CHAPTER V

EN ROUTE FOR KILIMATINDE

At about a quarter to seven a Leutenant came into my cell. In peace-time he was an officer in the D.O.A. steamship line, and he spoke a little English. He informed us that he had orders to conduct us up-country to a place called Kilimatinde. This explained why our men had already been taken to the railway-station, whither, it appeared, we were to follow them. In view of the repeated assurances made me on the previous day that I was not to consider myself a prisoner, it seemed odd that I was evidently to be included in the party, but I comforted myself with the reflection that my detention could only be temporary, and was probably due to one of those official tangles of “red tape” with which we are not wholly unacquainted at home.

None of us was encumbered with luggage, and I had only to slip my toothbrush and tin of cigarettes into my pocket to be ready on the instant.

We were marched down the corridor and lined up in the prison courtyard. Then the guard was called out, and eight Askaris “fell in.” S—— nudged me and whispered: “They are going to give us a parting salute!” But far from their ideas was any such courteous intention! On the word of command the eight loaded with ball cartridge, and fixing bayonets, formed up round us. Then we stepped out for the station, walking in couples, with two Askaris in front of us, two behind, and two on either side.

Presently we passed three companies of soldiers drawn up in the street. Two of these were composed of natives, and one of Germans. These latter were mostly planters and traders from up-country, a large number of whom had been called down to Dar-es-Salaam in expectation of a landing from the ships following on the bombardment. They all wore a sort of khaki uniform with a black, white and red ribbon on the shoulder, and a button of the same colours on their helmets.

On reaching the station, we were put into one of the waiting-rooms and kept there for about a quarter of an hour; then we were marched to our train.

We had a first-class compartment to ourselves, the Leutenant in charge of us travelling in one adjoining. The train was composed of corridor coaches with entrances at each end. The seats of the first-class were arranged to accommodate three passengers on either side, and the backs were made in such wise that they could be raised and converted into bunks at night. One of the Askaris was posted in the corridor to keep watch on us by day, and two kept watch after nightfall, but the remainder of them travelled on the rear platform. The first “saw” bayonet I had ever seen belonged to one of our Askari guard. It is stated that the saw is merely intended for the cutting of wood and suchlike innocuous and peaceful purposes—but, even if one can bring oneself to swallow this rather far-fetched explanation, the most elementary knowledge of human nature will show that, in the excitement of a fight, its possessor is just as likely as not to use it on a human opponent, and I shuddered to think of the horrid tearing, jagged wound it would inflict.

I started on this journey with a comparatively light heart, being still under the delightful delusion that before long I should be back with my own people, and with an interesting and probably unique experience to my credit. My companions, however, could not venture to hope for such speedy release as had been promised to me, so I busied myself in taking down messages to deliver to their friends and relatives when I reached home.

It is a merciful provision of an All-wise Providence that we mortals can but rarely lift even a corner of that veil which shrouds the future; such foreknowledge would in nine cases out of ten render the present too hard for human endurance. As it is, the Star of Hope shines ever through the darkest hours, its light a spur and a beacon for man’s fainting courage. In common with the majority of the civilised world, we never dreamed at this time that the war could last more than a few months—at most, a year.

Presently, when I had committed to memory and so far as was possible to paper, all my comrades’ messages, I settled down to extract as much information and amusement as possible from my novel situation. With the exception of a few days at Mombasa, which, being a port of European call, can hardly be considered typical, this was the first time that I had set foot on the great African Continent.

For some distance along the line from Dar-es-Salaam the land is cultivated, both European plantations and small native “shambas” being relatively plentiful. “Shamba” is the Swahili name for a cultivated plot, and is commonly used in the Colony when speaking even of European-owned estates.

After travelling for about ten or fifteen miles we came to Pugu, and here the line runs through a small gorge cut in a range of low hills, and the scenery is most picturesque. From Pugu a steady climb brought us to Ruvu, which place is situated on a plateau some considerable height above sea-level. Looking back from here, one can see for miles and miles over the lowlands and out to the coast.

There are a number of large plantations in the Ruvu district, consisting mainly of rubber-trees and sisel. The latter is a species of Agave, and it is the long, tough fibre running the length of the fleshy spear-like leaf which gives it its commercial importance—this fibre being largely used in the manufacture of ropes, matting and similar merchandise. I also noticed here a plantation of “false cotton-trees,” which produce pods containing seeds set in a quantity of white downy substance resembling cotton-wool. This is used locally for the stuffing of pillows and mattresses, but the fibre is too short to allow of its being used to any great extent in spinning.

At each station—and the train stopped at practically every one—groups of natives would gather round our carriage, pointing at us and chattering excitedly. The Germans made no attempt to drive them off; possibly they thought it would enhance their own prestige among the aborigines to thus exhibit some of the “terrible English” in the humiliating position of captives of the Teutonic bow and spear! However, we did not mind, for we derived nearly as much amusement from watching the antics of the spectators as they did from the sight of the formidable prisoners!

The natives were of various types, but all dark-skinned, although some were lighter than others, and here and there a certain regularity of feature suggested an Arab strain. Their dress was almost identical with that of the Mombasa natives. In the present day they are almost entirely dependent on the European manufacturer for clothing, and, later on, owing to supplies being cut off by our blockade, this dependence became very marked, many of them being reduced to going about clothed in sacking, or any odd bit of stuff—such, for instance, as old Nottingham lace curtains! Some wisely reverted to the native bark and fibre cloth.

