Three years of war in East Africa

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Title: Three years of war in East Africa
Author: Buchanan, Angus
Language: English
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AFRICA ***

THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

WILD LIFE
IN CANADA

With Illustrations from Photographs
by the Author

LONDON: JOHN MURRAY

[Illustration: LUKIGURA RIVER.

_Frontispiece_]

THREE YEARS OF WAR
IN EAST AFRICA

BY CAPT. ANGUS BUCHANAN, M.C.

WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1920

FIRST EDITION _July 1919_
_Reprinted_ _January 1920_

FOREWORD

Captain Buchanan has done me the honour of asking me to write a short
preface to a work which seems to me at all events of peculiar interest.
To write a preface is a difficult task, unless one has some real _raison
d’être_ for the task; yet I find it difficult to refuse, if only for my
intense admiration for the part played by the battalion with which the
author was so long and honourably associated—the 25th Royal Fusiliers.

The author’s qualifications to write this work are undoubted, not only
from his stout record as a soldier, but also through his previous
experience as a traveller, explorer, and student of Natural History. When
war broke out Captain Buchanan was engaged on behalf of the Provincial
Government of Saskatchewan, Canada, in investigating the country in the
far north, west of Hudson Bay, and studying and collecting the rarer
flora and fauna. He had been for nearly a year many hundreds of miles out
of touch with any other white man. The first rumour of war did not reach
him until the end of October, when he at once struck south to a Hudson
Bay Fort, which he reached at Christmas. Without delay he left to join
up, and in but a month or two had changed his habitat from almost the
Arctic Circle to the Equator.

Readers will be able to follow the fortunes of that wonderful unit,
the 25th Royal Fusiliers, through the campaign, and will perhaps gain
thereby an insight into this strangest of all side-shows more true and
illuminating than a more comprehensive work. There was little that
this old Legion of Frontiersmen missed. Comparisons are odious; yet
I think it may safely be said that no other white unit took so full
a part in the diverse stages of the campaign. They bore the long and
arduous months of frontier and railway guarding in 1915. They took no
mean share in the spectacular capture of Bukoba. Their mounted infantry
as well as ordinary rank and file, took part in many of the small but
intensely trying patrols through the thorny scrub along the Serengeti
plains. General Smuts’s operations around Kilimanjaro saw them. Right
to the fore were they in the long and tiring treks, varied by frequent
and fierce rear-guard actions, which took place down the Pangani and
southward through the bush and forests to the capture of Morogoro; and
onwards again right down to the Rufiji. They bore that cruelly hard
period through the rains of 1916, when they held the Mgeta line against a
numerically superior foe, living literally in a swamp for months, riddled
through and through with fever. In January, 1917, when General Smuts made
his final effort to crush the opposition, Colonel Driscoll and his men
were right in the van, and here among others they lost Captain Selous,
that great hunter and greater English gentleman. After a brief period in
the south we find them back in time for the final stages of the campaign.
Here they went in from Lindi to take part in the fighting of 1917,
fighting so bitter that all the previous work was but as child’s play in
comparison. Lest it seem that I exaggerate, let me say that, with a force
of about half the size, the casualties during these last four months were
three times as great as those throughout the whole previous two years.
There was indeed hardly an action in which the battalion did not take
part, until that day on the 18th of October, 1917, when, while covering a
temporary retirement, they were overwhelmed by immensely superior numbers
and cut to pieces.

The author does not harp overmuch on the sickness and privations of his
comrades—he has been through too many of them to do so; but I am reminded
of the remark of one of them during the not infrequent periods of
grousing which every respectable British soldier must have. “Ah, I wish
to h⸺ I was in France! There one lives like a gentleman and dies like a
man, here one lives like a pig and dies like a dog.” There may have been
something in this remark, yet I have thought as I saw the 25th staggering
on, absolutely in rags, many with fever actually on them, nearly all
emaciated and staring-eyed, that they were living, if not like gentlemen,
at all events like Men.

There is one point of view that I would like to put before readers in
estimating the debt that those of us _who live_ in Africa owe to these
men—and that is this: when once the coastal belt was reached, and after
the departure of General Smuts and practically all his South African
fighting troops, it became apparent that European infantry, generally
speaking, could no longer compete on even terms with the native soldier.
The handicap of climate became too great. The European could no longer
stand marching under a load, and more than that, the continual fever and
sun sapped the “essential guts,” so that it became _almost_ impossible
for white troops to meet the German-African troops—led, of course, by
trained and well-fed German officers and N.C.O.s—with any fair prospect
of success. Such a fact boded ill for the future prestige of the white
race. Yet it may be said that the Fusiliers soared triumphant even over
this handicap; and they can boast, without fear of contradiction, that
up to the very end no German field company would look with other than
apprehension to meeting the 25th on even terms. I have always felt that
the prowess and endurance of these fine men during these last months have
done more to uphold our prestige and ensure the firm future of our rule
than is likely to be adequately realised.

An estimate of the campaign as a whole is scarcely yet possible. It will
probably be years before a just view can be taken of a side-show that
is believed to have cost more money and many more lives than the whole
of the South African Campaign. Many mistakes were made, and it is more
than possible that the lion’s share of what credit posterity may have
to bestow will fall on Von Lettow and his comrades. Yet there were many
factors which caused the task which Generals Tighe, Smuts, Hoskins, and
Van Deventer did eventually accomplish, to be of almost unparalleled
difficulty.

The question asked very often, and one which is likely to be of
interest to posterity, is: How were the Germans able to prolong their
resistance and, in fine, to make such a determined struggle against
our very superior forces? In answer the following points seem to merit
consideration.

In the first place the enemy had in the person of Colonel Von Lettow
an outstanding personality, and a soldier whose merit it is hard to
over-estimate. It will, moreover, always form one bright spot on the
blackened German escutcheon that in his operations during the campaign,
personally speaking, his conduct was as clean as it was efficient.

When war broke out the local military position was overwhelmingly in
favour of the Germans. They had ready, at a conservative estimate,
2,000 to 3,000 trained whites and 8,000 native troops, with some 70
machine-guns and 40 guns. Against this we, on our side, had in British
East Africa about 700 native soldiers and 2 machine-guns, one of which
was out of action, and not more than 100 whites with any military
experience at all. This force might possibly have been duplicated in
Nyasaland. With this early crushing superiority it is obvious that
expansion on the one side was easy—on the other a matter of extraordinary
difficulty.

In connection with this point it must also be borne in mind that in
British East Africa the natives are for the very large part, not
soldiers, but agriculturists by nature; whereas German East Africa teems
with natives who form as fine material for soldiers as any in the world.
This point is always worth remembering since, because of it, while
Germany held German East Africa, she was a potential menace to the whole
continent.

Unity of command again was with the Germans to a striking degree. For
on our side was ever command so divided? Our main force working from
East Africa contained troops from almost every portion of the globe,
speaking different tongues, having different habits, eating different
foods, fighting in different ways. From Nyasaland and Rhodesia, General
Northey with his small force brilliantly fought his way into the enemy’s
country, for long not only not under our Commander-in-Chief, but not
even administered by the War Office. From the west our most gallant
Allies the Belgians pushed forward to Tabora, and later worked in direct
co-operation into the very heart of the enemy’s country. On the south
there were the Portuguese.

The advantages which the Germans had over us in this matter were worth
many thousands of rifles.

It is certainly undeniable that after the first eighteen months our
combined force largely outnumbered our adversaries. Yet at his strongest
Von Lettow probably mustered 25,000 to 30,000 rifles, all _fighting_
troops. A not inconsiderable army on the basis that we, on our side, had
to estimate that it took four to five soldiers to get one fighting man
into the firing line.

It will naturally be assumed that at all events in the matter of
equipment and arms we had the advantage, but until the very latest stages
it may be doubted if this was so. Two incidents will illustrate this.
During the latter part of 1916 a German prisoner, being taken past a spot
where some of our artillery units, which shall be nameless, were parked,
remarked, “the movable armament from the Ark, I should imagine!” And,
indeed, his naval guns, his 42-in. howitzers, and quick-firing mountain
guns were far ahead of anything in our possession. Again, late in 1917,
a German doctor came in to demand back one of his medical panniers
abandoned on the field. We returned it with reluctance, as it was a very
fine set, the latest model in 1914. However, in response to repeated
and urgent indents and “hasteners,” new equipment for our own medical
department was that moment arriving. It was far in advance of anything
we had seen on our side, but was plainly marked 1906. I shall not soon
forget the sneer on that doctor’s face.

It is true that twice in the campaign the Germans were on short commons
in the matter of small-arm ammunition, in spite of their enormous pre-war
accumulation, but in each case, most unfortunately, a blockade runner
relieved the situation. Later on, unfortunate captures prevented a
shortage which would have appeared inevitable.

Again, the Germans worked throughout on interior lines and were able,
for the most part, to choose the areas in which their resistance would
be stiffest. Such spots were naturally where they would gain the fullest
advantage from their knowledge of the country, and where the evil climate
would exact the most murderous toll from our white and Indian troops.
These considerations should, I think, be borne in mind by those who feel,
as many must, that the cost in blood and money was altogether in excess
of the results obtained. In any case it is to our credit that having
put hand to the plough we did not turn back. It is for those who in the
future will reap the benefit to see that the worthiest use is made of the
vast country which the efforts of those who have fallen have placed in
our hands.

The wild animal and bird life encountered throughout the campaign formed
a most distinctive feature. This especially applies to the last stages,
when the fighting in the south-east corner of the Colony was conducted in
territory almost virgin to the naturalist. This applies equally to the
insects both large and small, which in many cases were as unpleasant as
they were intrusive. Captain Buchanan is well qualified to discourse on
these subjects, and his observant notes are most instructive. Let us hope
that some day he may find an opportunity of renewing his researches under
happier circumstances.

In conclusion of these few remarks let me wish Captain Buchanan the
utmost success in putting his book before the public. If only others read
it with the same interest and enjoyment with which it has filled me, I
can only think that the author’s work will not have been in vain.

CRANWORTH.

PREFACE

In accomplishing the conquest of German East Africa, many columns were
put in the field. Those had their starting-points from the British East
Africa frontier in the neighbourhood of Kilimanjaro Mountain, from Lake
Victoria Nyanza, from the Belgian Congo, from Rhodesia, and latterly from
the East Africa coast. To cover wide fronts of great extent of country,
the forces from each of those bases advanced in their particular area
in two, three, or more columns. This narrative deals directly with the
operations of a single column, but, as operations throughout the columns
were similar, it may be found, in part, to be generally descriptive of
much that was experienced by all columns.

On actual operations in German East Africa—not including the operations
on the frontier during 1915, nor the countless distances covered on
patrol—our unit marched some 850 miles with the column, in the following
stages: Kilimanjaro area, 194 miles; to the Central Railway, 335
miles; Morogoro-Rufiji area, 260 miles; and Lindi area (to date of my
departure), 61 miles. Those distances are not direct to their objective
as the crow flies, for they had often a zigzag course, and sometimes even
doubled back to a fresh starting-point.

It has been my endeavour to include every detail of experience, and, in
doing so, I trust that at some points I have not laid too much stress on
the hardships of the campaign. They were all in the day’s work, and were
taken as such, no matter how irksome they were. Of them General Smuts, in
a dispatch of 27th October, 1916, said:

“Their work has been done under tropical conditions which not
only produce bodily weariness and unfitness, but which create
mental languor and depression, and finally appal the stoutest
hearts. To march day by day, and week by week, through the
African jungle or high grass, in which vision is limited to
a few yards, in which danger always lurks near, but seldom
becomes visible, even when experienced, supplies a test to
human nature often, in the long run, beyond the limits of human
endurance.”

Little reference has been made in the narrative to the number of our
casualties, nor was that possible. A recent casualty statement—at the
end of 1918—records the casualties of the East African Campaign as: 380
officers killed, 478 officers wounded, 8,724 other ranks killed, 7,276
other ranks wounded, 38 officers missing (including prisoners), and 929
other ranks missing (including prisoners) = 896 officers, 16,929 other
ranks.

This is the only statement of casualties I have seen, and I give
these figures with every reservation, doubting the aggregate and its
completeness.

They will, however, suffice to show that there is a remarkable percentage
of killed, and this may largely be put down to the closeness of the
fighting, and that at times the attacking forces were advancing on
entrenched positions without protection of any kind to themselves.

ANGUS BUCHANAN.

CONTENTS

PAGE

FOREWORD ix

PREFACE xviii

CHAPTER

I. OUTWARD BOUND 1

II. FRONTIER LIFE 17

III. CATTLE RAIDERS 43

IV. THE FIRST ADVANCE 64

V. THE SECOND TREK 87

VI. THE THIRD STAGE 125

VII. THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN ON GERMAN SOIL 173

VIII. NATURE NOTES 200

IX. HERE AND HEREAFTER 225

INDEX 242

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

LUKIGURA RIVER _Frontispiece_

FACING PAGE

KILIMANJARO 34

THE NECK AT “GERMAN BRIDGE” 92

GERMAN PAPER RUPEE 106

NATIVE KRAAL 144

A GOOD BAG: 268½ LB. OF IVORY 160

TANDAMUTI 188

OSTRICHES 202

LIST OF MAPS

FROM THE FRONTIER TO MOROGORO 86

MOROGORO TO RUFIJI RIVER 124

LINDI AREA 172

THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA

CHAPTER I

OUTWARD BOUND

It was raining in London. It had been raining all day, and for many days
previous, and to-night the atmosphere of damp and greyness pervaded the
very soul of the city outdoors.

[Sidenote: FRONTIERSMEN AT WATERLOO]

Number Seven platform, at Waterloo Station, was crowded with troops and
baggage, about to depart for service with the B.E.F. in East Africa. They
had arrived at the station at 6 p.m. At 11 p.m. they were still there
grouped about in talkative jollying clusters, apparently indifferent to
the delay in entraining.

Everyone knows this type of crowd nowadays, but in this case, and as
commonly with men garbed in identical uniform, no one could tell with
any accuracy the remarkable variety of character of the men, or the
extent of their notability. Joe Robson, who was standing apart—a quiet
onlooker—thought: “It is almost a pity that the individual loses his
individuality in the army and becomes a stranger in a strange crowd.”
What would that group of schoolboys say, and the inquisitive idle crowd
in general, if they knew that here in the ranks, beneath the guise of
homogeneous khaki, were gathered many men from all the world over? Men
who had come to fight for their native land from Honolulu, Hong-Kong,
China, Ceylon, Malay States, India, New Zealand, Australia, South and
East Africa, Egypt, South America, Mexico, United States of America, and
Canada? Men from the very outer edges of the world; in Ogilvie’s words:

Lean men, brown men, men from overseas,
Men from all the outer world; shy and ill at ease.

Some were men who had taken part in Arctic exploration; others were of
the North-west Mounted Police and of the British South Africa Police;
even a cowpuncher or two from under the flag of the U.S.A. were amongst
this force of frontiersmen. And there were among them: good sorts, bad
sorts, rich sorts, keen sorts, game sorts—all sorts!

Here also, holding the rank of subalterns, were some famous hunters,
setting out again on adventure. F. C. Selous, the renowned big-game
hunter and naturalist and explorer, was there, and Cherry Kearton, who,
like his brother Richard, “shoots” with his camera and has specialised
in photographing big game in Africa. Then there were George Outram
and Martin Ryan, hailing from divergent corners of our colonies, who
were reputed old hunters who knew, by long association, the vast
hunting-grounds in Africa, as well as you or I, perhaps, know our grouse
moor at home. And, lastly, at the head of all stood Colonel Driscoll, the
leader of “Driscoll’s Scouts” in the South African War.

Yes, there was a spirit of romance on Number Seven platform on this
evening of April 1915. But, as is often the case with romance, it was
obscure to the ordinary vision of the spectator, and but dully realised,
if realised at all. So, for the most part, those troops remained
commonplace, and passed from London, as thousands of other troops do, out
to an unknown destination under cover of the night.

It was 2 o’clock next morning when, after long waiting, the train finally
drew out of Waterloo. Between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m., by twos and threes,
friends of the troops had taken their last farewells and departed, taking
sadness with them, and leaving, here and there, a disconsolate soul
behind.

How many touching, aye, last farewells have been witnessed by the
soulless shed of that vast station since war began! How many brave souls
have laughingly departed never to return!—their one great love their
Home, their Empire’s honour.

The battalion’s destination—the port of sailing—was unknown, except to
those in command, but in the early dawn of morning it became apparent to
all, as we passed along the borders of Somerset and Dorset and on through
Devon, that we were _en route_ to Plymouth.

At 10 a.m. we drew up in Plymouth Docks, there to embark on H.M.T.S.
_Neuralia_ (Glasgow).

The day was spent in embarking the troops and baggage to their allocated
stations on board ship; and in the depth of a pitch-black night, when all
was ready, we cleared the docks and steamed slowly out of Plymouth Sound,
in company with others of a convoy, and commenced our voyage “outward
bound” to Africa.

[Sidenote: ON BOARD A TROOPSHIP]

There are times in all men’s lives when they go through experiences
that remain for ever remarkable, either because they are so new and
unexpected, or because they contain so much of pain and hardship. The
men new to travel—and there were a number of them—who embarked on the
good ship _Neuralia_ will remember, to the end of their days, their first
experiences on board a troopship and their first voyage to the tropics;
for it contained, for them, all the hardship of their new life of
soldiering, and all the romance and pleasure of seeing a completely new
and unexpected world.

Conversation on board ship dealt largely with contrasts. Old pictures
were compared with new and, in most cases, within the mind of the
intelligent individual each fresh experience brought new expression and
wide awakening. Young men who short weeks before, and all their lives,
had enjoyed all the comfort and ease of home life were now feeling the
first rigour of army service.

Robson, an observant old soldier, heard much of his neighbours’ little
troubles. It was common to hear the warm, soft, white-sheeted bed at home
ruefully recalled by the men, when rolled in coarse grey blankets on the
hard deck, or, chrysalis-like, bound in hammocks slung from the ceiling
in the impure atmosphere below. Also to hear, when men viewed their
portions of bare, often ill-cooked rations, fond recollections of Sunday
dinners at home, or a lucid description of a favourite dish. Personal
comparisons those, which would have in time become odious had they not
usually evoked laughter from some buoyant spirit, and the request to
“Shut up, you old Funeral!”

It was much the same with everything of this new environment—the men’s
clothes, their boots, their fatigue work (deck-scrubbing, etc.), all
were of a rougher nature than that to which they had been accustomed in
pre-war life.

The process of securing and ensuring hardihood had begun, and, as time
went on, the men, particularly the good ones, came to see the purpose of
it and, generally, to laugh more than to “grouse” at their difficulties.

Were they not, after all, starting out on the greatest adventure of
all—the stern pursuit of a perilous quest—and was not a rough life part
of the setting to be expected and contested?

“Assuredly yes,” thought Robson. “I who am an old traveller know it.
Before you again see England you, who are ‘green hands,’ will have
seen and experienced what ‘roughing it’ really is, and you will be the
stronger men for it; you who live through.”

While the change of personal surroundings was being discussed and
searching out men’s weaknesses, the _Neuralia_ was proceeding daily on
her way—overjoying the men, in their idle hours, with the new scenes
constantly presenting themselves, and stirring awake excited anticipation
of the adventurous country to which they were going.

[Sidenote: GIBRALTAR]

The ship’s course—the war-time course—held south, well west of France and
Spain and outside the Bay of Biscay. The first few days had been dull,
for sea-sickness and strange quarters affect the best of spirits, but by
the time the ship ran into Gibraltar, on the fourth day, everyone was
about deck and cheerful.

No shore leave was granted at “Gib.,” nor was there any real time for it.
The ship lay off “the Rock” only a few hours—the time required to take
off, from launches, a few troops for Malta and some fresh vegetables.
From the sea the towering Rock looked magnificent—grave, strong-featured,
impressive. From the ship’s side the eye could just discern the houses
around the base of the promontory, clustered like molluscs on a rock, the
white-bright dwellings of the inhabitants rising tier above tier from the
water’s edge to the sheer rock face a little distance inland from shore.
A few light sailing craft were dodging about in the foreground, out on
their habitual occupation of the day, making pleasant pictures when they
swept past with full white sail taut in the breeze. Alongside, a number
of native row-boats, which had raced for the ship from shore as soon as
it anchored, were doing thriving business in cigarettes, cigars, and
tobacco, which gaily dressed Moors, and other low-caste tradesmen, were
disposing of rapidly at their own figures to the improvident Tommies.

Dear old Gib., so proudly British, to many it was the entrance to the
promised land of adventure, and the portal of farewell to things that are
near and dear to home.

The ship sailed amid the gay raillery and cheers of Tommies to the
barter-boats, but behind the laughter there lurked, perhaps, a tear, for
this was the final, irrevocable, parting of the ways.

The good ship was now in the Mediterranean Sea—fast bidding good-bye to
Europe, and with Northern Africa distantly in sight, at times, on our
starboard beam.

It pleased many on board, at this stage, to get a hint of Africa’s
vastness. Here were they sighting the Continent on the fifth day out
from England, and yet they knew that they must have about twenty days of
travel, hugging her shores, before they could reach their destination on
the East Coast of that same continent.

This set some of the more enterprising Tommies to establishing a “range
card,” and, after questioning good-natured ship’s officers, they arrived
at the information that our journey from Gib. to Mombasa was one of
roughly some 6,000 miles.

This “range card” was:

Miles
Gibraltar to Malta 1,200
Malta to Port Said 1,125
Port Said to Aden 1,675
Aden to Mombasa 1,950
Total 5,950

It was pleasant, now, forging ahead day after day, through sunny seas,
neither storm-disturbed nor storm-delayed. Fair weather and placid
sea, and the mellow wind of a southern spring—indeed we had found the
Mediterranean in gracious mood. And under a clear sky is there another
sea like that of the soft cobalt blue of the Mediterranean? It is not
the commonplace sea, for it has lost all that is grey or blackish, and
lives completely and wholly blue—blue as the overhead April sky; even
more blue, more alluringly attractive.

[Sidenote: MALTA]

On the morning of the eighth day the ship worked slowly into the snug but
narrow harbour at Malta, while all along deck deeply interested troops
conversed on the unfolding view of this quaint and foreign port, dressed
for the business of war and bristling with grim fortifications.

British and French warships lay in harbour, and merchant vessels of all
kinds—suggestive of the great activities of war in this quarter of the
world, for here routes touched to the war zones of Egypt, Gallipoli,
Mesopotamia, India, and Africa.

Here, as at Gibraltar, the boat hawking tobacco vendors arrived alongside
from shore in their small craft, plying clamorous trade with the
good-natured troops, until the arrival of the coal barges put them to
flight.

The ship coaled all day and late into night; a process conducted by
swarms of gibbering ill-thriven Maltese natives, meagrely garbed in
ragged loin-cloths, who filed, endlessly, up plank gangways from the
barges to the coal bunkers in the ship’s side, each with his loaded
wicker basket hoisted shoulder high.

Coaling is a filthy business. Before evening, despite awnings and closed
port-holes, the fine coal-dust had sought its way into every conceivable
corner of the ship, to be roundly abused and accused by a thousand
discomforted Tommies. None were sorry to get it over, and all rejoiced
when, the following morning, the ship hove anchor and took again to the
clean-winded open sea.

Before departing, at early dawn, it was a strange sight to see row-boats
from shore dredging the shallow harbour, with small bag nets, for the
oddments of coal which had fallen overboard during the process of
coaling—patient labour for a mere pittance of reward that forcibly
suggested the value of fuel to the low-caste natives of the island.

Fair weather continued, and the next few days were as pleasant and
generous of speed as those preceding our arrival at Malta. A noteworthy
occurrence was the northern-bound migration of bird life which was
encountered on the 19th and 20th of April. Many swallows and doves were
seen and a few yellow wagtails, while a whitethroat and a screech owl
were picked up on deck. At the time most migration was observed the ship
was about in a longitudinal line with the island of Crete.

On the morning of the twelfth day the ship arrived at Port Said, at
the entrance of the Suez Canal, and anchored for a few hours—not long
enough to go ashore and get any real first impression of the place. But
it marked an important stage in the voyage; and the colonial, somewhat
oriental, appearance of the town on the west shore of the Canal entrance,
close to which the ship had anchored, was predictive of things Egyptian,
and of the weird beauty and strangeness of the Land of Deserts.

[Sidenote: THROUGH THE SUEZ CANAL]

Leaving Port Said, the Suez Canal was entered, and slowly the ship
proceeded on her course up the narrow fairway; but not before sand-bags
had been stacked on the bridge for protection from enemy sniping, for we
were now in a theatre of war.

On entering the Canal, which, between its low banks, is straight and of
apparent width of a city thoroughfare, the first view, at this season,
is of mud flats and shallow sheets of water, like flooded fen country;
colourless of green, except for a few isolated tufts of grass or dwarfed
shrub.

Soon this changes to the dry level plain of sand desert, endless as far
as eye can see on land, and featureless in geographical outline if one
seeks profile or form. There were many outposts stationed along the
Canal, safeguarding it from Turkish enemy who longed to wreak destruction
on it. And they made picturesque scenes, those outposts on the desert,
with their chalk-white groups of clustered conical tents, standing
prominent in the unbroken desolation of pale wastes of sand. On the
outskirts of camp were a few patient camels and some soldiers—helmeted
British Tommies or turbaned Indians—all sharply outlined in firm
silhouette, since they were darker in colour than the dead flat
background.

