CHAPTER VII

SHATTERED HOPES

I had, of course, told the other inmates of the Boma that I was expecting to be released very shortly, but they one and all received this statement with the most disconcerting scepticism! The general impression seemed to be that, the Germans having got me safely in Kilimatinde, there they would keep me, promise or no promise! It proved correct; but at first I was still hopeful, and a fortnight having elapsed during which I was treated exactly like the other prisoners, and there being no hint of my prospective freedom, I went one morning to the Kommandant’s office and said boldly:

“Good morning, sir. Have you had any news about my release yet?”

He stared at me in amazement for a moment, and then blurted out:

“Your release! What do you mean?” Then he began to laugh. “Why,” he cried, “you have not been here long yet. Are you tired of it already?”

Germans, even the best of them, (and as I have said, Colzau was not really a bad chap), have a sort of sneering false _bonhomie_ of manner which grates badly on an Englishman’s nerves and temper. Taking a strong pull on my patience and self-control, I pointed out that I was a doctor and a non-combatant, and that it was contrary to the Geneva Convention that I should be held a prisoner. Further, that I had been assured repeatedly that I should be released as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made.

“Who told you that?” asked the Kommandant.

I replied that the officials at Dar-es-Salaam had given me this assurance.

Then he said: “Well, I have heard nothing about it, but if you care to write to the Governor, I will forward your letter.”

A bit cast down, but not yet devoid of hope, I repaired to my room to compose a diplomatic letter, which was duly forwarded to the Governor.

Followed three weeks of weary waiting, during which I perpetually haunted the office to enquire if an answer had arrived. Then one morning the Kommandant sent for me and told me he had received an answer to my letter. According to this I was informed that I could not claim under the Geneva Convention to be exempt from imprisonment, since when captured I had been a member of a hostile raiding party, and there was no evidence to prove that I had taken part in that raid solely with a view to caring for sick and wounded.

Further, it was stated that the British had captured a German medical officer on the Nyassaland border, and that he had not been released, and therefore, so long as their medical officer was held prisoner, the Germans intended to keep me.

I asked if I might have a copy of the letter, but this was refused, and in all the subsequent correspondence the same rule was observed. I used to write direct to the Governor, and the answer always came to the Kommandant of the prison-camp, who informed me of its purport, but never allowed me to see the actual letter, much less have a copy of it.

As may be well imagined, I was greatly depressed by this blow to my cherished dream of liberty, but I still hoped for an exchange in the near future. It was not until about six months later that, in conversation with one of the mission nursing sisters, I, having alluded to this circumstance and the hopes I had based on it, learned from her that while nursing some of our wounded in one of the German hospitals she had met the German doctor in question and spoken with him. She was quite positive as to the facts, for she said he had told her all details of how and where he was taken prisoner, and how he had been subsequently released.

On the strength of her statement I again wrote to the Governor, asking why I had not been exchanged. The composition of this letter cost me a lot of trouble, for it had to be in German. After my first communication with the Governor I had been informed that German was the only language allowed in official correspondence. However, I did not intend to allow them to muzzle me so easily as that, and as some of my fellow-prisoners were good German scholars, I got them to give me lessons, and soon managed to gain a fair knowledge of the language.

The answer received to this letter was to the effect that an Indian medical man, a native, who had been captured at Tanga, had been exchanged for the German in question, and that my services were considered _unentbehrlich_ (indispensable) for the welfare of the prisoners at Kilimatinde! This was pretty cool, but I could not dispute the argument, since I knew that there was no German doctor nearer than Morogoro or Tabora, both about twelve hours distant by rail, and consequently I had perforce been looking after the health of the interned as best I could with the aid of the small stock of drugs I found at the native dispensary. This was another blow to my optimism, and it seemed that nothing remained but to face the situation with as much philosophy as might be. But I did not see why I should be, as expressed in the vernacular of the domestic servant, “put upon” more than was absolutely unavoidable, so once more I wrote, stating that I was willing to look after the military prisoners, but that I considered that I was clearly entitled to some remuneration for attending the interned civilians, who had no claim on my gratuitous services other than that of bare humanity. The answer to this was that while the German Government saw no reason why _they_ should pay me, there was no objection to my charging a fee to civilians, and if I cared to do so, they, the Government, would see that it was paid. However, in view of the fact that these same civilians were my fellow-sufferers and companions in misfortune, it seemed to me that it would be a violation of all the traditions of my profession to agree to this mean-spirited and Shylock-like proposal.

