIV. TRANSFERRED TO TABORA 142
XV. ON SAFARI 158
XVI. MAHENGE 168
XVII. HOPE RENEWED 184
XVIII. A NIGHTMARE CAMP 203
XIX. RELEASED 217
XX. HOME AT LAST 228
Two Years’ Captivity in German East Africa
CHAPTER I
THE LOOM OF WAR
In the Officers’ Mess at Portsmouth—no less than in every Chancellerie in
Europe—the one topic of discussion in the last days of July, 1914, was
the possibility of WAR.
Most of us were of the opinion that Germany was only trying to see how
far she dared go, and attempting to coerce Russia by a gigantic bluff.
The great test mobilisation of our Navy had just been brought to a
successful conclusion, and we were all feeling elated at the smoothness
with which it had been accomplished. Everything had gone like clockwork.
Germany would never—so we argued—dare to provoke a European conflict
while we were in such an obvious state of preparedness. Although some of
us were demobilised and back at our old posts, the greater part of the
Fleet was still in full complement and on a war footing. Nevertheless,
deep hidden in every human heart there is a secret recognition of the
fact which Victor Hugo expressed in the epigrammatic words: “_Rien n’est
plus imminent que l’impossible, et ce qu’il faut toujours prévoir ...
c’est l’imprévu._” And so each special edition of the newspapers was
eagerly scanned, amid anxious speculation on what the future might hold.
When, in accordance with orders received, I joined H.M.S. _Goliath_,
which was then lying at Devonport, I found much bustle and activity on
board. All the R.N.R. men who had returned to their homes but a few days
before were rapidly rejoining, and had to be told off into watches and
their duties allotted. Provisions were being got in, and all superfluous
gear dumped into lighters alongside....
Then dawned the historic day when Britain declared WAR. Jubilant now in
the knowledge that we had indeed accepted the challenge and flung down
the gage, all energies were redoubled—and more than redoubled. The men
toiled with heart and soul and needed no driving. Working parties invaded
the wardroom and cabins, tearing down the woodwork, partitions and
panelling, and removing all but absolutely necessary furniture. Chests
of drawers vanished, and thereafter we were obliged to rummage in our
tin cases when we needed a clean collar or fresh tie. Those who had all
their uniform on board packed up and sent ashore their full-dress, plain
clothes and valuables.... By the end of the day the dockside looked as
though a household removal was in progress!
In the dockyard itself all work went forward at higher speed and with
greater zest. Great arc-lights blazed and spluttered throughout the
night, and from every quarter came the ringing clang, clang, clang of
iron on iron.
Day and night gangs of men were engaged in effecting alterations and
repairs to ships already in commission, while others were straining every
nerve to complete those still under construction. In a very few days we
were ready for sea with all alterations completed, and all ammunition and
stores on board.
Several very youthful cadets from Dartmouth College had been appointed
to our ship, much to the distraction of the Commander, for we had only
twelve hours’ notice of their advent, and the gun-room was not ready
for them—indeed, it was full of stores. Finally, one evening we dropped
down the Hamoaze, received in passing a cheer from a little crowd on Tor
Point, and anchored for the night just within the breakwater.
Next morning at daybreak we steamed out and joined the Channel Patrol.
Although we did not know it at the time, on one of the nights when we
were steaming to and fro on our beat—all lights out and the guns’ crews
sleeping at their posts—the First Expeditionary Force was being quietly
shipped across to France.
The unwonted excitement of those first few days rendered us tense and
expectant; but nothing of importance took place. It was a time of waiting
and watching:—of the holding up and boarding of steamers and sea-craft of
all descriptions which we either passed on their way or escorted into
port for a more searching examination.
Then, one evening, there came through a coded message on receipt of
which the captain altered course, and we proceeded westward at increased
speed. Naturally, in the wardroom there was much speculation as to our
destination. It is possible that our Intelligence Officer, the Captain
of Marines, knew what was up, but he preserved a Sphinx-like and most
tantalising silence. That same night we passed the Lizard Light and
headed south.
A day or two later, as we were steaming down within sight of the
Portuguese coast, we passed a tug flying the Dutch flag. She had two
lighters full of coal in tow, and it is quite probable that they were
destined for one of the German cruisers at that time still at large, but
since we had no power to board and examine her we were obliged to pass on.