By evening the ship was well up the Canal, and the scene was very
beautiful and impressive then. Far as the eye could see on either side
were deep desolate stretches of limitless desert, unbroken by the
slightest undulation. Overhead, the sky was soft and peculiar; singularly
wistful and hazed and unlike any sky one sees at home, while a brilliant
rainbow, foreboding, perhaps, a light shower of rain, lit up and went out
low on the north-east horizon, away, apparently, at the uttermost edges
of the world, where sand and sky merged almost without any visible line.

It was strange brooding country, and it infused a vein of solemnity into
the atmosphere, for it held a suggestion that it had something to say,
could it but give utterance, as an unexpressed thought may do which lies
dormant for unknown ages through the long, long life of mankind.

At daybreak the ship arrived at Port Suez, having completed the passage
through the Canal during the night. Here ammunition was taken on board
before proceeding onward a few hours later.

Suez was left with regret. Many were sorry to go to sea from a land so
attractively picturesque and so full of indefinite mystery.

[Sidenote: IN THE RED SEA]

And in after days it was men’s habit to look back on this one brief
glimpse of Egypt and recall it as the most novel and memorable picture of
the many which unfolded before their eyes on their voyage to Africa. The
fast-moving ship was now sailing the Red Sea, and we were experiencing
that for which it is famed—excessive heat. Damp, cold, and wintry it
had been in England when the troops had sailed, and men had cursed the
weather roundly, as soldiers will, but now, lolling listlessly about
deck, victims of oppressive heat, they would fain have recalled a little
of that northern temperature for the benefit of bodily comfort. However,
the heat brought about one good service, for it caused the “powers that
be” to issue orders for all ranks to hand in their home service kit
to Stores and be supplied with the light tropical khaki drill outfit
customarily worn in hot climates.

The troops were now settled to the routine of ship-board, and in leisure
hours even the novelties of sea and new scenes became less astonishing
the more they grew familiar with them.

The days in the Red Sea passed without particular incident. The weather
remained phenomenally fine, and the sea charmingly clear and blue—almost
as blue as that of the Mediterranean. Large numbers of flying fish
were seen soon after leaving Port Suez; the first of their kind to be
observed. With their transparent wings and long bodies they looked like
magnified dragon-flies in their short flights over the water.

About this time the shortening of the hours of daylight was noticeable.
On the 26th of April dawn was at 5 a.m. and dusk at 6.45 p.m. The North
Pole Star, too, was now low on the horizon, as the ship drew farther and
farther away from the northern hemisphere, and nearer to the Equator.

On the 17th day land was in sight on both bows. Strange land; of
pronounced geographical change in the formation of the prominent
mountains. They were not generally round and rolling and soft as the
hills at home, but flat-topped, and severe as a cliff-head at their
summit, their steep-rearing slopes terminating abruptly in a definite
horizontal line. The whole was apparently rock and boulder, barren of any
covering of foliage.

The sight of land was a forewarning of approach to Aden, and late at
night, some hours after dark, anchor was dropped outside the harbour.

There was little sleep for anyone on board at Aden, unless you had
cast-iron nerves and hearing, for coaling was started almost immediately
the ship anchored, and continued throughout the night. The uproar of a
thousand puny jabbering Lascars, and the run of the coal down the chutes,
made merry music for devils’ ears, but not for sleepless Tommies.

Next morning, before sailing, Aden was viewed from the ship’s side, but
it was too far to land to glean much. The settlement was at the base of
towering ragged mountains and, judging by the gathering of houses close
to the shore front, it was apparently a small place, and principally a
military station.

Here, for the first time, numbers of that well-known camp thief, the
Egyptian kite, were seen gathering their food by robbing the defenceless
gulls of the meat scraps that they picked up overboard.

[Sidenote: NEARING EAST AFRICA]

At 10.30 a.m. Aden was left behind. It was the final port _en route_, and
the ship steamed down the Gulf against a light headwind on the last lap
of the voyage. She was soon well out to sea, and land was not sighted
again until, six days later, her destination was approached. The third
day out from Aden, in dead calm weather in the Indian Ocean, the best run
of the voyage was recorded—337 miles.

Otherwise the final days were uneventful, except that there was a good
deal of bustle and confusion in preparation to land. Arms and ammunition
were issued, equipment fitted, and everything got in readiness for
the journey up country to the frontier, which was to be immediately
undertaken on arrival in port.

On the morning of the 4th of May the battalion landed at
Mombasa—twenty-four days after our departure from Plymouth.

The bugle sounded _Réveillé_ at 5 a.m.—one hour earlier than usual; and
while all were dressing, low-lying shore came into sight, rich with
abundant tropical tree growth, and green, for it was the rainy season
and leaf was new. A little later the ship anchored in the harbour of
Kilindini, and, in due course, commenced the disembarkation of troops
and stores into barges, and thence to the landings on shore. It was late
evening ere the labours of transportation had ceased and all were landed
and entrained, ready to proceed up country in the narrow, antiquated,
wood-seated carriages of which the train was composed.

There had been no time for cooking, and everyone was hungry, for the last
meal had been at 12 noon on the previous day. However, some hours after
commencing the train journey, the train was stopped at a small wayside
station about midnight, and hot tea and rations were served to the
famishing troops. In after days all knew much more about going hungry—not
for a day, but for many days—but, looking back now, it was strange that
the very first experience in Africa was one of short rations and lean
“interiors.”

Thus an imperial unit had come to East Africa; to join Indian and Native
African forces already holding the frontier against the enemy in German
East Africa.

CHAPTER II

FRONTIER LIFE

Routine in the early days of war, in the camps on the frontier of British
East Africa in 1915, was like unto a watch-dog’s duties.

The Uganda Railway, running parallel to the boundary from Mombasa, on
the East Coast, to Kisumu, on Lake Victoria Nyanza, had to be vigorously
protected from raiding parties; and a force larger than our own had to be
held at bay until a sufficient army could be sent out to take the field
and the offensive.

[Sidenote: ENCAMPMENTS AND PATROLS]

Small encampments, manned with a handful of daring, miscellaneous
soldiers, had sprung into being all along the frontier.

Every station along the boundary was alert and aware of the presence of
enemy; and frequent were the alarms and skirmishes.

Amongst thorn “bush,” in dreary landscape of consistent sameness,
those stations were everywhere hidden—a mere gathering of small tents,
within limited enclosures built up of sharp-spiked, tangled, thorn-tree
branches. These enclosures were called “bomas,” and were, against
an enemy surprise, as complete a protection as barbed wire. Water,
always the chief concern of existence in Africa, was usually in the
neighbourhood of those encampments. Sometimes, if the camp was a main
station, water was brought by pipe line from the hills; but most often,
the supply for a small camp was that of the adjacent muddy “water hole.”
They were those stagnant pools of water so often spoken of by travellers
who have written of interior Africa and know her thirst. Those pools of
water—a single pool in a swampy bed or in a barren river bottom—are of
uncertain quality and of uncertain supply. It was usual to place a guard
over such scanty supply, and order a very bare ration to be served to
each individual each day.

_Patrols_ were the chief concern of those bush encampments. They
were unceasingly active, daily, nightly, moving out into the vague,
half-unmapped country, to cover many miles in quest of enemy patrols or
raiding parties.

Those patrols seldom covered less than ten miles a day, more often twenty
miles; while occasionally long distances were covered that necessitated a
party being out from three to six days.

In this manner the frontier was kept fairly clear of enemy; especially
in the neighbourhood of the camps. The grass was tall, and the bush,
in places, very heavy, so that ambush and surprise encounters were not
infrequent. On those occasions casualties were, sometimes, on both
sides heavy; but usually it was the side which laid the ambush which
scored most heavily. To illustrate this: on one occasion, on the 4th of
September, 1915, at Maktau, a party of our M.I. was ambushed and rather
badly cut up by the enemy. The casualties in killed were eleven Europeans
and three Indians. During this encounter a young British officer named
Dartnell won the V.C. for refusing to surrender to the enemy, and
fighting right out to a finish against great odds. Ten days later this
same enemy company was ambushed by our forces and completely routed,
leaving thirty dead Askaris and one German officer on the battle-ground.

On the whole it was this sort of ding-dong fighting all along, with
the British forces holding the stronger hand. Patrols were constantly
expectant of an engagement of some description, and many became very
expert bushmen as months of this type of fighting went on.

On the 19th June, 1915, four hundred of our unit found themselves
detraining at Kisumu, on Lake Victoria Nyanza, after a long train
journey which had lasted one day and one night. On the low shore of the
lake edge they camped, near to the wharf and half-roofed freight sheds,
while other detachments came in on the railway and joined the force.
During the day, there were concentrated here, beside us, detachments of
29th Punjabis, King’s African Rifles, Loyal North Lancashires; and 28th
Mountain Battery, with their array of fine looking Sepoys, and sturdy,
well-groomed, well-fed mules.

By noon on the following day, which was a Sunday, everyone had been
packed on to the small lake steamship craft which lay at the wharf
in readiness, and the expedition sailed thenceforth, out through the
Kavirondo Gulf into the great lake.

The ships had been filled to their utmost capacity, above deck and below,
and it was a motley crowd that occupied every yard of deck space, while
pack-mules and store cattle stood roped to the ship’s rails on the upper
deck. Forward, each vessel had a gun mounted, and a space roped off and
cleared for action.

Thus we sailed from Kisumu to raid the town of Bukoba on the 22nd and
23rd June; a prosperous trade town within the German colony, on the
south-west shores of the lake, which was the base of enemy activities
against the Uganda Frontier in the vicinity of the Kagera River, and
which contained a powerful wireless plant, by which the enemy were able
to obtain, and send, important communications.

All night, and all the next day, we sailed the great lake, Victoria
Nyanza, and we had been some thirty hours on board when, at sundown on
the second day, we drew near to the enemy’s territory and slowed down,
awaiting the fall of darkness.

[Sidenote: RAID ON LAKE VICTORIA NYANZA]

It was thought to effect a night landing and make a surprise attack on
the town, and plans were all prepared for this. In this connection three
privates were voluntarily selected for a novel undertaking: it was
arranged that an Australian bushman, a Canadian from the Yukon, and self
(I was then a private) were to go ahead at landing and try to overpower,
and kill if necessary, a certain sentry whose post was known to our
command. But all plans were changed in the end, for, about midnight, when
our lightless phantom ships were drawing in to Bukoba, wakeful watchers
on a high island, that lay out in the bay before the town, detected our
approach in the light of the half-full moon, and five great rockets shot
in warning into the sky. The alarm was out! Soldiers in the town would be
rushing to arms and our landing on the beach would now be in the face of
enemy waiting to receive us. Thus, plans were changed, and the ships drew
away from shore, beyond the vision of the enemy, and stood to, waiting
for dawn.

When dawn approached we again moved toward land. A force was to threaten
a landing away south of the town, while the main forces drew in behind a
long promontory north of Bukoba Bay.

Close on dawn our ship dropped anchor and boats were lowered; and, one by
one, they were filled with troops, and left the ship’s side for shore;
while the ship trembled from stem to stern beneath the shock of her
gun-fire, which was now rapidly shelling the heights before us, and the
hidden positions beyond. Beneath the steep hill-face of the promontory
each boat ran aground on the beach, and the troops scrambled overboard
and waded ashore.

[Sidenote: ATTACKING BUKOBA]

It was breaking daylight when we began filing up the steep mountain-side,
which was cliff-like in places, and the climb to the top proved a stiff
one, of close on a mile in distance, and very breathless were we when the
summit was reached, while we judged it our great good fortune that this
awkward ground had been covered unopposed by enemy. Advancing across the
summit, south toward Bukoba, some resistance was encountered there in the
banana plantations and forest, but the real fighting did not begin until
we reached the southern slopes and looked out on the town of Bukoba, some
two miles distant, situated on low land that swept back from the shores
of the lake to the foot of the hills, and over the intervening bouldered,
rocky hill country, and on to the commanding heights, above the town,
on the west and south. It was then that serious fighting began, and all
day—while the ships shelled from the lake—we fought in attack against the
enemy, who, to begin with, held out amongst the rocks and clumps of trees
in the broken hills before us, and who, latterly, defended the commanding
hills north-west of the town.

It was real guerilla warfare. From rock to rock one could see men dodge,
while puffs of smoke puffed in and out from behind scores of rocks, and
from many a tree-clump bottom. The enemy were here using the old ·450
rifle and black powder and lead bullets, hence the prominence of the
smoke-puffs. On the whole front all was visible, even the enemy’s single
piece of artillery, which was plainly seen in position by the river-side
in the low flat ground north of the town, and which the Mountain Battery
guns in a short time knocked out of action, before turning their
attention to the enemy machine-guns, which were not so easy to deal with.

In the afternoon we worked down the last of the hill-slopes under
constant fire of our foes, and, toward evening, gathering our tired
limbs under us, a charge was ordered. Across an open meadow we doubled,
cheering lustily; through swamp and river, almost neck-high in water,
and, finally, up the hill-side opposite, and on to the lower hill-top of
the enemy’s coveted position commanding the town; there to lie, panting
breathlessly, picking off the fleeing enemy that we could see dodging
among the rocks in endeavour to reach the higher hill, across a ravine
and to the west of us.

Meantime the Loyal North Lancashires, who had made a wide flank movement,
were advancing in on the higher hill from the west; and ere darkness set
in we were in full possession of the chief positions.

Had there been more daylight, it is possible that we should have taken
the town this day, for the enemy were on the run; but darkness overtook
us, and night gave the enemy opportunity to reorganise.

We camped for the night on the hill, chilled, and blanketless, and
foodless; for no supplies followed us as it was a short undertaking. In
the early part of the night, the force which had made a demonstration to
the south of the town were landed on the beach near to us, and joined our
force.

At daylight a fighting line was formed across the flats, from the hills
to the lake; and an advance began toward the town in face of steady
rifle and machine-gun fire. The river we had crossed yesterday had swung
southward and ran parallel with the lake, and here again proved an
obstacle, and many of us got thoroughly wet crossing and recrossing it.
Also, in the morning, in the heat of the early fighting, a thunderstorm
burst and heavy rains fell, while we lay in the grass drenched to the
skin for an hour or two, and rifle locks choked with sand and moisture.
For a time firing ceased on both sides; to resume again as it cleared.
Bit by bit, we pushed on across the flat, to be held up for a time before
the entrance to the town; and then, breaking the opposition down, to
enter the town without further resistance on the heels of the fleeing foe.

[Sidenote: WIRELESS STATION DESTROYED]

But there we did not stop, for our unit passed on through the town—which
had a beautiful broad main road parallel to the lake front, and many fine
Colonial residences within flower-decked, shaded grounds—and occupied the
high hill-summit on the south, while, in the town, the great power-house
containing the wireless plant, and the fort, and all ammunition and
stores, were blown up and destroyed by our engineers.

Late in the afternoon we evacuated the hills and came down through banana
plantations on to the road and into the town; there to witness the
impressive burial of our fallen comrades near to the central square.

At sundown re-embarkation commenced, and at daylight the following day
the ships drew out from Bukoba pier, and lay to, waiting until the
outlying pickets were gathered in. When they put out from shore and were
taken aboard, we steamed away northward to get back within our frontier,
while most men lay down anywhere and slept, for there had been little
rest since we had landed three days ago.

On the 26th June we were again in Kisumu, and were given a joyous
reception by the natives, who showed extraordinary interest in the affair.

Three days later we were back in camp—back to the bush, and the routine
of frontier patrols.

To give some little idea of the ordinary days of life in a frontier
encampment the following notes may serve:

MAKTAU, _20th Aug., 1915._

Fortifying camp, taken over yesterday. All day on trench construction.
Gangs of our fellows working well and cheerfully. Hearty jokes among
themselves constantly brace them against their trying labours in the
excessive heat.

Patrol attacked near camp this morning by enemy party trying to mine
the railway. One private killed, three wounded. The enemy scattered and
cleared off as soon as the first surprise shots were over. They attacked
from hiding cover in the bush, whence they had viewed the approach of our
patrol down the bare straight line of the single-track railway.

MAKTAU, _21st Aug., 1915_.

On trench work all day, same as yesterday. Dust-begrimed and filthy. Hope
for opportunity to wash and change to-morrow.

Last night an Indian sentry was shot by enemy who crept up to the camp
entrance in the darkness.

MAKTAU, _22nd Aug., Sunday_.

Trench work in early morning and again in forenoon; then “knocked off”
all hands for Sunday relaxation.

Early this morning enemy again on Voi railway near here. This time they
succeeded in laying mines which blew up the line and derailed an incoming
train. Enemy got clear away.

MAKTAU, _23rd Aug., 1915_.

Railway line repaired and open to traffic this morning.

[Sidenote: A WATCHFUL ENCAMPMENT]

On outpost last night on kopje below Signal Hill. Nothing untoward
occurred, though this picket had been twice attacked lately. Strong S.W.
Monsoon blowing: bitterly cold for sentries on windward front of kopje.
Damp mist driving over the level bush-land below us, obscuring everything
in the early morning.

Silent dawn, except for the strident cry of guinea-fowl, spur-fowl,
and hornbills; and the lesser “cheepings” of awakening songbirds that
mouse-like stirred amongst the surrounding foliage.

Picket relieved at 9 a.m. It was dark at 6.15 p.m. and day dawned at 5.30
a.m. Sunrise three-quarters of an hour later.

MAKTAU, _28th Aug., 1915_.

Out on patrol all day over country west of camp. Party, ten whites and
two natives. Uneventful day—no enemy sighted or tracked.

Three rhinoceros encountered at close quarters; one being a very large
one with splendid forehead horns. All were allowed to go their way
unmolested, since they showed no inclination to charge, and pleasure
shooting was not permissible in enemy country.

MAKTAU, _3rd Sept., 1915_.

Out on reconnaissance, to position enemy holding about eight miles west
of our camp. Moving quietly through bush—our party two whites and two
porters.

On outward journey ran across a rhinoceros, who charged on hearing stick
break underfoot; but he stopped about ten yards short, when he then got
our wind, and cleared off rapidly with a quick turn and snort, apparently
afraid of us. Self and companion, at the sound of the rushing crash of
the charge, had backed behind stoutish trees, with rifles ready, but the
natives, in an incredibly short moment, had squirmed frantically into the
bushes overhead. They were fully frightened, poor wretches—but they were
low-caste porters.

Observations were made of enemy camp while lying close to position in
evening and early part of night. Later, slept under a tree in the bush.
Night bitterly cold; dozed intermittently, but keeping a wakeful uneasy
eye for the most part. Idly watching the stars when awake. The Southern
Cross set about 9.30 p.m. and the pointers about midnight.

Saw many eland on return journey, beautiful beasts. In shape and solid
form they are at a distance like Jersey cattle in an English park. Also
saw one lion, three jackals, some herds of Grant’s gazelle, and about a
dozen mongoose.

[Sidenote: OPERATIONS IN DIFFICULT BUSH]

On reaching camp heard of M.I. engagement, already mentioned, from which
our men had just returned. On our travels we had almost been over the
ground on which the engagement took place, yet in the maze of bush and
tall grass we had seen nothing. It is very difficult, for those who have
not seen the country, to conceive how terribly possible secretive work
is in this virgin bush-land, where vegetation grows luxuriant and rank in
vast uninhabited areas. It is not the enemy in themselves that are the
difficult foe to conquer; it is the bush that hampers everything, and
hides almost all of the evil planned against us. The unpleasant game,
though it is a game on a much larger scale, is like hunting a snake in
the long grass. And who was ever sure of trapping a snake unless he was
come upon unawares, and a complete ring formed around his chosen cover?
Even then, notwithstanding the great care with which the cordon may close
in, the snake may escape through an unguarded yard of grass, just as a
patrol, or an army, if it has sharp eyes everywhere, may escape, under
cover of the screening bush, through the narrowest of openings and be
gone and hopelessly lost in a single night.

MAKTAU, _1st Oct., 1915_.

To-day an aeroplane made an ascent from camp. This is the first flight
made here, and the African natives were spell-bound in amazement at sight
of the wonderful machine and its graceful flying. At once they termed
it “Ndege” (the Swahili for “bird”), and thereafter they always called
aeroplanes by that name.

’Planes should prove of immense value to us out here now that they have
been landed in the country. The Germans have no machines, and are very
unlikely to succeed in securing any, since they are isolated from the
outer world and the open seas.

TIETA HILLS, _26th Dec., 1915_.

After holding the ranks of private, lance-corporal, corporal, and
lance-sergeant, it has been my fortune to receive my commission. I leave
the ranks with regret, for it has, on the whole, been a gay, care-free,
rough-and-tumble experience, and one which teaches that among all types
“a man’s a man for a’ that,” and that there are few who have not their
finer feelings beneath any kind of veneer.

[Sidenote: NIGHT SCOUTING]

At 9.30 p.m. moved out to watch railway, at a point five miles from
camp, hoping to catch mine-layers. Dark night; starlit sky, but no moon.
Sentries on outskirts of camp spoken to, and passed. Party wearing
moccasins, boots on hard road or in dry bush very noisy. Alert to catch
the slightest sound, hearing being more important than sight in the
darkness.

About 11 p.m. held up by rhinoceros moving about on left of road,
breaking undergrowth and branches close ahead. Could not see whether
he meant to charge or not, and there was a moment’s suspense on that
account, but eventually he moved off quietly. Later, at first railway
crossing over road, below a great dark mango tree on the river-side, the
leading scout caught a glint of the small, red glow of a dying fire. We
halted and waited, but no sound was audible, though a man’s breathing
could have almost been heard in the calm stillness. On venturing forward,
a deserted fire, almost out, was found. Whoever lit it had used it and
gone, but they had left a mark that would arouse suspicion. Such signs
of the enemy’s presence were constantly being found. The moon rose at
10.30. Everything clear then, and our forms, moving stealthily along at
wide intervals, showed dark on the dust-white road. Reached point on road
overlooking railway about midnight and lay down in bush, each of the four
comprising the party in turn keeping watch to detect any movement of
enemy.

Night passed quietly, stirred only by African sounds. Among the high
trees on the river-bank, beyond the railway, monkeys yelled occasionally
and snapped off dry branches as they swung from limb to limb. A solitary
owl hoo-hooed away out in the distant darkness, and once or twice the
weird clatter-ratchet of a hornbill, wakeful in the moonlight, like a
barndoor fowl, broke the stillness.

Sometimes, too, an animal of prey would betray its presence and its
prowling: the deep blood-curdling howl of the hyena and the dog-like bark
of the jackal at times awoke the silence, for one or two brief moments,
ere, phantom-like, they were swallowed in the dark, fathomless pit of
night, and lost on their onward trail.

At daybreak, white morning mists came down over the bush-land and
obscured everything; soon they rose again and cleared.

Back from the roadside, in the bush, we made a small fire and warmed and
cheered ourselves with a hot cup of tea.

Later we returned pleasantly to camp, having joined in with the railway
patrol, which came out along the line at daybreak some fifty strong.

NAMANGA, _27th Feb., 1916_.

[Sidenote: SEARCHING DIFFICULT COUNTRY]

A small reconnaissance patrol climbed the densely bush-forested slope of
Ol Doinyo Orok mountain to-day. Mountain-sides overcrowded with trees,
cactus, and undergrowth, in tropical uncultivated confusion. Contrary to
the usual in country of this nature, no roller-like game paths of the
ponderous rhinoceros could be found breaking a way to the higher ground.
The ascent was therefore begun up a small river-course, in a delightfully
picturesque ravine down which trickled and murmured a stream of running
water. Progress was made slowly up this water-course, for the way was
continually obstructed by huge granite boulders, and cliff-like falls
which were surmounted only by the aid of a rope. By stiff climbing we
completed about half the ascent, and were then confronted with impassable
cliffs over which scanty water trickled. The patrol then branched off
the course of the stream, and attempted to find easier passage through
the forest above the ravine on the right. This forest, however, proved
desperately difficult to penetrate, compelling us to continual stooping,
and forcing of way, through cruel barriers of jagged, tearing thorn.
Here, too, the ascent was very steep, and, at times, detours had to
be made to avoid an unclimbable cliff face. Defeat was unpalatable;
otherwise we must early on have given up the undertaking. As it was, we
stuck grimly to our task, and finally reached the summit at 4.30 p.m.

On our ascent on the east bank of the river, a cave had been found which,
by reason of newly cut sticks and an old fire, had evidently been used
by enemy scouts, at the time of our advance into this area, a few days
previously. Otherwise, the mountain held no signs of recent occupation.

After resting a short time, and exploring the plateau on the summit,
the descent was commenced. All might have gone well, but darkness came
down before we were half-way out of the bush, and then our troubles
really began. It was impossible to see more than a yard before one, and
thorn and boulders and pitfalls played havoc with faces and limbs, as
downward we clambered laboriously in the inky darkness. It was, at one
time, proposed, in despair, to give up, and to camp where we were without
blankets, but at that time some one made the inspired suggestion to use
lighted faggots. This idea was carried into force, and by the aid of
their uncertain light we were able to grapple with, and partly avoid,
the barriers of cruel fanged bush, and at last managed to extricate
ourselves from the deep forest of shapeless, sightless jungle. But not
until the entire patrol was torn and bleeding and sore, and completely,
almost hopelessly, tired out. They were sadder and wiser men who wearily
dragged into camp long after midnight, avowing everlasting denunciation
on African jungle.

Nevertheless expeditions of this kind were commonplace enough to scouts
who endeavoured to understand almost every landmark on our border that
might harbour the enemy. Sometimes they were fruitless expeditions,
sometimes they were the means of obtaining valuable information.

