CHAPTER XVI

MAHENGE

After crossing the Ruhaha we followed a road which on our right hand skirted the hills, while on our left stretched the vast, monotonous plain. Four hours’ steady march brought us to a mill—a real European mill—worked by a running stream and used for the cleaning of rice. This district is noted for its rice, and the plain is covered with great patches of it, which, tended by the natives, appears to flourish exceedingly. The place was called Solwa, but whether that was the name of the district or only of the mill I cannot say. Alongside lay a big rubber-plantation, also, I believe, the property of the owner of the mill. All the trees were fairly young, but many of them had been tapped. It would seem that the plantation was just coming to its prime when the outbreak of war put a stop to all work thereon, for the coolies were commandeered by the Government, and the owner himself called up. When I saw it, it was already so choked by weeds and undergrowth that it would cost a small fortune to get it cleared again.

Ellersdorf had intended to halt here, and we were all looking forward to a rest and a bathe in the millstream when a German appeared and persuaded him to go on a little further to his _shamba_. This man, whose name was Kruger, was acting as manager for the owner, and had so far escaped military service. His _shamba_ was only about two miles away, but to us, footsore and weary as we were, the distance seemed more than double. The rubber-plantation extended for about a mile along the foot of the hills, then came a stretch of jungle, then another strip of rubber-trees. Eventually we halted before a house built of brick, situated on a rise commanding a fine view over the plains. Just behind it the hills rose to a great height, and near their summit was a wonderful waterfall. It came down in a great glittering sheet fully a hundred yards in extent, and it was so high up that its roar was almost inaudible. We had noticed the sunlight reflected from it as we came along, but the stream was so steady and so vast that we could hardly believe that it was really water. But it _was_. Pure sparkling spring-water, and, moreover, some of the very best we encountered on _safari_. It ran behind the house in a crystal river, and not only did we drink it unboiled in huge draughts, but we had a glorious bathe in it. Gushing straight from the rock, it was so cold that it made one gasp.

We were all accommodated on the wide _baraza_ of the house, and I was invited to dine with the manager and Ellersdorf. The former put up quite a good dinner. True, the ubiquitous chicken and rice formed the staple dish, but the chicken was very different in quality to what we had been accustomed to living on on our march, and the rice, although I was heartily sick of rice, was delicious—large white grains which melted in the mouth. Kruger told us that this was considered the best rice district in the Colony, and before we left we got two loads of it to take with us, leaving in exchange the small hard, half-cleaned stuff which had been served out to us, and which our host said would do for his fowls.

At dinner he provided a bottle of whisky—pre-war stuff and not _Ersatz_—and after dinner he produced some of the local _Kummel_. Ellersdorf drank very little, and we rallied him on the fact that although he came from Munich he could yet stand so little liquor. But Kruger, overjoyed at having company—a rare event in his solitary existence—was determined to make a night of it, so for long I sat up with him, helping to finish the _Kummel_, and discussing many things. Only the subject of war was avoided, and in spite of the fact that theoretically we were enemies, we spent a very pleasant evening.

Next morning, after an early breakfast, we took the road again. This day’s march lay through a true tropical forest of tall trees interlaced and often half-strangled by festoons of creepers and climbing plants. Again the spoor of elephants was frequently to be seen, and though we caught no glimpse of the great beasts themselves, we passed several native clearings which had been devastated and laid waste by them. Banana-plants were torn down, uprooted, chewed and tossed aside, and in one small village, deserted by its inhabitants, even the huts had been trampled flat. I was told that quite frequently the natives in these parts were forced to abandon their huts and clearings in the forest and fly before the depredations of a herd of elephants, who simply took possession of a place and refused to be scared away. It reminded me of Kipling’s story of “Letting in the Jungle”—

“I will loose against you the fleet-footed vines— I will call in the Jungle to stamp out your lines! The roofs shall fade before it, The housebeams shall fall, And the Karela, the bitter Karela Shall cover it all!”

Almost, in fancy, one could see the mighty grey forms of Hathi, the king-elephant, and his three sons gloating over the ruin they had wrought! Nor were the Bandar-Log, the monkey-people, missing, for they jabbered at us from the branches overhead, and as we came nearer swung off into the depths of the forest chattering angrily. It was most amusing to see them jump not only from branch to branch but from tree to tree, in which fashion they manage to travel at a great rate without ever coming to the ground.

The forest-glades were alive with butterflies of every hue, some of them barbaric in the splendour of their colouring.

That day we camped at a small village called Kiberege, and a special enclosure was placed at our disposal. A little stream of water ran close by, but was too muddy and uninviting-looking to tempt us to bathe.

