MORE ATTEMPTS AT ESCAPE
On July 11th, “the Baron,” one of our naval ratings, and a Belgian
effected their escape. They got away about 9 p.m., just after the guard
had completed its final round. The building in which their room was
situated was built on the wall which encircled the Boma, and from their
_baraza_ it was a drop of only about fifteen feet to the ground. That
safely accomplished, they had to cross an open space for about twenty
yards, and then crawl through a barbed-wire fence. They were uncommonly
lucky, for a sentry patrolled up and down that wall from sunset to
sunrise, but on the evening in question he had gone round the corner to
have a chat with the main guard at the gate, and thus it was that they
got away unseen.
Their flight was not discovered until the next morning’s roll-call ...
then immense excitement prevailed in the Boma! Askaris were sent flying
in every direction: all the Germans were in a very bad temper, and many
of the interned were called into the office to be fiercely questioned.
As some of us knew all about the affair, and, indeed, had helped in the
escape, we all decided that the best thing to do was to refuse to answer
_any_ questions. The result of this decision was, that although the
Germans had a very shrewd suspicion as to which of us were implicated,
they were unable to prove anything.
The runaways had not such a long start as the Major secured, but we hoped
that they might have a better chance of success, for they had decided to
travel by night and lie low during the daytime, and their adventure had
been timed to take full advantage of the moon.
I remember that it was just at this time that I was treating a private
of the Loyal North Lancashires for a very bad attack of the deadly
blackwater fever. Fortunately one of the English mission nurses was in
the camp, and so the poor chap was better off than if his nursing had had
to be entrusted to the rough kindness of his pals. Nevertheless, all our
efforts were powerless to save him, and he died on July 13th. A rough
coffin was made, and that same afternoon we buried him in the little
graveyard up the hill, about a quarter of a mile from the Boma. All the
prisoners were allowed (under guard) to attend the funeral, and the
Kommandant himself accompanied the procession to the graveside, where the
service was conducted by Archdeacon Hallett, who was among the interned
missionaries. Later we were given permission to erect a monument over the
grave, and as there was a skilled carpenter among us, we were able to put
up a really fine cross to his memory.
As the days went by our hopes for the success of the fugitives rose
higher and higher, and every evening after “Lights out” we used to
sit around in the brilliant rays of the full moon and speculate on
their progress. It was not until the 19th—exactly eight days after
their flight—that all these hopes were shattered by the news of their
recapture. Late on the same afternoon they were brought in, and in time
we heard the full tale of their experiences.
Once clear of the Boma, they had at first made good progress, travelling
only by night, and had they stuck to this plan it is probable their
enterprise would have been successful. But they came to a stretch of
country where about thirty hours’ travel lay between one water-hole and
the next. Thirst is a terrible enemy, especially in a hot climate, and
so, in order to cover the distance between the wells in as short a time
as possible, they decided to risk one cross-country march by daylight.
The bush was very thick, and coming upon a native track, they followed
it for a little way. This proved their undoing, for, as ill-luck would
have it, they suddenly ran into a Safari proceeding from the opposite
direction, and among the natives were some of Mahnke’s servants, who at
once recognised and questioned them. To make a bolt was useless, for
there was a small Boma in the vicinity, and on getting the alarm the
Askaris would have easily tracked them down; so they made the best of a
bad job, and willy-nilly joined the Safari, hoping for an opportunity to
escape under cover of darkness. But this hope, too, was frustrated by the
natives, who took the precaution of tying them up at night.
The “Baron,” who was regarded as the ringleader, was placed in a cell
by himself, and the other two in one together. They were all put upon
“low diet,” which means nothing but bread and water. Now, this would be
bad enough even were the bread anything like what is known in Europe as
such, but as the stuff we had at Kilimatinde was made from maize-meal and
matama-flour, it was a very serious hardship indeed. Matama is a kind of
millet, also known as “durra,” or Indian millet, and its combination with
maize-meal resulted in a curious substance with a very hard crust and
dry, crumbly interior not unlike hard sand! Indeed, I do not know with
what to compare it in order to give an adequate idea of its taste and
texture; but anyway, in England it would not for a moment be considered
fit for human consumption. The war-bread which I have heard so much
abused since my return would have been hailed by us as _cake_ had we only
had the good fortune to get it!