[Sidenote: RAINS, SNOWFALL ON KILIMANJARO]

For the greater part of the year those frontier operations were carried
on in the excessively hot, unchangeable climate of tropical Africa.
Through the intensive heat of the piercing overhead sun, the routine work
went on day after day, and month after month. Not until December was
there change, and then there was a period of heavy torrential rains. But
ere the month was out they had ceased again, and the rich green foliage
of the acacias, which had sprung in a day to life, had begun to fade and
lose their freshness; so soon does the blazing sun dry up the abundant
rainfall, and scorch the very earth.

[Illustration: KILIMANJARO FROM SOUTH-WEST: 19,700 FEET.]

Locusts, and their following of storks, are heralds of the Rains, and
near to that season great clouds of them were seen. Remarkable swarms
of locusts were witnessed on the 25th November and 5th December, 1915,
and again on 21st February, 1916. Great clouds of them, darkening the
very sky in their tens of millions, drifted down wind slowly, in a
south-westerly direction, over camp on those dates; and above them, on
the last occasion, high in the sky, followed a very large flight of black
and white storks, sailing along, with the ease of a floating feather,
with wing-still, wind-poised motion, apparently planing on the banking of
the air; and now and then checking their onward flight, to swing slowly
and gracefully in a circle, as if to hesitate and examine the ground far
underneath them.

At the time of the Rains, too, fresh snow fell on Mount Kilimanjaro, the
highest mountain in Africa, with the elevation of over 19,700 feet. In
1915 the first fresh snowfall was on 25th November, and on the morning of
that day a new white coat of snow mantled the peaks of Kibo and Mawensi,
and well down their slopes.

A native once told me that if he could climb to the far-off glistening
snows, he would find rupees. And he seemed seriously to believe that the
snows, which glinted silver-like in the sun, were unattainable wealth.

On the frontier, when not scouting, or on patrol, or on picket, it
sometimes fell to our lot to have a day in camp.

[Sidenote: ROUTINE IN CAMP]

In camp, “_Réveillé_” was at 5.30 a.m.—just about daybreak. The able
men then dressed, and, outside their tents, shook out their dust and
insect-ridden blankets, in which they had slept on the bare hard ground.
The lazy, and the seedy, and the really sick men, slept on fitfully
until the last possible moment before the “Fall In,” at 6.30 a.m.; then
reluctantly to turn out in cheerless spirit.

On early morning parade “the roll” was first called. The sick were then
excused from duty, and the remainder marched off with shovels and picks
and axes to dig trenches and construct overhead shell-shelters, wherever
the fortifications of our encampment required strengthening.

Such mornings passed quickly, and work went ahead, for, in the cool of
the rising day, the labours were not unpleasant. Most men made light of
their morning’s work, and enjoyed getting up a keen healthy appetite ere
the “Fall Out” for 8 o’clock breakfast.

Breakfast consisted generally of a measured ration of bread, cheese, and
tea: sometimes bacon replaced the cheese, sometimes jam.

The second morning parade fell in at 9 a.m., and again the men in camp
were sent on to the fortifications. But now work was carried on in the
heat of the tropic sun, for a soldier’s duties are at any hour of the
day or night, and in any weather, in any hemisphere. They laboured on in
the heat, swearing and joking (I think a soldier will joke, aye, even
in H⸺) and perspiring, and with faces and clothes smothered in the fine
red lava sand, which was raised by the labouring picks and shovels, or
which incessantly wafted down-wind in gusts off the bare compound of
the encampment. But, nevertheless, the work went forward, for it had to
go, and defences became duly more and more impregnable. About noon the
working party fell out for lunch, which consisted of a ration of bread,
jam, and tea.

Lunch over, the men rested until 4.30 p.m. Some fitfully slept under
stifling hot canvas, others washed clothes down by the trough, or bathed
themselves with water from a bucket, standing naked in the open; while
still others gambled, mildly, over halfpenny nap and threepenny bridge.

The afternoon parade fell in at 4.30 p.m. and worked as before on
trenches for another hour and a half. It was then time to “Fall Out” for
dinner.

Dinner consisted _always_ of badly cooked stew, an unchanging dish which
became deadly monotonous, and which, in time, many men could not touch,
their palate revolted so strongly against the unseasoned, uninviting
mixture.

[Sidenote: SHORT RATIONS]

I have particularly mentioned food, because, even when rations were
full—and they were often not—our soldiers were nearly always troubled
with that subject throughout the East Africa Campaign. It is wonderful
what men, living outdoors, can subsist on, but, at the same time, I will
never believe that the cut-and-dry army ration, as served in Africa,
is sufficient for men carrying on arduous operations in an intensely
tropical climate. All units experienced a tremendous amount of sickness,
and I am certain, in my own mind—and many others agree with me—that at
least half of the sickness was caused, directly or indirectly, from
lack of full and proper nourishment for a prolonged period. Transport
difficulties, and the greater wars in Europe, no doubt had a strong
guiding influence with the commissariat; and for such, allowances must
be made. I have but little inclination to raise the subject now, for
the roughness of war is always to be expected and borne, but for the
future it is well to write down the harsh experiences of the past so
that others, in like undertakings, may gain an insight into such things,
and prepare for them, or seek to obtain a reconstruction. Food was a big
question in Africa, and, if such a campaign should be called for again in
any far-off country, administrators would do well to give serious thought
to a serious subject that might well in the end save the nation both life
and expenditure.

On the frontier, men had very few means of adding to their rations.
Parcels from home, in many cases, found them most of the luxuries they
ever enjoyed. Again, at some places a venturous Goanese trader set up
small wood-framed shack-stores, and dispensed to the troops a few odds
and ends in very limited quantities. The chief luxuries (?) which the men
sought I give below, and a comparison in African and English prices:

Trader’s Price. English Price,
1915.
_s._ _d._ _s._ _d._
Tea, per lb. 2 6½ 1 10
Sugar, per lb. 0 6½ 0 1½
Butter, per lb. 1 4 1 2
Milk, condensed 0 11 0 6½
Worcester Sauce 2 0 0 9
Soap, per lb. 0 10½ 0 3½
Cigarettes, “King Stork,” per 10 packet 0 2 —

On those groceries, or such-like, every penny of a man’s pay was often
spent the day he received it. Whenever the trader received a fresh lot
of goods the news would fly about camp, and, as soon as night-fall came
and liberated the soldiers from duty, he would be besieged by toil-worn
troops hungry for luxuries, and speedily everything in demand would be
sold out.

In one other way was it sometimes possible to obtain a change of diet:
that was by game shooting. A good many buck, wart-hog, guinea-fowl, and
partridges found their way into camp at one time or other, and furnished
a few fortunate ones with a very welcome addition to the routine fare.

[Sidenote: GAME HUNTING WITH SELOUS]

One of the first hunting outings which I experienced was with Capt. W.,
Lieut. F. C. Selous, and the “Doc.,” when I accompanied them on a trek to
make a sketch of certain country they were going into. We were at this
time camped in the open upland bush near Kajiado. Mounted on mules we had
travelled overnight to a selected camp. Selous—fine sportsman that he
was—was as keen as ever on a hunt, and the party were merry as sand-boys.

Next morning all were astir at daylight. Before breakfast some spur-fowl
were shot close to the near-by water-hole, and fried for the meal.
They were delicious eating. After breakfast the mules were saddled and
mounted, and we rode onward. In the forenoon we sighted one lion—which
escaped under cover of a thickly bushed valley—two wart-hog, three
waterbuck, a few hartebeeste and mpala, and many giraffe. Selous had an
unsuccessful shot at an mpala, but, otherwise, the game were allowed to
go unmolested, as all were wild and no exceptionally good heads were
singled out. We made the noon halt in rolling, somewhat open bush country
and haltered the mules, to picket them there. After lunching the party
went in divergent directions on foot. Capt. W. and self proceeded to the
highest hill-crest in the neighbourhood, and I there settled for the
afternoon to pencil a panoramic sketch of the country before me. Capt.
W. then left me. Later I learned he had, on his return tramp to camp,
shot a hartebeeste for meat. But game proved very wary. Selous and the
“Doc.” returned without securing a single head, though they had seen
mpala, eland, giraffe, and a rhinoceros. Masai natives were grazing
many cattle in this area at the time of our visit, and the game were
evidently kept moving and wild by constant disturbance of the cattle and
their cattle-herds. At any rate, as far as game heads, and meat, were
concerned, it was not a successful outing. But it was all very enjoyable
and a holiday from soldiering. To me it was a memorable outing because it
recalls to mind one of my first meetings with Selous. It was the first of
many meetings, for, in after days, we joined in many a successful hunt,
the old hunter and the young attracted together by a mutual enthusiasm
for Nature and the Open Road.

These, above, are a few notebook entries. It will be seen that a
soldier’s life in 1915 was not without variety and adventure in a theatre
of war of which the outer world, in those days, heard very little. Yet
it was the beginning of a great undertaking which, in its turn, has been
overshadowed, almost overlooked, on account of the gigantic world-war
raging in Europe, and resounding on England’s doorstep.

Towards the end of 1915 rumours were prevalent that strong South African
forces were to arrive in the country.

About the same time the Germans, who apparently had information of
our movements, increased their activities on the border from Voi to
Kilindini. Perhaps their biggest effort at interference was when a
strong force of Germans occupied the prominent hill position of Kasigau
and threatened the Uganda Railway from the S.E. of Voi. Obviously,
if they could break on to our only up-country railway and line of
communication, at such a time, they had much to gain. However, in this
they were forestalled. Forces were sent to oppose them in their mountain
stronghold, on the heels of their arrival, and eventually they were
forced to evacuate without accomplishing anything.

At this period signs were not wanting of the coming of forces. Around the
old camps extensive spaces were cleared of bush in readiness for camping
grounds. Supplies of all kinds arrived daily, by train or by wagon
transport, and were stacked in huge piles in the open. Everywhere, in the
frontier camps, could be seen added activities and increased optimism.

For two months this sort of thing had been going on, until one fine
day—the 16th of January, 1916—the first large contingent of South African
troops passed through Voi, and detrained at Maktau. The critical period
was over; here was compensation at last for long months of waiting and
watching.

Daily the arrival of troops, horses, mules, and baggage went on, and
daily our spirits rose at the prospect of the coming advance into the
enemy’s country.

CHAPTER III

CATTLE RAIDERS

_Note._—The figures in this adventure are fictional: otherwise
the setting and the theme are real.

Saidi-bin-Mohammed, native of East Africa, had been to the war a year.
When the English had gone to the borders of his country to face the
German enemy, Saidi had followed his white master.

One day in June, about 5 o’clock—about that time of day most pleasant in
Africa, when the sun is lowering in the west and losing its intensive
piercing heat—Saidi, tall, and straight and athletic, was busied outside
his small grass hut, cleaning his equipment and rifle with the interest
and care of one who had pride in dearly loved possessions. Across the
dry, bleached, much-trampled opening of the encampment, which lay in
the midst of virgin bush-land, appeared the gaunt figure of a British
officer. He stooped, as with age, and his dark, tanned face bore heavy
traces of exposure and hardship, in the deep-lined furrows which covered
his forehead, and in the fine lines that contracted to the corners of
his tired eyes. But, though worn and lean, he had still about him the
bearing of resolute manhood—the bearing of one who is strong to endure
and conquer, even under difficulties and a merciless tropic sun. Clive
Clifford had, in the old days, been a pioneer of unbound frontiers, and a
hunter of big game: to-day he was a famous scout; a man whose knowledge
and whose word carried weight in the highest quarters of command.

He approached Saidi, who smiled broadly seeing that his master, whom he
held in high regard, came to him. Clifford spoke in the soft, halting
consonants of the Swahili language, and addressed his “boy” in kindly
manner, as a man speaking to a trusted servant. “Saidi,” he said, “get
ready. We go out to-night, you and I, and stay out many days. Eat food
now; and be ready to leave in an hour.”

[Sidenote: SINGLE-HANDED ADVENTURE]

Some hours before, half a dozen Masai warriors had run into camp to
report that enemy had stolen many of their cattle, and were driving them
off across the border. Clifford heard the story. He knew the country the
enemy were plundering, and volunteered at once to go in pursuit. It was
an adventure dear to his heart.

At dusk they quietly left the noisy, troop-filled camp—the master
leading, Saidi following. They were mounted on wiry, donkey-like
Somali mules, animals so small that they appeared disproportionately
overburdened with their load and their well-filled saddle-bags. But in
this they were deceptive. Clifford knew them, from long experience,
to have no equal in animal transport in the country. Tireless little
animals they were, grit to the back-bone, and strong to endure long,
heart-breaking treks.

Clifford was fully armed, with rifle and cartridge-filled bandolier; as
was his boy. A “slouch” hat, a sleeveless khaki shirt, open at the neck;
and a pair of shorts, leaving the scarred, sun-burned knees bare and
free, was Clifford’s uniform. Undress, but near to coolness and comfort
as possible—and protective in colour, for, when smothered in dust,
as all would soon be, his light drill khaki would be as a tussock of
sun-bleached grass or a hillock of sand, if danger bid him take cover....

[Sidenote: NIGHT AND WILDERNESS]

Some hours later, after making good time in the cool of early night,
the travellers began to work clear of the low thorn-bush, and emerged
into open, somewhat mountainous country. Clifford was travelling west
now, and travelling fast; feeling his way over the country to some
distant prearranged destination. Saidi, the expert guide, was out in
the lead—for no white man has eyes or hearing equal to the black in his
native country. Both travellers were dismounted and led their mules. They
wound their way through tall valley grass, breast high and dust-laden;
over pools of mud, long sun-baked and waterless; then out, finally, on to
rising ground strewn with lava rock and volcanic boulders. It was weird
wilderness country, barren of habitation—virgin and waterless as on the
day of Africa’s dawning.

The night progressed uneventfully. Nothing suspicious was encountered.
No tracks of the cattle raiders were crossed. The air was breathlessly
still, and it was oppressively hot in the valleys.

Toward midnight the waning moon drooped lower and lower on the
horizon—and went out. Travelling then became slower and more wary;
occasionally man or mule stumbled over a boulder painfully and noisily in
the breathless darkness. No conversation passed between man and servant.
Tirelessly they padded on, each certain of the other’s knowledge almost
as animals are certain of the bypaths to their lair. For them the night
held little mystery. They were startled not by the grim silhouettes of
zebra, or hartebeeste, when, at a dozen yards, they chanced upon game
herds which galloped off into the night like riderless squadrons. Nor
did the whir of wings and frightened cackle of guinea-fowl, disturbed at
their very feet, more than startle the mules to one brief backward jerk
of their bridle reins.

Day was dawning when Saidi, who had for some hours been following an
obscure track through the dark with his lynx eyes, gave a grunt of
satisfaction as a gap loomed visible between two dull grey hills in
front. Soon they entered a narrow pass and prepared to make camp in the
hidden cavity between the hills. Here was water, and camp, and the first
halt in the march; for a dry rocky river-bed, cut by the torrents of the
brief rainy season, ran down the pass, and there, in a deep pocket in
the solid rock, worn smooth and circular as a gigantic porridge pot, was
a pool of water, green-slimed and stagnant, it is true, but priceless,
nevertheless, in the sun-parched desert. The mules were off-saddled,
rubbed down, and fed; and picketed under cover of the hill-side—for they
were now in country where the raiders might be encountered, and every
precaution was being taken to lie low and outwit the enemy.

Saidi busied himself over a small smokeless fire, making tea for his
master, while Clifford lay idly on the ground watching the doves and
grass-finches, which in thousands were endlessly arriving at the
water-hole to drink, fearless of human presence in their haste and need
to quench their thirst.

“Water far, Saidi,” said Clifford, pointing to the fluttering flock over
the pool. “Birds come long distance to drink here?”

“Yes, Bwana” (master), answered Saidi. “No other water nearer than one
day.”

By turns Clifford and Saidi slept and kept watch throughout the day. The
camp was in the foothills of a low range, east of the Guaso Nyero Valley.
Away to the west, out to the Nguruman Mountains, blue in the farthermost
distance, lay the far-reaching Guaso Nyero Valley; and it was on this
great plain, somewhere, that the enemy were raiding the Masai cattle.
Clifford hardly expected to find trace of the enemy until after another
march, when he would be well over the western side of the valley, and
where he knew there was a sluggish stream and an abundance of water—that
physical essential, to man and beast, anywhere in the land. But he was
taking no risks—nothing for granted—for a little mistake meant life or
death to the enterprise, if not to himself.

So all day long watchful eyes scanned the western plain, but only to be
rewarded with the familiar sight of occasional dust-clouds; sometimes
kicked up by the feet of moving game, such as zebra, hartebeeste,
wildebeeste, or buffalo; and sometimes the sport of a whirlpool gust
of wind which swiftly sweeps the ground, finally to rear a thin spiral
dust-column tapering from the ground to a point high in the sky.

[Sidenote: MASAI CATTLEMEN]

Toward sundown three Masai were sighted, worming their way in and out of
the long yellow grass toward the water-hole. They came from the west, and
were travelling hurriedly, perhaps fearfully—for ever and anon the rear
man of the trio would cast a hasty backward glance over his shoulder.
Cunningly, in fear that foe might be at the water, they swung wide of the
pass before approaching, and lay down while one of their number started
to steal forward in the grass to investigate. But a shout from Saidi,
and then an exchange of a reassuring word or two, brought them speedily
to their feet, and into camp.

Like all of the Masai race, they were strange, red-skinned fellows, those
wandering cattle men of the open uplands; wholly naked but for a loin
cloth, and physical pictures of the aboriginal of the plain. For arms,
they had each a long assegai, and a large mat-laced shield. They were
covered with dust—otherwise, their bearing conveyed nothing untoward.
It would be difficult to guess that beneath those features, cool and
collected, expressionless, almost sullen, there lurked the emotions of
men who had been near to death an hour or two ago.

After they had all drunk copiously of water, at a little distance from
Clifford, they squatted on the ground with their knees drawn up under
their chins, and told their hurried, broken story.

In their own language they arrived crudely and directly at essential
facts.

[Sidenote: GERMAN FREEBOOTERS]

“Germans, master, many Germans,” said their spokesman, showing, for the
first time, a spark of excitement. “This day, when sun there”—pointing
to the mid-horizon south-east—“our cattle quiet—we cooking food; at
that time he come—one German, two German, three German, on horse—after
him come plenty Askaris [native soldiers] driving many cattle—cattle
footsore, for long way he made go too fast. One German ride among us—he
got small gun, and promise shoot to kill if we try to run away—Askaris
come soon and bind our hands with cord; then one man stay to watch us.
In little while Germans make fire and eat—plenty talk—plenty bottle
[beer]—German pleased. By and by German sleep. By and by Askaris, who
watch us, he sleep too—he plenty tired. Headman, he find stone beneath
him and work cord binding hands against it. Sometime, cord cut—soon,
then, we all free. We crawl in grass, far—afterwards we wait and watch.
When the sun there” (pointing to sun’s position about three hours later)
“German wake—find no boy. Plenty noise—Askari who watch us, he get plenty
beating—afterwards they tie him prisoner—German afraid we run far and
fast and go tell British. Soon German go—driving all cattle—our cattle
too. But other cattle tired, master, he no go quick now; and German near
his own country. He go Shombole and Lake Natron, one day’s trail, after
that, soon he reach big German camp.”

Clifford was lost in thought—the Masai had ceased talking, and the
youngest of them, a mere lad, had fallen asleep, hunched up awkwardly,
on the bare, hard ground, weary beyond further caring. Saidi, who had
listened attentively to all, moved off and busied himself over a fire and
his master’s evening meal. The customary evening breeze had not arisen,
it was close and oppressively hot, and a subdued spirit lay over the
land. Clifford restlessly stirred the gravel beneath his feet, lost in
his conjectures. He was wide awake and his keen, roving eyes betokened an
intelligent mind stirred to unusual degree. The enterprise had taken on a
serious aspect. Clifford had anticipated, if he were fortunate, he would
run up against a small raiding party of one or two whites and a native
soldier or two. His original difficulty, he thought, would be to track
them, and overtake them. He found himself, instead, pitted against four
whites and some dozen armed Askaris, whom he could head off, on their
southward trail, in a single night’s march.

The odds were great—too great—but he was too far from his base to call
for reinforcements; he must go on as he was, or return to camp mortified
at having had the enemy within reach while admitting his inability to
strike.

Clifford rose impatiently to his feet and paced to and fro.

But slowly a new resolution crept into his face and bearing, and at last
his mind was made up. He called his boy. “Saidi,” he said, “I’m not going
to stop here and go back; I’m going on. I may not fight, for the Germans
are many; but I mean to get as near to the raiders as I can, and, for the
rest, trust to luck and opportunity. You, Saidi, are free to go back if
you please. I cannot order you to run the risks ahead against such odds.
This is my ‘show.’”

But Saidi was staunch and true. “Where master go, I want to go—me not
afraid,” he said; and indeed he did not look one whit abashed—rather was
there a new-found pride in his bearing.

The undertaking thus promoted, Clifford, with mind relieved, partook of
the substantial meal which Saidi had prepared. They then saddled the
mules, and were ready again to take up the trail of the raiders. The
exhausted Masai were given some food from Saidi’s saddle-bags and told
to sleep at the water-hole for the night. They were directed to follow
Clifford’s tracks in the morning, and remain at a discreet distance from
the enemy, unless sent for.

On leaving camp Clifford headed out into the south-west, for it was his
intention to cut across the German line of flight, well in front of them,
and, before daybreak, to hide among the low kopjes east of Lake Natron.
To carry this out he must travel hard all night. Accordingly the pace he
set off at was determined and sustained. Man and beast perspired freely
as they toiled onward; for relentlessly the night breeze held off, and
the still, humid air hung, like the vapours of a hot-house, over the
breathless valley. To add to the discomfort, the trotting mules raised,
from the dust-laden grass, a fine dust which remained suspended in the
air to irritate the nostrils and throats of the travellers, and induce a
quenchless, vexing thirst. However, until midnight Clifford held on his
course unfalteringly. At that hour, just before the moon went down, he
halted to rest and ease the saddle-girths of the tired mules.

Half an hour later he resumed the journey; but on foot, now that it was
pitch dark, the mules led, and faithful, tireless Saidi out in front
trailing, with his keen eyes, over unseen landmarks, for the low hills
his master had named.

[Sidenote: ACROSS THE GUASO NYERO VALLEY]

They were in rough country now—rough with awkward boulders and ragged
lava rocks. Moreover, the travellers were repeatedly confronted with
yawning chasms—deep, dry, tortuous river-beds—which barred their path.
In the inky darkness to surmount these obstacles was difficult and
delaying, and Clifford cursed them roundly while he “barked” his shins in
scrambling up and down banks of unknown depth, forcing his way across in
the wake of Saidi, whose presence he could feel rather than see.

To add to their difficulties, the mules were restless. They were in fear
of lions, for twice, away northward, the night stillness had vibrated
with the awesome whouh —— whouh —— whouh —— whouh —— whouh —— whouh ——
wwho —— wwho —— wwho —— wwho —— wwho —— wwho of the King of Beasts. The
sound brought terror to the hearts of the mules, and delayed progress.
But, at the same time, it brought a note of good cheer to the party, for
to the experienced ears of Clifford and Saidi the lions’ roar was a good
omen, coming, as it did, from the north-west of their position: for they
guessed that the lions were among the beasts of prey following in the
track of the trekking cattle, ready to drag down and devour the weaker
ones which became too exhausted to go on and were outcast from the herd.
If the surmise was correct, Clifford felt sure he was cutting in well
ahead of the cattle raiders—and only that result could compensate him for
the toil of travelling this ghastly country in the dark.

About 4 a.m. Clifford, in spite of short halts, was feeling done up
with his exertions in keeping pace with Saidi. Hardened though he was,
he inwardly admitted he was about finished on this trek. He halted and
whistled peculiarly to Saidi, who stopped likewise. Saidi came back
to his master, apparently cool and tireless as ever, and sure of his
untraced road. Clifford asked him how far he thought they were from
the hills. In answer, Saidi pointed into the darkness a little to the
left. “There, master,” he said, “close now—river we cross last, near to
hills—soon we camp.”

Thus cheered, they started on the final tramp; but Saidi’s hills were
deceptive, his “short distance” stretched out to a good two miles before
the tired party reached their chosen hiding-place.

[Sidenote: LAKE NATRON AT DAWN]

At the first inkling of dawn, Clifford moved well into the hills and
secreted the mules in the bottom of a valley thickly grown with cactus.
From there Clifford and Saidi made their way to a spur overlooking the
plain on the west and north. Here they concealed themselves among some
acacia bushes, after they had made sure that, in the event of discovery,
there was a line of retreat down either slope of the spur to thicker
cover—whence their hidden rifles could put up a reasonable defence
against odds, if need be.

From where he stood in the early morning dawn, Clifford had a wonderful
view of the wild life and of the country. Below him a small herd of
graceful antelope, known as Grant’s gazelle, was browsing quietly in
the immediate foreground of the plain—a plain of dry, buff-coloured
grass which stretched some two miles to the west, to the shores of Lake
Natron. In the intermediate distance was a great herd of unsymmetrical
hartebeeste (buck of size and colour of red deer), and pony-like zebra,
moving along, in ever-changing attitudes, busy on their morning feed,
and lending life and colour to the peaceful scene. Along the shores of
Lake Natron, white soda deposit glistened like silver in the lightening
day, whilst the waters of the lake appeared dyed in pink where countless
flamingoes rested. A mile or two up the valley, at the head of Lake
Natron, and to the east of the swamp of tall green grass which is there,
rugged old Shombole mountain stood prominent with its furrowed surface
of deep ravines and back-bone ridges, the whole overawed by the sheer
cliff face, and the inaccessible plateau at the towering crest, of the
most westerly range. In many places the outer slopes of Shombole were
buff with the dry, yellow grass of the plains, but in the ravines, and
on sheltered slopes, dark-green foliage grew where overcrowded masses of
impenetrable cactus had found root, and an existence, amongst the rocks.

