CHAPTER VI

MY FIRST PRISON

At Saranda we were ordered to alight, and found that breakfast had been prepared for us—and a very good breakfast too. There were sardines and sausage, bread, butter and marmalade, and coffee with milk and sugar. We did full justice to the meal, but did not linger long over it, as we had a three hours’ march before us, and the Leutenant had warned us that it would be advisable to get it over in the cool of the morning.

It must, however, have been quite 7.30 before we got under way. An old white pony had been sent down for the Leutenant, so he was able to undertake the journey in comparative comfort. The little corporal led off at a brisk pace, then came two Askaris, and we followed, marching in couples with two of the guards on each side of us, and two bringing up the rear. It was a treat to be able to move freely after being cooped up in a train for twenty-four hours, and we all walked with a will. I rather fancy our marching powers impressed little Rickert, and he soon found the pace quite hot. Anyway, he started mopping his face long before we had begun to sweat, and soon discarded his belt and bayonet, and undid his coat. Presently he took that off too, and threw it across the pony.

Shortly after leaving Saranda the road, which was of fair width, and in quite passable condition, entered a stretch of scrub or bush, totally devoid of leaf. This walk was the most monotonous I have ever experienced. Mile after mile we tramped, but ever on either side stretched the interminable bare scrub. A single telephone wire ran alongside the road, and at last we were reduced to keeping count of the poles by way of occupation.

When about half the journey had been accomplished, the Leutenant called a halt, and offered us a drink of tea from his bottle. The tea was supposed to be cold, but the combined heat of the sun and the pony had made it lukewarm! However, it refreshed us, and after ten minutes’ rest, during which we smoked a cigarette, we started off again with renewed vigour. By this time the sun was well up, and even the Askaris felt its power. The perspiration stood in beads on their dark skins, and dank wet patches appeared on their uniforms and gradually spread. Their steps became flagging and slow, and one of them, quite footsore, began slowly, but surely, to drop behind. We were rather bucked to find that we could walk the natives off their feet, for we were still in good condition, and I, though dripping from every pore, felt quite fresh. But of course the test was hardly a fair one, for the natives were in uniform, and encumbered by their packs and belts, and, greatest handicap of all, puttees and heavy boots. Had they been arrayed in their customary simplicity, barefoot, and with no more than a loin-cloth, we could not have hoped to keep up with them.

Here it may be of interest to describe the Askari uniform, which consists of a khaki tunic buttoned up to the neck, khaki trousers held in place below the knee by puttees, and heavy brown boots. The equipment is of leather, and shows much skill and ingenuity in design. A leather belt fastened in front by a brass clip encircles the waist and supports two box-like pouches of ammunition. From the belt two straps pass over the shoulders, meeting in the middle of the back, and from there continued as a single strap, which, by means of a brass catch, hooks into the belt behind. The haversack and rolled-up blanket are carried on a metal slide, which can be adjusted to various heights on the shoulder-straps. The water-bottles are excellent—made of aluminium covered with leather; they are carried in an aluminium bucket which forms a drinking-cup. On active service a canvas bag for rations is also carried slung across the shoulders. The bayonet is supported in a frog attached to the belt in the usual way. The rifles, however, were all of old pattern, some of enormous calibre, resembling elephant-rifles. The ammunition for these latter had the old-fashioned leaden bullets, and this may account for the terrific wounds which have been observed in the East African campaign; although I was informed by the Germans that they endeavoured to arm all their Askaris in the fighting-line with the modern rifle firing the nickel-covered bullet.

But to return to our journey, or _safari_, as it is termed in East African parlance, _safari_ being the Swahili word for journey, and corresponding to the South African “trek.” After a weary trudge through bush that seemed never ending, and went on and on like a nightmare, we came out on some rising ground—a sort of low hill, where the scrub was less dense, and from whence we could discern in the distance a cluster of native huts, and a big white building from which the German flag was flying. This, it appeared, was our destination.

When we drew near the place we halted for a few minutes to breathe the Askaris and to allow them to make the necessary adjustments to their uniforms. The little corporal resumed his coat and belt, and we, not to be outdone, and with that instinct, expressed in the “Tommies’” challenge of “Are we down-hearted? No!”—straightened our backs, buttoned our coats, and generally smartened ourselves up as well as we could.... Then we set off at a quick step through the village.

All the natives and Arab traders crowded out of their houses to stare at us, and presently we arrived at the entrance to the big building we had seen from afar. Evidently our arrival had been reported, for, as we halted, two German officials came out to meet us, and at the same time, to our utter amazement, there fell upon our ears the ring of an unmistakable British cheer! It came from above our heads, and looking up we saw several people waving to us from the windows. The two Germans stopped horror-stricken, and one of them, a short, stout man, said something rapidly to his subordinate, who thereupon ran back into the courtyard, and in a few seconds the welcoming heads were withdrawn.

