THE MAJOR’S VENTURE
In January, 1915, a fresh prisoner arrived. This was the airman, C——, who
had been captured in the Rufigi River. While flying over the delta for
the purpose of ascertaining the position of the _Königsberg_, his engine
failed and he was forced to descend in the river. Since his machine was
a seaplane that fact did not trouble him much, as he hoped to get his
engine going again in a very short time. Unfortunately he came down
just opposite a place on the bank where the Germans had mounted some
machine-guns, and, spotting him, they at once opened fire. The first few
shots punctured the petrol-tank, which rendered him helpless, and the
current carried him slowly but surely in towards the shore, so that at
last he was forced to wave his handkerchief in token of surrender, and
a seaman waded out and took him prisoner. But the Huns did not get the
machine, for one of our ships at the mouth of the river had seen the
descent and sent in a steamboat to render aid. Its crew kept the enemy
off by gunfire, and managed to salve the seaplane.
When C—— arrived at Kilimatinde he was received just as we had been, with
eager demands for news, in which we joined, for since our capture not a
word of what was going on in the outside world had reached us. But, alas!
he had nothing of much importance to tell us, and we were especially
disappointed to learn that as yet no great offensive had been started in
the Colony.
On the 23rd of February yet another prisoner arrived. This was Lieut.
P——, of the R.N.R., who had also been captured in the Rufigi. On February
6th, in charge of an armed launch, he had gone up the river to test the
strength of the German posts and defences on its banks. He had only
gone a little way when the Huns opened fire, and, putting the helm hard
over, he turned the launch round with a view to retiring in accordance
with his instructions. A shot hit the vessel in the stern and jammed the
steering-gear. Under a hot fire the crew laboured to free it, but without
success, and they could move neither ahead nor astern, but only spin
round and round. Though they tried going ahead and astern alternately,
they could not manage to draw out of range, and the guns on the beach
were so well masked that our men could not return their fire with any
effect. In the end they ran aground, and being subjected to a hail of
bullets, nothing remained for them but to raise the white flag.
Several of the crew were wounded, but eventually recovered, and one who
was killed outright was buried on the banks of the Rufigi. Later I was
shown a photograph of his grave which had been taken by a German; it was
marked with a little wooden cross.
The launch was riddled with shots, and I heard that next day one of
our ships blew a great hole in her stern with the object of making her
useless to the enemy; but some months afterwards a German told me with
great glee that they had succeeded in salving her all the same, and that
she had been taken in sections to Lake Tanganyka. This seemed to me
rather a tall story, and I cannot vouch for its truth. Lieut. P—— was the
only prisoner brought to Kilimatinde; his men were interned as ours had
been at Tabora.
February was an eventful month at the Boma, for on the 26th it was
discovered that the Major had escaped, and great excitement prevailed.
It has already been described how we were allowed out for exercise after
tea, no particular tally of numbers being taken either on our going forth
or coming in. I had noticed that the Major always carried a cushion
with him, and in my innocence imagined he used it to sit on. But it now
appeared that the cushion had a loose cover in which he contrived to
smuggle out small quantities of food, chiefly rice and dried meat. Some
of us had commented on his enormous appetite, and wondered how he could
manage to consume such quantities of rice, but it never dawned on us that
he was storing the stuff with deliberate purpose. Even though he used to
have talks with me on dietetics, with especial regard to the relative
values of food, and the amount of rice or other comestible needed to
sustain a man for twenty-four hours, I never suspected his intention.
The food once safely smuggled out, he used to hide it in some bushes,
which being now in leaf afforded very good cover. Then a day came when,
having gone out with us as usual, the Major never returned. One or two
noted his absence, but they made no remark, and the majority were still
quite unconscious of it. It was not until the middle of the next day that
the Germans discovered his flight, and even then I believe it would have
been unnoticed had not one of the native boys reported him as missing.
The fellows in his room had tumbled his bed to make it look as if it
had been slept in, so the boy had to make it as usual that morning, and
in his absence from breakfast there was nothing very unusual, as he had
for some time been irregular in his attendance at meals and often missed
breakfast altogether. Evidently he had done this with the deliberate
intention of putting the boys off the scent. However, one of them more
alert than the rest noticed his absence from the midday meal, went in
search of him, and the search being unavailing, reported to the Germans
that he was nowhere to be found. Our first intimation of his flight came
after dinner, when two of the German guards came round and looked into
every room.
I and three others were playing bridge at the time, and we looked up in
surprise at the unusual intrusion. But the guards merely glanced keenly
around and then went out muttering to themselves, and as they had not
said for what they were searching, I concluded they were only on a tour
of inspection. However, a few minutes later the Askari guard was turned
out and assembled in the courtyard just below our window, and, being
able to overhear all that was said, we soon realised what had happened.
Eight Askaris were chosen, and thirty rounds of ammunition served out to
each man. Then they were instructed to scour the country in different
directions, and if they should meet the Major they were to call upon him
to stand and surrender. If he did not obey they were to challenge him
again, and if he still refused they were to shoot him in the legs; if he
showed fight he was to be shot through the head. But, above all, if any
Askari came up with the fugitive he was not to return to the Boma without
bringing him in, dead or alive.
We spent the rest of that day in discussing the Major’s chances of
eventual escape, and we came to the optimistic conclusion that they were
pretty good. He already had a fair start; he was used to African travel
and could find his way in the bush—though nearly fifty he was fit and in
fair condition; and we reckoned he would not have started without enough
food to make him independent of the natives until he was well beyond the
danger-zone. But it would mean a long tramp to the border—about three
hundred miles.
