HOPE RENEWED
The food at Mahenge kept us alive, and that is all that can be said for
it. In quantity it was usually, but not invariably, sufficient, but the
_quality_ was beyond description! The meat issued to us was the flesh
of cattle which had been brought through the plains from Kilimatinde or
Kilossa. Now, those plains swarm with the tse-tse fly, and by the time
the cattle arrived they were all infected and quickly wasted to mere
skeletons. The butcher used to go round the herd and select for slaughter
such beasts as seemed in any case unlikely to live another day, and on
this meat we had to feed! Naturally there was not a bit of fat to it, and
however cooked it was always tough; but strange to say there were no ill
effects from eating it. Wonderful what the human stomach can assimilate
and draw nourishment from under some circumstances! Apart from this
diseased meat our staple diet was rice—and rice of very poor quality,
varied by dried beans. About once a week we had green vegetables, chiefly
cabbage grown in the mission garden, and such of us as had money could
buy extra vegetables and fruit. Bananas were cheap and fairly plentiful,
but it required a very big supply to provide for 103 prisoners, in
addition to the ordinary population of the place and a greatly increased
community of Germans. The price of the bananas was three for a heller—the
hundredth part of a rupee, which works out at about fifteen for a penny.
On the other hand, cocoanuts which had to be imported from the coast
districts (as the few palms in the plain did not flourish well) were
expensive, about twopence to fourpence each.
In the other camps I had always been allotted a native boy to cook for me
but at Mahenge this was at first denied me, and it was only by dint of
continual badgering that I got one in the end, and then I had to pay him
myself, although previously he had always been paid by the Government.
One Sunday, a day or two after the arrival of the Tabora crowd, we were
for some unknown reason entirely neglected. We had made our breakfast off
mealy pap and coffee, and were awaiting expectantly the usual morning
issue of rations, but time went on and they did not materialise. After a
while we managed to attract the attention of the guard at the gate—this
happened to be Müller, our old enemy at Kilimatinde. He said the cattle
had not been slaughtered as yet, but that we should get our meat in good
time. So, getting more hungry every hour, we waited until past midday,
while the cooks of the various messes searched for scraps left over from
previous meals.
Again we appealed to Müller; he said he had no orders. We asked to
see the Kommandant, and were informed we could not see him till the
next day. Finally Müller consented to issue some rice and flour for
bread-making. Perks and I set to work to try and dodge up some kind of
a meal. We had an old bone which had been stewed the day before to make
soup and had luckily not been thrown away; this we put into the pot with
some water and rice, and the resultant mixture—poor stuff, as you may
imagine—formed our first course; then we filled up with boiled rice. For
supper we had rice again, after regretfully deciding that the bone had
already worked overtime and would serve no more!
That afternoon we held a mass meeting in the camp and concocted a strong
letter to Major von Grawert, which we persuaded Müller to send up to
the Boma. We put in a few references to German _Kultur_, and in a sense
it did the trick, for it brought the Herr Major down raving like a mad
bull! Attended by his satellites, he stamped round the camp, refusing to
listen to any complaints. I tackled him just as he was about to leave,
and, crimson in the face, incoherent with rage, he nearly jumped down my
throat! But I held my ground, and told him that the camp was a disgrace
to any European nation. Further, that I had hitherto always been treated
as an officer, and given a servant to wait on me, and _never_ had I been
put to live in a cattle-pen! At this he literally foamed at the mouth,
raved of the treatment he declared had been meted out to the Germans in
the Cameroons, and ended up by the assertion that we ought to think
ourselves lucky to be treated so well! So that was _that_!
Next morning Colzau came down and said that the Major had been much
annoyed (save the mark!) at the letter we had dared to send, and had
decreed that we were to go without meat for three days as a punishment.