During our journey I was in the habit of serving out quinine to the prisoners every evening, for they had no beds or even nets, and the country through which we were travelling was full of malaria-bearing mosquitoes. I had with me two bottles of quinine solution which I had brought from Tabora. It was made from the powder sent in by the British Government, and I had asked to be allowed to take a pound of that powder with me, but this the authorities said they could not permit without leave from the officials at Morogoro. At the latter place I mentioned the matter, and was promised that, as I should have under my charge at Mahenge half the total number of prisoners for whose benefit it had been sent, half the total quantity received should be forwarded to me. But it never turned up, and later on at Mahenge we were so badly in need of it that I only wished I had insisted and taken possession of the stuff by fair means or foul.

That night at Kiberege we witnessed a native dance. It was the headman, dignified by the title of “Sultan,” who arranged it for our—or rather Ellersdorf’s—edification, and his small son was master of the ceremonies and beat the “first drum,” while a number of women and youths jogged slowly round in a circle, singing a monotonous chant to the beat of the tom-toms. It was a very tame affair—only the fitful flickering firelight lent it a touch of glamour.

The next day was June 8th, and also the eighth of our journeying. By this time we were all feeling very fit owing to the fresh air and exercise; so much so that we were quite enjoying our _safari_, and not at all looking forward to reaching Mahenge, when we should be shut up in camp once more. We travelled now through some lovely scenery; forest-scrub alternated with grass-land, while here and there we came on a village with its patch of cultivated ground. At times the road lay through the plain, at others it climbed over small hills from whence we could see to the distant horizon, and ever on our right towered the range of mountains we had been skirting for three days past. From the short grass towards their crests the granite outcrop rose in massy bastions against the turquoise sky, while the lower slopes were covered with fine trees and shrubs. Here and there along the ridge the beginnings of small streams could be discerned, and these, gathering in volume as they flowed downwards, sometimes ran bubbling right across our path. Often they were too wide to jump, and had to be crossed by slippery stepping-stones. I remember one of them was quite a considerable stream, with the stepping-stones set at irregular distances and all sorts of impossible angles. Many and various were the methods we adopted in negotiating this obstacle; one would jump boldly from stone to stone, intent only on getting across as quickly as possible; another would step gingerly from foothold to foothold until, coming to a place he could not take in his stride, he would pause and carefully judge the distance before gathering himself together for the necessary spring, with the result that, from nervousness and over-caution, he lost his balance in landing, and, to our great amusement, executed a frantic two-step on the slippery stone before regaining equilibrium and courage for the next step. One of the Askaris, having got half-way across without any difficulty, suddenly lost his nerve and was reduced to literally crawling on hands and knees for the rest of the way, amid the delighted and derisive shouts of his companions. The porters carrying their loads on their heads took the safer course right through the water, holding on to a rope of creeper which had been stretched across the stream. It was just at the end of the rainy season and the current ran strongly, at times swirling up to their armpits; but they did not seem to mind a wetting, and their scanty clothing soon dried again.

That night we slept at a small village called Saka Maganga, and the next day a walk of about five hours brought us to Ifakara, a large settlement near the banks of the Ulanga, one of the main tributaries of the Rufigi river. Here there is a big mission station, and when we were settled in our camp Ellersdorf went off to visit the missionaries, returning later with some fish, both fresh and dried. This was a welcome change of diet; it was, in fact, the first fish I had tasted since I was captured, and though rather muddy in flavour, it was greatly appreciated. The headman of the village also brought us some _madafu_—young unripe cocoanuts which have no nut or kernel, and are full of an opalescent fluid delightfully cool and refreshing to drink.

June 10th we rested at Ifakara—a welcome change after walking for nine days on end. It was very hot, and we spent most of the time in very undress uniform lounging under the trees or in our huts. We did not bathe, for the river was nearly an hour’s walk from the camp, and, moreover, it was full of crocodiles. Only a few days before our arrival a native woman had been seized and dragged under by one of the brutes when she was drawing water from the bank.

In the village there were several stores kept by Indians, and I took a walk round and was able to buy some (very inferior) cigarettes and tobacco for my fellow-prisoners and myself. We were also lucky in that we were able to buy some coarse brown sugar from an Indian factory which I visited. The cane cut into short lengths was here passed between two upright wooden rollers, and as the juice was squeezed out it was collected and transferred to a large shallow evaporating-pan, beneath which was a small fire. The sugar thus obtained was offered for sale in large sticky lumps at the price of one rupee per kilo—about 8d. a pound—but there was no attempt at refining.