Meantime there was no sign of the enemy—nothing moved, except droves of
game in this hunter’s paradise.

Clifford estimated that he was an hour or two ahead of the raiders, and
soon he dozed in the cool of the morning—leaving Saidi on guard. He
trusted the boy completely, for the experience of long months had proved
him always faithful and fearless to serve. Faithful as a wonderful dog
was Saidi, and “greater faith hath no man.” Saidi worshipped his master.

Some hours passed—Clifford had fallen into profound sleep after his long
night’s exertion, for he was more easily tired now than in the old days
before he knew the impairing ravages of fever. The heightened day found
Saidi still at his post. But he was now tense and alert, and his eyes
were eagerly fixed on a cloud of dust approaching from the north. There
were the raiders! of that he was sure; for he had seen a horseman break
off to the right, clear of the dust, for a moment or two. However, he
would not wake his master yet; the raiders were far out at present, and
the cattle they herded moved very slowly.

In a short time, however, he espied two horsemen riding forward, at an
easy gallop, clear of the herd. They were probably coming on ahead to
select their noon camp, confident that the plain was uninhabited but by
themselves. Seeing this, Saidi woke Clifford, who was instantly on his
feet, and eager to sight the enemy.

[Sidenote: DARING]

Immediately a daring scheme of attack flashed through Clifford’s
mind—the enemy were playing into his hands in separating their forces.
Hastily he lifted his rifle, spoke a few excited words to Saidi, and
started to steal through the grass down to the plain on the west. Once
on the plain they scrambled and crawled, under cover of a dry, shallow
rivulet, seeking to reach the probable line over which the advancing
horsemen would pass. Over a mile they laboured, slowly, awkwardly, until,
scratched, torn, and breathless with their mad haste, they lay still;
near to the place on which the enemy were bearing.

As Fate would have it, the horsemen bore straight down on them, utterly
unaware of danger. Clifford whispered to Saidi that he was to shoot
the nearest horse at the same time as he (Clifford) fired. With their
rifles in the grass, and with heads low, they watched and waited. Grim
was the expression on their faces now, all outward excitement had gone:
nerves were set, and “steeled” against the coming effort. Suddenly—when
the horses were barely fifteen yards away, Clifford whispered tersely,
“Now!” Simultaneously, both rifles spoke, and all was violent struggle
and confusion on the ground in front. Clifford stood upright and fired
quickly again. Then, harshly, he called out a command in German, while
like a flash his rifle swung to his right and remained aimed at its
object. Unmoved, he ordered Saidi from his hiding-place. Both horses
were down, and the nearest German; the other German had his hands up,
covered by Clifford. Saidi removed the German’s rifle, which lay on the
ground where it had been thrown when the horse, with its rider, fell.
The prisoner was then speedily bound and gagged, so that he could not
warn the others, and concealed in the rivulet ditch. The other German was
dead, and both horses. The horses could not be moved, so, to disguise
them from sight at a distance, the carcases were hastily covered with
prairie grass.

Meantime the main body of the enemy was approaching, but, luckily, at a
slow pace. The scene enacted had been lost to the other raiders, for a
low rise lay between them and the ground, gently falling to the lake,
where Clifford had ambushed the leaders. The rifle shots they must have
heard, but, as they were not expecting enemy, they would probably think
that their comrades were after game, for meat for their natives, as was
common practice.

[Sidenote: CLIFFORD STRIKES]

After making certain that the prisoner was securely bound and concealed,
and unable to move away, Clifford now moved hastily forward; his
intention being to reach the protection of a small knoll about six
hundred yards nearer to the approaching enemy and away from the
condemning signs of catastrophe. But before he got there, dust, over
the rise, warned him and his boy to take cover. So they lay on the open
veldt, in the hay grass, not daring to move to better cover, for, at any
instant now, horsemen, or keen-sighted Askari, might appear in view.
Lying there, Clifford gave his orders to Saidi, who grinned still over
the success of their first attack. “Fire like H⸺, Saidi! at Askaris—make
plenty noise—make him think plenty British here. Make him run!”

Clifford was confident of the outcome now, and eager for the fray. By an
extraordinary piece of luck the white opposition had been evened up: and
now he had the advantage of surprise, and the consequent target for his
deadly rifle.

Slowly the raiders appeared in view over the rising ground, and drew
on. Together the Germans scanned the plain ahead, but beyond a word or
two they, apparently, did not trouble about the non-appearance of their
comrades—they thought, no doubt, that theirs was only a momentary
disappearance behind some low ridge in the distance.

The raiders sat their horses idly, and watched the tired cattle being
herded on; they swore at their Askaris and urged them, time without
number, to lash on the many laggards. Apparently they were weary of their
work, and tired of the trek.

Clifford and Saidi were waiting breathlessly. The herd was a bit to the
right, but was going to pass them at about fifty yards. Steadily they
drew on. Again the rifles were ready in the grass; again Clifford’s
terse, “now!” was whispered, and startling shots rang out. And then the
scene was like a battle. Shots poured from their hidden haven in the
grass, as fast as they could load and fire, simply to disguise their
strength and frighten the blacks.

[Sidenote: ROUTING THE RAIDERS]

Clifford had brought down his first man, but the second white he missed,
as his startled horse plunged and threw the rider. For a time the German
replied vigorously to their fire, but luckily he couldn’t see through
the grass, and no bullet got home. Suddenly he rose and scrambled on to
one of the horses and galloped off. Twice Clifford fired and missed,
but at the third shot the German crumpled up and slid limply from his
mount. Clifford now ran forward, and caught the remaining horse; Saidi
following at his heels. Shots whistled and cracked around them, but
all were wide of the mark; for the Askari is a poor marksman. Into
the blacks rode Clifford, reckless and wild, driving them to panic and
confusion. Two went down with his first shots, the rest, five in number,
leapt from the grass and fled in frantic disorder. One more fell,
sprawling, to Clifford’s marksmanship, and another was winged. But by
that time the remainder had spread and got farther afield, and Clifford
gave up the chase, afraid to get too far away from Saidi, who might be in
difficulties.

Returning, Clifford found Saidi broadly smiling, as was his wont when
greatly pleased. He had accounted for three Askaris. Clifford praised the
boy—though he seldom gave praise to a native—and told him, now, to make
“plenty big feed” for himself, and then to sleep—the boy had had no rest
since the day before.

While Saidi busied himself lighting a fire, Clifford counted the cost.

One German was dead, one wounded. Four Askaris were dead, and three
wounded. After he had gone back and brought the prisoner to camp,
Clifford attended to the wounded. When that gruesome work was finished,
he sought a vantage-point on a rise, and, from there, sent three piercing
whistles out over the plain.

He was soon rewarded by the sight of natives, showing in the grass, about
a mile to the east. They were the three Masai left behind overnight; and
he signalled to them to come on.

In a short time the Masai came up.

Fear was first in their approach, then astonishment, when they sighted
the destruction of the enemy, and Clifford and Saidi in complete
possession of the cattle. Their usually passive faces broke into
broad smiles, they gesticulated excitedly in their exclamations over
the extraordinary scene; and, finally, they came, one by one, before
Clifford, to voice their timid gratitude, and to salaam profoundly,
as vassals to their lord. He was, in their eyes, indeed a mighty and
wonderful white chief.

A “chit” was written to G.H.Q. asking for a mounted patrol to be sent
out to conduct the cattle back to a safe area, and a Masai runner was
dispatched with it to camp—with instructions, also, to send word to his
tribe to furnish some men to dig graves.

The remaining Masai counted the cattle. They numbered close on seven
hundred head—a substantial meat ration for the Europeans over the border,
if the raid had succeeded. Clifford directed the Masai to drive the
cattle slowly back to the Guaso Nyero River, and to wait for him at the
bend beyond the northern slopes of Mount Shombole. Before leaving, they
released the hidden mules, and drove them also to water.

Three days later an officer and a native soldier rode into the British
camp, dust-covered and with clothes torn. Dismounting, the officer left
his mule in the care of the native and passed on to the encampment of
G.H.Q.

Down the dry dust-thick lanes of the camp stalked the well-known figure
of the famous scout—the lean, the brown, the worn bushman, scarred and
tired with exposure and climate—a thing of the wild world and the silent
places—unassuming, almost shy. But, on a thousand lips the news flew
among the troops that Clive Clifford was back—and glad men came from
their tents to cheer him past.

And Saidi, unsaddling the mules in the horse lines, hearing the welcome,
smiled in content.

CHAPTER IV

THE FIRST ADVANCE

The dusty road through dense tropical thorn-bush followed the “lie” of
the mountain, and to approach Longido West you came round the bend from
the west, and swung easterly, to find the camp, an irregular, partly
cleared space in the midst of trees. The camp, with cunning purpose,
was under cover, for it was within the timber line, which hung densely
in colour and form along, and all around, the mountain base. Beyond,
at no great distance to the south and west, the bush terminated, and
open yellow veldt stretched far out to the hill-marked distance where
sheltered the considerable town of Arusha.

The whole was a wilderness country, neither bush nor veldt held human
creature! All that lived was of nature’s giving! In the forest of
thorns, and by the mountain-fed streamlet which gave the camp sparingly
of priceless water, bird, insect, and plant life, in myriad forms, were
habited in abundance. Beyond the jungle of low-stature trees, the veldt
lay in expressionless vagueness and silence, with but the slow, dark
movement of a small number of ostrich and wildebeeste, and the flight of
a ranging vulture, to attract and hold the wandering eye.

[Sidenote: GERMAN EAST AFRICA THREATENED]

And it was here that our forces were congregating, over the German
border, under the south-western continuance of Longido Mountain. We had
been days in coming, and we had come from many places—British, South
African, Indian, and native African—and we knew by the unwonted stir of
traffic that there was “something on.” A day passed, two days, and still
the gathering grew! Troops and transport—ox wagons, mule wagons, and
motors—and the hundred-and-one oddments that accompany a large force,
came into view at the clearing entrance, passed down the road and camped,
and thenceforth became part of us. In time, it came to be the evening of
the second day, and a great stir arose in camp.

Orders were out: we were to commence the advance to-morrow! Suppressed
excitement was in the air! Down the dust-smothered road, as I passed
to camp, there trooped to water a hurrying continual line of thirsty,
road-tired, sad-visaged horses, mules, and oxen, accompanied by
gesticulating, chattering, khaki-clad attendants. The men were discussing
the news, and the prospect ahead, in many different ways and in different
tongues of English, Dutch, Hindu, and Swahili. It was nigh to the common
hour of peacefulness—that is, _peace_ as near as it is ever realised in
the army—when half-clad, begrimed, talkative soldiers grub and wash up
around the evening camp fires. But to-night there was no peace. Sergeants
were calling out orders on every rustle of the wind, fatigue parties were
falling-in here, there, and everywhere. Final preparations were in full
swing, and—what use to deny it?—fuss and confusion held sway, as if in
devilish glee. Rations, the most vital care of the army, were discussed
and arranged. Kits to go, 25 lb. per man, including his blanket and spare
boots, and surplus kits to be left behind were packed and loaded on
wagons, or stored. Sick men, and men not particularly robust, were sorted
out and detailed for garrison, for commanders realise that only the very
fittest can endure the hardship of a long trek in Africa. Finally all was
arranged and the sleep of night settled on the camp.

[Sidenote: A FIGHTING COLUMN]

Next day we were off to the south on a narrow dust-laden track. We were
an infantry column, a column made up of variously dressed soldiers of
different races, a column of various kind and equipment, eloquent of the
brotherhood of colonies. We streamed out in column of route, after scouts
had preceded us by half an hour or so. The 129th Baluchis, olive-hued
Indian soldiers in turbans and loose-kneed trousers, were in advance;
then their maxim battery of gunners and side-burdened, bridle-led
mules. Then came the 29th Punjabis, another regiment of similar kind,
followed closely by some battalions of South African artillery—a bold
array of gun-carriages and ammunition wagons, each drawn by eight span
of sturdy South-American-bred mules, and driven by reckless Cape boys
mounted on the line of near mules. Then followed more infantry, the
25th Royal Fusiliers, of familiar face and colour, of our own kind, but
soiled and sunburnt with long exposure; the 1st King’s African Rifles,
well-trained natives of stalwart appearance, khaki-clad as the rest, but
with distinctive dark-blue puttees and light close-fitting headgear.
And so on, and so on, down the line, except that one might mention the
ammunition column in the rear, a long line of two-wheeled carts, drawn
by two span of patient, slow-gaited oxen. In the rear, trailing far
behind, came the miscellaneous transport—some motors, large four-wheeled
mule-wagons, Scotch carts, and water carts, an assortment of varied,
somewhat gipsy-like kind. The wagons, which were most in evidence, and
which carry from three thousand to four thousand pounds, were drawn by
ten span of mules, or by sixteen to twenty span of oxen, and all were
ordered and driven by capable management of men from South Africa, who
had long experience in trekking in their own country. In all it was
probably a column of a fighting strength of from 4,000 to 5,000 men, with
its necessary large following of accoutrements.

When the column reached far out into the grass-grown, sandy plain—for it
was open highland here—one could look back, almost as far as the eye
could distinguish, and see the course of the column, as the fine line
of a sinuous thread drawn across the blank space of an incomplete map!
To-day, the map was marked; to-morrow, the thin dust-line would be gone
onward, and the desert veldt would again lie reposed in vagueness.

Thus did we leave our harbour of safety to venture far into the enemy’s
country on “the long trek”; to travel amidst dust, and dryness, and heat,
for many days.

It was on a Sunday morning, the 5th of March, 1916, that the advance
began. This column leaving Longido was to operate round the west of
Kilimanjaro and finally converge on Moschi, the terminal of the Usambara
railway—the only railway in the northern area of German territory. The
column was acting in conjunction with large forces operating, also on the
border, away to the east of Kilimanjaro: forces which were largely South
African, and that were opposite the long-standing enemy line defending
Taveta and barring the main thoroughfare into German territory. This
marked the commencement of the offensive campaign under General Smuts—an
offensive that time proved was to last twenty-one months before German
East Africa was to be cleared of the enemy and completely in our hands.

However, as I have said, one Sunday morning, at the beginning of March,
found us moving out on the big game, eagerly, and with a great gladness
to be “up and doing.”

[Sidenote: WE ADVANCE FROM THE BORDER]

The column travelled east along the line of Longido Hill, then struck
south across the flat, sandy plain before us until the shelter of the
Sheep Hills was reached. Here the column was halted under the northern
slopes of the hills, thus making use of the protection which they
afforded from observation from the south—for the south held ever the
danger of the enemy. The column had trekked about eight miles across
trackless country, making a road as they went merely by the commotion and
pressure of wheels and of thousands of feet of troops and their transport
animals. Marching was unpleasant in the soft, powdered dust which lay
ankle-deep underfoot, and was kicked in the air in a hanging cloud to
choke both throat and nostrils, and adhere to every visible part of one’s
clothing.

Under the Sheep Hills we lay in the heat of the sun, waiting our orders.
At 6.30 p.m. the column moved out on a long night march. A two hours’
halt was called at midnight, but otherwise we trekked steadily on all
through the night. At midnight, detachments went off on our left flank to
attack at dawn the enemy post on Ngasseni Hill. The enemy were engaged,
but the fight was short-lived, and in due course the hill was occupied by
our troops. The main column encountered no opposition, though opposition
had been expected at the Engare Naniuki water.

The column camped at 10.30 the following morning at water at Engare
Naniuki. We had travelled all night into the south over a level sandy
plain, covering, roughly, twenty miles. Entrenchments were dug in camp,
and the swamp grass, bordering the water-holes, was burnt. Camp was
unmasked to all eyes, friend or foe, by a continually rising cloud
of fine chalk-like lava sand. Profusion of troops and transport were
everywhere, and made an animated picture while moving here and there on
quest of their unending duties.

I picked up two young hares (Sungura) in camp, paralysed with fear at
finding themselves surrounded by such overwhelming commotion. Overhead,
many flocks of sand-grouse passed in the morning and evening; apparently
they haunt these plains in their migrations.

The following morning we moved out at 8 o’clock and made slow progress
during the march. The column skirted the river-course of Engare Naniuki
and passed through open country. A long delay was caused getting the
column across the “drift” at Nagasseni Bridge, when we intercepted the
Aruscha—Engare Nairobi road; the river was, here, about 25 feet wide and
the water swift flowing. The bridge over the river had been destroyed
before our arrival. The column, in the late afternoon, camped, when
across the Engare Naniuki, at Nagasseni.

[Sidenote: NAGASSENI EVACUATED]

Nagasseni, which had been hastily evacuated, was a prominent hill with a
small boma and fort on the crest commanding the river and the bridge.
At 2.30 in the morning the camp was stirred afoot, and the column moved
out in the dark an hour later. The travelling was east, then south-east,
through fairly level country commanded by many cone-shaped bare kopjes.
We are still free of bush country. To-day we march through forsaken
desert, sparsely grass-grown, and of a surface nature of metallic lava
crustings. A small party of enemy was engaged, on our left front, about
noon. The enemy fired on our mounted advance scouts from a low kopje
which they occupied. But our scouts had previously sighted the enemy,
and had sent back word to the column. Mountain Battery guns, already
trained on the target, opened fire the instant the enemy showed his hand,
and with deadly shooting put the enemy to flight in no time, followed
by rounds of vicious shrapnel. It proved to be a mere outpost of enemy
reported at thirty-five strong.

All are beginning to wonder where we are to “bump” the enemy. Is there to
be no resistance offered to an advance from this side of Kilimanjaro? Has
an advance here been thought impossible? Is it completely a surprise?

Soon after the short moment of excitement, above mentioned, Geraragua
River was reached, and camp was pitched on the north bank. Here our
position was entrenched, and camp for the night prepared.

Next day we spent in camp while a convoy returned to Engare Nairobi to
assist in bringing forward rations, which were being delayed owing to the
heavy half-broken tracks. Near here, at Kakowasch, an enemy camp, hastily
evacuated, was found among the bush of the Kilimanjaro foothills. This
was set fire to and burned so that the grass huts could not be reoccupied.

[Sidenote: MOSCHI IN SIGHT]

The following day the column moved out at noon—our destination said to
be Ngombe, which is across the Aruscha line of the enemy’s retreat from
Moschi, should the eastern forces attack it from the Taveta side. We
travelled until dark through level country, pimpled with numerous pigmy
hills; breaking road through the country as we went. About darkening we
entered bush country, which offered splendid concealment to the enemy,
but they did not put in an appearance. About this time, however, some of
our artillery, who were having difficulty in getting along on the heavy
tracks, were attacked by the enemy in the open, some distance in our
rear. Forward, with the column, the rifle-fire was heard, and the boom of
our thirteen-pounders. Detachments were ordered to retire and reinforce
the rear. Our battalion went back about three miles, but did not go into
action, as the enemy by that time had been beaten off. Again we moved
on in the darkness, and about 3 a.m. rejoined the column. It had been
uncertain, awkward marching, the night was very dark, the track broken,
and heavy with dust. About the time we rejoined the column it began to
rain. A halt was called, and we slept in our tracks, for the remaining
three hours, until daylight—then up and away again. It was bitterly cold
sleeping in the open in the rain, but we were too dog-tired to care.
A number of horses and mules are now dying by the roadside with horse
sickness and tsetse fly. Mosquitoes numerous since entering the bush.
Marched about eighteen miles to-day.

_Saturday, 11th March._—Just one week since we left Longido. Marched at
2 p.m., heading south through the bush, with Kilimanjaro Mountain on our
left, and Meru Mountain on our right. Towards dusk, on reaching open
country, the column swung easterly and crossed the plain, pursuing a line
parallel with the southern slopes of Kilimanjaro, but well away from the
mountain. The German town of Moschi was sighted away to the north-east,
and eager were the eyes that witnessed it, because there was probably our
objective and the enemy. About dusk, scouts engaged in a short bout of
firing with opposing scouts, but soon the bush was “all clear.” Marched
until 9 p.m. and camped, before Kilimanjaro, on River Sanja. Fires were
observed between us and Moschi, and were thought to be those of the East
African Mounted Rifles, who were reconnoitring nearer in to the mountain
base. Marched about fifteen miles to-day.

“Stand to” was at 5 o’clock on Sunday morning, but dawn broke
undisturbed. A few shots were fired by our sentries overnight at prowling
scouts. Part of column moved out at 9 a.m.; and returned in evening,
without having been in action. Our present camp is on the Aruscha road,
about five miles from Ngombe. The column is now about sixty miles away
from its starting-point at Longido.

Marched on Monday for Masai Kraal, hoping there to intercept the enemy’s
retreat from Moschi. Reached Ngombe about 11 a.m. A number of houses were
still inhabited, by Goanese and Greeks, and they had white flags erected
to protect themselves from attack. The small river Kware flowed through
the village. Transport and considerable artillery were left behind here,
while the column continued eastward on the low road or, more properly,
track, to Moschi. The bush is now becoming more luxuriantly tropical
in country that is apparently well watered. Marched until 2 a.m. in
the dark, through rain, and over a track narrow and unused. On camping
everyone was so done up that fires were allowed for warmth, and to make
tea. Few of us could sleep, we were so very wet, and the remainder of
the night was spent cowering over our fires in poor endeavour to keep
some circulation alive in our numbed bodies. Marched about fifteen miles
to-day.

[Sidenote: THE ENEMY FLEE]

The following day, in the early morning, our course was changed, and
the column marched direct for Moschi, news having been received that
the town had been evacuated and was occupied by South African forces
from the eastern column. During the march our column forded four rivers
in the course of the day—the Kikafu, the Weruweru, the Kiladera, and
the Garanga. It is slow, patience-trying work transporting animals and
wagons through such river-drifts; not one or two heavily burdened mules,
not one or two wagons, had to be coaxed down steep banks, and across
the ford, and up the opposite bank, but the endless number of an entire
column. However, in the end the last river was passed, and we marched
into Moschi just after dark, a weary and footsore column; both man and
beast thoroughly done up. Torrential rain fell all night, and all were
very thankful for the shelter of the various buildings and barns into
which we were crowded. But even then our sleep was a broken one, lying on
the cold hard floor, or on the ground, without blanket covering. For the
past three days we have been without our kits or blankets, only our bare
rations having been transported with us in our haste onwards.

Moschi—which is the Swahili for “smoke,” and which aptly refers to the
mists daily hanging over Kilimanjaro mountain-top—had been captured
without any resistance, though it had been thought that the enemy would
make a long stand there. It proved an extensive, well-built town,
nestling in the pleasant and picturesque surroundings of the Kilimanjaro
foothills. A mile or so above the new town were the old fort and
residences of Old Moschi. Coffee and rubber were extensively grown in the
district, and well-developed plantations abounded in the neighbourhood of
the town. There was a large civil population left in the town at the time
of occupation, principally natives, Goanese, and Greeks.

On the 15th, 16th, and 17th March we lay in Moschi resting, while it
daily, and gaily, rained in torrents. Apparently the rainy season had
begun in this locality.

On the evening of the 18th, however, all was again stir and movement,
and the column marched out at dusk on the good _made_ road that strikes
south-east to Muë Hill. We marched pleasantly all night, for it was
dry overhead and the moon was full. We reached Muë Hill at 4 a.m. and
slept on the roadside for a brief three hours; clad only in our shirts,
as we had marched out. After our brief spell of rest the wagons and
pack-mules were loaded up, and we stood ready to march at a moment’s
notice. While waiting, some dead horses were burnt by the roadside, for
the poor animals continue to die in considerable numbers each day, and
if not burnt soon create, in the heat of the sun, a vile penetrating
smell, repulsive to all who pass. The column marched out at 1 p.m. in a
southerly direction on the road to Kahe, which was a railway station some
distance down the Moschi-Tanga line. Our advance guard engaged the enemy
in the thick bush, which bordered either side of the road, at about 3
p.m. and firing kept up steadily for about half an hour. From there on
we intermittently engaged the enemy, who were retiring in good order and
taking up fresh positions about every half-mile.

[Sidenote: ONWARD AGAIN BY NIGHT]

About 2 p.m. aeroplanes from the eastern forces were sighted coming out
from Taveta, and they flew over our front. They were trying to locate the
enemy’s position ahead, and the direction of their retirement. All the
afternoon heavy big-gun firing was heard, seemingly from somewhere west
of Kitowo Mountains. The eastern column is evidently in action to-day,
while we, too, are at last in touch with the main enemy forces. Camped
for the night at Store—an open space with a few long-limbed cocoa-nut
palms therein, and enclosed on all sides by thick forest, with the Defu
River immediately on our right. No blankets to-night, and no fires
possible on account of the proximity of the enemy. Camp fired on on three
occasions overnight, but disturbances were short-lived. These alarms were
at 2 a.m., 4 a.m., and at daylight.

The following day we remained in camp. No rations until noon, for owing
to bad river-drifts, and wagon accidents in the darkness, the toiling
transport had been outpaced, and left far behind, on the past two days of
trekking. Much rejoicing among the breakfastless men when rations turned
up. Aeroplanes scouting south of us in forenoon. The enemy, under the
command of Kraut, is said to be holding the entire front on the Ruwu
River, between Kahe Station (extreme west of line) and the marshes west
of Mokinni Mountain (extreme east of line).

