Lettow, the one-eyed, or to give him his full title, Colonel von
Lettow-Vorbeck, is the heart and soul of the German resistance in East
Africa. Indomitable and ubiquitous, he has kept up the drooping spirits
of his men by encouragement, by the example of great personal courage,
and by threats that he can and will carry out. Wounded three times, he
has never left his army, but has been carried about on a "machela" to
prevent the half-resistance that leads to surrender. And now we hear he
has had blackwater, and, recovering, has resumed his elusive journeys
from one discouraged company to another all over the narrowing area of
operations that alone is left to the Hun of his favourite colonial
possessions. For to the fat shipping clerk of Tanga, whose soul lives
only for beer and the leave that comes to reward two years of effort,
the temptation to go sick or to get lost in the bush in front of our
advancing armies is very great. He is not of the stuff that heroes are
made of, and surrender is so safe and easy. A prison camp in Bombay is
clearly preferable to this unending retreat. He has done enough for
honour, he argues, he has proved his worth after two and a half years of
resistance! This colony has put up the best fight of all, "and the
_Schwein Engländer_ holds the seas, so further resistance is hopeless."
"We are not barbarians, are we Fritz?" But Fritz has ceased to care.
"Ahmednagar for mine," says he, reverting to the language he learnt in
the brewery at Milwaukee, in days that now seem to belong to some
antenatal life. Soon he will look for some white face beneath the
strange sun helmet the English wear, up will go his hands, and
"Kamerad"--that magic word--will open the doors to sumptuous ease behind
the prison bars.
But Lettow is going "all out." His black Askaris are not discouraged,
and, in this war, the black man is keeping up the courage of the white.
Had the native soldiers got their tails down the game was up as far as
the Germans were concerned. But these faithful fellows see the "Bwona
Kuba," as they call Lettow, here encouraging, everywhere inspiring them
by his example, and they will stay with him until the end. Like many
great soldiers, Lettow is singularly careless in his dress; and the tale
is told at Moschi of a young German officer who stole a day's leave and
discussed with a stranger at a shop window the chances of the ubiquitous
Lettow arriving to spoil his afternoon. Nor did he know until he found
the reprimand awaiting him in camp that he had been discussing the
ethics of breaking out of camp with the "terror" himself.
A soldier of fortune is Lettow. His name is stained with the hideous
massacres of the Hereros in South-West Africa. His was the order,
transmitted through the German Governor's mouth, that thrust the Herero
women and children into the deserts of Damaraland to die. Before the war
in South Africa, rumour says, he was instructor to the "Staats
Artillerie," which Kruger raised to stay the storm that he knew
inevitably would overwhelm him. Serving, with Smuts and Botha themselves
in the early months of the Boer war, he joined the inglorious procession
of foreigners that fled across the bridge at Komati Poort after Pretoria
fell, and left the Boer to fight it out unaided for two long and weary
years more. No wonder that Lettow has sworn never to surrender to that
"damned Dutchman Jan Smuts." Chary of giving praise for work well done,
he yet is inexorable to failure. The tale is told that Lettow was
furious when Fischer, the major in command at Moschi, was bluffed out of
his impregnable position there by Vandeventer, evacuated the northern
lines, and retired on Kahe, thus saving us the expense of taking a
natural fortress that would have taxed all our energies. White with
rage, he sent for Fischer and handed him one of his own revolvers. "Let
me hear some interesting news about you in a day or two." And Fischer
took the pistol and walked away to consider his death warrant. He looked
at that grim message for two days before he could summon up his courage:
then he shot himself, well below the heart, in a spot that he thought
was fairly safe. But poor Fischer's knowledge of anatomy was as unsound
as his strategy, for the bullet perforated his stomach. And it took him
three days to die.
A tribe which has contributed largely to the German military forces is
the Wanyamwezi. Of excellent physique, they long resisted German
domination, but now they are entirely subdued. Hardy, brave and willing,
they are the best fighters and porters, probably, in the whole of East
Africa. Immigrant Wanyamwezi, enlisted in British East Africa into our
King's African Rifles, do not hesitate to fight against their blood
brothers. There is no stint to the faithful service they have given to
the Germans. But for them our task would have been much easier. For
drilling and parade the native mind shows great keenness and aptitude;
little squads of men are drilled voluntarily by their own N.C.O.'s in
their spare time; and often, just after an official drill is over, they
drill one another again. Smart and well-disciplined they are most
punctilious in all military services.