Two days previously I had asked to be allowed out on parole, and Colzau
now turned to me and asked if I associated myself with the charges in the
letter. I replied most emphatically in the affirmative. “In that case,”
he said, “I am afraid the Herr Major will not grant your parole.” Then I
am afraid I lost my temper, and I said—among other things—“Tell the Herr
Major he can go to —— before I will ask him to grant me parole. I only
ask favours of _gentlemen_!”
On the following day a notice was displayed in the camp stating that any
meeting or assembly of persons, or the writing of a letter of complaint
by a committee of persons, constituted a mutiny according to Prussian
military law, and rendered the ringleader liable to three years’, and the
participants to six months’ imprisonment.
At 1 a.m. on June 30th Goddard, of the Loyal North Lancashires, died of
blackwater-fever after a very short illness. All the prisoners, who were
fit to do so, followed his body to the little cemetery on the side of the
hill, and Brother John, a member of the English mission working in German
East Africa, who had accompanied the men from Tabora to look after their
spiritual welfare, read the service over his grave. Later the Germans
raised a cross to Goddard’s memory. I saw it before I left.
As a result of this death Colzau was at some pains to effect an
improvement in the camp, and he issued extra blankets, and got beds made
for those who had none.
About this time a French officer, the Count de l’E——, joined our mess.
He had been shooting in the Congo at the outbreak of war, and had joined
up with the Belgian forces and subsequently been captured at Lake
Tanganyika. I had made his acquaintance at Tabora. He had his own “boy”
with him, and, as a few days later I was also allowed a servant, things
were much more comfortable.
We obtained permission to buy extras from the German mission, and were
able to get such things as green vegetables, fruit, sausages, syrup,
home-made vinegar and candles. The latter were a great boon, although,
being made from animal fat and beeswax, they gave about as much light as
the old-fashioned tallow dip; still, they enabled us to have a game of
bridge in the evenings.
They had a lot of English books at the German mission, and these we were
allowed to borrow. One of the Fathers spoke English perfectly, and was
very friendly to us. It appeared that he had been in a mission in South
Africa for some years, and before that had worked near Birmingham. He
would, I believe, have done whatever he could for us, but he told us
it was very difficult to do anything, as the Boma officials were so
very suspicious of anyone who showed interest in the welfare of the
prisoners—their suspicion being directed even to their own countrymen.
On July 5th, Krum, in company with an officer and eighty Askaris, left
for the front. He came to bid us good-bye, and with a sly wink showed us
an enormous white pocket-handkerchief, which he said would come in very
handy when he met the British!
On the 11th arrived four fresh prisoners—South Africans—captured near
the Central Railway. They confirmed the rumour of the death of Lord
Kitchener, which up to then we had refused to believe. But they also gave
us the most encouraging reports of the progress of our troops in the
Colony. The Count wagers we’ll all be free before September!
At about this time the health of the camp was simply appalling. On July
23rd one of the prisoners had a bad attack of cerebral malaria, and he
was unconscious for two days, and when he regained consciousness he was
completely out of his mind. However, he fortunately recovered entirely in
about a week.
It was a common thing to see men swaying on their feet and falling down
from sheer weakness while trying to cross the yard to the latrines. The
sanitary arrangements at the camp were a scandal and a disgrace, and
although I repeatedly drew the attention of the authorities to this
fact, nothing was ever done to improve matters. We had a few sporadic
cases of dysentery and typhoid, but it is nothing less than a miracle
that we did not have a dangerous epidemic. The sandy earth was full of
“jiggers”—the female of which pestilential insect gets under one’s skin
and there incubates her eggs, giving rise to small blebs which readily
suppurate, and if neglected cause severe blood-poisoning. Many of the men
being in the habit of going about shoeless, either to save their footgear
or because they had none, fell easy victims to the “jiggers”; I, too,
although I never went about without my boots, got several in my feet.
The natives were very expert in extracting these insects, and I got the
“boys” to do all the cases.
