CHAPTER XI

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.