On the morning of the 11th we started off for the Ulanga. We passed several native _shambas_, as well as a large Government experimental plantation, where a number of cocoanut-trees seemed to be thriving well, and then we entered a swampy region where coarse reeds grew far above our heads, and about three-quarters of an hour later the track suddenly disappeared under water, and we were told we would have to wade until we came to the canoes which awaited us further on. Slinging shoes and stockings round our necks, and rolling our trousers well above our knees, we started off, and had to wade for nearly a mile before we reached the canoes. Accompanied by our guard, we got into one of them while the porters with their loads got into the other. The floods had not subsided, and we were still some distance from the actual river-bank. The boatmen pulled through the waving reeds, disturbing flocks of wild-fowl, ducks, geese, pelicans and flamingoes. When at length the canoes shot out into the stream the poles were discarded for paddles. Half-way across we saw two crocodiles lying asleep on a mud bank, and Ellersdorf borrowed one of the Askari’s rifles and had a shot at one. Both brutes reared into the air and then plunged into the water, but we could not tell if he had hit the one he aimed at, for they are usually able to escape in this manner even if mortally wounded.

The opposite bank of the river was above flood-level, so we were able to land on dry ground. Then we had a long tiring march over a track of dried mud which had quite recently been under water. It was pitted with great holes made by the elephants and rhinos when the soil was still soft, and now baked hard in the sun. Often we could only proceed by stepping from one ridge to another over the huge hoof-marks, many of them two feet deep. Finally, after a weary, monotonous tramp, we reached our camping-place, a small village called Mavimba.

The only water available here was drawn from holes in the ground and was far from clear. We were told it was quite good, but we took the precaution of boiling it before use.

When Ellersdorf and I were sitting smoking in the moonlight after supper two natives arrived, bringing a large bunch of bananas, a present from the chief of a neighbouring village. This fruit, known locally as the “elephant banana,” is about eighteen inches long and three inches in diameter. It is very coarse and tasteless, but not unpalatable when fried or roasted over the fire.

The next morning about two hours’ walk brought us to the village of the chief in question—the Sultan Kari Moto. He was a tall, stout old fellow, and came out to meet us clad in a long white _kanzu_, wearing a red fez on his woolly head, and supporting himself on a long staff. He was accompanied by his chief men, and had a long conversation with Ellersdorf while we sat under the trees and were regaled with more bananas—but the smaller and nicer ones this time.

Then we started off again, and soon found ourselves among the foothills in the neighbourhood of Mahenge. We had to cross several streams by means of frail, insecure-looking bamboo bridges which sagged in the middle, slanted at all angles, and swayed beneath our weight. They looked so precarious that West, who was being carried in a _masheela_, deemed it wisest to get out and trust to his own feet in crossing them.

Once from a ridge we caught a glimpse of the Boma of Mahenge perched on the summit of a high hill in the far distance.

That night our camp was far away from any village, but some bamboo huts had been erected near a stream for the benefit of passing _safaris_, and we had with us all that we needed, including the inevitable fowls, which, bought at the last halting-place, had been carried, squawking, tied to the porters’ loads.

I remember it was very still that night; the silence only broken by the crackling of the fire, and now and then by the eerie, menacing roar of a prowling lion.

On the next morning, June 13th, we began our last days’ _safari_. The first half of the journey lay through rolling foothills where bamboos grew in profusion, but presently the gradient grew steeper, and the track wound up almost vertically through great scattered boulders. It was worthy to be called mountaineering, for it was a stiff climb, but as we got higher and higher the view proved well worth the exertion. The whole extent of the great plain lay spread out below us, and we could see right away to the River Ulanga and beyond it to the distant horizon.

At length, panting, we reached the summit and threw ourselves down beside a little running stream to regain our breath. Some minutes later West appeared, being pulled up by two natives and pushed behind by a third. He had had to abandon his _masheela_ and tackle the climb on his own feet.

Presently the Askaris put on their packs and blankets, which had hitherto been carried by the porters, and smartened themselves for the inspection which lay before them. Then we started off across the plain to the village and Boma of Mahenge. On the way we passed a large brick church and another building surrounded by a cluster of native huts; this was a leper colony run by the mission fathers. There are many lepers in Africa. Then we came to a long straggling street of mud-huts and adobe houses, and finally halted before the great stone-built Boma which, situated on a small hill, commands extensive views across the plain.

Here the Kommandant, Major von Grawert, came out to inspect us. He spoke a few words to Ellersdorf, who stood rigidly to attention, and then conducted us downhill to our camp. I gathered that we were the first arrivals; the other two parties who had travelled _via_ Iringa from Kilimatinde had not yet arrived.