On August 4th it was rumoured that we were to be moved; our destination
was supposed to be a secret, but in conversation with Dr. Schönebeck I
discovered that we were to be sent to Uteti on the Rufigi river. He let
this out by accident, and at the time I made no remark, pretending not to
have noticed his slip; but later I asked innocently: “Is it true that we
are to go to Uteti?” He looked at me suspiciously. “What makes you think
that?” he asked. “Oh,” I replied airily, “some people seem to think that
that is where we shall go, and I was only thinking that I ought to have a
store of drugs to take with us.” Then he said: “I am not allowed to tell
you where you are being sent, but all arrangements in respect of drugs,
etc., will be made.”
The exodus started on the very next day, the prisoners being divided up
into four parties, each with its own guard, and there was an interval of
one day between the setting out of each party. My two messmates went with
the first, so I was left alone, it having been decreed that I should
accompany the last _safari_, which consisted of all the old crocks and
invalids. As my “boy” was not to go with us, a Belgian Askari was deputed
to take his place, and act as my servant. This man, whose name was Aona,
was thickly and solidly built; he had a very black skin, and owing to his
tattoed face and filed teeth his appearance was rather repulsive until
one got accustomed to it. The tattooing was not done with pigments, which
would not show up well on a dark skin; the design was outlined in small
punctate scars. His front teeth, filed to a sharp point, indicated that
he belonged to a tribe who had at one time been cannibals. He was a very
taciturn fellow, and his knowledge of Swahili was limited, though he
could speak it when he chose; but his method of conversation was mainly
confined to clicking with his tongue, or grunting to indicate affirmation
or negation. At first I was often uncertain if he had understood my
orders, but in time, when he got to know my ways, he proved himself an
admirable servant. On arrival in camp he would hunt out the porters who
had my bed and boxes, get the former set up and the latter deposited
close by, cook my food, lay the table and serve up, all without any
supervision at all. This was rather surprising when one realised that he
had never acted as servant before. At first I had been of the opinion
that he would consider it a degradation to undertake such work, he being
a fighting man and used in his own country to have his food prepared for
him by the women, but in time I think he took a pride in serving me; and
he had only one grievance, which was that on _safari_ he was required
to take his turn with the other Belgian Askaris in carrying Colzau’s
chair. I tried to get him excused this duty, but the Oberleutenant
would not hear of it; so Aona, when the _safari_ started, would take my
water-bottle and stick, and march a few paces behind me in the hope that
Colzau’s chair would go ahead, which it sometimes did, and then he would
swank along the road to his heart’s content—no man’s “porter,” but in the
proud position of officer’s body-servant! In spite of the fact that he
and his fellows were treated by the Germans with surprising leniency, his
contempt for them was immense. When Aona, together with several others,
had been captured in the fighting on the Lake in the early days of the
war, the Huns had tried to induce them to enlist under the German flag,
but without success.
My party, the fourth and last, left Mahenge on Friday, August 11th. There
were about sixteen of us, all sick with the exception of myself and B——,
a Russian Jew, who was to act as caterer and supervise the cooking. B——
had had a small plantation near Moschi and was interned at Tabora early
in the war, but I never knew why he was not left there with the other
civilians instead of being taken south with the military prisoners.
Most of our sick had to be carried in their beds, and it was a most
difficult job to get them safely down the precipitous boulder-strewn
track to the plain. The porters were all raw natives unused to carrying,
and Colzau, who was in charge of the party, went on ahead, leaving B——
and myself to superintend the transport of the beds and get them down
the hillside as best we could. He knew that all the patients were much
too ill to attempt to escape, so the guard was comparatively lax. Those
of the men who were in any way capable of the effort got out and walked,
supported by the natives, while the others were ordered to hang on to
their beds as tight as they could. At the roughest bits of the track B——
and I walked—or rather climbed—alongside each bed, and it was lucky we
did so, otherwise some of the occupants would assuredly have been flung
out. Once, when the stumbling, slipping porters entirely lost their
footing, I was just able to grab their helpless human burden in time to
save him from a nasty fall. This bit of the track was not more than half
a mile long, but it was over an hour before all the beds were safely
down, and I felt quite exhausted though the journey had barely begun.