[Sidenote: ATTACKED IN THE DARK]

About 5 p.m. an enemy patrol crept up to the river where our troops were
bathing and watering their animals, and opened fire on them. Confusion
ensued on the river-bank. Unarmed bathers beat a precipitous retreat;
mules and horses broke away in all directions. One of our men, stark
naked, rushing back to our trench line for his arms, was amusingly
confronted by the General and the Colonel of our battalion, who stopped
him to inquire the cause of the disturbance. The poor fellow felt much
abashed, and, no doubt, wished the ground would open up and swallow
him. The firing soon ceased, and the excitement it had caused gradually
quietened down. But peace was doomed to be short-lived, for at 8 a.m.
at a suddenly given signal, tremendous fire swept the camp and startled
everyone to frightful wakefulness. Bugle calls of the enemy rang out
immediately after the first burst of firing, and thenceforward a
deafening, close-grappling, vicious battle held forth. Time after time
the enemy came on at our trench line, always to be held up and driven
back. In all they made about twenty charges in frontal attack, and were
once almost into our line. The engagement raged without pause for about
four hours. The frontal attack, which could be rapidly reinforced from
the road from the south, was the heaviest, but both flanks, at the same
time, underwent considerable pressure, though from a farther range.
German bugles sounded the advance from time to time, whenever there
was a lull in the firing, as if the moment’s pause had been to take in
breath for a fresh effort; and when one bugle sounded, the call would be
caught up and repeated all around us in the darkness of the bush. The
enemy fire, fortunately for us, was bad, for it was mostly too high, also
many bullets were obstructed in their flight through the dense forest.
Otherwise, our casualties must have been extremely heavy, for many of the
column were without any trench cover, and lay exposed on the open ground.
As it was our casualty return, eventually, was only three killed and
seventeen wounded, and a number of horses destroyed, while, next day, the
enemy were reported to have had fully one hundred casualties.

Next day—the memorable 21st of March, 1916—in the early morning, our
column was reinforced from the eastern command with two battalions of
South African Infantry, armoured cars, and some field guns. Orders had
been received to attack Kahe. Our right was to be on the main road,
when we advanced into battle. It transpired that General Van Deventer’s
mounted brigade had passed through Moschi last night, and was to advance
on the right flank and attack west and south of Kahe Station, while, at
the same time, the eastern column was to operate along the line of the
Himo River on the left flank.

[Sidenote: HARD FIGHTING AT KAHE]

Our column moved out at 9 a.m. Contact with the enemy was very soon found
thereafter. At 11 a.m. our artillery opened fire on the enemy positions,
while meantime our fighting line had formed and advanced slowly until
about 400 to 800 yards off the enemy’s entrenched and prepared positions
in the bottle-neck formed by the Soko-Nassai River at its junction with
the Defu River. Here our forces were held, and the battle raged bitterly
for some hours. Some of the enemy machine-guns were faultlessly handled,
and inflicted heavy casualties. The fight was across a dead-level open
grass space, terminating in bush at either fighting line. It was in
the bush, on the enemy’s side, that their death-dealing machine-guns
were concealed, and throughout the day our artillery failed to search
them out. I saw those machine-gun emplacements later—there were two
outstanding ones—and one proved to be on a raised platform, eight feet
above ground, and skilfully concealed amongst the trees; the other was
in a dug-out pit, with a fire-directing observation post in a tall tree
standing just behind it. Where each gun had stood lay a huge stack of
empty cartridge-cases, telling clearly that their gunners had found a
big target. But where the raised gun had been, blood in all directions,
and torn garments, and dead natives, told that not without payment had
they held their post. But I digress. The battle raged unceasingly until
dusk, with all its grime, and thirst, and heart-aching bloodshed. With
darkness the firing ceased, as if by mutual consent, and immediately we
commenced to strengthen our hastily dug trenches—dug during the action
with bayonets, knives, hands—anything. And there they laboured, those
grim, dirt- and blood-bespattered men of the firing lines while movement
became general on all occupations. Ambulances and doctors were being
sought on all sides, while many men passed along looking for water, in
desperate need of quenching their thirst. In that bush forest, after
dark, wandering parties, unfamiliar with the encampment as it lay after
battle, seemed to be looking for every regiment, and water-cart, and
doctor in creation. Late into the night the labours of readjustment and
of organisation went on, while in the trenches dog-tired men, one by one,
dropped off to sleep. About midnight peace settled over the camp, and
the remainder of the night passed without further disturbance. At dawn,
patrols went out and found the enemy had evacuated the entire front of
prepared entrenchments, and had retired rapidly south under cover of
the bush and the darkness. At the same time, news came in that General
Van Deventer’s mounted troops had occupied Kahe Station, and the two
commanding kopjes to the south.

So, for the time being, the storm of arms was over, and the enemy had
staved off defeat by evading a prolonged battle.

[Sidenote: GERMANS USE GUNS FROM BATTLESHIP]

At 9 a.m. our battalion moved forward and took up a new defensive line,
facing the south, across the Ruwu River. South of the Ruwu River, on the
left flank of the enemy’s position, lay the ruins of a 4·1 naval gun,
laboriously transported inland from the _Koenigsberg_ battleship, which,
in the early days of the war, our naval forces had crippled and rendered
unseaworthy after chasing it to its lair in the mouth of the Rufiji
River. About 7 o’clock on the previous night all had heard a terrific
explosion, and there now lay the wreckage of it. The gun had been set
up completely and with ingenious labour. Iron girders carried the heavy
plank platform which received the deck mountings of the gun. Tools,
and ironmongery, and rope, of ship-board nature, lay about the gun in
profusion. In all construction the equipment and labour were thorough and
workmanlike. The labour of carrying the material from Kahe Station, and
the labour of erection, must have been colossal, one would think almost
impossible. The observation post for the gun—a crow’s-nest platform with
a rude ladder access—was in a high thorn tree towering above all its
neighbours; and during the late battle, from this look-out, they had been
able to direct the fire of the gun on to both Van Deventer’s column and
our own. Close to the gun were the many grass huts of an encampment of
some weeks’ standing, while all about those dwellings were native stores
of mealie-meal, peas and beans, and calabashes and empty bottles, the
leavings of a settled camp suddenly unsettled.

The bridges over the Soko-Nassai and the Ruwu Rivers had been partially
destroyed, and a party of us was selected to repair them, as soon as camp
was established. Much of the old bridge timber was reclaimed from the
floating ruins, wherever it was found to have jammed down-stream, and
this saved us much labour, for otherwise make-shift timber would have
had to be cut from the surrounding trees. Toward the end of the day the
reconstruction was successfully completed. A rail was then run along
either side of those bridges, and laced with broad banana leaves, so that
transport animals would not see the drop to the river surface underneath.
Grass and earth were then laid over the planking of the bridge, and again
this was to assist the timid mules and cattle to face the crossing of an
obstacle that they all instinctively feared.

On 23rd and 24th March, the column remained camped at Ruwu River. The day
after the battle some interesting information was obtained from prisoners
and is here noted: Two companies of the enemy were at Engare Nairobi
at the time of our march from the border, and were to have held up our
advance on Moschi. They retired on Moschi without offering any prolonged
or determined resistance, and it transpired that the Major in command
was severely reprimanded by the O.C. there; and took it so much to heart
that he committed suicide the same night.

Sixteen companies—varying from 150 to 260 rifles per company—retired on
Kahe from Moschi district.

The night attack on Store on the 20th inst. was made by three companies,
while seven were held in reserve at Kahe. The enemy are stated to have
had information that our strength was four infantry battalions. If that
is correct, they were exceedingly courageous, or very foolish, to attack
a force more than double their averred strength.

In the action before Kahe the enemy were said to have employed eight
companies. After the engagement they were reported to have retired from
the Ruwu front on to Lembeni, which is some twenty miles farther south on
the railway. It is estimated that twenty companies have congregated at
Lembeni, and that another stand is likely to be made there.

A doctor in the R.A.M.C. told me our casualties in the Kahe action were
about 200. German intelligence notes, captured later, showed that their
casualties had been eighteen Europeans and 146 Askaris. So that, if one
recalls that we were attacking the enemy in their prepared positions,
without cover for our troops, the result was not discouraging. Moreover,
as I have said, their machine-guns were most skilfully handled and
accounted for a large percentage of our casualties.

[Sidenote: HEAVY RAINS STOP OPERATIONS]

During the two days in camp at Ruwu, block-houses were built at the
bridge crossing, for the rains had seriously commenced, and the line was
here to be held until it was feasible to continue the advance. During
the rains it would be impossible to go on, for the country would then
be impassable for transport and guns; indeed much of it would be under
water. Moreover, it was necessary to lay the railway line on from our
base at Maktau to link up with the railway terminus at Moschi. So,
meantime, a battalion of Baluchis were detailed to hold the line on the
Ruwu, while the column retired to Moschi, which had the advantage of
being on higher and dryer ground, and was nearer to the base of supplies.
On 25th March the column commenced the return march, through heavy rain,
and on terrible roads. The rain had coagulated the loose dust into a
sticky holding mud that adhered, like a weight of lead, to the marching
feet. Late at night, after a very trying march, the column reached Muë
Hill and camped below the hill in an open space which resembled a marsh,
for it was six inches deep in mud and water. In this way we lay down and
slept as best we could, and passed a bad night.

Next day, which was Sunday, we marched at dawn; again through mud and
rain. Many of our battalion fell out to-day, unable to go on, and were
picked up by the following ambulances. No evening meal last night, and no
breakfast this morning; and the men are feeling the acute strain that
has been put on their endurance. We reached Moschi about noon, and the
battalion was billeted in deserted buildings in the town.

And there our travels for a time ended, for it transpired that we
were fated to lie in Moschi for a month and a half while it rained
incessantly. The first trek was over, a trek that, since crossing the
frontier, had entailed, for our column, a march of some 148 miles.

[Illustration: ADVANCE FROM FRONTIER TO MOROGORO]

CHAPTER V

THE SECOND TREK

On 14th May, 1916, I received orders to take the entire transport from
Kibosho, west of Moschi, back to Mbuyuni, on the Taveta side, where the
column was rapidly outfitting for another advance. The rains were over.
Our rest at Moschi was at an end.

After a few days’ hurried preparation we marched out from Mbuyuni in the
afternoon of the 18th of May, and continued on the way all through the
night. It was a memorable march. I happened to be temporarily in charge
of battalion transport, and had to set out with a batch of “green” mules
which had been allotted to me on the previous day, and some of which had
never had a saddle on. All through the trek it was incessantly a case
of chasing escaped mules across country, repairing broken harness, and
resaddling the rearing, frightened, stubborn brutes. I, and my comrades,
spent the whole night on horseback, rounding up runaways, on the
outskirts of the column, and we had our hands full. During our labours,
four mules were completely lost in the dark; they had been either
overrun and left far behind, or they had been caught by others. However,
we got into camp in the end with two over our complement, for others had
experienced the same difficulties as ourselves all along the column; and
when in a tight corner, there is a popular old army maxim which says that
“the Lord helps those that help themselves.” So we had helped ourselves,
when we found stray animals without an owner. This first day out was the
worst, in dealing with the transport animals, and very soon hard work and
experience had won them all over to steady-going patient beasts of burden.

The column marched in stages from Mbuyuni to Taveta, from Taveta to Himo
River, and from Himo River to Kahe; the battle-field of the 21st of
March, and the line at which operations ceased when the rains overtook
us. From Mbuyuni to Kahe was a trek of forty-two miles, and it was
accomplished in three days, which was good going for a burdened column
over bad roads.

[Sidenote: OFF DOWN THE PANGANI RIVER]

At Kahe we rested a day and marched at midnight on 22nd-23rd May. The
column was now trekking through bush and following the course of the
Pangani River, about a quarter of a mile east of its banks. Thus, we
hold well west of the Usambara Railway, but are travelling parallel to
it. This is a sound manœuvre, for our position here will always worry
the enemy in front of our forces operating on, or near, the railway in
conjunction with us. It is clearly seen that, should the enemy on the
railway make a stand, they would at once be threatened with a flank
or rear movement from this side, unless they had sufficient forces
to oppose, and hold, both columns. The country through which we are
passing is flat, and mostly grown with thorn bush. There are no hills,
excepting the distant ranges far out on our right and left. The soil here
is sandy, and sometimes lava-strewn. Signs of game are plentiful. The
column marched for ten hours before, in the forenoon of the following
day, halt was called, and we camped. All were tired out, for, under any
circumstances, a night march is trying; but we had been losing sleep
for some days now, and were feeling strained accordingly. Regarding
night marching, it is extraordinary how difficult it becomes to keep
awake, either marching or on horseback, when monotonously plodding
along. Commonly you will see a man dozing on his feet, but marching
unsteadily on, and if the man in front of him should have occasion to
halt, the sleeping man behind will walk forcibly into him, as an unseeing
pedestrian may bump into a lamp-post.

During the early morning, on to-day’s march, an astonishing incident
occurred. Some of us, on the transport line, were suddenly startled by
the rush of an animal from the bush, and were amazed to witness a buck
jump clean across the road, over the top of a double line of mules. Half
a dozen white men and some natives saw this almost unbelievable feat.
The buck landed on the far side of the road only two yards away from me,
and I think it was a hartebeeste, but in the half-light I was unable to
be quite certain of the species.

[Sidenote: BREAKING WAY THROUGH BAD BUSH]

The following day, though we started at 3 a.m., the column had only got
forward about eight miles when halt was called in the evening. Heavy
bush had been encountered and was responsible for our slow progress, for
laboriously a roadway had to be cut before the column could pass onwards.
After camp was established, working parties went out ahead to continue
hacking a clear way onward. About midnight we loaded our transport
up, and moved out on the march about 3 a.m. We trekked all day slowly
forward, and did not camp until after dark. It was a long, hard day,
and everyone is feeling the pinch of meagre rations and want of sleep.
The trail, being obstructed by heavy bush, continued bad, until in the
afternoon the column emerged into an open grass-grown valley and made
headway thenceforward smoothly and rapidly. To-day we have passed well
beyond, and outflanked, Lembeni, on the railway—the point at which the
German forces congregated on retiring from Kahe. Apparently the enemy
have cleared.

The following day, the 26th of May, the column did not trek until 1 p.m.,
so that all, thank God, had the opportunity of securing a complete
night’s sleep. Much refreshed and more cheerful was the column that
marched out to-day. Late in the evening we camped near the Pangani River,
about opposite Same Station, which lay away to the east of us on the
railway. The weather continues rainless, and very hot.

_27th May._—Trekked all day—a hot and wearisome march. The country we
passed through was level and open, and we pushed on rapidly. The enemy
are, apparently, fleeing far, for no resistance has been encountered, and
our pace is accordingly as fast as man and beast can stand. Last night,
ten Askaris and one white were captured in a patrol encounter.

_28th May._—This Sunday morning we were astir at 3 a.m. and trekked until
the late afternoon. The pace, and the heat, and the lack of water between
camps are beginning to wear down the endurance of man and animal. The
men were very tired, and cheerless, when they reached camp to-day; they
had been loaded with equipment and on their feet for thirteen hours, and
were almost past exerting themselves to cook food and look after their
odd accoutrements. The oxen and mules, too, were about “all in” ere they
reached the end of to-day’s trek, and the poor brutes, who must needs
endure all in dumb suffering, get little enough care when the men who
look after them are so very tired out at the end of such a day as this.
Still passing through good game country. One herd of buffalo and many
zebra were seen to-day.

_29th May._—At 4 a.m. loaded up transport ready to march, but did not
move off until two hours later. No rations this morning; supplies are
stuck on the road behind. When the battalion marched out I received
orders to stay back in camp to try to secure rations. This was
accomplished during the forenoon, and I then proceeded forward with three
food-loaded carts drawn by poor jaded oxen that were very far gone—during
the drive forward two completely exhausted oxen had to be turned loose
and a make-shift arranged by lightening one cart and driving it with a
single span of oxen.

[Illustration: THE NECK AT “GERMAN BRIDGE”: ENGAGEMENT 30TH MAY, 1916.]

[Sidenote:“GERMAN BRIDGE”]

Meantime the enemy had been shelling the column ahead with one of their
4·1 naval guns, in position on the railway. When I approached the column,
they were halted in extended formation in the bush. Before reaching them
I had to cross an extensive open sandflat where the carts raised a cloud
of dust, and this caught the enemy’s eye, for suddenly their gun—which
had ceased firing for a space—boomed forth, and their shells, one by one,
whizzed wickedly in close proximity. Some fifteen to twenty shells were
sent at us before we had crossed that open space, but none found the
mark, though three of them landed, straight in the centre of the trek,
uncomfortably close in front. When we got through, it amused us to think
that those innocent old carts had drawn the enemy’s fire—perhaps we were
mistaken for artillery, or the dust-cloud of moving troops. On joining
the battalion there was general rejoicing at the sight of rations, and
something to eat was issued forthwith. About sunset the column drew off
to the right, and camped near the river. To-day, instead of heading
south as usual, we have followed the river-course almost due east, and
have approached close to the railway and the South Pare Mountains. The
advance troops of our column are to-day in touch with the enemy. We have
been placed with the reserve force and remain in readiness close behind.
The enemy’s position is at the entrance of the narrow neck formed by the
meeting of the Pangani River and the hills at the south end of the Pare
Mountains. Through this narrow fairway goes the Usambara Railway on its
route to Tanga.

Next day, 30th May, the troops in front, under General Sheppard, attacked
the enemy positions across the neck, and fighting continued throughout
the day; the 2nd Rhodesians bearing the brunt of the battle. Close on
darkness the enemy force retired, and escaped overnight. Casualties were
fairly severe on both sides, for the fighting was stubborn, and the enemy
stuck gamely to their positions. While our column was thus attacking, the
eastern column—on the railway—had, some distance back, gone over the Pare
Mountains and closed in on Buiko from the eastern side of the range,
thus threatening to surround the enemy, in the neck, if they should
determine to hold on there.

Meantime, everyone in reserve, though keenly disappointed not to be
called into the fight, made the most of a halt that was needed by all,
while starving oxen and mules were fully watered, and turned loose
to graze on the scant grass and low woody shrubs which grew on the
ill-nourished sandy surface in the somewhat open bush.

No fires were permissible, since smoke might give our position away, and
draw artillery fire or a night attack; and accordingly our grub consisted
of “straight” bully and biscuit, and water, a fare we were very familiar
with now.

In the small hours of the following morning we loaded up the wagons and
pack-mules, and moved out again. But we did not go any considerable
distance before halt was called on the battle-ground of yesterday. The
battalion to which I belonged was then ordered ahead, but the transport
remained behind, and I with it, much to my disgust—we were very keen in
those days, and no one liked to miss the smallest chance of a fight.

While in camp I looked over the enemy’s positions of yesterday. The
entrenchments were all newly dug, and a splendid bridge was half
constructed over the Pangani River. Apparently this was to have become
a very strong position had time been allowed for its completion, and
here we realised the wisdom of our forced marching. General Smuts in
pressing on is giving the enemy little time to rest, and prepare for our
on-coming. We have marched 145 miles, from Mbuyuni to Buiko, in the past
thirteen days, and, since leaving Kahe, have had to break trail through
uninhabited country, most of it standing thorn-bush forest. And, so that
one may realise the extreme length of our day, I have been particular
in recording the hours at which we started out on those treks. It will
be seen that sometimes we trekked all night, sometimes we started at
midnight, but most often it was a case of getting up at 2 a.m. or 3 a.m.,
or 4 a.m. in the cold, chill night, and away soon after.

[Sidenote: DELAYED AT BUIKO]

However, our arrival at Buiko next day marked a pause in operations, for
we were destined to remain in that locality for the next eight days,
while the German railway was being repaired to this point, and our
insufficient supplies were augmented.

The enemy had passed on through Buiko in their flight, and it was
unoccupied by either them or civilian inhabitants. It was a small station
composed of a few stone-built houses with cactus-fenced compounds, but
with an extensive railway siding, and siding sheds. After resting here
four days, the battalion crossed the Pangani River, opposite Buiko, by
pontoon bridge, and were then employed in cutting a road, through dense
bush, back north to the almost completed “German Bridge” at the entrance
to “the neck.”

Where the open valley grass—which stretched north and south, following
the river’s course—joined with the rugged edge of the bush, we had
pitched camp, and it was here that, short of rations, a comrade and I
ventured to hunt for meat for the pot.

It was about 4.30 on the second morning in camp. I turned over
luxuriously in my blankets, and lay on my back blinking hazily at the
overhead stars. It was within that dreamless hour before rising time,
when the many disturbances of night on war service had passed away, and
given place to peaceful rest and deep, delicious comfort and content.
Half consciously I saw that dawn was breaking, and was aware that
overnight I had promised to go on a surreptitious game hunt at daylight.
What a fool’s promise I thought that now! and I nestled snugly into the
blankets for just “five minutes more.”

“Buck! Come on!”

Rudely I was startled to active wakefulness, as the words of Lieutenant
Gilham broke into my slumbers in a low voice.

“Right!” I called back as I sat upright. It was full daylight. Gilham
was pulling his boots on in his lair under a bush a few yards away. We
grinned at each other and dressed rapidly, silently; we knew the value of
stealth.

[Sidenote: RATIONS VERY LOW]

Rations were low. Flour, and half a pound of bully beef, had been
yesterday’s issue, and Gilham, a veteran from South Africa, had come to
me with the scheme to clear into the bush at daylight on the morrow. It
was against orders to shoot, and perhaps against orders to leave the
camp, but, being old hunters, and hungry, the old instinct got the better
of discipline, and we had agreed to “chance it” in the morning.

All ready! Gilham lit a cigarette—that was in the days when we still had
a few—lifted a service rifle, and started off, with a nod to me to come
on. Signing to my black boy, Hamisi, I followed out, between the line
of sleeping trek-tired soldiers, who lay along the west front of our
perimeter. Immediately we were in the dense thorn-bush and wending our
way laboriously, carefully, westward through the cruel-fanged jungle of
countless cactus needles and grasping hook-thorns. It was the familiar
type of African bush—dry, waterless, gravel and sand surface, grown with
low wide-branching thorn-trees at fairly open intervals, filled in with
a dense undergrowth of smaller shrubs, sisal, cactus, and grasses, until
only narrow sand washes, or game paths, remain open, for short intervals,
here and there. Through this one wends his way, zigzagging, dodging,
stooping, and always on the look-out to move along the line of least
resistance.

It is rough going, as rough as one will meet with in many travels. If one
who has not experienced it can think of a hard mountain climb, or of a
long march at the end of twenty miles, or of stiff canoe-going up-river,
one may realise something of the stress of endurance. For the rest—the
scratching, patience-trying obstacles—if you would picture the worst of
them—the thorn-tree Mgoonga—imagine half a dozen groups of Stewart tackle
clutching along your arm or leg or helmet, while another lot threatens
to tear your shirt back to rags. When you are hooked, you cannot free
yourself by forcing forward; you must draw gingerly back, and extricate
each barb with commendable patience; be impatient, and you will instantly
be hooked up worse than ever. I will carry memories of Mgoonga as long as
I live. But the bush is not all dense, and this morning, after an hour’s
travelling, we found more open spaces, along which one could sometimes
look to right or left or in front, for fifty yards or so. We were then
well out from camp, and, with a cross wind from the south aiding us, we
judged we could safely fire our rifles without fear of sound of report
reaching back to head-quarters.

[Sidenote: HUNTING FOR FOOD]

In whispers we agreed “all clear,” and the locks of our rifles clicked,
as cartridges were slipped into place, ready for action, while the boy
dropped fifty yards behind, as we moved ahead in Indian file, silently,
alertly, Gilham leading. We were hungry, and we meant to have meat!

We had not gone more than half a mile, when suddenly a single buck jumped
from behind a bush, close in, and showed for an instant, in full view,
as it bounded behind the cover of the jungle. One breathless instant,
and it was gone, untouched. There had been no time to shoot, though we
had seen enough to name it a Lesser Koodoo doe, a delicate, graceful
thing, near to the size of a red deer, with prominent widespread ears.
Eagerly we had realised the valued prize; keenly we realised it had
vanished—alarmed, and impossible to follow. In undertone I “swore,” and
Gilham muttered “bad luck,” each in mind appraising the venison’s goodly
proportions, and hungry friends waiting rations in camp. Regrets were
vain. More keen than ever, we moved on again, the actual sight of game
whetting our appetite for a kill. But no! the Fates were unkind. At the
end of two miles of careful stalking we halted, and had not fired a shot.
Spoor in plenty had been encountered, principally the sharp-pointed
sand-print of Mpala hoofs or the untidy scraping and burrowing of a
family of wart hog. Many were fresh tracks, and promised the momentary
appearance of game, but the shadow of the bush held motionless and
lifeless, blank cover from which the treasures we sought had travelled
at first suspicion of danger’s footfall. Twice we had flashed large
flocks of guinea-fowl, magnificent birds and king of spoil for shot-gun
in Africa; but, armed with rifles only, we were this day in mind to
be impatient with the flutter and disturbance of their cackling, and
heavy-winged rise from cover, when we rudely chanced in upon their
morning breakfasting. And so, as duty demanded our presence in camp at 9
a.m., we were halted at the turning-point—empty-handed and disconsolate.
Gilham wasn’t saying much. He never did when hunting, but one might
judge he was mourning his luck, as none too gently he rolled an uncouth
cigarette out of notepaper and rough-cut Boer tobacco. While he smoked,
we decided to circle up-wind, southward to begin with, and then, when
clear of our outbound line, to strike for camp over fresh ground.

