TYPHOID AT THE BOMA
In October, 1915, there was an outbreak of typhoid in the camp. The
first to go down with it was Lieut.-Com. P——, who had been my messmate
in the old _Goliath_ and captured at the same time as myself. As soon as
I recognised that his fever was something more than the usual malaria,
I arranged with the Kommandant to have him sent down to the hospital
at Morogoro, but shortly afterwards two or three more cases occurred,
and the Germans realised that they would have to deal with what might
prove a serious outbreak. I must admit that they rose to the occasion
with commendable promptitude. They sent for Dr. Koudiké, a German
bacteriologist, to investigate the matter, and pending his arrival gave
me full power to take what precautions I could to limit the spread of the
disease.
A large store-room on the ground floor was turned into an isolation
hospital, and all suspicious cases were sent down there as soon as they
went sick. I also had to commandeer two new punishment cells which had
been recently built, and a few days later we took over a small European
hut just outside the Boma. It was very fortunate that there was a mission
nurse among the interned; I really do not know what I should have done
without her. I also took one of the Mission lay brothers into hospital
service chiefly on account of his knowledge of Swahili and chemistry.
He proved most useful in running the native staff, and impressing on
them the rudiments of antisepsis—luckily there was an adequate supply of
antiseptics in the dispensary.
Instructions were issued that all water should be boiled; previously this
had not been considered necessary, as the water was drawn from a covered
spring to which the natives had no access.
On the Kommandant devolved the duty of providing a supply of milk, and
he had to send Askaris out to demand a certain amount from each village;
this was boiled before being issued to the patients.
For the first few days, until the arrival of the German doctor, I was
kept very busy, and the nursing was by no means easy, as our “wards” were
so scattered, and the appliances at our disposal primitive and few in
number.
Dr. Koudiké brought with him a stock of utensils and drugs, and he was
accompanied by a Vize-Sanitäts-Feldwebel—that is, a man corresponding
to an N.C.O. in the R.A.M.C.; his name was Schöpe. They took up their
quarters in the native hospital and speedily transformed it. When I first
saw it, it was full of various skins and trophies, with bottles of drugs
scattered about haphazard; and mud-wasps, which had built their nests all
over the walls, used to buzz round my head as I dispensed the medicines.
But now the place was thoroughly cleaned out, the walls and ceiling were
given a good coat of whitewash, and mosquito-netting was nailed over all
the windows.
As soon as the patients realised what was the matter with them they all
wanted to be sent down to the hospital at Morogoro, but this the Germans
would not allow. One can understand their point of view, as no one knew
how many cases there might be, and the said hospital, being only a
small one, could not accommodate a large number of fever patients, so
the orders were that they should be kept in the camp, or at any rate in
Kilimatinde, and a doctor would be sent up to look after them. But I had
the greatest difficulty in persuading them that they were not, as they
firmly believed, being left by the brutal Germans to die unsuccoured.
When Dr. Koudiké arrived he took over the charge of the patients and
relieved me of a lot of responsibility. Further, he made arrangements for
the sufferers to be removed to a house in the village about a quarter of
a mile from the Boma. It was a well-built, one-storied building with four
good-sized rooms, and it had a large _baraza_ in front. It was said that
it had been built as an hotel, but it had been empty since the war.
The doctor had it well cleaned and whitewashed, and new mosquito-netting
fitted to the windows, and it was ready for occupation within a week. A
crowd of natives were commandeered to carry the patients on their beds to
the new quarters, and threatened with dire penalties should they drop
one on the way! The removal was accomplished without a single mishap.
Fortunately the outbreak was a slight one; in all there were only twelve
cases, including the lieutenant-commander who had been removed to
Morogoro. All recovered, and in most cases the attack was mild.
Dr. Koudiké was much exercised to trace the source of the infection. The
water was tested several times, but always with negative results, and
eventually it was decided that the fount of the mischief was one of the
native cook-boys, who was proved to be a “typhoid-carrier.”
It is one of the most curious and interesting of modern medical
discoveries that certain individuals, without apparently suffering
themselves, become “carriers” of disease germs which can infect others.
Typhoid is one of the diseases thus disseminated, and diphtheria is
another.
In the course of Dr. Koudiké’s investigations nearly all the natives in
the village, and certainly all who had any communication with the Boma,
were tested, and it was found that many of them were typhoid-carriers,
although none were at the time suffering from the disease. Typhoid is
very common among the natives, but, so far as I could ascertain, it is
not a cause of high mortality. The result of these investigations goes to
prove that the greatest care should be observed in choosing a cook-boy in
Africa.