Our route was familiar to me, being the same by which I had come to
Mahenge, but it was new to the majority who had travelled _via_ Iringa.
Our first camp was at Fimbo, the next at Mavimba, and finally we came
to the Ulanga and arrived in Ifakara, where we were allowed a day’s
rest. I noticed that the road had been considerably widened and improved
since I had traversed it in June, and it was now possible to march four
abreast instead of in Indian file. Now, too, there was a German, a sort
of transport officer, in charge of each camp, and the accommodation had
been increased. New huts capable of housing about two thousand natives
had been built, and large stores of grain and rice were held in reserve.
It was evident that everything had been prepared for a retreat southward
should the occasion arise.
This time, fortunately for my patients, the passage of the Ulanga was
much easier, for the summer floods had subsided, and one could see from
bank to bank, so no wading was necessary.
At Ifakara we were given some fish, both fresh and dried, and the latter
we took along with us. It smelt very high, but it was quite eatable when
cooked, and proved a welcome addition to our monotonous fare. We were
allowed to go to the Government _shamba_, where we picked a bag of limes.
I concocted a special dish of boiled rice with native sugar, some grated
cinnamon, and the juice of a lime squeezed over all. It was very popular,
as before the discovery of the appetising properties of cinnamon and
lime, the rice had always been looked upon with extreme disfavour, and
only eaten to still the pangs of a very real hunger.
On Tuesday, August 15th, we were on the road a few minutes before seven
o’clock; the sun was already up, but the distance to be travelled was not
great—about twenty kilometres or less. We had had some coffee and mealy
pap before starting, and that day we breakfasted _en route_ off some
cold meat, coffee, and bread, which we took with us. This plan proved so
satisfactory that we adopted it for the remainder of the _safari_. We
arrived at our camp at Saka Maganga about a quarter of an hour before
noon, and found that a large new bamboo hut had been prepared for us.
The next morning we were off again soon after 6 a.m., and in spite of a
short halt for breakfast, arrived in Kiberege about 10.30 a.m.
I may here state that owing to Colzau’s leniency the movements of our
particular party were quite independent of the rest of the _safari_.
It was this comparative freedom of movement that made our roadside
breakfasts possible. Naturally there was no fear of our invalids
attempting to escape, and as B—— and I had given our word of honour not
to try to do so, we were not encumbered with a guard. Colzau did not
mind how we travelled so long as we turned up all right at the next
camping-place, and he used to go in his chair, refusing to worry about
any details, all of which were left to Wierick, the ex-sailor, who
usually brought up the tail of the column.
Thursday, the 17th, was a long day. Starting at 6.30 a.m., we did not
get into camp until one o’clock, and the porters with some of the bad
cases did not arrive until nearly two. Our halting-place was at the mill,
Solwa, where I and the small party under Ellersdorf had stopped on the
way up. We were told to put our beds in the mill building, which was just
large enough to accommodate us all comfortably, and I and all the others
who were fit for it had a plunge in the stream—the first really good bath
we had had for a long time.
That night Aona told me that we should go no further—an opinion which I
found was shared by the rest of the “boys.” Hamisi, Wierick’s servant,
had been employed in the emergency typhoid hospital at Kilimatinde, so
he knew me well, and frequently gave me much interesting information
about the progress of the war in the Colony. That night he assured me
that the British had taken Morogoro and were advancing on Kissaki, which
was on our route to Uteti, and, according to him, the other _safaris_
were all hung up at Kidote, a day’s march further on, and not allowed to
proceed. There was a horrid rumour that we should return to Mahenge but,
frankly, I did not believe it. Later I got an opportunity of talking to
Wierick, and I questioned him casually about the morrow’s programme—times
of starting, arrival in Kidote, etc. He was very uncommunicative, but
that night I went to sleep prepared to bet that we should not return to
Mahenge.