[Sidenote: GERENUK ANTELOPE KILLED]

We were soon off again. The sun was now up and beginning to make itself
felt in the bush. In an hour it would be stifling hot in those enclosed
surroundings. We had not gone far—a half-mile or so—and we were crossing
some open bush—abreast in open order—when a low whistle from Gilham,
on my right, warned me to halt my cautious walk abruptly. He was not
in view, but I caught the movement of his rifle rising, and almost
instantly the report followed. Fifty yards ahead a buck jumped from
behind a bush and stood face on, startled; fearful astonishment and
bewilderment apparently making it unable to run for its life. Hurriedly,
too hurriedly! I fired—and missed to the left, and off went our quarry
bounding through the bush, we following at a run, not certain the
animal was unscathed, and hoping it might be wounded. But the buck had
vanished, and no sight of blood rewarded an inspection of his tracks. We
had missed. Fools we felt, and deserved our self-condemnation—too keen!
over-anxious! the certain temperament to make even the old hand miss “a
sure thing.”

The buck had attracted my notice. During our fourteen months of
patrolling the German-East-British-East frontier I had not seen its kind
before. It was a buck like an Mpala antelope, but it stood slightly
taller, and was of extremely delicate build, while the neck was
noticeably very long and very slender; the horns curved back, as with the
buck Mpala, but were more closely set together than with that species.
Gilham named it a Gerenuk antelope.

Again we moved on, and by and by drew near to the distance from camp
where we dare not fire. Suddenly a shot rang out, again from Gilham, on
my right. I could neither see him nor his object as the bush was dense,
and I paused anxiously. A moment, and a cheery shout rang out—“All right,
come on!” and I hurried over to find my partner proudly surveying a
prostrate Gerenuk doe, for, strangely enough, it was again this novel
species which Gilham had spotted and dropped with a bullet high in the
shoulder. It was a beautiful beast, though a doe, killed by fate of the
pot-hunter’s need, slender and delightfully delicate of build, with
a coat of close, short, glossy hair, dark chocolate brown, above the
central sides, where a distinctive horizontal line clearly separated
the darker upper parts from those a shade or two lighter below. Many
were our ejaculations of joy over our prize! Here was meat at last!—and
venison!—fit reward for our strenuous stalk. Proudly now we would steal
in upon our camp comrades and revel in a goodly feed all round. For one
day at least bully beef would not plague our palate.

Without loss of time we cut the meat up, loaded the black boy, and,
carrying the remainder ourselves, we set off for camp, deciding we were
now too close in to shoot further.

Nearing camp, half an hour later, we put up at intervals, singly, numbers
of dainty dodging Dik Dik, the smallest African antelope, which lairs and
jumps off like a British hare, and which in size it barely exceeds. These
little animals are usually sought with shot-guns, and give very tricky
shooting. They are a much-prized table delicacy.

Our entrance to camp was a masterpiece of secret movement, and
bush-cutting parade found us on duty outwardly severe but inwardly
rejoicing over our morning’s outing. And so had we a glimpse of sport in
this famous big-game land while we passed on trek, keen on the trail of
even bigger game.

On 9th June, the entire column—which had crossed the river from Buiko
and had assembled at our bush camp on the previous day—again marched out
on trek, and continued down the Pangani. In the late afternoon, the
advanced troops at the head of the column engaged rear-guards of the
enemy, and heavy fighting for a time ensued before the native village of
Mkalamo. Our position then was about opposite Wilhelmstal and Mombo, two
of the principal stations of the Usambara Railway.

[Sidenote: ENEMY LEAVING USAMBARA RAILWAY]

On entering Mkalamo, next day, it was found to be a village composed of
a few wrecked trading stores—burnt down by the enemy—and a large number
of grass-built native Shambas. Here an important light trolley-line, from
Mombo, crossed the Pangani and passed through the village, and on into
the bush where it continues a course to Handeni, which is a town, some
thirty miles farther south, on the broad trade road from the mouth of the
Pangani into the interior. The fighting took place last evening a short
distance north of the village, and the rear-guard action of the enemy
was, apparently, solely to hold us off until darkness, for it is reported
now that over 2,000 enemy were here yesterday, and that they evacuated
the village and neighbourhood overnight. Rumours are persistent that the
remainder of the Usambara line down to Tanga is almost completely clear
of German forces, and that all enemy are now making for the Central
Railway. The length of railway line from Mombo out to Tanga on the
east coast is about seventy-five miles. It should greatly assist the
forwarding of supplies if the port of Tanga and this section of railway
fell into our hands; if it is not already seriously destroyed.

But it soon became evident that General Smuts intended to continue the
pursuit south, toward the Central Railway, without waiting for the
complete clearing of the remainder of the line.

We remained two days at Mkalamo, holding on while operations on the
railway in this neighbourhood progressed. On 12th June we marched some
six miles forward to the angle of the Pangani River where it changes
direction and flows east to the sea, and there we again halted for a
couple of days. Rations have been short for the past two weeks, and
transport difficulties are evidently increasing behind. Moreover, most
of the bridges on the railway from Moschi have been destroyed, or partly
destroyed, by the enemy, so that there is delay in making use of any
railway line, until hasty repairs are completed.

Regarding food we are limited at present to flour, and bully beef, and
tea, and sugar, no bacon, no jam, no biscuit—and bare flour, without
bacon fat or lard to cook it with, is almost a “straw” ration, for
flour and water dropped into a dry canteen lid doesn’t make anything
digestible or palatable. But if one is hungry it is eaten, and really the
men were wonderfully patient over their “dough-nuts,” and such scanty
grub, even though they grew lean—for you know the popular old song
beginning: “What’s the use of worrying?” which is the never-dying axiom
of our ever plucky soldiers. Being much in need of meat now, I went out
hunting in the afternoon of both days, but without success. Many tracks
of rhinoceros were crossed in this neighbourhood, but small game is
apparently very scarce. Some day, in hunting in proximity to the enemy, I
expect the game will be Germans instead of buck, but it’s worth that risk
of adventure, and if Germans are about in the bush, it’s as well to know
it.

[Sidenote: WE BRANCH OFF FROM PANGANI RIVER]

_15th June._—Réveillé at 4 a.m., and soon after the column marched out.
This morning we bid good-bye to the Pangani River, after having followed
its course for 135 miles, and headed south in the direction of the
far-off Central Railway, and Morogoro—to reach which a great area of
wilderness bush would have to be penetrated. Marched to-day over unmade
dust-deep tracks, and camped in the bush at night after advancing some
sixteen miles. Rations dwindling; flour, tea, and sugar only issued
to-day.

The following day we continued onward, and, after completing some twelve
miles, camped at 8 p.m., at Gitu, north-west of the considerable station
of Handeni, on to which the eastern column was advancing. Rations to-day,
½ lb. bully beef, coffee, and biscuits.

Next day the column continued onward into the south, and during the day
emerged from wilderness bush into a country of plentiful small-croft
cultivation—the first country of this kind that we have encountered
since leaving Moschi. Native huts and mealie patches were on all sides
amongst the bush, which is now fairly open and of fertile growth.

Toward noon we crossed the broad, well-made caravan road which comes from
the coast station of Pangani, and runs far west into the interior. Soon
after crossing this road we climbed into low hill country, and camped
at Ssangeni, a native village west of Handeni—some houses of which were
now visible, about eight miles distant, at the foot of an isolated,
prominent, cone-shaped kopje. To-day’s meagre rations, sugar (no tea), 1
lb. meat, and biscuits.

_Sunday, 18th June._—Lay all day in position occupied last night.
South African troops went out from the column in the early morning
under operation orders. Recent information as to the enemy’s strength
estimates that the force opposed to us, in the Handeni neighbourhood,
is twelve companies of infantry, two 4·1 naval guns, and fourteen maxim
machine-guns.

[Sidenote: HANDENI NEIGHBOURHOOD]

_19th June._—In camp. To-day the news reached us that Handeni had been
occupied by General Sheppard’s column, and also that the South Africans
operating from our column had engaged the enemy near here yesterday,
and inflicted some casualties, but the enemy would not long stand their
ground, and fought their familiar bush-covering retreating fight. To-day,
from the native habitations, some food was collected by our hungry
troops. My orderly obtained some welcome delicacies in the following
strange manner: he bartered an old shirt for two chickens, an under-vest
for seven eggs, and an old football sweater for six vegetable-marrows.
Money held little inducement to the natives here; they were in great need
of clothing, and it was apparel they sought. They say that sugar and
clothes are finished in the German camps.

[Illustration: GERMAN PAPER RUPEE.]

Crude, locally minted brass coins and printed paper one-rupee notes were
plentiful among the natives, here and elsewhere. Those they have received
from the Germans since war began in payment for food collected, by native
consent or by force. If the war failed for the German this very doubtful
currency would be unredeemable and valueless, and so the ignorant natives
were warned that it was poor, if not totally false, this wealth which
they held.

On the 20th and 21st of June we remained at Ssangeni. In the evening
of the 20th advanced South African troops engaged the enemy ahead, and
heavy conflict ensued, and lasted some two or three hours. Later, one of
the returned wounded reported that the South African casualties were 15
killed and 75 wounded, and that the enemy had had some 200 casualties,
but none of this information was authentic, though it was sufficient to
show that a sharp encounter had taken place.

Next day, the 22nd of June, the column accomplished a long march forward,
trekking on from 9 a.m. until 8 p.m., with but one hour halt, and camped,
at the end of the day, at the native village of Kangata some twenty-five
miles ahead of our last camp. It was a long, hot, trying day, and
particularly wearisome when sheer exhaustion laid hold of the heavily
burdened soldiers toward the evening of the day. On the march, the column
passed through Ssonjo about noon, having travelled easterly across
country on a native bush-path until the Handeni-Ssonjo road had been
intersected. Our course thenceforth had been due south. The retreating
enemy, falling back from Handeni, held up our advance by occasional sharp
short-lived rear-guard actions—bursts of firing on the advance guard—and
the country, which was bush-grown on either side of the narrow native
road, was well suited to their hide, and strike, and run away manœuvres.

A number of oxen and horses were left dead on the roadside to-day. No
“feed” ration is available for issue to transport animals at present, and
this unfortunate state of affairs is telling heavily on the live-stock.
Our own rations have been somewhat better during the last three days.

[Sidenote: WE MARCH ON LUKIGURA RIVER]

On the 23rd of June rations of meat and flour were cooked before the
column marched at 4 a.m. We were in for a long trek, and were told to
expect a fight at the end of it. Our objective was the bridge-head, and
the hills commanding it, where the bush-road crossed the Lukigura River,
and where the enemy had dug in. The eastern column was, in conjunction,
to advance down the narrow native road, which runs through the bush from
Handeni to Makindu at the northern end of the populated Nguru Mountains,
while we were to circle away wide to the west and attack at the heart
of the hill position. All night we trekked, excepting for one halt at
midnight. It was slow, monotonous work for this column, which must have
stretched to a sinuous length of miles; for it was necessary, on account
of the density of bush and jungle growth, to feel the way along in
single file, on a narrow native bush-path over which a native guide was
leading us to our goal. Moving, then halting till the kink in the line
straightened out, then on again, so dragged the night hours wearily on;
and progress was made, though we travelled as sheep in a strange defile,
led we knew not where. After midnight bitter cold set in and chilled our
scanty shirt-clad bodies, and when dawn broke the red-hot sun was for
once welcomed in Africa, as it warmed us to life again. But still, when
the day dawned, the trekking column held onwards, and all through the
day we marched, until 4.30 p.m.—and then to battle. I have never seen
men more utterly tired and woebegone than our men at the time of their
approach on Lukigura River. They had been marching twenty-four and a half
hours, kit-laden and without substantial food; and yet, when they went
into battle all fatigue was forgotten, or they were careless of further
physical trial; and they fought like madmen—and as heroes.

It was for us a short, hot engagement, and the height and the village of
Kwa-Direma were stormed at the point of the bayonet, and in our hands ere
the fall of dusk. It transpired that the enemy had confined all their
attention to the bush-road from Handeni, down which the eastern column
was advancing, and they were taken completely by surprise when our attack
pounced on them from the west, and inflicted complete defeat and heavy
loss. Meantime the eastern column attacked below, on the road in the
bush, east of Kwa-Direma, and carried the bridge-head over the Lukigura
River, inflicting further punishment on the beaten enemy.

During the early part of the night our new positions on the hill-crest
were shelled by the enemy’s naval guns. A few casualties resulted, but
most of the shells were high and went over the hill to burst in the
vacant bush below.

[Sidenote: AN AFTER-BATTLE PAUSE]

The next few days were spent in camp at Kwa-Direma. Here I made some
sketches of the position and neighbourhood for G.H.Q., and spent some
time in the bush, much of which was breast-high in tangled undergrowth
and rank grass, but which nevertheless showed traces of where the enemy
had scattered and hidden at the time of our attack.

Here, one morning, my porters captured a small antelope—Harvey’s Duiker,
♀—even at the door of my native-erected grass hut, where it had rushed in
fear and bewilderment on being disturbed near by.

Here, also, I had some practice with a 1-in. Krupp gun which we had
captured in the late engagement. Though completely out of date, it
was a vicious and accurate little piece, and, as long as the captured
ammunition lasts, it has been decided to have it added for service to the
Machine-gun Section of which I am in charge. A day later, too, I took
part in some tests of armoured-car armour plate, at the request of Major
Sir John Willoughby. The armour plate withstood the blow of the Krupp
gun shell at 100 yards range, and was merely dented. We then tested the
German made-up iron-plate shield on the Krupp gun. Our service rifle
failed to penetrate the plate, but a ·245 high-velocity sporting rifle of
Sir John Willoughby’s put a neat hole clean through it.

_Sunday, 2nd July._—And for once, as it rarely is on service, it has been
a quiet day, and like a Christian “day of rest.” And being a Sunday it
recalls our homes, from which we are longing very much for news. Mails
reach us at very long intervals of a month or more, and for weeks we have
been hoping for home news. The column has lain a week at Kwa-Direma,
and we are said to be waiting here until supplies come up in quantity.
We have had no full ration since getting here, and we are all feeling
the effect of the shortage. From two natives, whom I persuaded two days
ago to go to their home in the hills to forage for food for me, I have
to-day purchased, in exchange for old clothing, some mealie-meal flour
and thirteen fowls. Great the rejoicing, for this is, in these bad days,
a windfall for myself and some of the men. One hen, a white-plumaged one,
I kept a few days, and by then it had proved so friendly and tame that I
decided to spare its life and keep it as a pet. Thereafter, here and on
trek, it caused much amusement and comment. It lived with me a few months
before it was stolen by someone whose hunger overcame his scruples, and
each day, whether on trek or in camp, it laid me an egg. Very peculiarly
this hen learned to come to roost wherever I lay, and, more curious
still, it was never at a loss as to my whereabouts when released among
the feet of hurrying soldiers in strange surroundings at the end of a
trek. On trek she was generally tied down in a horse-bucket, and carried
by my native servant.

The next few days passed uneventfully, except that much time was given
over, on my part, to increasing the proficiency of the machine-gunners
and to the training of mules, both old and new, to complete familiarity
with their saddles and loads. Once during those days the camp was sniped
at night, but in the darkness no damage was done.

On 7th July we loaded up and marched out south-west, on the bush-road
over the Lukigura River. In the afternoon Makindu, which had already been
occupied by General Sheppard’s column, was reached, and there we camped.
Immediately on camping we were shelled by the enemy for about an hour,
but little damage was done.

[Sidenote: 260 MILES FROM THE FRONTIER]

Makindu, this village on the Msiha River, which we had reached and where
we were destined to stay for a time, is still some seventy-five miles
north of our objective—Morogoro, and the Central Railway. But a great
trek has been accomplished, for we are now 260 miles from Mbuyuni, our
starting-point on the frontier. Needless to say this exceedingly long
line of communication has made the transport of supplies a tremendous
undertaking, therefore it was not unreasonable that, for the next month,
we lay at Makindu while transport difficulties were mastered and clearly
organised, and the shorter line, in from Tanga by rail, was opened and
brought to our assistance.

This long pause, too, was beneficial to the overstrained troops. Speaking
of our own battalion, they were very far through in physique at the time
we reached Makindu, and in numerical strength they were, all told, under
200 strong. True, they were “the flower of the flock” in endurance,
this remnant of the 1,200 which sailed from England, but even they were
withered, and withering, with long fight, on short commons, against
unhealthy soul-exhausting climate. Nine officers remain who have gone
through all since the beginning, including the doctor, the O.C., and the
second-in-command.

[Sidenote: UNDER PROLONGED SHELL-FIRE]

At Makindu we had our first prolonged experience of shell-fire, for
throughout our occupation of this place we were continually shelled by
the enemy’s naval guns, and sometimes suffered considerable loss. The
enemy’s fire was throughout particularly accurate, as if the camp were
directly under observation from some undetected look-out in the high
ranges of the Nguru Mountains, on our south-west—which, at some points,
had an extreme elevation of some 6,100 feet. It was here seen that the
native Africans were very nervous and fearful of shell-fire, and their
raw instincts with difficulty stood the strain. It is a trying thing
for anyone to wait idly inactive for a shell’s vicious death-dealing
on-coming, but it is much more trying to the half-wild senses of a black
man than to a white man. We had no artillery with a range sufficient to
reach the enemy’s naval guns, so that the only retaliation on our part
was accomplished by dropping bombs from our aeroplanes. As soon as the
enemy ceased firing, invariably our ’planes went up, and, when over the
German positions—cunningly though they were concealed in the bush—bombs
were dropped on every likely target. It became amusing when the intention
of the opposite foe became clear, this persistent blow for blow “strafe”
between the enemy guns and our aircraft.

At Makindu two delayed mails were received, and great was the rejoicing;
even though some of the letters were six months old.

It was at Makindu, too, that, one evening, my pet white hen, which had
been with me since the fight at Lukigura River, killed a small snake 15
inches long. This I had never seen done before by domestic fowl. She
was very timid and wary in pecking at the snake until very sure she had
stricken it to death, whereafter, with much exertion, she swallowed it
whole as if it were a worm. She is indeed a funny old hen. Still she
never gets lost amongst all the confusion of camp life, and each night
she comes home, often after roaming far, to roost within a yard or two of
me.

[Sidenote: RECONNAISSANCE ON ENEMY’S FLANK]

While at Makindu I did some reconnaissance and sketching for G.H.Q., and
saw much of the bush country beyond the camp. The following notes of one
such reconnaissance will serve to give an idea of its nature and the type
of country.

RECONNAISSANCE PATROL

WITH VIEW TO FLANKING ENEMY’S POSITION
IN RUHUNGU HILLS

Patrol undertaken to investigate country on east flank out to
the track crossing from Massimbani to Legero, which is well
behind the German position. Patrol left Makindu at 4 a.m. on
the 1st of August, 1916, and returned to Makindu 3 p.m. on the
3rd of August, 1916. Our southerly direction, from point of
setting out, was held on a bearing of 160 degrees throughout
the advance to Massimbani track. The distance, reckoned by
time, from starting-point to Massimbani track is about twelve
miles. The distance to intermediate grass track crossing from
Mssente to Ruhungu is about 4¼ miles. The first seven miles is
good and fast-going for vehicle road through open forest—little
forest cutting should be necessary, and no grading. The last
five miles of the total distance passes through some parts of
less open forest, and some timber felling will be necessary
in places. In this locality a few narrow “islands” of dense
bush—lying east and west—will be encountered, but these may
always be evaded by keeping round their western extremities.
No rivers, or soft river-beds were encountered; throughout
the surface soil is dry and hard. Where the Mssente track
was crossed, the bearing on to the Ruhungu position was 260
degrees. Said bearing follows down an open grass valley which
is unobstructed by forest and in full view of Ruhungu hills.
The mountain range appeared close at the Mssente track, at
most some two to four miles distant, but the range viewed from
the Massimbani track appeared far off, and as if viewed from a
lower level. By eye I judged the distance here to be eight to
ten miles, and later, sketching out the course of the patrol,
I find it to be 8½ miles. The impression given me, and this is
borne out, was that in avoiding Massimbani village we were very
wide of the hills and the enemy’s line of communication to his
positions in front. In regard to this I might state that, after
crossing over the Mssente track about a mile, a bearing of 5
degrees to 7 degrees would draw in more closely to the mountain
foothills, and might have better results. From the Massimbani
track a long, fairly low range of hills was apparent in the
distance, tailing off south beyond the prominent peak of Kanga
(elevation 3,280 ft.). The Mssente track was a mere path in the
grass and had no appearance of being much in use. The broad
Massimbani track is apparently one of long standing, and had
appearance of being much used by the enemy, though no movement
was observed while for some hours we lay hidden on watch. There
was no telephone line on the Massimbani track.

On the return journey the patrol held slightly easterly until,
after going three miles, the Lukigura River was struck. The
course of the river was then followed for about 2½ miles.
Kwa-Beku, where shown on field map, was not observed. Kraals
were seen on the opposite side of a lagoon on the river, after
we had followed its course for about a mile, and signs of
grazing cattle were noticed near here, but the huts across the
river appeared uninhabited. The route by the course of the
Lukigura River is obstructed by dense patches of jungle, and
the going is bad. If it were necessary to approach the river
for purpose of securing water for animals and troops, I would
state that a short distance north of the Massimbani track,
say two miles, the open forest runs out to the river-bank and
access to water could here be easily accomplished.

Such was a manner of unravelling the mystery of the important and unknown
details of the map in this ever new and strange country.

_5th August, 1916_.—At 3.30 a.m. the camp was astir—to-day we were to
march, to-day we were again to begin active operations. After great
overnight operations, this morning we trekked out from Makindu on the
road back to Kwa-Direma, for it transpired that we were, as Divisional
Reserve, to take part in an encircling right flank movement through the
Nguru Mountains between the main block of hills and the Kanga-Kilindi
range, on the eastern side of which the enemy stronghold sheltered.
Arriving at Kwa-Direma about midday, we found a large concentration of
forces there composing General Hannyngton’s Brigade and part of the
Divisional Reserve. Previous to our arrival mounted South African troops
under General Brits had already left to commence the advance through the
hills.

The following two days I have no wish to recall, but that they are
necessary to this narrative. We began, and laboured incessantly to
advance our column of troops and transport into hill country that proved
to be quite impassable, for any but unburdened man or beast, owing to
its succession of deep valley bottoms and steep untracked hills. But
nevertheless we laboured on for two days, on such strenuous work as
cutting roads through forest, laying corduroy logging over swamp marsh,
and, at the hills, inspanning two to three complete teams of mules or
oxen to drag each wagon with excessive effort up the stupendous grades.
At the end of the second day, after we had in all covered some eight to
ten miles, the project was abandoned, and we received orders to return
the way we had come.

[Sidenote: OPERATIONS AGAINST RUHUNGU FAIL]

Next day we again reached Kwa-Direma, and none were sorry to be out of
those hills. Meantime the operations that had been going on, on both
flanks, with a view to attacking or surrounding the Ruhungu positions
unaccountably failed to get to grips with the enemy, who, probably in
fear of a rear attack, succeeded in secretly evacuating their stronghold
while the mounted troops were working their way through the hills. This
was to all a big disappointment, but the extremely awkward nature of
the country proved again the enemy’s disconcerting ally and for him his
saving. This operation was, perhaps, meant to be our greatest effort to
force a decision—at least so did we, at the time, regard it.

On the 9th of August we were back in Makindu, and on the 10th we
proceeded along the road toward the Ruhungu position. Soon we found
the road completely blocked by great trees that had been felled across
it by the enemy, and in some places the road was also mined. Slowly we
went forward throughout the day, investigating the level bush and the
hill-sides as we went. Once about fifty enemy were sighted, and lost
again in the bush. Once a mounted patrol of Sepoys fell in with the
enemy, who surprised them when dismounted, and they lost their horses,
and then their heads, while an advancing line of our men raked the bush
with rifle-fire beyond them. Next day those horses, six of them, were
found running free in the bush, and were caught and returned to their
owners, one or two of them suffering from bullet wounds.

In the late afternoon we built a boma (bush fence) protection and camped
for the night on the road; and again moved forward in the morning into
the Ruhungu position. Progress was slow while the position, which
was a very strong one in its systematic completeness, was carefully
investigated, covered by machine-guns trained on the hill-slopes ahead.
The position was completely occupied at 11 a.m. and all reported clear.

[Sidenote: RUHUNGU STRONGHOLD]

Going over the position I was astonished at the work that had been spent
on it. For instance, on the low ground at the position defending the
road, a wide carpet of sharply pointed, dangerous-looking, hand-cut
pegs had been staked out in front of the whole trench line to protect
it, apparently, from cavalry charge. This original and ingenious
“entanglement” could not have been constructed without many, many days of
labour by many men. Then, too, in the hills above, regular subterranean
caves, and pits, had been excavated everywhere for protection from the
attacks of our aeroplanes, some of them even hewn out of the solid rock
by the industry of many hands.

In the afternoon we passed beyond Ruhungu, and in the evening camped by
a small rivulet in low country east of the high Kanga mountain-top. Many
small bush-log culverts on the road have here been destroyed by the enemy
as they retired, and this has left the road impassable for transport
until repairs are made.

The following day we advanced until the Russongo River was reached, and
then camped, while working parties busily constructed a new bridge over
the river.

At early dawn of the next day, which was Sunday the 13th of August,
we trekked again onward through tree-covered hill country, and made a
long march in a south-westerly direction, camping in the afternoon at
Kinjumbi on the Luăle Liwăle River. The timber bridges destroyed, over
streamlets and rivers, coursing numerously from the mountain watersheds,
are now everywhere being roughly and speedily repaired, and the forces
are hurrying forward in the wake of the escaping enemy. General Smuts is
himself here to-day and hustling things forward.

