CHAPTER XVII

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!