Next morning we had a more substantial breakfast than usual, and did not
make an early start. When the porters came in and began collecting the
loads and mustering outside, we lounged about and watched keenly—but
with assumed indifference—to see if they would be sent off on the road
to Kidote or turned back towards Mahenge. At last they were all ready,
and on the word of command they lifted their loads and—took the backward
road! Imagine our dismay!
I went up to Colzau and asked him what this new departure meant.
He smiled: “It means that you are going back,” he said.
“But why?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It is an order,” was the reply.
“But,” I insisted, “are we going back to Mahenge?”
He shrugged his shoulders: “I don’t know. Perhaps—perhaps only as far as
Ifakara.”
He added that he was remaining behind until the first _safaris_—then at
Kidote—had returned. As he kept all the Belgian Askaris with him I lost
Aona, but luckily B—— had his own “boy” with him so I was not doomed to
do my own cooking again—a task to which I never took kindly. B——’s “boy”
was his own servant, who had been with him on his plantation, and served
him throughout his imprisonment, enduring many hardships and trials on
his master’s account.
We all started off in very low spirits. Our recollections of Mahenge were
not pleasant, and the thought of returning to those cattle-sheds, and the
overlordship of Major von Grawert, was bitter indeed.
Up to this time the patients had made wonderful strides, and many of them
were so far recovered that they were able to march a good stretch of each
day’s _safari_, but now we all tacitly decided that if we had to return
to Mahenge we would in any case not _walk_ there! All the patients took
to their beds and were carried, and B—— and I also refused to walk any
further, so poles were tied to camp chairs and extra porters engaged to
carry us.
On Sunday, August 20th, we arrived back in Ifakara.
That afternoon B—— and I went to the Government _shamba_, and as Colzau
had given us permission to take what fruit we wanted, we enlisted
the services of a small native boy to climb a palm and cut down some
_madafu_, or unripe cocoanuts. This he only consented to do after
we had assured him that we had the permission of the _Bwana Kubwa_.
Nevertheless, when we returned to camp the German in charge there saw
the boy, called him over to his hut, and after questioning him ordered
him to be _kibokoed_—flogged with a hide whip. When we saw this we went
over and enquired what this punishment was for. The German replied that
it was for gathering nuts without leave. Indignantly we explained that
we had Oberleutenant Colzau’s permission to take the nuts, and only on
our assurance of this had the boy consented to assist us. But the brute
would not hear reason; he said the boy should have come first to him for
permission, which would not have been refused, and since he did not do
so he must be punished. With some heat we pointed out that this was not
common justice: but to no avail. It was evident that the _amour propre_
of petty officialdom had been affronted, and the unfortunate child must
pay the penalty. There was no official of higher rank in the place
to whom to appeal, so we were powerless to interfere, and could only
bitterly accuse ourselves for having unwittingly got the wretched boy
into such a scrape. The incident must have left in his mind a disastrous
impression of British chivalry, a result, no doubt, very gratifying to
German mentality!
Next day we once more crossed the Ulanga. There were now at least twenty
canoes moored on the Ifakara side of the river, where previously we
had never seen more than three. Evidently they were kept in readiness
to facilitate, in case of emergency, the rapid transhipment of a large
number of men.
At Mavimba we were not expected, and no stores were available, but a
ration of _biltong_ was issued to us. Again, at Fimbo, there was no
accommodation for the men; the large hut in which they had slept when we
were there before was full up with stores. The German in charge wanted to
put them in one of the huts used by the porters, but naturally the men
objected to this, and I supported their objection on medical grounds, as
sleeping-places used by natives would probably be infested with ticks
liable to convey tick-fever, so finally they were allowed to sleep in the
open.
Wednesday, August 23rd, found us back at Mahenge. _En route_ we had heard
that our old camp had been used as a cattle-pen after we had left, but
since we found it well swept and garnished on our return it is impossible
to say if there was any truth in that statement.
