GERMAN CRUELTY TO NATIVES
Many are the tales of German cruelty to natives, and while I am not in a
position to state that torture and intimidation form an intrinsic part of
Teutonic Colonial administration, or that such methods receive official
sanction, I have nevertheless been the disgusted witness of horrible
brutality on the part of individuals.
The guard Müller was a flagrant example of inherent ferocity. Brute
and bully by nature, he would, had he dared, have ruled even us white
prisoners with whips, and as it was he did everything in his power to
make our position as intolerable as possible, while his treatment of the
natives was unspeakable. On one occasion we saw from our windows two of
these unfortunates being forced to carry heavy stones round the Askari
Boma, a distance of five hundred yards or more. I was told that they had
been convicted of house-breaking, and this was their punishment; each
man had to balance on his head an enormous piece of rock weighing, I
should judge, more than one hundred pounds—anyway, it required the united
efforts of two Askaris to lift it into position. Then, supporting this
heavy load on head and hands, the poor wretches had to make the tour of
the Boma, not once only, but three times at least. Before they had gone
far they began to stagger under the weight, and finally threw it off.
Then the Askaris set on them and beat them until they again raised the
burden and went on. By the third round they were absolutely exhausted,
and I saw one of them fall heavily to the ground. Immediately the guards
began to beat him with _kibokos_—whips made of flexible hippo hide. For a
long time he lay still where he had fallen, and only moaned and quivered
under the blows; then once more they got him to his feet and the stone
again in position. He staggered a few yards and again collapsed, and this
time did not rise for all their beating, so they began to kick him with
their heavy boots—hard kicks delivered with all their might on his bare
back and ribs. The sight made our blood boil, but we were powerless to
interfere, for the Kommandant was away and Müller in charge, and we knew
that it was by his orders that under pretext of administering justice
(save the mark!) these natives were being thus maltreated, and had we
gone to him and complained he would only have sneered at us and told us
to mind our own business.
Another of the men, after two rounds of the Boma, refused to carry his
stone, and all the beatings and kickings of the Askaris having failed
to compel him to resume the load, they got a piece of string and, tying
it to one of his fingers, bent it back until it touched the back of his
hand, and, howling in agony, he once more tried to raise and support the
stone on his head. In the end both men were brought in totally exhausted
and thrown into a cell, where for several days they lay, unable to move.
Saidi, the hospital boy, told me they were dreadfully sick, and I only
wondered they did not die, for I quite imagined the ferocious kicks they
had received might well have ruptured liver or spleen. I must say I
marvelled that the Askaris should behave, even under orders, with such
brutality to their own countrymen, but there is little doubt but that the
African delights in ill-using his fellows if given the opportunity, and
it is a fact that the Askaris always treated with the utmost cruelty all
other natives, such as porters, etc., put under their charge.
On another day I again witnessed one of Müller’s punishments. It was
when I was in charge of the typhoid patients. The road to the hospital
led past a cattle-yard, and one morning as I was returning from my
professional visit, I saw the chain-gang prisoners carrying the
cattle-manure from one spot to another. They had to run with the muck
in their hands, and each man as he passed the Askaris received a blow
from their _kibokos_. It was equivalent to running the gauntlet; and no
matter if the prisoner worked well or slacked, he got his stripe every
time! Quaint justice! Like most bullies, Müller was coward as well; he
always managed to avoid going to the Front—pleaded a weak heart, though
the said weakness did not interfere with long, arduous days of hunting!
By some unknown means he had got a hold over Colzau, and so great was
his influence that he was often able to veto small reforms to which I
had practically obtained the Kommandant’s consent. Further, in order to
avoid active service, he got the latter to declare that he was invaluable
at the camp and could not be spared. When the advance into the Colony
began, and it was evident that the days of German rule were numbered,
Müller changed his tactics, and began to fawn upon us, trying by present
kindness and consideration to efface the memory of past insolence and
tyranny. But—we knew our man!
In February, 1916, a case of assault by some of the Askaris on one of the
white prisoners occurred in the Boma. It happened when Colzau was away,
and a young naval lieutenant from the _Königsberg_, Horn by name, was
temporarily in charge.
Van Leo noticed that one of the Askaris was threatening a small boy,
child of one of the interned prisoners. Van Leo naturally reproved the
man, who promptly began to revile him in Swahili, calling him all the
insulting names he could think of, and the Belgian, saying that he
intended to report him, moved off towards the Kommandant’s office. He
was half-way up the stairs when the Askari called out to the rest of the
guard, who thereupon seized him and dragged him down the steps. This the
rest of us witnessed from the _baraza_, where we were sitting at the
time, and we promptly went down to the courtyard to investigate and to
protect Van Leo.
The Askaris gathered round in a menacing group while he told us the
details of the affair. It was late in the afternoon; Lieut. Horn was out
at the time, and it so happened that there was no German in the Boma at
all! We waited in the courtyard until the lieutenant returned, and then
told him of the incident. He promised to hold an investigation the next
morning. We all identified the Askaris implicated, and when laying our
complaint, strongly emphasised the fact that the natives should be made
to thoroughly understand that in _no_ circumstances were they to lay
hands on Europeans. We warned Horn that the present case might easily
have developed into a riot, and that if such an incident were allowed to
go unpunished it was possible that there would be serious trouble in the
camp. He promised that the offenders should be punished, and in the end
the ringleader was sent to the Front, while the others were given extra
drill, but in my opinion they were let off very lightly. It was fortunate
that Colzau happened to be away at the time, otherwise I am certain that
Müller would have persuaded him that we had exaggerated the affair, and
the Askaris would probably have got off altogether!
* * * * *
In January, 1916, it was decided that all persons who had never had
typhoid, and had not been inoculated, should be removed to Tabora, and as
soon as those liable to contract the disease had been thus removed the
patients from the temporary hospital were brought back into camp.