For the next two days there was no news of him, and the Askaris returned
after a fruitless search. The other Bomas and all the natives round
had been warned to keep a sharp look-out, but since no trace had been
reported we began to hope that he had successfully evaded all traps and
was well on the way to the frontier.
Of course, we had all been “gated” as soon as the escape was discovered,
but we did not care a rap for that. All the men in his room were severely
cross-examined, and also every one of us who might possibly have any
knowledge, but our gaolers were unable to glean any particulars, or find
the remotest trace of a conspiracy.
Then, alas! on March 2nd, four days after his bold bid for liberty,
news arrived at the Boma that our comrade had been captured in a native
village about eight hours’ march away.... We were frightfully downcast.
“Sloppy Joe” and half a dozen Askaris were sent off to bring him in,
and the party returned the next morning. None of us were allowed in the
courtyard, but we watched the arrival from our windows, and were relieved
to see that the Major was walking, for we feared he might have tried to
put up a fight and been badly injured, and should not have been surprised
to see him brought back on a stretcher. However, since he was able to
walk there could not be much amiss, although even from a distance we
could see that his face was bruised and discoloured, and his clothing
much torn.
Next day he asked to see a doctor, and I was taken into his cell. It
appeared that in a scrimmage with the natives who took him prisoner he
had sustained a broken rib, and this I fixed up for him; but as the
Kommandant, who knew English, was present all the time, I had no chance
to question him about his experiences. However, although he was not
allowed out of his cell, thereafter I saw him daily, and in spite of the
fact that one of the guards was almost invariably present, we at length
managed to get in some brief conversations, and bit by bit I learned
how it was that he had not succeeded in his enterprise. It would appear
that he had miscalculated the effect of the February rains and had not
allowed sufficient time for the water to subside; consequently he found
himself held up by impassable swamps in places where he had anticipated
no obstacle. This resulted in his having to retrace his steps over ground
already traversed in order to try another route, so he had not been able
to get out of the danger area around the Boma as soon as he had hoped.
One night, almost before he was aware of it, he found himself walking
into a native village. Putting a bold face on the matter, he went up to
one of the huts to ask the way. As ill-luck would have it, two of our
Askaris were in the village in plain clothes, and the Major did not spot
them, but he soon noticed that there was much excited whispering going
on, and the natives began closing around him in a manner distinctly
threatening and hostile. For a little while he managed to face them and
keep them at bay, but suddenly he became aware that someone was creeping
up behind him. Swinging round, he knocked down the man who had been about
to seize him, and then there was a regular rough-and-tumble; but in the
end he was overcome by sheer weight of numbers. The natives brought
hide-thongs and bound him so tightly that the bonds cut into his flesh
and he could hardly breathe. Trussed up in this fashion, he was held
until the escort arrived, and even then “Sloppy Joe” would only allow the
bonds to be loosened; they were not finally removed until the party were
almost in sight of the Boma. When I saw him he still bore marks of that
brutal binding on his arms and legs.
* * * * *
A most disagreeable-looking official arrived to preside at the Major’s
trial. His name was French, I believe; he was a tall man, very pale, with
a cruel-looking mouth and shifty eyes.
The trial lasted for several days, and resulted in the prisoner being
condemned to two months’ solitary confinement, his diet for part of the
time being restricted to bread and water. But as all the evidence had to
be examined in Morogoro, and he was kept in the cell until his case was
decided, the period of his captivity was in reality much longer than that
indicated in the sentence. In all he was what under the circumstances one
might call a super-prisoner from March 3rd until May 21st.
When he was captured, a revolver and ammunition were found in the Major’s
possession, and the Germans were mightily puzzled to imagine how and
where he could have obtained either the one or the other. He naturally
refused to answer any questions on the subject, and they did not believe
it possible that the weapon could have been secreted in any of the
prisoners’ boxes, as these had been regularly and thoroughly searched.
In the past, when such searches were being conducted, all prisoners were
assembled in the courtyard as though for a roll-call, and were kept
standing there while some of the guards went through their boxes. If one
of these was found locked, its owner was called up and had to empty it
in the presence of the guard. A sequel to the Major’s escapade was that
thenceforward, to facilitate search, and to prevent us from making use
of any provisions or spare clothing, an order was issued that all boxes
were to be locked up in the baggage store, and we were only allowed to
keep out two suits, a change of underwear, one pair of boots or shoes,
and one hat or helmet. The store was opened only on two days in the week,
and then we were allowed access to our baggage; but everything that was
taken out was carefully scrutinised by the German in charge, and before
a pair of boots—or, indeed, any article of clothing—could be removed, a
corresponding article had to be replaced.
At this time, too, all ropes and water-bottles were confiscated.
In the matter of the revolver suspicion fell upon the Indian traders in
the village, and these wretched men were hauled up before the court and
bullyingly interrogated, while their shops and houses were searched. But
it was never discovered where the weapon came from, nor did they succeed
in finding its pair.
A little later all our camp-beds were commandeered for the use of the
Germans in the field, and native ones were provided to replace them.
Those of the prisoners whose beds were their own property were required
to give them up to the German Government. They were told that they would
be paid a fair price, but no option was allowed in the matter. If anyone
refused to sell his bed it was calmly confiscated. All the tin boxes were
requisitioned in the same way, and we were given wooden packing-cases in
which to keep our belongings. The Government decided the price to be paid
for every article commandeered. Water-bottles were among the first things
thus to be removed from our possession.