The little Sanitäts-Offizier organised a native sanitary corps who went
round all the buildings, both outside and inside the Boma, disinfecting
them and sprinkling chloride of lime. He also spent much time and labour
in fitting up and beautifying the improvised hospital. Screens of bamboo
and canvas were made, and native straw mats bought to cover the floors,
and small bedside lockers with little curtains in front of them were
made out of old boxes. But the chief and best of the innovations was
the importation from Tabora of new beds, which were made of wood with
properly fitting joints and a rope network to support the mattresses.
These were the greatest boon, as the old native-made beds were very
roughly put together, and many of them were full of bugs which lurked in
the gaping joints! The only way to get rid of these pests was to take
the bed to pieces and stick the ends and joints into boiling water.
Further, being made of soft wood, they were frequently attacked by a
small boring beetle (no pun intended!). My bed became thus infested, and
during the night I could hear the little insects busily gnawing away at
the woodwork. I spent much time in trying to save it from their ravages
by squirting strong antiseptic into their holes, but it was no good, and
one afternoon when I was lying down my couch gave out a sudden ominous
creak—and collapsed!... That night I had to do a bit of carpentering
before I could retire to rest, and I found that the inside of one of the
poles was practically eaten away.
Dr. Koudiké remained at the Boma until December 6th, by which time all
the patients were well on the road to recovery. When he left he handed
over the care of the patients to me, while the little Sanitäts man
remained to run the general management of the hospital and superintend
the feeding arrangements, etc. This he did very well, and I must
mention that a German military cook had been imported to prepare the
patients’ meals. The latter all admitted that they had been well treated
in their improvised sanatorium, and were not in the least looking
forward to returning to the Boma. Whatever the faults of the Germans at
Kilimatinde—and those faults were many—I must in justice admit that in
the matter of the typhoid outbreak they behaved with humanity, doing all
in their power to make the sufferers comfortable and to ensure their
recovery.
* * * * *
In November, 1915, arrangements were come to between the British and
German Governments whereby pay should be advanced to prisoners of
commissioned rank. Officers of, and above, the rank of captain were
allowed to draw three rupees fifty hellers a day (R. 3.50), and those
below that rank R. 3 a day. A rupee is equivalent, roughly speaking, to
1s. 4d. We were not, however, allowed to handle the money, for since the
various attempts to escape all cash had to be deposited in the office,
and any purchases we might wish to make were effected by the medium of
signed “chits” which had to be, by the recipients, presented for payment
at the office. But it was a blessing to feel we had money in the bank,
and we could now buy those expensive cigarettes made by the Greeks
instead of confining ourselves to the cheapest pat-tobacco which had
latterly been our fate, owing to the fact that our funds had dwindled
almost to vanishing-point, and our sole source of income, namely, the
reprehensible poker, had been knocked on the head by the calling in of
all specie.
My first purchase consisted of a quantity of literature from
Dar-es-Salaam, and I was able to get hold of some second-hand English
books, as well as a complete edition of Schiller’s works, so we were well
provided for some time to come.
Then, too, we were also able to add considerably to our _menu_ by buying
sausages and cheeses from Tabora, and small delicacies from Frau Mahnke.
In December we had yet another windfall. A bag full of clothing and good
things was sent from Zanzibar for each of the naval prisoners, and these
were allowed to come through, and were given out just before Christmas.
The articles of clothing, more especially the boots, were greatly
needed, and each bag further contained various potted meats and tinned
delicacies, a plum-pudding, and—best gift of all—one and a half pounds
of real Navy tobacco and some cigars and cigarettes. So this, our second
Christmas in captivity, we were also able to celebrate in fitting style.
The unfortunate military prisoners, whom nobody seemed to have
remembered, looked on with sad envy while we unpacked our presents. Of
course, we shared some of our good things with them, but I fear that,
among so many, there was only enough to make them long for more.
The Governor allowed us, the officers, to buy some of the alcohol which
the Germans were making in the Colony. They showed wonderful enterprise
in this respect, and put upon the market a whisky _Ersatz_ (substitute)
and various liqueurs—notably a _Kummel_, which was not at all bad, and
some very good rum. Naturally it was all very new and fiery, and some
brands smelt and tasted more like methylated spirit than anything else,
but nevertheless it helped to impart the requisite Christmassy atmosphere.