Worked all through the night repairing the bridge over the deep-banked
Luăle Liwăle River; then off over the river in the morning and onward,
until again held up at Turiani, before which flows the large River Mwúhe,
where two bridges had been blown up to block our passage. We have now
descended into low, unhealthy marsh country, where the atmosphere is
close and damp, and fly-ridden. For the remainder of the day and the
next two days, swarms of us, like busy ants, laboured to and fro on the
construction of the large timber-buttressed bridge being thrown across
the high-banked river. At the end of the latter day fever laid hold of
me, and left me with just enough energy doggedly to carry on. Toward
evening, too, of the latter day the work drew to a close, and we marched
out forthwith, at 7 p.m., to camp about midnight at Kwe d’Hombo.

Meantime the forces ahead had pushed on south to reach, on the 17th of
August, the Wami River, there, at the bridge-head at the village of
Dakawa, to enter into an all-day battle with the strongly entrenched
enemy. The struggle was a fierce one, and again the enemy suffered severe
punishment, but, nevertheless, they stubbornly defended their positions,
on the opposite banks of the river, until night-fall, then to escape
under cover of the screening darkness.

[Sidenote: MOROGORO OCCUPIED]

On the 19th, 20th, and 21st of August, I was employed going over and
making plans of the Dakawa position, though still continuing a victim of
vile malaria. This, however, was the last work I did for seven days, for
I went hopelessly down with fever next day, and went into field hospital,
while the force continued on, and on 26th August occupied Morogoro, and
cut the Central Railway without meeting further enemy resistance.

I left ambulance quarters, and Dakawa, on the 28th of August, and reached
Morogoro in the forenoon two days later, there to find that the battalion
was still fifteen miles ahead. So, not to be done, I borrowed a mule and
a broken-down German saddle, and caught up the column before night-fall,
at Killundi, east of Morogoro on the low road south of the Central
Railway. Over the country I had passed in coming from Dakawa great
stretches of the bush grass had been burnt down by the enemy in their
retirement, presumably so that there would not be even dry poor grazing
for our already lean-flanked horses and cattle.

So we had reached Morogoro—which was a large, picturesque town below the
northern foothills of the Ulugúru Mountains, with colonial well-built
houses and bungalows, and palm-shaded, sand-carpeted streets, wherein
moved native pedestrians in bright-coloured cotton garments swathed
loosely over their shoulders and bodies. And here I must halt; though
the columns halted not, and relentlessly continued their pursuit of the
fleeing enemy. To reach Morogoro we had trekked some 355 miles, and
in attaining our objective had taken part in the fall of the entire
Central Railway; for in conjunction with our operation, and almost
simultaneously, naval forces captured the port of Bagomayo, near
Dar-es-Salaam; General Van Deventer’s column cut the railway at Kilossa
and Mpapua—over 100 miles west of Morogoro—while the Belgian forces,
from the Congo, threatened and eventually captured Tabora—the interior
terminal of the railway.

A few days later news came through that Dar-es-Salaam, the capital and
chief port of the Protectorate, had surrendered to naval forces on the
4th of September.

After wrecking all the important steel-constructed bridges, and all the
rolling stock on the railway, the enemy had now fled to the south into
the only country that remained free to them—even though it was, beyond
the Ulugúru Mountains, a country of bush and swamp and wilderness to
which they fled, and entailed their final irrevocable departure from the
last of their civilised settlements and trade-centres, and from their
all-important railway.

Indeed, at this stage, it must have been patent to most of them that,
in suffering this disaster, their country was lost; prolong the final
capitulation though they may.

[Illustration: MOROGORO—RUFIJI RIVER]

CHAPTER VI

THE THIRD STAGE

This was to be an advance less in ultimate distance than those previously
undertaken, and accomplished, but proved to be through country much
more attractive, in its early stages, yet, in its latter stages, more
unhealthy and trying than anything we had so far experienced. The
operations began in the very mountainous and beautiful Ulugúru mountains,
south of Morogoro, mountains which were cultivated and habited by large
numbers of natives, and which were rich in crop and pasturage and water,
and truly the first fair country we had seen—if we except the Moschi
area—that was not barren of almost everything but bush and wilderness.
But thereafter, when we cleared those mountains, we bade good-bye to
the last of fair scene and entered, for the remainder of the trek, the
low-lying, unhealthy bush country that stretches like a great unruffled
carpet right away to the banks of the Rufiji River, and beyond.

Our object was, first, to follow the enemy, and, secondly, to clear all
the country north of the Rufiji River of enemy. To reach the Rufiji
River from Morogoro was a trek in all of some 130 miles, the first
fifty-five miles of which was through mountainous country. To clear the
hills our column was to proceed through them on the east of the highest
range; some ten miles east of us the eastern column was to work along
parallel south-going tracks; while a column composed entirely of South
African troops, in co-operation, was to work down the country, west of
the mountains, to close ultimately on the Fort of Kissaki.

Setting out on the 31st of August we trekked to begin with on a good
“made” road, cut through the hills, and free of impossible grades, and
encountered no opposition until we had got beyond Matombo village and
mission station.

Meantime, in continuing without halt to follow the enemy from Morogoro,
we were adding to supply difficulties, and saw little prospect of full
rations in the near future. At Killundi, one day’s march from Morogoro,
no rations reached us, and the battalion in their need had a much-wasted
trek-ox killed, and issued as emergency ration. Otherwise we had to make
shift as best we could, and were hard put to it to assuage our hunger. A
few small things were gathered from the neighbourhood, such as sugar-cane
stalks to chew at, a few pawpaws (Papáyu), and wild tomatoes, a chicken
or two; and one great find, a grey-marked goat from the hills.

[Sidenote: IN THE ULUGÚRU MOUNTAINS]

On the 3rd of September we encamped at Ruwu River, an enemy encampment
far down in a beautiful valley into which we had descended on a zigzag,
well-engineered road cut out of the steep hill-sides in pre-war days
at the expense of gigantic labour. The existence of this road through
the hills was unknown to our command until the enemy retired by it from
Morogoro. Fine tropical trees, on either side of the road, were tall and
dark-foliaged and majestic, and the undergrowth luxuriant and flower-lit,
while through the trees, every now and then, one glimpsed the fair valley
and hills below and beyond. Everyone was filled with admiration for the
beauties of the scenes we encountered on the final day of our march to
Ruwu River. It was indeed very beautiful country!

The wide-spanned bridge over the river had been destroyed, but though
the river was wide at this season it was shallow and not more than
waist-deep, and the troops and the transport laboriously and successfully
forded the firm gravel and sand-bedded stream. The Germans had had
stores at Ruwu River, and here, in their hasty flight—for the enemy
had apparently just abandoned the place—large quantities of shells and
grenades were found dumped in the river-bed.

On the 4th of September, leaving all transport behind, we marched out
at 6.30 a.m., and again trekked through lovely hill country, especially
in the early part of the day, when the road ran along parallel to the
river, we being then on a regular mountain pass cut in the precipitous
hill-sides that fell abruptly to the broad, bank-forested river, flowing
below us on our right. The Pass was a cutting that worked a way round to
open country, penetrating, in its course, the great base of a mountain
spur that abutted on to the very river-bank. In two or three places large
boulders and rocks had been blown out of the upper side of the Pass from
perpendicular rock cliffs, and effectually blocked the way for all but
nimble-footed men and mules. It was, though strange and very beautiful,
a dangerous bit of road, and difficult, and would give our engineers
and pioneers a very considerable task to make it again passable for
transport. However, bad though the road was, the marvel was that the
enemy had not completely blocked the way, for a few sticks of dynamite,
well placed, could so easily have accomplished that purpose. It proved
perhaps again that the enemy was hard pressed and flustered. During the
morning the Pass was negotiated, and we proceeded along a good road.
After the column had passed Matombo village, the battalion received
orders to occupy Magali Ridge—a high, long-backed hill off the road, on
the left flank. This entailed a long five-mile drag up steep hill-sides,
on narrow native footpaths, that were awkwardly rutted and bouldered.
However, by 4 p.m. we had laboured to the crest, and took up position for
the night there.

[Sidenote: WARFARE IN THE HILLS]

Meantime, the Gold Coast Regiment—who had been landed at Dar-es-Salaam
to augment our forces on this trek—engaged the enemy on the right of the
road in open, tree-clear hill country. This engagement, which continued
on through the next two days, was like open guerilla warfare, and
different therefore from all previous encounters which had taken place in
thick bush country. We, from our high position—as all was quiet on this
flank except for one short encounter—watched the fortunes of battle of
our friends across the valley. Artillery was in action on both sides, and
the white puffs of smoke told us plainly where the flying shells burst,
and where the opposing forces were located, and holding on.

Gallantly the Gold Coast blacks, led by British officers, fought
the blacks of the country, and steadily they dislodged them out of
bush-patches, and from behind rocks, to drive them, bit by bit, up the
many hill-slopes toward the Kihunsa ridge; behind which lay the track
to Mgata, and their second road of retreat to the south through Tulo or
Kissaki.

Meantime, on our flank, as I have said, all was quiet except for one
short “dust-up.” This was when, on the evening of the 5th, on a prominent
knoll on the opposite ridge, south of Magali ridge, we discovered and
destroyed, with mountain battery and machine-gun fire, the enemy’s
observation post which had been directing the fire of their naval
guns—long-range guns—which shelled from positions some six miles in
rear, and which our artillery could not attempt to reach, for at best
ours were light pieces which had been got through the part-blocked pass
at Ruwu River. As soon as this vital observation post was wiped out,
the enemy’s guns ceased fire, for there, far forward of the guns, had
hidden the eyes that saw all—eyes that scanned the whole countryside, and
the road, with the intentness of a bird of prey—and there had been the
cunning hand on the wires of the telephone that told off every pulse-beat
of the booming guns.

On the evening of the 6th the troops on the right flank had worked
far out and up to the main ridge crest—some had even gone over it,
in pursuit of fleeing enemy—and, on the approach of dusk, the firing
died down altogether and fighting ceased. Natives whom I questioned,
who live in these hills, and have not deserted their homes in fear of
approaching conflict, state that the force on the right flank is not the
big one, but that the larger force is on the main road between here and
Bukubuku, in which village, where a road joins in from the west, there
is a large camp of enemy. On the last day of the fight the natives, who
are extraordinarily quick in flashing news from hut to hut amongst their
tribes, stated that all the enemy were preparing to leave the hills, and
that they would go toward Kissaki Fort.

The 7th of September was a quiet day, and was spent in camp on the
sun-hot ridge, while we grew impatient at our inactivity. Though all was
quiet on our front, we could hear the battle call of big guns firing to
the east, where the eastern column was “somewhere” in action.

[Sidenote: ENEMY HARD-PRESSED]

_8th September, 1916._—Camp afoot at 4 a.m., and the battalion trekked
at daylight; at that time commencing the descent from Magali ridge to
the road, where we joined in with the column. About 10 a.m. we passed
through Bukubuku, then deserted, but where large, carefully built barrack
hutments extensively lined the road. This place had the aspect of being a
large military centre, probably a training station for natives recruited
from these populated hills. Late in the day, as we advanced steadily,
the road began to wind down out of the hills until, to the south, there
appeared before us a great level stretch of haze-softened bush country,
reaching out as far as eye could follow. From noon onward, to-day, small
but troublesome enemy rear-guards harassed our advance, until finally,
in the evening, we drew in on larger forces and entered into a short
engagement at Mwuha River and village. It promised, at one time, to be
a hot set-to, but mountain-battery guns subjected the village to very
heavy fire, and, when extended infantry proceeded to attack, the village
was entered without noteworthy incident, for the enemy were found to be
again retiring, and, as it was getting dark, we could not follow on their
heels.

During the trek to-day quantities of abandoned stores were passed from
time to time upon the road, principally field-gun ammunition, wagons,
dump-barrows, and pioneering implements. We continue close on the heels
of the enemy, and, fearful of standing up to our superior forces, they
are apparently being hustled uncomfortably to get away each night, and
must now be a much-harassed force.

[Sidenote: ABANDONED BUILDINGS AND STORES]

Early next morning, when we moved out, we had not trekked far before
we came on the enemy’s rear-guard camp of last night, where some fires
were yet kindled and freshly killed meat lay about, quantities having
been but partly used. Shortly after midday, the column marched into
Tulo, which the enemy had hastily cleared from. Here, as at Bukubuku,
were countless grass huts which had been built and used as barracks. The
interiors of all were in disorder—rude furnishings, such as grass-laced
couches and chairs, were upturned everywhere; mealie-meal flour, peas,
beans, and paper lay scattered on the ground, or lay about in half-empty
sacks against the walls, and all gave one the impression of a looted
and abandoned camp, from which the occupants had fled in uncontrolled
haste. An hour or two ago the enemy had been here—now they were fleeing
through the bush and down the road leading south-west in the direction
of Kissaki. Here, as at Ruwu, large quantities of shells and other
ammunition were found dumped in the Mwuha River and abandoned. Besides
the barrack huts already mentioned, there were the many native kraals
of the permanent village of Tulo, and a number of these still contained
their peaceful occupants. The following day, as I had lost a considerable
number of machine-gun carriers, I recruited, for temporary service,
twenty-one sturdy, ragged-garbed, almost naked natives from amongst the
inhabitants of the village. These natives appeared friendly and willing
to serve under us, although we had been but a few hours their masters.
In their own dull way I suppose they reasoned that we were a great and
powerful people, since we were driving their late masters before us.

The next four days we remained in reserve at Tulo, while the column
went ahead to Nkessa’s village, some thirteen miles farther on, on the
Dunthumi River, and entered on an extensive encounter on a wide front.

My diary entries at this time again record great food shortage, and
declare that the men have not enough food to keep together their sorely
tried, used-up systems. And this was really so. Daily the ambulances took
in men we lost on the march from sickness and _exhaustion_.

Being short of food at Tulo, and as the conditions did not improve, on
the third and fourth day I went out to hunt for the pot, and, as we were
now on the border of a large German game reserve, I found game plentiful,
and shot five antelope, three Reedbuck, and two Mpala. Other officers
did likewise, and soon there was no shortage of buck meat in the camp.

[Sidenote: PROLONGED FIGHT AT NKESSA’S]

Meantime, during the 10th, 11th, 12th, and 13th of September, a stern
struggle had been raging at Nkessa’s, and not until the evening of the
13th were the enemy dislodged from their many positions and driven back
some three miles south, and the hills and the river and the village
occupied.

The day following I went forward to make a sketch survey of the
battle-field, which, owing to the extensiveness of the operations, I
did not complete until four and a half days later; throughout that time
labouring from daylight to dusk to get over the many positions. While I
was at Nkessa’s enemy movements were fairly quiet, excepting for some
night shooting on 15th, 16th, and 18th. The enemy were entrenched across
the Mgeta River about three and a half miles south of Nkessa’s, and some
of our forces were dug-in opposite them. For, for reasons beyond my
knowledge, operations, and the active chase, had, for the time being,
come to an end.

[Sidenote: A WELL-CHOSEN POSITION]

I give here a description of the country held by the enemy before
Nkessa’s village:

To advance to the encounter Nkessa’s was approached from the east on the
Tulo-Kissaki road—a narrow, inferior road through the low country, and
running westerly parallel with the southern foothills of the Ulugúru
mountains, which were always visible well off to our right. The road
throughout was over level grade, and passed through country of thorn-bush
growth and tall, dense grass.

Approaching Nkessa’s, the foothills draw in to close proximity of
the village, and, about 2,100 yards north of the road, a prominent
bush-covered hill, and a long ridge trending west, rise to an elevation
of about 300 feet from dense, bush-grown bases, and command the flat
country south and east; over which our forces advanced to attack.

South of the prominent hill, between the hill base and the road, the low
ground formation is irregular, with small nullas and mounds and the whole
surface a dense tangle of bush growth and tall grass.

Adjoining this, and continuing to the eastern edge of the village, there
is a square-planned rubber plantation, while above the northern boundary
of it there is a low spur, on which is situated a group of planters’
buildings. From those buildings, which are clearly in view from the low
ground, a narrow road runs down, between the village boundary and the
plantation, to the main road.

Across the main road, opposite the rubber plantation and the low ground
below the hills, there is a large level mealie-field, clear of crop,
which parallels the road for 1,000 yards or so from the village, and
which has a narrow width at the village, but which opens out fan-wise to
a depth of 550 yards at its easterly extremity, where it is bordered by a
cotton-field in crop. East of the cotton-field, where some of our forces
dug in, the country is level, with a surface of tall rank grass and a few
bushes.

Bordering the south margin of the mealie-field, and continuing some
distance east, is a belt of dark jungle composed of tall trees and
tangled bush.

Immediately south of the tree belt, at the south-west margin, there is a
village of native kraals hidden by some fields of tall-stalked mealies
and by the tall, rank grass common to the low ground of the Dunthumi
River, which in the rains is flooded.

Farther south of this there are no decided landmarks, the country running
out like prairie, low and level, and grown with tall, rank grass, and
screening the Dunthumi River, which swings on to an easterly course after
it has left the hills and passed through Nkessa’s village and beyond
about a mile.

Turning now from the south aspect to the west aspect:

Immediately west of the prominent hill above the road, there runs
north and south, across a deep parallel valley, a long ridge which, at
its southern extremity, descends abruptly to the Dunthumi River, and
from the ridge the course of the river is clearly seen below, in the
immediate foreground, and running out south through its margins of tall
grass. Across the river, and just north of the village, the country
rises brokenly into low, bush-covered foothills. Those foothills were
unoccupied by enemy. From the ridge Nkessa’s village is not seen,
it being under cover of the large mango trees, and palms, and thick
forest, amidst which it is situated. However, it is a large village of
native huts, with a broad white road running through the centre of it
which is shaded with avenues of great densely leafed mango trees, and
lined on either side with native dwellings, grass-thatched, mud-walled,
sand-floored.

From the village, a track runs out south along the west bank of the
Dunthumi River. The track is narrow but level, and passes through low
country with the usual perplexing growth of tall, rank grass and thorn
bush.

One may gather, from this detailed description, the immense natural
difficulties of the country, and how hard it may be to turn an enemy
out of such positions. Here the only area of open space—viz. the
mealie-field—down which an attacking force might push rapidly forward,
was ruthlessly exposed to enemy fire from no less than three sides—from
the village, from the low bush north of the road, and from the dark
tree-belt south of the road. It meant death to too many to attempt it.
The alternative attack was to advance slowly, through the all-screening,
hampering bush, upon those concealed entrenchments in the grass; never
sure, even when the enemy are located by their fire, of the exact
position of the foe; never sure, at any time, what the next twenty
yards of jungle hold in store for you. You are blind from the time you
enter the rank jungle growth until you reach the enemy’s position, and
you are lucky if at the end you have sighted an enemy at all, though
you have been blazing away at one another at some fifty yards. And
picture the difficulty of keeping in touch with your own people in such
jungle, which, the moment you enter it, swallows you up in its depth of
undergrowth as if you were a rabbit taking cover in a field of ripe corn.
Not only is it difficult—I might say impossible, sometimes—to know where
your own people are, who are advancing on the right or left, but also it
is difficult to know the movements of the enemy. One moment they may be
in front of you; a few moments more, and they may be gone, undetected—all
but a few bluffing rifles—to a new position, or may be working round on
an open flank.

Truly the enemy chooses his positions well, and it is the country, not
he, well though he fights, that robs us again and again of decisive
battle. Their positions are, with rare exceptions, chosen where they and
their movements cannot be seen, and thus their strength, at the many
points of battle, may be either a handful of men or a dozen companies.
Moreover, under cover of the bush, their lines are flexible to any
change, while always, in the rear, they have sure and safe lines of
retreat by which they can escape in the bush, in a dozen directions,
to meet again at a given point when their flight is over. Moreover, the
enemy is always on his own soil, whereas each new battle-front is, in
all its details, for us an unmapped riddle of which eye and mind have no
clear conception.

[Sidenote: BUSH FOILS DECISIVE COMBAT]

I have often been asked, “What were the difficulties of the
campaign?”—for the uninitiated have sensed that there were
difficulties—and I have answered, “Our greatest enemy to overcome was
the ever-blinding, ever-foiling bush and jungle growth; our second enemy
was the intensely hot climate, and subsequent disease; the third enemy
was the shortage of adequate rations; and the fourth enemy was the
grim tenacity of a stubborn and worthy foe.” There you have the four
essential conditions that made the East African Campaign a long one. But,
undoubtedly, the main condition, the one that can never be overlooked, is
that, in a territory 176,210 square miles larger than Germany—which is
seven-eighths larger than the whole area of the German Empire—the country
was a vast, unbounded wilderness of bush, with ready cover to conceal all
the armies of the world. Into that blank area were placed our tiny pawns
of armies, to move and counter-move, with the touch of blind men, in
pursuit of peoples who were, in their knowledge of the country, like wild
animals in their native haunts.

And there for a time we must leave this subject, and the enemy—free like
wild animals in the bush—while I return to our camp life at Tulo.

On the 19th of September, leaving Nkessa’s, I rejoined my unit at
Tulo, and remained there ten days, while the operations of our column
stood more or less at a standstill. Apparently our chase from Morogoro
had entailed even greater difficulties than usual to our line of
communication, and a breathing space had become imperative to attend to
road repairs in the hills behind, and to augment our failing supplies.

Ultimately it transpired that our onward-pressing advance had come to a
prolonged halt that was to confine us to this unhealthy area for three
and a half wearisome months, while rains fell incessantly in the Ulugúru
hills in the rear and blocked the road to almost all traffic. Hence we
were constrained to wait in patience, holding on to our front in this low
country, and subsisting on such rations as could be got through to us,
while here too it rained, though in lesser quantity than in the hills.
When we came down out of the hills into the low country our battalion
camped for nineteen days at Tulo, before moving on, on the 30th of
September, to take over permanent positions at Old and New Kissaki on the
Mgeta River.

[Sidenote: DELAYED AT TULO]

A few records of Tulo may be interesting, and I will endeavour to follow
our existence there for a few days.

TULO, _21st Sept., 1916_.

Heavy rains overnight and all to-day, causing much discomfort, since we
have no shelter or clothing against such weather. We have been camping
under mere sun-shelters, hastily erected, and protection only from the
heat. We had been caught unprepared, and as penalty slept the night in
soaking blankets on the sodden ground, while to-day has passed without
chance to dry anything, not even our wet blankets. To-morrow, the
ambulance will attend more fever cases than ordinarily.

TULO, _22nd Sept_.

Rain has ceased, and everyone in camp is to-day employed rectifying
their shelters against a recurrence of downpour by rigging, over their
camp spaces, steep-pitched roofs, framed with green poles cut from the
bush, and thatched with compact layers of long grass gathered from
the surrounding country by our porters. In the afternoon I rode out
south-west across the river to look for game, and secured three Reedbuck
in open, dried-out swamp country.

TULO, _23rd Sept_.

Remained in camp all day. Overnight heavy firing was heard in the
direction of Nkessa’s village. To-day a crocodile was shot in the Mwuha
River: it measured 13 feet 1 inch.

TULO, _25th Sept_.

[Sidenote: KILLING GAME FOR HUNGRY PORTERS]

Nothing new to-day. No fresh news of “our” war, or of the European
war, of which we get but scraps of information at intervals. Spent
the morning on battery drills and on machine-gun instruction. In this
country, where sickness is so rife, it is impossible to keep an efficient
gun team together for any length of time. Old hands slip away each week,
and men to replace them have endlessly to be instructed in the intricate
mechanism of the gun whenever halt gives opportunity. In the afternoon
out for a hunt, to keep fit, and to look for buck meat, chiefly for
porter food, as their ration issue is very short. But to-day I searched
without success, principally through having a local native with me who
purposely, or foolishly, took me over what proved to be very poor game
country. Nearing camp on the way home, I shot four of those delicious
table birds—the wild guinea-fowl, which I have—wanting a shot gun—taken
to shooting with our ·303 service rifle; which indeed now serves for the
killing of anything from a partridge upwards.

Next day, still wanting meat, I rode out on horseback and, with the
assistance of my porter followers, brought in the meat of four Reedbuck.
On the 28th of September I again went out with the same purpose, and
secured three Waterbuck, animals about the size of a mule and of the
same dark mouse colour. In this way were the natives tided over some bad
ration days.

Before passing on, I must mention a strange incident that occurred last
night. A great pack of hyenas, like a pack of timber wolves, came from
the bush to the east, right through the centre of the camp, snarling and
howling and fighting at our very hut doors as they passed, arousing the
whole camp to wakefulness and astonishment with their gruesome, fiendish
uproar. The camp, in pitch darkness, was a regular wolf garden for some
minutes, ere the last of the howling, quarrelling mob had gone through,
and passed beyond the camp. Why such a thing occurred no one could tell
next morning; the impression given was that the whole band was chasing
something, a wounded buck perhaps, or one or two outcasts of their own
kind; but, in any case, they were so intent on their business that they
knew no fear of our presence, for they went through our camp, in their
wild excitement, just as if they were going down a main city street,
though in ordinary temperament such surroundings would have filled them
with the greatest suspicion and fear.

So much for the small events of bush life while we lay at Tulo.

After the usual reorganising, preparatory to abandon a camp we had been
settled in for some days, we left Tulo in the early morning of 30th
September, and trekked forward to Nkessa’s, _en route_ for Kissaki;
there to take over the positions captured some time ago by South African
forces, in conjunction with operations on this side.