Then the little man came up and addressed us in fairly good English. He stated that we were prisoners of war, and were required to conform to all prison regulations then in force, or that might later be decreed; and further, that if we were caught in the act of attempting to escape we were liable to be shot at sight. Then he asked if we would give our word of honour not to conspire or attempt to escape, in which case we should be granted all privileges enjoyed by the other prisoners. We had visions of being confined in separate cells if we refused our “parole,” and further, we had realised on our journey up from the coast that escape through that hostile and barren country would be practically impossible, and any attempt must inevitably end in death or recapture. So we gave the word required of us, and the Kommandant came round and solemnly shook hands with each of us in turn. This ceremony over, we were marched through the Boma entrance into the courtyard. Here Rickert, having gravely saluted us, retired with his Askaris.

Now some British interned prisoners who had been waiting in the doorway of one of the buildings came up, and having introduced themselves, escorted us to one of their rooms, where we were met by a whole crowd of our fellow-countrymen. These were planters, miners and missionaries who had been domiciled in the Colony when war broke out. Naturally they greeted us with a cross-fire of questions. First, where and how had we been captured? And then endless queries as to the progress of the war in Europe. Since their internment they had had none but German news, and they were enormously relieved to hear that the Teutonic invading forces had been checked in France, and had not, as they had been told by the Germans, captured Paris. They enquired most anxiously if the report of the British withdrawal from Tanga was correct, and we had sadly to admit that it was.

Shortly after our arrival, it was midday, and dinner-time, whereupon our new friends took us across the courtyard to the dining-hall, in which room all meals were taken in common. Native “boys” were appointed to wait on the prisoners. I was invited to sit at a table at which were Mr. W——, a rubber planter, and his wife, together with a missionary and a Mr. S—— B——. The latter had been cinematograph-operator to the ill-fated Cape to Cairo Motor Expedition, and the expedition having been abandoned somewhere near Lake Tanganyka, S—— B—— was on his way to the coast _via_ the D.O.A. Central Railway, when he was seized by the Germans and hauled into captivity.

The meal, though nothing out of the way, proved good and satisfying; it consisted of boiled chicken followed by rice served with fruit-syrup. When it was over we were shown the room allotted to us. It was fairly large, and had a cemented floor. The furniture comprised a camp bedstead in each corner, a washstand with four enamelled basins and one jug, a chest of drawers (at the moment of little use to us, since we had nothing to put in it!), four cane chairs, and one long chair.

We were all feeling rather tired after the long, hot march, so we lay down on our beds and were soon fast asleep.

We woke about four o’clock, and shortly afterwards were summoned to tea—which proved to be coffee, already mixed with milk, and sweetened. I do not care for sugar in coffee, and I found that Mrs. W—— had similar tastes, so she offered to share her special brew with me, and thereafter we always had a pot to ourselves. No solid food was provided with this meal, and knowing this, the other prisoners had saved some of their morning’s bread to eat with it—but we had to do without. As bread was provided only at breakfast and supper, if we wanted it at any other time it was necessary to save some. In the early days of our captivity this was easy, as we were allowed a plentiful supply, but when later on it was cut down, a certain amount of unseemly bickering ensued. This was due to the fact that the bread was not rationed out, but just piled up on a plate in the middle of each table, and the early birds used to pocket more than their fair share, with the result that a late-comer found himself without any bread for breakfast, let alone to save for another meal.

At first I was amazed that such petty selfishness could exist among fellow-prisoners and fellow-sufferers, and these, too, drawn mainly from a class accustomed to the courteous, self-denying ordinance usual among well-bred and educated people; but later on I attributed the ugly phenomenon to the well-established fact that the rigours of imprisonment are apt to wear away the veneer of civilisation, revealing below its surface the primitive animal instinct of self-preservation.

Hitherto the prisoners had been allowed outside the Boma precincts for exercise after tea, but on the day of our arrival, as a punishment for the cheering with which we had been received, this privilege was suspended, and we were included among the culprits. For three days we were “gated” like naughty schoolboys, and, moreover, one of the missionaries was awarded three days’ solitary confinement for the same offence. It appeared that after the peremptory order against cheering had been issued, one solitary “Hurrah!” had been heard. An Askari, sent to find out who the offender might be, so badgered the Rev. F—— with questions that that gentleman, in a fit of irritation, replied: “Oh, very well—_I_ did it. Go away!” Later, when it was found that punishment was to be meted out, the real offender owned up, but the Kommandant would not allow the sentence to be transferred to him! He said that he believed the word of the Askari—that the first man had said he had done it—and that he was not going to open the case again!

That evening we amused ourselves by playing cards until supper-time. This meal was at 6.30 p.m., and consisted of cold meat and bread and cheese; the latter was not such as we are accustomed to in England—it was made of skim milk, and merely strained, not pressed at all, so it appeared in a loose, moist condition and still full of the sour whey. Many of the prisoners would not touch it, but it was not really so bad when you got used to it.

Supper over, we again played cards and talked. At this time no lighting restrictions were in force, and a hurricane-lamp was provided for each room. Evidently there was an ample supply of paraffin in the Colony, and the Germans were of the opinion that the war could not last long. Further, at this date there was no official bedtime, and we were allowed to sit up as long as we chose.