It is worthy of note that none of the soldiers in the camp got typhoid;
they had been inoculated against the disease. All the cases occurred
among the civilians and sailors, as at that time inoculation was not a
part of naval routine.
* * * * *
It was in February that I performed the only operation I had to do during
my imprisonment, and, strangely enough, my patient was a German—an
Unter-Offizier. It was not a serious matter, and he did not want to
go down to Tabora or Morogoro for fear that he should not be allowed
to return to Kilimatinde, which place he greatly preferred to the
firing-line! As he was quite a decent fellow and had never presumed on
his position to bully the prisoners, I consented to do the operation for
him, and the Sanitäts man already referred to acted as my assistant. The
case did very well, and my patient was so pleased with the result that,
knowing my interest in the German language, he presented me with a fine
dictionary in proof of his gratitude.
In March I received orders from the Governor to pay a visit of inspection
to the camp at Bugiri, where a number of missionaries were confined. I
was given a Masheela to take me to Saranda station, while the guard who
accompanied me rode an old white mule. This guard, whose name was Krum,
was something of a character and amused us a good deal. A short little
chap with very bow-legs, he spoke English well, and he claimed to be a
great “big game” hunter. He had spent some time in British East Africa,
and asserted that he had accompanied the Duke of Westminster on his
shooting trip in that country, and that the latter had given him a fine
rifle at the end of the trip. We used to pull the little man’s leg about
his familiarity with the Duke, but he was a good-natured chap and did not
mind our teasing in the least. I was quite glad to have his company on
the trip, for he was very resourceful. We travelled first-class, and as
we started late in the afternoon it soon became quite dark. The train was
not lighted at all, and each passenger had brought his own lamp; we had
none, however, but Krum speedily discovered a pal on board, and borrowed
his lamp for us to eat our supper by. He also provided the food—a tin of
sardines, and a loaf of bread which was infinitely superior to anything
in that way which we got in camp. It could not compare with British
“war-bread,” but I enjoyed it so much that I ate more than half of it,
washing it down with draughts of _Kummel_, Dar-es-Salaam brew. Then the
lamp had to be returned to its rightful owner and the rest of the journey
was accomplished in darkness.
I alighted at Kikombo station, for Bugiri, about 9 p.m., but Krum got out
at the preceding one, Dodoma by name. It appeared that he had a pal there
whom he wished to see, and thought this a very favourable opportunity. I
have no doubt his proceeding was highly irregular and contrary to orders,
but he trusted me to get out at my proper destination, and indeed there
was not much else I could do, for it would have been of no possible
advantage to me to go on in the train.
I was met by a German called Schenck, in peace-time a clerk in an office
in Dar-es-Salaam, but now a private called up for war-service. He was to
accompany me to the camp, and had a Masheela in which he was carried—but
no conveyance was provided for me. I decided to make no remark on this
discourtesy, at any rate to him, but rather to prove that an Englishman
could walk even if a fat German—and he _was_ fat—could not! The journey,
which took about an hour and a half, was a trying one for me. The night
was very dark, only fleeting moonbeams occasionally pierced the heavy
clouds, and we travelled by the inadequate light of a swinging lantern
carried by one of the natives. I did not know the road, which was a mere
track, often only wide enough to allow us to proceed in single file,
and twice it crossed the dried-up bed of a water-course. When we had
gone some distance Herr Schenck offered to let me ride a little if I was
tired. I was, but, as his manner seemed to me distinctly offensive, I
would not be beholden to him, and tramped doggedly all the way; but I was
glad when we at last reached our objective.
The camp had been originally a Church Missionary Society station, and
some of the buildings were still quite good and habitable.
Mrs. W——, who had been in Kilimatinde when we first arrived there, was
waiting up and had prepared some coffee for me. She and her husband were
anxious to hear all the news of the old Boma, and when I had imparted
such as there was, we compared notes on the European situation as
viewed from such meagre scraps of information as we had been able to
pick up. The Kommandant at Bugiri was the notorious Derndorf whom we had
christened the “Anteater.” He did not allow his prisoners to see the
newspaper, but they managed to circumvent him, for, as he was not good at
figures, one of the planters used to go to the office to do his accounts
for him, and while thus employed generally managed to steal a look at the
paper.
I spent two days at Bugiri, but there was not much for me to do. There
were two or three nursing-sisters in the camp, and they looked after
anyone who was ill. I merely gave some advice about the treatment of some
fever patients, and took a general look round. The sanitary arrangements
were very primitive, and would have required considerable alteration
had the camp been occupied for any length of time; but I knew my visit
was more or less of a farce—a sop to public opinion—and no proposed
reforms of mine would have been carried out, unless, perhaps, under the
compulsion of an epidemic.
At Kilimatinde we were very short of mending materials—wool, needles,
etc.—and I managed to collect quite a lot from the ladies in this camp to
take back with me.
I returned to my own prison on the third day, and was then informed that
I should be required to visit Bugiri once a month; but, as it happened, I
never went again, for the advance of our troops into German East Africa
began shortly after this first visit of mine, and the camp was broken
up, the prisoners being removed to Tabora.
In April we had another death at Kilimatinde. One of the soldiers,
another Loyal North Lancashire man, O’Neil by name, succumbed to
blackwater fever. We had to bury him on the day he died, and, as he was
a Roman Catholic, the service was conducted by a German priest who came
from a Catholic mission station situated in the Wagogo plain, and not
far from the Boma. This Father gave a short address at the graveside, in
which he laid stress on the fact that Death must end all enmity, and that
we all hoped to rise again to one Eternal Brotherhood. As he spoke in
German few of us could understand him, but we all appreciated his evident
sincerity and good-will.