* * * * *

This narrative would be incomplete without some further reference to the officials placed in authority over us, for it will be readily understood how largely the (comparative) comfort and well-being of captives depends on the disposition of their gaolers, whose good feeling or otherwise make “_la pluie et le beau temps_” for their prisoners. On the whole, I think we could consider ourselves fairly fortunate in respect of the _personnel_ of the prison camp.

In addition to the Kommandant, of whom enough has been said, there was Rickert, our little corporal, but officially he had not much to do with the prisoners, being concerned solely with the training and drilling of his Askaris. He was quite a kind-hearted fellow, who spoke practically no English; but he was anxious to learn, and used to take lessons from one of the German-speaking prisoners. With the exception of the Kommandant Rickert was the only German who actually lived within the Boma, and he had a room next to the dining-hall. Often he would beckon one or two of us into his room and offer a drink—and this, too, when drinks were getting scarce and difficult to get. He was also a very efficient officer, keeping his Askaris smart and up to the mark; and, moreover, he insisted on upholding the supremacy of the white race, and woe betide any Askari who ventured to treat a prisoner discourteously when under his rule. But before long he was ordered to the front, and he seemed to have a foreboding that he would never return, for he packed up all his belongings, and got our camera expert to take a photograph of him to send to his girl in Germany. Alas! his presentiment was correct, for very soon after his departure we heard that he had been shot through the head while leading his men in a charge.... Poor, gallant little corporal! His gay, harmless life crushed out like so many thousands of others in the grip of that awful war-machine set in motion by the lustful leaders of Prussian military autocracy. What did _he_ care for “world conquest”?

“A little human home was his desire; The intimate close touch of human hands, To love and work beside a human fire.”

And now it was all finished—as he might himself have said—“_Kaput!_” It is true that in theory he was an enemy, but we knew him to be at heart a real little gentleman, and I think there was not one of us but mourned for him.

* * * * *

Derndorf, another of the officials, was in every way the antithesis of our little corporal, for he was a typical Prussian bully. We used to call him the “Anteater” by reason of his long nose, which gave him a marked resemblance to “little Willie,” the German Crown Prince, and I have reason to believe that he was very proud of the likeness! In civil life I think this man was a planter, but in the army he was only a private. However, when in January Kilimatinde was getting overcrowded, he was given a stripe—no doubt with the intention of investing him with a greater halo of authority—and sent in charge of seven of the civilian prisoners to Kiboriani, in the hills near Kilossa, where a new camp was established. We were very pleased to be rid of him, but pitied those who were going to be under his rule. Although I never visited the camp in question, I believe that the “Anteater” was as rude and severe as possible to the unfortunates under his charge.

Another portrait in my memory’s picture-gallery is that of a big blond man with a bushy moustache brushed out on either side of his face and waving in the breeze. This was “Sloppy Joe,” sometimes known as “Soapy Joe.” I have forgotten his real name, and I do not know exactly why he had been given his nicknames—but they seemed to suit him. He was a rather negative personality, and not, I think, a bad chap. His most salient characteristic was a great slowness and deliberacy of movement; no one ever saw him in a hurry.

The catering for the prisoners was undertaken by a certain Frau Mahnke, the wife of a planter in the district. She did not live in the Boma, but as a rule came in once or twice a week to see that everything was satisfactory. She engaged a Frau Brusch to do the cooking and supervise the issue of stores, etc. There was not much actual cooking to be done, as the meat, no matter what it might be, was always boiled. We got very tired of that boiled meat, which, even so, was not sent up as a joint, but cut into lumps and served up a lump to each person. However, since there were no facilities for roasting joints for such a crowd as we were, one must conclude that Frau Brusch did her best according to her lights, and with no deliberate intention of restricting us to unappetising food.

