CHAPTER XII

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.