When, about 9.30, we were ready to turn in, we managed to borrow some sleeping-suits and towels from our fellow-prisoners, who had brought with them everything that they might need.

My pillow was very thin and lumpy, and not conducive to slumber, but in time wearied nature triumphed over that obstacle, and I fell asleep, and did not wake until morning.

At the commencement of our captivity we were waited on by native “boys,” one of these being allotted as servant to every half-dozen or so of prisoners. They were responsible for the tidiness of our rooms, did the washing, and waited at table. Later, as I shall relate, only officers were allowed to have servants, the rest of the prisoners having to do everything for themselves.

At first we found it very difficult to make our “boy” understand what we wanted, for he spoke no language but his own, and we came to the conclusion that a knowledge of Swahili would come in very useful, so we started right away to take lessons in that dialect from the missionaries, who were eager and willing to teach us. Many mornings we spent in this study, but until we became fairly proficient we were dependent on the good offices of one of the old hands as interpreter when we wished to communicate with our dusky attendant.

It may here be of interest to describe more minutely the scene of our incarceration. Kilimatinde is the name of a district situated in the centre of the Colony; it is considerably above sea-level, and the climate is quite tolerable all the year round. In the winter—that is, during what corresponds to our English summer months—the weather is very pleasant, and not at all unduly hot. Indeed, many people used to wear European clothing. This is also the dry season, when all vegetation disappears and the landscape presents a most bare and desolate aspect, which it retains until the magic touch of the rains summons it once more to life. The wet seasons are known locally as the small and the large rains; the former occurring usually in December, and the latter in February and March. The place in which we were confined was known as the Kilimatinde Boma. Boma is a Swahili word signifying fortress or stronghold. It was very solidly built of stone, and roofed with corrugated iron. The walls were whitewashed, and the roofs painted red. The buildings were all two-storied, the living-rooms on the first floor, and the ground floor given up entirely to offices, store-rooms, kitchens, etc. This is the usual arrangement in the tropics, and it affords a certain immunity from snakes and other unwelcome intruders—including mosquitoes. Even in Kilimatinde one is not free from the latter, and in the wet season they become a perfect pest. Fortunately they are not of the malaria-bearing type.

The Boma had been built as a residence for the local district officials, and as the headquarters of the Schutztruppe—the native levies, officered by Europeans, and used to keep order among the more turbulent tribes. The “Wagogos,” who live in the plain below, used to be very difficult to manage, and as late as ’95 there was a widespread revolt against German rule, which was only suppressed after much trouble, and by the usual Teutonic methods of “blood and iron.”

A high and strong stone wall encloses the buildings, having at each corner a raised platform on which a machine-gun can be mounted. The place could make but a slight resistance against troops armed with even light artillery, but for protection against a native rising should be quite efficient. Its only serious defect is that there is no well within the enclosure, and all water has to be procured from one half-way down a hill. A small blockhouse commanding the approach to the well is built on the top of the hill, but all the same the question of water-supply might become a vital one in the event of a siege, and during our captivity a large reservoir was built in the grounds to collect rain-water for use in an emergency.

However, I have heard that when our troops approached, the only opposition they met with was at Saranda station, and along the road to the Boma—the place itself not being defended at all.

The Askari stronghold, composed of lath and mud huts, is, with the exception of the native hospital and dispensary, the only building of importance outside the encircling wall.

It will be remembered that we possessed no clothes save what we stood up in, and since in these we had lived, and slept, and marched, and sweated for several days and nights, the question of a change clamoured urgently for consideration. So, a day or two after our arrival, we went to Kommandant Oberleutenant Colzau, and informing him of our plight, asked if we could be provided with at least _one_ change of raiment. He agreed that something must be done in the matter, and told us to make out a list of things we required.

Colzau was quite a decent man; he spoke English well, and before the war had been an officer of the D.O.A. Line, and captain of the steamer _Koenig_, to which reference has already been made. He had often been to Bombay, and when we came to know him better we used to tell him that when the Colony was captured it was to Bombay that he would be sent, and we promised to see that he had plenty of whisky and a good time. Then he would laugh and say: “But you have not got the Colony yet, and the war will be over before you take it.”

In due course our clothing arrived. It consisted of two suits of khaki for each of us, together with a pair of boots each, a sufficient supply of underclothing, towels, etc., and a safety-razor apiece. The latter looked typical “made in Germany” articles, and I was surprised to see that they were labelled “British,” though I forget the name of the supposed manufacturers. When we tried to shave with these things we found them quite useless, and after a few futile and painful experiments we gave up the attempt and decided to grow beards.

The bill for all these things was also forwarded, and we should not have objected to paying it had we had the money, but we had not a brass farthing between us. So again we went to the Kommandant, and in the time-honoured phrase pointed out to him the impossibility of getting blood from a stone. He quite saw our point, and we heard no more about it.