In due course we arrived in the harbour at Gibraltar, and proceeded to
coal. It soon, however, appeared that Gib. was not our goal. Evidently we
were bound further east, for officers were advised to provide themselves
with white clothing and sun-helmets. Luckily I had brought mine with me—I
say luckily with feeling, for those who were now required to provide
themselves with these articles of apparel found there was but time to get
“ready-mades,” which fitted only where they touched, and further, the
varied assortment of head-gear which made its appearance would have been
the joy of a caricaturist!
It was a real treat to get down to the sunny Mediterranean, for in the
Channel the weather had been getting very cold and dreary, and none of
us had cared to spend more time on deck than was absolutely necessary.
Now, however, it was a pleasure to take a stroll after dinner and watch
the rocky African coast sliding by in the distance. In the afternoons
deck-hockey provided exercise for limbs and lungs. Each player was armed
with a stick of sorts, its shape immaterial, but the larger the knob on
the end the better—and all save the goal-keeper seemed to be playing
“forward.” What matter if it was only occasionally that one got a glimpse
of the ball—a square chunk of wood—we were all quite satisfied to smack
away at a spot in the centre of a struggling crowd where the ball ought
to be, and if anyone got a whack across the shins there was no use in
howling; the only thing was to go on smiting as hard as possible in the
hope of returning the blow with interest. It may be imagined how such a
scrimmage appealed to the youngsters; and even the captain, despite a
game leg protected by a hockey-pad, was ever in the thickest of the fray.
As we neared Port Said we wondered if we should have the luck to
encounter the _Goeben_.... True, we were not _over_-anxious for the
meeting, for although the old ship would have done her best she could
not hope to meet the German on equal terms. However, we moored without
incident, just off the offices of the Canal Company ... a curious medley
of European and Arab architecture. Here we again coaled, the work being
done by Arabs in an irritatingly piecemeal manner. The method consisted
in filling small baskets with coal and passing them from man to man until
they were finally emptied into the bunkers, and as the natives leisurely
performed this task they kept up a monotonous sing-song chant.
That well-known Port Said character “Jim Irish” came aboard.... I will
not undertake to state his nationality, but he probably has traces of
Arab and Egyptian blood combined with a strong strain of Somali. He
turned up smiling in a frock-coat, fancy waistcoat and flaming tie, a red
fez on his head, and many cheap rings on his fingers. He will sell you
Turkish Delight, cigarettes, or picture-postcards of questionable taste,
and tout for orders for anything and everything. Then he will draw you
aside and suggest with an insinuating leer: “You like see pictures? You
want see Port Said? You come with me ... _I_ show you.”
However, I had been in Port Said before, and was not attracted by the
prospect held out, but as a ship is a very uncomfortable place when
coaling is going on, I took the opportunity to go ashore with another
officer, though not with “Jim Irish,” and having first lunched at the
Great Eastern Hotel, we did a little shopping. Port Said is by no means a
pleasure resort; the town extends some little way along the Mediterranean
coast, but the beach is unattractive, the roads are hot and dusty, and
most of the places of refreshment look singularly uninviting.
That evening we weighed anchor and steamed down the canal. The moon was
shining brightly, throwing the banks into sharp black and white of light
and shadow. It is curious to note that while the western bank is fringed
with vegetation, on the opposite side there is only bare desolation
of billowing sand stretching away and away into the far distance. The
reason for this difference is to be found in the fresh-water canal which,
running for some distance parallel to the ship canal, nourishes a certain
amount of vegetation on the western side.
I turned in early and was asleep before we entered the Bitter Lakes—a
stretch of brackish water through which a channel is kept dredged—and
when I awoke the next morning we had completed the passage of the canal
and were off Suez.
On the following day the heat began to get oppressive, and it only
increased in intensity as our voyage continued. Even the nights were
hot and close, and most of us brought our bedding on deck in the hope
of benefiting by any breeze that might spring up. But the only breeze
proved to be a following one, which was worse than none at all, since
it was just sufficient to nullify that produced by our ship’s passage
through the water. Trying as it was for those on deck, it was infinitely
worse for the stokers and engine-room ratings. In the boiler-room the
temperature steadily mounted, nor did the air pumped into the forced
draft improve matters, for it was no cooler—in fact, it resembled the
blast from a furnace. Finally, so many were overcome by the heat that
the ship had to be turned at intervals and steamed against the breeze in
order to blow out the stokeholds and engine-rooms with cooler air.
While we were traversing the Red Sea a rumour reached us that the
_Königsberg_, or some other German ship, had recently coaled at Jeddah,
so it was decided to visit the place and investigate. When we arrived off
the little harbour an R.N.R. lieutenant and the Subaltern of Marines were
sent ashore in the steamboat to make enquiries. The Turkish officials
received them with superficial politeness, but declared that no German
ship had visited the port for months.