At the first sight of our new place of captivity our hearts sank within us. Imagine four long, low cattle-sheds, built of mud, and thatched with grass, forming a square with a single entrance on one side. There were no partitions to divide them up, but the wall which gave on to the central enclosure was pierced here and there with openings to serve for windows and doors. The floor was of beaten earth and the walls were still damp, as the building had only just been completed. There was no furniture of any kind.

I was better off than the others, for I had my bed with me, but they had to spread their blankets on the bare earth with nothing but a layer of grass beneath them, and they had to cook their own meals and eat them off the ground.

Ellersdorf had expected to return as soon as he had safely conducted us to our destination, but Von Grawert insisted on his staying on in charge of us until the other prisoners and their guard arrived, and so long as he remained I had my meals with him. A partition was put up in one of the sheds to make a private room for me, and for a rupee I managed to get a small stool in the village.

At sunset on that high plateau the temperature falls several degrees, and at night the atmosphere in the damp huts was bitterly cold and miserable—as a result of which I developed severe neuralgia. I could not go outside the camp, as I was not allowed my parole. Herr von Grawert refused the responsibility, saying he knew nothing of any previous arrangement, and that I must await the arrival of Oberleutenant Colzau, who would decide all details connected with the prison camp.

On June 15th Colzau and his convoy arrived, and the next day the batch from Tabora turned up in charge of Herr Kendrick. Thus our numbers were complete.

After Ellersdorf left I had to shift for myself, and Perks being among Colzau’s crowd, he and I agreed to mess together. As we had to prepare and cook our own meals, it was lucky that he had a cooking-pot with him.

There were, as I have already said, no beds provided for the prisoners at Mahenge; those who came from Tabora had brought theirs along with them, but of Colzau’s lot more than half had been instructed to leave theirs behind on account of the difficulty in getting porters, and on the understanding that others would be forthcoming at the new camp. It was not, I think, Colzau’s fault, but Von Grawert disclaimed all responsibility, and said _he_ had been given to understand they would bring their own beds.

Among the last comers there were several who were so ill that they had to be carried into camp, and I had to go round and arrange for these to have such beds as were available, and even so there were not enough for all those who so badly needed them. The fit men had simply to spread their mattresses on the ground.

With all these new patients thrown on my hands my small stock of quinine was soon exhausted—and every day there were fresh cases. The average daily list of men actually in bed with high fever was from thirty to thirty-five, in addition to convalescents who still needed the drug to complete their treatment. When I found that the promised supply had never reached Iringa, I at once wrote off to the authorities at Tabora and in the meantime drew on the meagre store in the Boma dispensary. On June 29th one bottle of quinine solution arrived, but that was soon exhausted, and, as shortly afterwards all communication with Tabora was cut off, we were unable to obtain any more.

Herr Stabsarzt Schönebeck, the medical officer at Mahenge, allowed me the use of his microscope, so I was able to take blood-slides of all the cases, which was a great help to accurate diagnosis. I discovered that many of the men were suffering from Tick-fever, but we were able to do very little to relieve them, as we had no salvarsan, and quinine is of no use in the treatment of this disease. Fortunately it is what is termed “self-limited”—which means that patients get rid of it without treatment in the course of a few months, but while it is still active they suffer from very high fever and feel extremely ill and miserable. The poor chaps had to put up with very primitive nursing, for we had no sisters at Mahenge, and I had little time to give to them individually. I appointed a stoker Petty Officer to be my assistant, and it was his duty to go round and take temperatures and issue the fruit which was occasionally sent up from the mission. Further, he had to superintend the cooking of the broth or soup, which was all we had to offer to those who could not manage the ordinary rations. The problem of feeding fever-patients was the most difficult I had to tackle—and it was never solved. The ordinary ration was distasteful enough to a man in health, and of what use to offer it to one tossing in high fever, racked with headache and prostrate with vomiting? But what had I to substitute? Milk was unobtainable, eggs scarce. Occasionally, but by no means every day, half a dozen eggs would be issued to me for distribution to the sick, and then the difficulty was to decide who should have them. If a man was very bad we reserved the lot for him, but if there was no one patient worse than another we had to divide them up as equally as we could.

I was allowed a portion of meat and some bones to make soup, and sometimes was fortunate enough to get a few vegetables to add to it, and after a time I got the Oberleutenant to allow me a native boy to watch the hospital fire and boil the soup.

Herr Schönebeck drew up a scheme with me to enable us to apply the existing stock of quinine to the best advantage and to make it go as far as possible. As the drug was so precious I kept the issue of it in my own hands. It was impossible to give it as freely as we should have wished, so we had to plan to give it in each case at the moment when it would exert the maximum effect—namely, just before the expected paroxysm.