Three days later Müller’s party arrived, and we learned that, while at
Solwa mill, three of his prisoners had escaped. These were the two Boers
who had made ineffectual bids for liberty at Kilimatinde and Tabora,
and the Italian Del Luigi. We were overjoyed at the fact that they had
escaped from _Müller’s_ custody, and he was equally chagrined, but he
prophesied ghoulishly that they would either be recaptured or die in
the Bush. Further, we learned that four others had vanished from the
camp at Kidote. They managed this in an ingenious fashion, beautiful in
its simplicity. An accomplice went up to the Askari sentry on duty and
offered to sell him a piece of sheeting (German property, by the way,
but all’s fair in love and war!) Clothing of any description was at a
premium in the Colony, and the Askari readily fell into the trap. While
he was busy bargaining for the coveted cloth, the four slipped out by the
unguarded entrance and disappeared into the darkness!
On the morning after the arrival of Müller’s depleted party, Dr.
Schönebeck chaffingly told me that I was making my patients so strong
that they were able to run away, but that nevertheless two of them had
been recaptured. He would give me no particulars nor tell me the names,
and though he strongly affirmed the truth of what he said, I was inclined
to think that he had been—well, shall we say, misinformed. Anyway the
fugitives never returned to camp, and later I learned from our own people
that they had all arrived safely in the British lines.
On the same day I was able to get a few words with Mustapha Muhamed,
the hospital attendant at Mahenge. He was by birth half Arab and half
Somali, and a British subject, but being in the Colony at the outbreak
of war he had been impressed into the German ranks, and, as a man of a
certain amount of education, had been put to work in the dispensary.
His sympathies were entirely British, and he frequently gave me most
interesting information concerning the movements of our troops. From him
I learnt that both Morogoro and Kilossa were in our hands.
On the 29th, Colzau and the rest of the prisoners arrived—most of them
down with malaria. When we left Mahenge enough quinine was issued to
enable each man to have a prophylactic dose on _safari_ until Kidote was
reached; there we were told we should get further supplies. As my party
never reached that place we had no quinine for the return journey, but
the others fared no better, for they were told at Kidote that there was
no quinine available for issue to prisoners, and consequently had to make
the return journey unfortified against malaria, with the result that
fully half of them were suffering from fever when they arrived.
On September 1st a German civilian doctor arrived at the Boma, and with
Colzau went round the camp inspecting the sick with a view to deciding
how many of them it would be necessary to leave behind when we made our
next move. Evidently the Germans believed that Mahenge was threatened
and would shortly fall, and it was their intention to remove all the
prisoners eastwards into the plain so that they should not fall into
British hands.
This doctor, whose name was Wannoch, was a heavy drinker, and he was
certainly under the influence of alcohol when he made his round; but his
condition being one of maudlin benevolence, he made out a list of some
thirty men who were not to be moved. I was sure that the number was far
too large, and that Von Grawert would never consent to so many being left
behind, and my opinion proved correct. Next morning “Dr. Calomel,” as he
was familiarly known in the Colony, again came into the camp, and though
he had evidently been drinking, it would appear that this time he had not
imbibed sufficient to mellow him, and he was in a very bad temper. It
was early in the morning, and I believe he had been severely reprimanded
by the Kommandant for the absurd length of his sick list on the previous
day; anyway, this time he would exempt no one, and stated that all were
fit to travel—which was obviously untrue, for one man was suffering from
very bad blackwater-fever, another from a severe attack of dysentery,
and a third had badly scalded legs and was unable to walk. I tried to
reason with Wannoch, but he was in no condition to hear reason, so I
appealed to Colzau, who agreed with me, and suggested that I should write
independently to Von Grawert, stating the true facts of the case. This I
did, with the result that when we left Mahenge five men remained behind.
Of these one died from dysentery the very next day—and yet _all_ had been
passed by “Dr. Calomel” as fit to walk!