Herr Mahnke, although he had no official status, sometimes put in an appearance, and “made a bit” by ordering beer and spirits for such of us as had money to pay for these luxuries. The miners were his best customers; but his little trade did not last long, as stocks in the Colony began to run low, and shortly after Christmas an order was issued that no alcohol should be brought into the Boma without the permission of the Kommandant. In part we attributed this to an unseemly incident, in which the prisoners were in no way to blame.

About Christmas-time the postmaster was entertained by Mahnke to supper in the Boma. They both imbibed very freely, and as, being a very hot night, their table was set in the open, the prisoners from their windows were presented with a very unedifying spectacle. In the end the two became fighting-drunk, and the postmaster, announcing his intention of fighting one of the “pig-dog” Britishers, stumbled up the steps to the verandah outside our dining-room, and squared up to the Major, who was peacefully playing bridge. Mahnke followed, trying to dissuade his compatriot from his bellicose intentions, and they both made such a row that the sound thereof reached the ears of the Kommandant, who was enjoying a post-prandial cigar on his own _baraza_. He came in person to see what was the cause of the disturbance, and Mahnke and the postmaster, valiant in wine, began to insult him! Then, although my German was not at the time sufficient to enable me to appreciate quite all they said to each other, there was a proper row. The little corporal turned out to support his superior officer, and finally the brawlers were bundled down the steps and locked in the post-office, where they continued to rage until either they were exhausted or the fumes of alcohol were gradually dissipated.

The next morning the postmaster was made to apologise to the Major, and in a few days he disappeared from the Boma, and another reigned in his stead. As for Mahnke, he was forbidden to show his face in the Boma for many months to come.

By the way, I think I have not yet introduced the Major. He had retired from the army after the South African War, during which he fought with Thorneycroft’s Horse, and won the D.S.O., and he was on a bicycling tour through a part of Africa when he was captured.

* * * * *

To return to routine.... We were allowed to walk outside the prison precincts for an hour every evening, and to this hour we all eagerly looked forward, since the space at our disposal within the encircling wall was very limited. There was a certain line beyond which we were not supposed to go, and so long as we kept within it we were in sight of the Boma. We had no guard, one of the German officials alone accompanying us, and he would generally sit down a little distance off with a cigar and a book, while we were free to do as we liked. He was in the position of a shepherd watching his flock, his only duty to see we did not wander beyond bounds. I was much surprised to find that no roll-call was taken; all those who wished to go out assembled in the courtyard after tea, then the gate was opened, and out we went. When time was up the gate was again opened, we passed in, and so straight to our rooms or wherever we wished.

That hour in the open would not, I think, have proved very alluring to free men. In December the landscape was bare and dreary-looking, all trees and bushes leafless; not a blade of grass was to be found, and the only green thing in sight was a patch of cacti growing on a hillside. Elsewhere only sandy earth and grey rocks and boulders.... Some of us amused ourselves by turning over the smaller boulders and hunting for scorpions; the small greenish-yellow kind were very common, and sometimes we came across one of the big black fellows who would give us quite a lot of sport before he was transferred to the killing-bottle. A scorpion carries his sting in his tail, and with it can inflict a very painful wound, which frequently causes fever. It is said that the sting of a large scorpion has proved fatal to a child.

Our catch sometimes included centipedes; these are also able to inflict a very nasty wound by digging all their sharp claw-like feet into the flesh. The best way to make them release their hold is to run the glowing end of a cigarette along their backs. There is no use in trying to wrench them out, for in that case their poisonous feet are left in the flesh, and severe inflammation, and even in extreme cases death, may result.

Another of our discoveries was a curious spider armed with formidable jaws, resembling in form a bird’s beak. These lurked under stones, and were very swift in their movements. Once one of these spiders and a small scorpion were put in a bottle together, and a battle-royal ensued. The spider won because he seized the scorpion by the under side of the thorax, and thus prevented it from bringing its sting into action.

During December we had the “small rains,” which in 1914 were very small indeed, and it was but rarely that we were prevented from going out. A short dry spell followed, and at the end of January the large rains began. These were of the true tropical variety, such as have been so often described. They came down in solid streams of such volume that the water lay inches deep in all depressions in the ground, and anyone who happened to be caught in them was soaked to the skin in a very few minutes.