In due course we reached Aden, where we promptly started coaling again.
There was just time for a scamper round. The Club was shady, cool and
inviting, but I wished to see and explore the, to me, new ground, so
having found a kindred spirit, I hired a carriage and we drove out to
the Tanks—the stock sight of the place, and possibly the only one. It
was a blazing hot day, the road was thick with dust, and from rocks and
sand the sunlight reflected back in a blinding glare, so that a ride in a
curtained and canopied “gharri” provided a certain sense of comfort and
coolness not otherwise obtainable.
The Tanks are said to be very old; for the moment I forget to whom
is given the credit of having designed and executed them, but they
are merely large basins or reservoirs hewn at suitable places out of
the solid stone just where the rock-faces converge, and they form
a catchment for the periodical rainfall. A considerable amount of
engineering ingenuity is displayed in their construction and in the
system of outflow from one to the other. Aden is situated in an arid
tract of country, and formerly existence here was only rendered possible
by dint of collecting and conserving the rains which provided the only
fresh water obtainable. Now, however, a plant for the distillation of
sea-water is installed, and the old system is no longer used—at least by
Europeans.
There is a small Arab town in the rocky gorge beyond which the Tanks
lie, and we were greatly entertained by a small Arab boy who volunteered
to show us the sights. His knowledge of English seemed limited to the
following doggerel, which he repeated all in one breath with sing-song
and monotonous regularity: “No father no mother no sister no brother
give backsheesh.” I was surprised, however, to find that his colloquial
knowledge of French was much more extensive; it transpired that he had
been taught in a French Mission.
We sailed from Aden at daybreak the next morning, and were met by a
pleasant breeze which freshened us all up considerably.
On our way out we had conceived the idea of publishing a magazine dealing
with the small events and incidents of ship-life. It was hoped that the
writing of articles and items of news, and the subsequent criticism of
the same, would tend to relieve the monotony of the voyage, for once we
were out of the Mediterranean no exciting incidents of any magnitude were
anticipated; but still we had to be in a constant state of preparedness,
and this, coupled with the fact that day succeeded day without the
slightest adventure, gave rise to a feeling of strain which showed itself
in more or less thinly disguised irritability.
As one of the more leisured members of the Mess, I was appointed to the
post of editor, which also included those of printer and publisher! The
initial copy was difficult to obtain, but after the issue of the first
number contributions poured in. And now the chief difficulty lay in
devising the best and quickest method of turning out copies. As several
of our contributors revealed a greater aptitude with pencil than with
pen, an art editor was added to the staff, together with an expert
typist and a printer. The latter’s task was to draw off copies from the
duplicator—none too easy a job when dealing with a ten-page magazine,
printed with an ink liable to run badly when wet, and in a temperature
above the nineties! All the same, we spent some very pleasant times in
the preparation of the little journal, the while the old ship rolled
smoothly on her way across the Indian Ocean.
In the very small hours of an October morning we arrived at Bombay, and
an R.N.R. lieutenant and myself obtained permission to go in with the
early boat to do some shopping. We were dressed at 4 a.m., and it was
still quite dark and appreciably chilly when the boat landed us at the
new Alexandra Dock. Out of the gloom the voice of a sentry rang out in
sharp challenge as we drew alongside, but we soon satisfied him that even
at such an hour our business was lawful.
Our first objective was the Crawford market, and thither we piloted the
stewards in order that they might purchase fresh meat and vegetables
for the ship. It was a curious experience to be groping about the great
Indian city in the half-dawn. Now and then we stumbled over recumbent
figures, who had apparently spent the night on the side-walk wrapped only
in their thin cotton clothing, with a fold of the same pulled over their
heads. The market is a covered building of European design, and even at
this early hour the greater part of the day’s business was already over,
and the salesmen were idling about their half-depleted stalls, while the
small retailers as well as various servants of still-sleeping sahibs were
carrying away their purchases.
Having assured ourselves that the stewards (who did not know Bombay)
would be able to carry on, Pack and I turned our steps towards the Taj
Mahal, the great hotel on the Bund. Here we were received with some
surprise, as it is not usual for English sahibs to be abroad so early.
However, when after a wash and a shave we were ready for breakfast, we
managed to procure a “chota hazri” of tea and bananas which we ate on the
balcony, the while we watched the changing effects of sunrise in the bay.