The “Baron,” both by reason of his reputed ringleadership and because
when under examination he was disposed to treat the affair in a very
cavalier fashion, was kept on low diet longer than the others, and did
not, in fact, complete his term of bread and water until August 29th, a
period of something over a month, but occasionally he was allowed a day
or two on the ordinary full diet in order to keep him in a fair state of
health.
When we were exercising in the Boma we used to pass close to the doors
of the cells in which those undergoing punishment were confined, and it
became our practice to smuggle extra food to the prisoners. It required a
certain amount of ingenuity to accomplish this without being caught, but
it was quite possible, for there was no special watch over the cells, as
they were next to the guard-house and the ordinary guard was supposed to
be sufficient. We used to shove things through the bars when the guards
were looking another way; hard-boiled eggs were the easiest things to
manipulate, though not easy to procure. We fed the Major in the same way,
and whenever I had to visit a prisoner professionally I used to take some
food in my pocket and slip it under the bedclothes. I considered myself
perfectly justified in this course, since, by my parole, I was only bound
not to attempt to escape, and it involved no meticulous observance of
rules within the Boma.
The men undergoing punishment were allowed only a small basin to wash
in, and they had to sleep on beds which had previously been used by
natives and were swarming with bugs! Further, I had great difficulty in
persuading the Kommandant that regular daily exercise was essential for
their health, and for a long while the Major was kept in a cell measuring
about five by seven feet, and never allowed out at all. Even when he had
completed his term and was allowed out during the day and took his meals
in the common dining-room, he had to retire to his cell at sundown—about
6.30—and was then locked in for the night.
On August 3rd we received a European mail—the first to enter the Colony
since the outbreak of war, and, as it afterwards proved, the only one.
It may be imagined how we read and re-read those letters, all of them
months old, February being the latest date borne by any of mine. When
later we enquired why no more mails arrived, we were told that the
British would allow none to leave the Colony, and therefore the Germans
would allow none to come in for the prisoners.
In September there was a further addition to our numbers in the persons
of Sealy and Perks; the former a captain of Baluchis, and the latter
an intelligence officer who was a volunteer, and in private life a
coffee-planter in Uganda. Both had been captured in the fighting on the
border, and Perks was clapped into a cell as soon as he arrived, and no
one was allowed to have any communication with him.
We wondered who and what he could be that he should require such rigorous
watching. Sealy, though he had been taken at the same time, could give
but little information. He said that Perks had joined the post only a few
days before the German raid, and a day or two later had been taken off in
a different direction to the one in which the convoy was proceeding. He
had sorely missed his company, especially as Perks spoke German, and he
did not, but on entering one of the camps _en route_ for the Boma a few
days after their separation, he found Perks already there, and from that
time onward they travelled in company until they arrived at Kilimatinde.
When we learned that before the war Perks had worked for some time on
the railway in the Colony, and had an intimate knowledge of the country,
we began to wonder if the Germans suspected him of espionage, and if so,
whether they intended to shoot him.
I asked the Kommandant why he was not allowed to join us, and that worthy
replied that he really could not answer my question, since he did not
himself know the reason, but only that his confinement was in accordance
with instructions from headquarters. Poor Perks spent a wretched time,
as he had no idea why he was so harshly treated, and every morning when
the Askari came to unlock his cell he thought that he was going to be led
out to execution. They allowed him to have the door open in the daytime,
and we used to see him sitting on an upturned box on the threshold and
looking perfectly miserable. We were not allowed to speak to him, but
tried to convey encouragement by nodding as cheerily as possible, and
sometimes we managed to get in a whispered word or so when the guard was
not looking. It was a nerve-racking period for him; and then suddenly one
day, for no apparent reason, it ended, and he was informed that he might
join the other prisoners.