From Ruvu the line still rises gradually. I was surprised to find the vegetation much less tropical than I had expected. The cocoanut and other palms, which always seem so typical of the tropics, flourish only on the coast, or near water, preferably brackish, and so on the uplands, where there is a long dry season, they are seen very rarely. Except in the neighbourhood of stations, where there was usually a plantation or two, the railway ran for the most part through rough grass-land—sparsely dotted with little stunted trees—or through dense scrubby bush.

About midday we began to feel very hungry, and asked when we might hope to have something to eat. We were informed that nothing could be obtained until the train arrived at Morogoro, where it was due at about 3 p.m. The Leutenant bought us some small wild mangoes at a wayside station, and these were very refreshing, though horribly messy to eat. On that journey we learned our first word of Swahili—it was the word for “water.” During the afternoon we got very thirsty, and we did not care to disturb the Leutenant, who was asleep, so we said to the Askari on guard, “Water.” But he only grinned: so then we resorted to pantomime and made motions of raising a cup to our lips and drinking. This seemed to amuse him immensely, and apparently he thought that we were giving an entertainment for his benefit!

Finally, however, it seemed to dawn upon him that we wanted something, but being a dull fellow he only shook his head and looked bewildered. In the end he summoned the native sergeant—a most ugly and repulsive-looking old man, but he nevertheless seemed to be much more intelligent than his subordinate, for when we repeated our panto he said in enquiring tones: “_Maji?_” “Yes,” we answered, nodding vigorously. “Bring Margie!” He departed, and our hope that he had understood was swiftly realised, for he reappeared with a water-bottle, and, better still, at the next station he procured from somewhere an empty whisky-bottle and saw that it was kept filled with water for us.... A humane old fellow, for all his lack of beauty!

It was well after three o’clock when we got to Morogoro, which place—after the fall of Dar-es-Salaam—became the capital and seat of government in German East Africa. We were all feeling uncommonly hungry. The Leutenant got out and went across to the hotel to see if a meal had been prepared for us; finding all in order, he sent the little corporal to fetch us. I do not think I have mentioned the little corporal before. He was a German—Rickert by name—a short little man, inclined to stoutness, with a bullet-head and a very pug nose, but a pleasant expression withal. He joined our party at Dar-es-Salaam station, but we did not realise at first that he was going all the way with us. He seemed to be well known, and very popular in the district, for at every station we had seen him out on the platform chatting with the planters who had come down to meet the bi-weekly train, or bowing stiffly to their wives.

It seemed to be the custom for anyone living near a station to come down to meet the train. They were certain to find someone on it whom they knew, and in this way they got all the news and scandal much quicker than by waiting for the local news-sheet.

Rickert now came up to us, and making his stiff little bow, said in laboured English: “Will you please komm?” So we followed him, and escorted by a guard of Askaris with fixed bayonets, crossed the road to the hotel. Here a meal had been prepared for us. It began with soup, which was followed by roast meat and two vegetables—of which we each had a second helping—and it finished with bread and cheese. The Leutenant sat at a neighbouring fable, and as we saw that he was drinking whisky and soda, we were hopeful of getting some too. But plain soda was _our_ portion. As soon as we had finished eating, the guard who had been standing outside escorted us back to our carriage. Then the train started once more, and we soon left Morogoro behind. It is, by the way, a rather pretty little town, nestling at the foot of some high mountains—the Uluguru range.

When we had settled down we discovered that two German girls had taken possession of an adjoining compartment. One was a young mother with a small boy of about two years old, and they had numerous packages, as well as a parrot in a cage. We seemed to be a source of much interest to them, for they were continually jumping up to rearrange their parcels on the overhead shelf, which manœuvre enabled them to look over into our compartment, the sliding partition being down After a rapid glance their heads would disappear again, and the sound of stifled whispering and many giggles came to our ears.

A little later the native attendant came round to arrange the bunks for the night. The backs of the seats were raised and held in position by straps, so that in our compartment this gave us a bunk apiece. We drew lots for the upper berths, and S—— was the winner of the one next to the ladies; but before he retired to roost the sliding partition was drawn, veiling the mysteries of the next compartment, and we made merry over his supposed disappointment!

All the carriages were fitted with wire window-blinds, and I noticed that at certain points on the line the attendant came round and carefully closed these. On enquiry I learned that this was done whenever the train ran through a tse-tse belt, and it was with a view to excluding the flies and preventing any of them from being carried in the train to uninfected districts, it having been proved that the tse-tse fly is often carried in this way from one spot to another.

When it got dark the guard in the corridor was increased from one to two Askaris, and a small paraffin lamp was hung up in our compartment to enable them to keep a watch on our movements. We had no blankets, but presently made ourselves as comfortable as we could for the night. I took off my coat and rolled it up for a pillow, and then divesting myself of my boots, settled down to sleep. During the night it turned bitterly cold, and none of us slept much, though we managed to doze off at intervals.

In the morning I woke just before sunrise; outside everything looked very cold and white in the grey dawning; indeed, so low was the temperature, and so white appeared the stones and bare, leafless bushes, that at first I thought there must have been a frost during the night. We got up, and having made the best toilet possible in the circumstances, stamped up and down the carriage trying to get warm, until, at about 6.30 a.m., the train stopped at Saranda station.