Many soldiers in uniform were present, having breakfast with their
wives, who had accompanied them down from up-country stations. I felt
very sorry for all these poor ladies, who could not conceal the anxiety
they felt at the imminent parting with their men, who were so soon to
proceed to France to fight.
Later, we started on our shopping. I, as tobacco-caterer for the Mess,
laid in a supply of Indian cigars, and then purchased several bottles
of light beer—a drink highly appreciated on board a man-of-war in the
tropics. Pack had been deputed to obtain, among other things, some
musical instruments, it being the Commander’s intention to organise a
band on board. Fortunately we found that the Army and Navy Co-operative
Stores were selling off their stock, so he managed to get a number of
stringed instruments at a great reduction.
We further invested in a new duplicator for the _Gazette_, as we had been
having a lot of trouble with the old one.
Our gharri must have presented a curious spectacle, for it was piled high
with packages large and small, and crowded with zithers, guitars and
banjos! The shopping occupied the whole morning, and it was not until the
afternoon that we drove down to the quay and transferred our purchases to
the boat.
About six on the same evening we weighed anchor and proceeded out to sea.
It now transpired that our present duty was to assist in the convoying of
a number of transports carrying troops. There were about eighty of them
in all—vessels great and small, covering a vast expanse of water, and
shepherded by warships on either flank. A most impressive sight. Later,
when they were all lit up—for at this time there was no submarine menace
in these seas—the scene took on the semblance of an immense nocturnal
water-fête. In view of the fact that we were at war this was extremely
unorthodox, and signals made to the troopships requesting them to
moderate their illumination did not meet with very conspicuous obedience.
Of course, the warships were steaming with all lights out, but it seemed
difficult to persuade the transports of the necessity for following their
example; apparently they did not realise the enormity of their crime.
* * * * *
A few days later we separated from the main fleet, and, convoying about
a dozen of the transports, steamed to the southward. The small force we
were now guarding was that which sustained such a grievous reverse at
Tanga in the early days of November, 1914.
Just before arriving at Mombasa we “crossed the line,” and the event
was celebrated with all due rites. One evening, Neptune’s bears came
aboard and warned the captain that on the following day Father Neptune
himself would board the ship, and would expect to find all the novices
lined up for initiation. We actually crossed the Equator about 8.30 next
morning, but, in order not to interfere with the morning routine, Neptune
very thoughtfully postponed his visit until 1 p.m. At that hour one of
our lieutenants, disguised in flowing tow beard and wig, equipped with
trident and crown, and arrayed in coloured bunting, made his appearance
on the forecastle, attended by a numerous retinue of “old salts.” To be
strictly in accordance with custom, Neptune should come aboard over the
bows, but since in our modern battleships this is somewhat difficult, it
is considered a sufficient concession to tradition if he appears on the
forecastle through a hatchway.
Preceded by his bandsmen all blowing vigorously on conch-shells, and
attended by his scribe, soap-bearer, latherer, and other important
functionaries, the Sea King made a tour of the ship; and after he had
been received by the captain with a little speech of welcome, took up his
stand on the forecastle.
Here a large sail-bath had been rigged up, and the ceremony of initiation
began. All the novices had taken the precaution of arraying themselves in
either old trousers and vests or simply in bathing-suits. Each in turn
was brought before Neptune, and if he admitted that he had never before
“crossed the line,” he was seized and plumped down on a stool with his
back to the bath. Then his face was well lathered with a whitewash brush,
and the barber scraped his cheeks with a huge wooden razor, after which
the stool was tilted suddenly backwards, and the victim shot head-first
into the water. Here several of Neptune’s bears pounced upon him and
ducked him until he was well out of breath, and there his ordeal ended.
If any novice ventured to plead that he was an initiate and his veracity
was in doubt, the scribe made a great show of referring to the records,
and then ordered him peremptorily to be lathered and shaved. Needless to
say, his attempt at deception was rewarded by an extra share of soap,
while in addition a huge bread-pill was forced into his mouth.
There were several novices to be initiated, and the whole show went with
a swing. Only one regrettable incident occurred—this was when the scribe
who had borrowed the chaplain’s best black coat was suddenly and without
warning pushed by some wag into the bath.
At the time this joke caused roars of laughter, but afterwards we had
to condole with the Padre on the mournful condition of his best blacks.
Luckily, however, after a good rinsing in fresh water and careful drying,
the suit, though slightly shrunk, was still wearable.