Subsequently it transpired that it was a case of mistaken identity, the
Germans having taken him for another man—a Jew who had escaped from the
Colony at the commencement of the war, and whom they were particularly
anxious to lay hands upon. The whole trouble had been due to one German
who declared that poor Perks was the man in question, but in the end he
was able to convince them of their error.
Sealy told us how the _Königsberg_ had been successfully bombarded in her
lair in the Rifugi River. The Germans had carefully concealed this news
from us, but when tackled on the subject they were forced to admit that
it was true.
In October we were informed that negotiations for the exchange of another
mail were in progress, and so we could write home. Much elated at the
prospect of some later news from our people, we spent several days in
writing letters, and these left the Boma on the 11th. But week succeeded
week and yet our mail did not turn up. The Kommandant told us he believed
a mail had been received, but that naturally it would take some time to
sort and censor. Nevertheless, it did not materialise, and in the end
we were forced to give up hope. The mail received in August, 1915, was
the only one we ever had. This was the hardest trial of all we had to
endure, for most of us had friends and relatives fighting in Europe and
elsewhere, and it was heartrending never to have any news of them. To add
to our misery, the letters we had written so joyfully in October, 1915,
were returned to us in the following July: they had never left the Colony!
Among the interned prisoners were two brothers of the name of
Beziudenhout; they were Boers, and evidently the Germans trusted them,
perhaps because so many of their countrymen were still at large and
working in the Colony. Anyway, these men were allowed far more liberty
than any of the rest of us. They were allowed to do various odd jobs of
carpentering, etc., and were also employed in the Kommandant’s garden.
I believe they were given a small amount of pay in return for their
services, and we all knew that they received preferential treatment in
the matter of food, for frequently we saw them retiring to their own
room with a dish of poached eggs or some similar delicacy. But in the
end they got tired of their confinement, modified though it was, and
when wandering quietly in the garden as usual they took advantage of the
liberty allowed them to do a bunk! Their absence was discovered the same
night, but it was then too late to do anything but issue a warning to the
Bomas round.
Of course we were all delighted at the neat way the Germans had been
tricked, and they had only themselves to thank and certainly could not
blame the Askaris, since the Boers had been given express permission to
go in and out as they pleased. Vague rumours were rife, such as that
one of the Boma boys had gone with them as guide, that they had managed
to get hold of rifles and ammunition, and other conjectures equally
improbable. Anyhow, we knew that they were familiar with the country;
that is, they knew it as well as any man can know a great tract of
Africa, where there are no roads or signposts, and distant hills or
mountains form the only guiding landmarks—and further, they both spoke
German and Swahili well.
But as it proved, they had no better luck than any of the others who had
made similar attempts to escape. Just as we thought they must be free of
the danger-zone, the news arrived that they had been captured, and Müller
in a towering rage started off with some Askaris to bring them back. He
intended to give them a bad time, and made no secret of the fact that he
would shoot them if they gave the slightest trouble.... And out in the
wilds who should bear witness against him? Certainly not the Askaris; it
would have been as much as their own lives were worth. It was therefore
with great relief that we saw them marched in on October 27th, just nine
days after their escape.
They were confined in separate cells and had to do a long term on bread
and water, although I managed to get a little milk for the younger, who
was suffering from a bad attack of Tick fever.
From him I learned that they had made good progress and were hoping to
bring their venture to a successful issue, when, as in the case of the
“Baron” and his companions, thirst proved their undoing. They travelled
only at night, avoiding all villages, but one night when they went to a
water-hole, the only one for miles around, a crowd of natives jumped on
them from behind and bound them hand and foot. Evidently the natives had
spotted them when they were hiding in the bush by day, and had assembled
at the water-hole to catch them.
It may be noted that all recaptures were made by the agency of the
natives, but whether through loyalty to the Germans or fear of them I
cannot say.