About this time the Kommandant granted us another privilege: he allowed
us to buy the local newspaper, reserving, however, the right to censor
it before it came into our hands. It appeared once a week, and consisted
of a single sheet; frequently it was printed on rough coloured paper
such as is used for posters. It was evident that the supply of paper in
the Colony was running very short. I had to act as interpreter, and—no
matter what we might be doing—as soon as the sheet was given out I was
installed on the table or on a bed in our room, and had to read it aloud
to the others. We always turned first to news of the Colony, but, as at
this time the great advance had not begun, the only tidings given were
of small border-raids by the Germans, which, according to the paper,
were invariably and monotonously successful. We were amused to note how
meticulously the “enemy,” that is, _British_ losses, were always reckoned
up, while each account would end with “_Bei uns keine Verluste_”—on our
side no losses! Then we used to turn to “News from enemy sources”; this
was evidently derived from wireless news issued from Zanzibar for the
information of ships. But of course it was severely censored, as a result
of which we were unable to glean a very accurate account of affairs in
Europe, and, in fact, it appeared to us that the Allies were getting a
very thin time of it. Naturally we discounted a lot, but nevertheless it
was not at all cheering—and _how_ we did long to know the _truth_!
When we had finished with the paper we passed it round the Boma, and a
Belgian engineer used to read it to the Tommies. His knowledge of English
was fair, but not perfect, and considering that he had to translate the
text to himself in French before putting it into English, his rendering
was not half bad. It was amusing to listen to the reading, for he was
very fond of high-flown phraseology and frequently made use of quaint
and quite unsuitable words. The soldiers were very quick at grasping his
meaning, and they used to keep up a quick fire of prompting and comment.
This Belgian, whose name was Van Leo, used to do translation from German
into English with me. We were studying Schiller’s “Thirty Years’ War,”
and I tried hard, though with scant success, to wean him from his passion
for the most pedantic dictionary terms. One way and another we spent a
lot of time in study, particularly in that of languages. We had classes
in German, French, English, Italian and Swahili, and one of us even
ventured to tackle Russian, but the vagaries of the alphabet were too
much for him. Perks was the tutor in this subject; he was a wonderful
linguist, and could chatter in French and German as easily as in English.
His Italian, too, was quite fluent, and I believe his knowledge of
Russian was equally good. He also spoke Arabic and Swahili. It was quite
a usual thing for various different classes to be going on at the same
time in the dining-hall or on the _baraza_. I was persuaded to give a
series of elementary lectures on anatomy and physiology, and a course of
first aid. One of the Padres gave lessons in Greek and Latin, and another
in mathematics. Instruction in entomology was undertaken by one of the
planters, and a Padre who was an ardent coleopterist. One of the miners
had a good working knowledge of geology which he was eager to impart to
anyone who cared to learn. Altogether we might well have called ourselves
“The Kilimatinde University”! All we lacked was a competent authority on
botany.
The Germans soon recognised that the learning of languages was a harmless
and useful occupation for the prisoners, and they drew up a time-table
for the men (who were in any case obliged to work), allotting two hours
in the morning for study. Those who did not care to avail themselves of
this had to make wooden pegs instead. This sounds a curious industry,
but it was useful, for the pegs, which were about half an inch long and
sharpened at one end, were used instead of nails or sprigs to fasten the
soles on to boots and shoes; they were used chiefly in repairing the
Askaris’ boots.
We had to do our own cobbling, and tools were provided, but there was a
great dearth of leather. The European article was not to be had, and raw
hide was issued to us with which we had to make shift to sole our boots.
It was rather difficult to work, as it had to be soaked until soft and
then nailed into position; then it answered very well as long as the
weather was dry, but if one went out in the damp it promptly got soft
again and the soles fell away from the uppers.
The Germans started a tannery at Tabora which was worked by some Boers,
and the stuff they turned out, while much better than the raw hide, was
still very inferior to any European leather, and even so, such as it was,
the Germans kept nearly all of it for themselves and their Askaris.
Towards the end of 1915 the women in the Boma were told that they too
must work; some of them were set to making shirts, pants, and various
articles of underwear, and others to knitting socks for the troops. At
first some of them struck and refused to work, but the Kommandant said
that in that case he would not allow them to draw the milk ration for
their children. As many of them were married and had families, this
threat soon broke up the strike. The socks were rather comic, for wool
was so scarce that all kinds and colours, chiefly gaudy Berlin wool, were
used, and many of the women deliberately set themselves to see how many
different colours they could get into one sock!
The soldiers proved uncommonly good knitters, but they would only work
for themselves, and wool was so difficult to get that sometimes two old
socks would be unravelled and the material thus obtained knitted up again
into a new pair. Needles were also at a premium, but while most of them
contented themselves with home-made wooden ones, one ingenious fellow
contrived to make a set out of the ribs of an old umbrella.