Meantime we had learned that we were to remain on in the country, a
reduced but a hard-dying Imperial unit, though in the latter months of
this year a great many exhausted white troops were sent back to better
climes—I believe, in all, some 12,000, the larger number of whom,
excepting a battalion of the Loyal North Lanes, and the 2nd Rhodesians,
had landed in the country in the early part of the year. These troops
were replaced, in time, by newly raised battalions of King’s African
Rifles, and by the Nigerian Brigade—all of them native regiments,
accustomed to the hot African climate.

[Sidenote: ADVANCE TO RUFIJI POSTPONED]

The advance to the Rufiji had by this time been definitely postponed,
and our command was now concerned in holding the Mgeta River front at
all vital points, and in patrolling, continuously and alertly, the
intervening country from post to post. Our battalion was ordered to
Kissaki Fort, and to Camp A—the old Arab fort of Kissaki, and about
two miles south of the present fort. In taking up these positions
we were on the extreme right of the Mgeta front, a front that lay
virtually east and west along the course of the river. Our camp at Old
Kissaki was within a square compound, walled in by an ancient hedge of
impenetrable, needle-leaved cactus. Within the compound were some old
stone foundations of long-demolished buildings, and in the centre an old
unused stone-built well. Outside the compound a road ran in from the east
to the very entrance of the square, to turn off abruptly there and head
north on the way to New Kissaki Fort. The road outside the compound,
in both directions, was bordered with solid-looking avenues of large,
thick-leaved mango trees, while underneath those trees, on the road from
the east, nestled the shaded grass huts of a score or two of peaceful
natives. In the neighbourhood of the fort some land was cultivated, but
where not, it grew dense and rank, with tall grass and low bush. In the
big rains of February—April the entire country adjacent to the river is
two or three feet under water, say the natives; and they tell of how
they then go to live in the hills. This locality had a considerable
native population, and their huts and mealie patches are to be found at
intervals near to the banks of the river along its course.

[Illustration: NATIVE KRAAL.]

[Sidenote: PEACEFUL NATIVES AT KISSAKI]

These native habitations have with them a certain human homeliness, a
certain attractiveness, that is altogether foreign. Picture a group of
tall, full-bodied trees with thick foliage, dark and green, from which
issues the pensive, melodious “co-coo-oo” of African doves toward the eve
of a throbbing, sun-scorched day, when the air is cooling, and you are
fortunate to have leisure to notice that the scenes and the sounds are
pleasant and restful. These are the mango tree (Mwembe)—trees of blessed
shade against the hot sun, and trees that, when the leaves are ready to
fall, in October or November, give a rich harvest of delicious mango
fruit.

It is here, close to their sheltering shade, that the native huts are
grouped; huts with a great proportion of steep roof of weather-darkened
grass, and with low squat walls of baked reddish mud. Here naked children
play around the tree-trunk roots, in the shade, while old shrivelled-up
women, or labouring wives, together under the hut-eaves, croon their
soft Swahili folk-songs, in tune with the doves in the trees, in tune,
indeed, with all that is African. About the habitations are some patches
of cultivation—a not extensive irregular area of ground cleared, without
choice of fair angles or straight lines, in any old haphazard way,
wherever the bush could most easily be cleared, or where the soil held
most richness and moisture. Here and there in the clearing stands a great
wintry looking, sparsely leaved wild fig tree (Mcuyu), a landmark to
the eyes of all. On those clearings are grown millet (Mtama) and maize
(Mahindi), which is the harvest of the native—his bread, as it were, his
chief staple food. Part of the crop is standing, twice the height of man,
tall, clustering reed-canes with long ribbon leaves and bending, burdened
seed-heads, caught into motion, and rustling in the light, undulating
wind. Here, moreover, from the neighbouring bush, numerous doves fly,
swift-winged and grey, to feed on the ground among the stems; to search
out the broken heads that have fallen, or to perch, with some effort to
balance, on swinging plant top to plunder the ripened head. Part of the
crop has been cut as need required, and, in the open, the stem-strewn
stubble lies, straw brown, and level, and tinder dry.

Such is the common aspect of the native habitations in this neighbourhood.

Within the compound we built our huts of shelter—for owing to transport
difficulties we never had tents—and strongly entrenched the perimeter
against attack. Water we carry from the river, which is about half a mile
south down a dusty track between bushes; and since this same water is
essential to existence here, vigilant pickets guard the river drift, day
and night.

Here at Camp A, as the old fort was designated, we had a period of heavy
duties, busily fortifying the position, while rations became shorter and
shorter.

[Sidenote: UNDER-FED, UNDERCLOTHED SOLDIERS]

On 3rd October I record:

Another day of fatigues. Every one more overstrained than usual, for
we are now in low country that is excessively hot and relaxing. It is
difficult to keep up good spirits all round. Unfortunately there is no
ration improvement, and no word of fresh kit coming, of which all are
much in need. Notice shirtless men in camp, with badly sun-burned backs,
and men on the march without socks. One sees, in the brave suffering of
men, many things in these days to make one’s heart sore and sad. To-day
General Sheppard, the man who has won the popularity of our men, and of
all, visiting the camp from Dakawa, paraded the remnant of our force and
spoke encouragingly of the ration shortage, thanking all for enduring the
hardships so cheerfully, and promising at least some improvement in four
days’ time.

At this time, too, most men are without even the solace of tobacco,
having run completely out of it, though some tackle the crude native
stuff, and make of it cigarettes by rolling it in paper or in dry
mealie-cob sheaths. At best this was a hot, rank smoke which some could
put up with, but which many had to forgo, after a brave trial or two.

But light may glint through even the worst of shadows, and a day or two
later some parcels reached camp from home, and priceless were they to
their lucky recipients. I wish those at home who had sent those gifts
could have witnessed, even though it might have brought tears to their
eyes, those ragged men rejoicing over the gifts that meant so much to
them in their need, and were not to be bought for their weight in gold.
Yet, after all, they were but little things; such as a pair of socks,
some packets of Gold Flake cigarettes, a cake of soap, a candle or two,
and a few tins of sardines or biscuits. Nothing at all when you are
living in civilisation or near to it, but everything to men heart-hungry
and half-starved of any luxury for nigh on two years.

Yes! we had our “mean” days in Africa, plenty of them. We had had them
before, we were having them here, and we are certain to experience them
again, but in all our roughing it those dark days at Kissaki cannot be
surpassed, and they were the days that found our spirits at the lowest
ebb.

During our stay in the Kissaki area, I will ramble over some of the
incidents of daily life as they chanced to come along. If they should
appear more personal than ought to be, in my endeavour to be accurate,
through describing incidents that were known directly to me, I would like
you to forget the “I” and imagine any one of us in that character, for,
besides the regular routine of patrols, all were employed on a variety of
similar duties, arduous and otherwise, and found our little pleasures,
one in the manner of the other, when the opportunity chanced our way.

KISSAKI, _5th Oct._

Carrying out orders received, to make sketch survey of Mgeta River and
neighbourhood east of drift. Found the river-banks of tall grass in many
places impenetrable, and therefore, to secure the principal bearings and
distances, I, and the two men who were with me, took to the water and
waded, waist-deep, some two miles down the centre of the broad stream. It
was, since the water was warm, not such an unpleasant proceeding as it
would appear, so long as no enemy, or crocodiles, put in an appearance;
and neither were seen. On the spits of sand on the river-side, where
they occasionally appeared, were many fresh footprints of elephant and
hippopotamus, telling that they habit this district in numbers, and haunt
the river at night and at daybreak.

To-day fifteen German Askaris passed wide of our picket at the river
drift. In the evening, cavalry reported a company of the enemy camped
close to the drift, and additional precautions were taken in camp against
an attack. But the night passed quietly, and no attempt was made by the
enemy, to seize and hold the river-bank, as was thought they might do.
Our forces here are small—growing smaller daily through sickness—and a
strong attack of the enemy might now make our position difficult to hold.

KISSAKI, _8th Oct._

[Sidenote: INCIDENTS OF CAMP LIFE]

This afternoon one of my porters rushed excitedly into camp and
breathlessly told that three Germans were cutting the telegraph wires
on the road north of the camp. Not, on the spur of the moment, being
able to find the O.C., I went unauthorised in chase with two machine-gun
volunteers, after I had left word that I had gone to keep in touch with
the enemy, and asking that reinforcements follow on later. I found that
the enemy had been alarmed by our porters, who were in numbers in the
bush, cutting wood, and had got a start of us, but we went in pursuit
nevertheless, and after a hot chase of about three miles we came in
sight of the enemy. We had crossed the river away back, and had followed
out the chase over native tracks, and were now far over our front. In
passing a group of native kraals we learned that the enemy, who had
just passed through ahead of us, were eleven strong, so when we sighted
them, on the other side of a bare mealie-field, we paused, awaiting
developments. And while we thus lay watching under cover of some bush, up
came seven Indian cavalry, who had been sent out from camp. Immediately
they charged on the enemy, whom we pointed out to them, outpacing us
altogether down the side of the field, though we followed at a run.
I thought then that we had the raiders sure—but we were doomed to
disappointment. The enemy, before the cavalry reached them, scattered in
the bush, to the left or to the right?—the cavalry, nor we, could tell
not where—and escaped under the rank jungle cover. Reluctantly, and after
much unsuccessful searching of likely groups of bush, we gave up at dusk
and returned to camp, feeling that our little adventure had deserved a
more fitting finish. However, I think we thoroughly frightened the enemy,
for the wires were not again interfered with while we lay at Kissaki.

KISSAKI, _15th Oct._

Seven German Askaris gave themselves up overnight. They report food
scarce, and also that numbers of natives are deserting and going off
west through the bush, their purpose to try to find their way back to
their homes. They also say, as we have heard before, that the German
carriers are partially bound when in camp, so that they cannot run away
in the night, if they wanted to escape.

Then I find a few entries when all was not as it should be and a little
cry of impatience had crept in:

KISSAKI, _16th Oct._

Bad night; suffering from dysentery. Weak and lay on my grass-bed all day.

_17th Oct._

Little better to-day and trying to get around duties. Feeling about
“all in” now, but must stick it out with the others, and trust that the
sickness will pass off.

_19th Oct._

[Sidenote: OVERSTRAINED AND LANGUISHING]

Feeling better to-day and cheerier, but I wish, since I’ve lost patience,
that we could get along with “the Show,” and then be quit of Africa for
a time, for I have a passionate desire that we should be free to change,
just for a little, the colour and the quality of a long-familiar picture
whose strange characteristics are now indelible. Sometimes, I’m afraid, I
feel as if I was in prison, and long for the freedom of the life beyond
these prison walls. Those are times when thoughts quickly fly in and out
the old scenes—dear old familiar scenes—and they are touched now with a
deep and a sure appreciation. Would that they could stay; would that, by
the strength of their willingness, they could lift me in body over the
vast space and set me in some fair, peaceful land! But, alas! so quickly
as I write they are back again, exhausted, and fluttering in the bated
African sun-glare. Nevertheless, for the hour, I am restless as those
thoughts. This campaign, this adventure of war, has been a long Game of
Patience, and I feel mad, poor wight, at times to chuck away the cards
and run. But, after all, I know that all is as it should be, and that
the hand must be strong to win. Yet it would be a very beautiful day in
my eyes were it ever to come to pass, this pictured freedom from war and
bloodshed, though for the present it is so far down the long blind trail
of the uncertain road before me that I may but carry the memory of things
that have been, and of things that are ideal.

So may I ponder—so may others here, though they are but thoughts that
well up for a moment, and then fade away into the far distance of space,
where, like the setting sun, or the mists on the hills, they may mingle
with the mysteries of Beyond. However, I have paused long enough with
such thoughts, and will leave them now, perhaps a little reverently, and
go on with the record of other days for neither thought nor the span of
a day can hold steadfast for long, without the intervention of onward
passing time, and change to other scenes.

KISSAKI, _3rd Nov._

[Sidenote: SEEKING A ROADWAY THROUGH HILLS]

I am back in camp again, after being away seven days on reconnaissance
up into the Ulugúru mountains, to try to find a suitable track, back
over the hills to Matombo, for porter transport during the approaching
rains, when the low road, via Tulo, will be flooded. My party was made
up of privates Taylor and Wilson, six native carriers, and a shrewd old
native who was supposed to know the country, and, contrary to usual
experience, did know it. We found the outermost point of our journey at
Kasanga, overlooking Matombo, and high up in the mountains—elevation,
3,900 feet—amongst majestic hill-slopes and fair deep valleys which
were cultivated by the numerous inhabitants of the hills, who dwelt
everywhere, in their little bits of “crofts,” like the ancient highlander
of mediæval ages. We were two days out from camp when we found ourselves
in this land of plenty, and land of great beauty; for the scenery
surpassed anything we had previously seen in Africa. Up in the mountain
heights the air was cool, almost cold; mists fitfully swept over the
peaks and dropped like waterfalls into the valleys; it rained, then
cleared again—all ever-changing the picture, and the lights and shades on
the mountain slopes, and in the valleys—truly it was a most enchanting
country. The trail outward, up hill and down valley, and along the line
of least resistance, proved to be thirty-one miles in distance, all
of which was measured by counting the paces as we trudged along, and
surveyed by many compass bearings. From such data I was able completely
to map the route, on my return to camp, and this was the manner in which
I carried out all such work, when detailed information was wanted.

[Sidenote: ELEPHANTS]

On the return journey, after descending from the highest ranges, and when
drawing away from the last of the cultivated area, the party encountered
a small herd of elephant feeding amongst bamboos, and loudly breaking
their way along a wide valley bottom. Taylor and I, both armed with
·303 rifles, cut off the track and went to try to get a shot at the
beasts—both very keen to bag an elephant. Successfully we worked up-wind
on them, and finally drew near to two animals partly hidden in the fringe
of the bamboo belt. I doubted the killing capacity of our rifles, but,
when we fired, it transpired that both animals dropped—though in the
thick cover, for the moment, we couldn’t be sure of the full effect of
our shots—one dead, and the other emitting the most dreadful trumpet
blasts, that echoed and re-echoed, like thunder, in the enclosed valley.
The wounded animal could, apparently, not run away, but we dared not,
meantime, go any nearer to him, in case he should charge us down in the
tall, tangled grass, where, for us, running was well-nigh impossible.
Therefore we decided to leave him for a time, and return to where we
had left Wilson and the porters. We found our porter loads scattered
broadcast on the track, but not a black was to be seen, for, at the
trumpeting of the wounded elephant, they had scattered and fled in
mortal terror. Wilson, who was armed with a revolver only, and could not
take part in the shooting, in the midst of the uproar had been, while
standing on the track, almost knocked down by the rush past of a startled
Waterbuck. We shouted for the porters, and, one by one, they appeared,
reluctantly, from various directions, to be chaffed and laughed at. They
were all wildly excited when we said we had one or two elephants shot,
and lying in the bamboos below. Taylor and I had both been suffering from
malaria throughout the day—brought out by the cold in the hills—so we
decided on a drink of tea to refresh us, and hurried the boys about it,
while excited talk ran high. Twenty minutes later, though we could still
hear an occasional movement in the bamboos, we decided to venture down to
our quarry, but nothing on earth would tempt any of the blacks to come.
Soon I saw our quarry, badly wounded, but still able to move about a bit.
A moment later I put the elephant down like a log, with a fatal bullet,
and we could hear him venting great sobbing breaths as life gave out. We
now ventured close up, and saw him lying on his side with all legs out.
Now and again his huge head raised, but only to relax to the ground
again. By and by he was quite still, and then we went up to him. We were
looking at him, highly delighted, since it was our first elephant, when
Wilson cried “Look out!” pointing, as he did so, to our right. We wheeled
round to see, indistinctly through the canes and grass, the head and the
great forward-thrust ears of an elephant quite close to us—I fired, and
again rang out that appalling trumpet cry. Soon, as all was quiet, we
went forward cautiously, to exclaim our surprise when we found a great
cow elephant dead—killed by one of our first shots—and a young bull
fatally wounded beside her. The wounded animal was dispatched, and, after
some trouble, and assurances that there was not another elephant alive
in Africa, we persuaded the black boys to venture down, and to start
cutting out the tusks from the skull base with their long-bladed, heavy,
wood-chopping knives. I left them, then, to get under the shade of a
tree, and to roll myself in my blanket, for by this time I was absolutely
exhausted, and in high fever. Water had been found near-by, and I had
given orders that we would camp here till the morning. I hazily remember
looking out of my blanket about 5 p.m., when the sun was lowering, to
see the tusk trophies lying close to me and the native boys, “happy as
kings,” smoking huge pieces of elephant trunk, placed on bamboo racks
over well-fed fires.

Next day, in the morning before we moved on, troops of natives began to
arrive from the hills to cut up, and smoke, and part roast, the elephant
meat—to carry it off, when ready, to their homes. It was good to see
their simple rejoicing at securing such plentiful food.

On one other occasion I ran across elephants when on reconnaissance
work. This was about six miles south-west of Kissaki, at hot springs at
the northern end of Magi-ya-Weta hill. I had been out looking over the
country, with the view to finding a road route, when I found that large
herds of elephant had been recently at the water below the springs, and
in some places had wrecked the bush-forest when feeding—for an elephant,
if wanting to reach the upper growth, thinks nothing of grasping a
tree-trunk, and pulling downwards with his mighty weight (a large
elephant weighs about seven tons) until the tree, which has commonly a
diameter of six to eight inches, snaps off like a broken match, a yard or
two above the ground.

On my return to camp from reconnaissance I happily received permission
to go out again in quest of the elephants; and set out next day with my
fellow-officer, Martin Ryan—a Rhodesian, who was an experienced elephant
hunter.

KISSAKI, _5th Dec._

[Sidenote: AN ELEPHANT HUNT]

[Sidenote: TWO FINE ELEPHANTS KILLED]

Left camp at 6 a.m., Captain Ryan, self, and nine natives. We camped
about a mile from the springs at 12 noon. On viewing the ground, which
was new to Ryan, we decided to make the noon camp our base, and here left
six of the boys when we started out again at 3 p.m. About 4.30 p.m.,
when still searching for the large fresh track of bull elephant, we had
the extraordinary luck to see three large elephants, with fine tusks,
coming along the edge of a belt of forest, on our right flank and towards
us. Ryan, beckoning to me, immediately set out after them—after he had
dropped a handful of dust to test the wind—and, crouching and running,
we were soon very close to them, while the short-sighted brutes, intent
on feeding as they moved along in single file, were still unaware of
our presence. When at not more than fifteen yards from our quarry, Ryan
dropped on his knees, and fired on the elephant opposite him (the centre
one of the three), trying to get in the brain shot, just in front of the
ear. On the report of Ryan’s shot the rear elephant cleared off the way
it had come, while the leading elephant swung wide and then crossed back,
at full run, attempting to rejoin its companion. This elephant I now
gave my attention to—for I had hesitated, while the huge bulk of Ryan’s
elephant interrupted my view—and got in four shots which apparently
had no effect, though I felt fairly certain that the second and fourth
shots had been true. I followed the brute at a run, but, for the moment,
couldn’t find trace of him where he had disappeared in thicker forest.
Meantime Ryan’s elephant had recovered, and had got away with six shots
in him, delivered at hand-to-hand range; so I rejoined my comrade, to
find him empty-handed and fearing he had “mulled” his chance. However, we
now set about tracking his elephant over ground very difficult to follow
tracks on, as it was hard and dry, and strewn with dead leaves, and had
been trampled over recently by numerous elephants. Again and again we
went off on a false track, until Ryan, whose keen eye was looking for
such minute signs as a single freshly crushed leaf, or a small broken
twig, stem, or grass, would declare he was at a loss once more. At
last, nearing dusk, Ryan said, “We’ll have one more try and then go to
camp,”—and the “one more try” found our prey, outstretched and dead,
under the trees of a thick growth of forest. He was a great brute with a
splendid pair of tusks, the largest Ryan had ever secured, and this was
his fifty-seventh elephant. A few measurements I took next day were:

ft. in.
Length—from snout of trunk to root of tail 19 3
Length of trunk 6 6
Height to shoulder 10 6
Girth of body 18 0
Length of tusks 6 1½
Weight of tusks, 58 lb. and 59½ lb. = 117½ lb.

[Illustration: A GOOD BAG: 268½ LB. OF IVORY.]

We returned to camp highly delighted with our success, and reached it
with difficulty in the dark. On the way to camp we encountered a cow
elephant feeding in a swamp, and Ryan took considerable pains to pass
it, at some distance, without being detected, for he was afraid that if
it had a calf and scented danger, it would charge, and prove a furious,
fearless brute. I, in my ignorance, would, perhaps, not have foreseen
danger there, but it afterwards made me think a bit of the risk of
elephant-hunting, when I saw this seasoned hunter treating a single
animal with such great respect and care. But Ryan told me that you may
only have to make a mistake once, and pay the full penalty of it with
your life. He said there are few men, who have hunted elephants long,
who are not in the end caught; and long is his list of those who have
been killed in Rhodesia by an enraged elephant, at the far end of their
hunting days.

We could hear many elephants moving near camp during the night—a herd of
cow elephants, Ryan conjectured, for at this season the bulls roam singly
or in very small numbers.

At daybreak next morning we set out for the scene of yesterday’s
adventure, taking all the boys with us. On reaching our quarry we
started the natives to break in the skull to the root of each tusk, an
undertaking that, even with axes that we had brought for the purpose,
kept the boys incessantly labouring for nigh on two hours, so hard and
so great are the bones of an elephant’s head. Meantime, I and a native
had gone off to try to track my elephant, starting from the point of
shooting and working out to where I’d last seen him. Soon, following his
track step by step, we found he had swung to the right, and I then knew
I had overrun him yesterday. In a quarter of an hour more, great was my
joy to come on him stone dead, not 500 yards from where Ryan’s elephant
lay. Again he proved to be all that he had looked (for Ryan had yesterday
declared the leading elephant to be the best one), a grand old bull, with
a beautiful pair of tusks, weighing, it later proved, 74 lb. and 77½ lb.,
= 151½ lb., and measuring 6 ft. 5½ in. in length. He was shot through
the lungs, and his right hind-leg was crumpled up under him, so probably
he was hit somewhere there also, though it was, of course, impossible to
move him and see.

We got back to camp in the late afternoon with our loads of ivory, which
took six men to carry, and next day trekked to Kissaki, where our arrival
with such fine trophies caused much interest and not a little excitement.

[Sidenote: PREPARING TO ADVANCE AGAIN]

The last weeks of the year 1916 marked various activities on our front,
in preparation for another advance. Trees were felled in large numbers in
the river neighbourhood, and with such crude timber more than one stout
bridge was thrown across the Mgeta River, opposite our camps.

Away, even to Kirengwe, ten miles west of the old boma, a party of us
went out to cut a twelve-foot road through an otherwise impenetrable
forest belt, in preparation for a wide flank advance. In those last
weeks of the year, also, some of us did considerable reconnaissance
work, and were interested in gaining as much knowledge as possible of
the enemy’s country across the river, particularly in the direction of
Wiransi hill, which was on the enemy’s line of retreat from Dakawa.

Supplies, too, had improved; and our forces were strengthened and
augmented by other units. Captain Selous, who had been invalided home to
England some months before, arrived in camp on the 16th of December with
a draft of 150 fresh men; and at a time when our effective strength was
very much reduced through sickness and exhaustion.

Selous looked hale and hearty, and the grand old man he was. How fine
an example of loyalty he gave, in thus, at his great age, returning
again to the front to fight his country’s battles! It was pleasant to
see him back amongst us again, for his own sake, and for the additional
joy of hearing directly of the old country, and of how we were faring
in the great war at home. Of course talk drifted to hunting, and we had
to exchange news since last we met: he of a large butterfly collection
which he had collected in the first year and had taken home, and we of
our hunting since he left. Meantime machine-gun porters were building
the Bwana M’Kubwa (the Big Master) a grass “banda,” and soon Selous was
comfortably sheltered among us. I mention this because it was here, at
the old Kissaki boma, that Selous was destined to have his last brief
rest from travel, his last sleep in comfort, ere he met his death on the
field of battle some two weeks later.

On the 20th of December it was known that a move was anticipated, and
preparations for trekking were commenced. It was decided, in due course,
that we advance on the 27th, but on that date, and on the day previous,
heavy rains fell and the move was postponed, while at the same time it
was reported that, owing to the storm, our heavy guns were stuck on
the road beyond Tulo. If rains continued it would be most unfortunate.
Undoubtedly the wet season was near, and, I remember, Selous had grave
doubts of the weather at this period, and feared that the whole operation
might be stopped, for he knew the swift change the big rains would bring
about, and how flooded and impassable the country would become. However,
after five days of rain, the weather cleared somewhat, and we had orders
on New Year’s Eve that to-morrow the Mgeta position would be attacked.

Meantime, on the 30th, a column, under General Beves, moved through our
camp, _en route_ to Kissaki Fort and thence to Kirengwe, to advance, away
on the right flank, on Mkalinso on the Rufiji River.

[Sidenote: ATTACK ON TWENTY-MILE FRONT]

The early morning of New Year’s Day found our forces across the river
at points along a wide twenty-mile front, and attacking the enemy’s
elaborate entrenchments wherever they were known to exist.

Under the direction of General Sheppard, the fighting on our column took
place opposite Dakawa. Part of the force made a frontal attack on the
enemy’s first-line trenches, and the remainder, after crossing the river
by the new bridge south of our camp, advanced from a westerly direction,
and successfully intercepted the enemy in their retirement from their
first line on to their second line. Here hand-to-hand fighting ensued,
and the foiled enemy Askaris three times charged with fixed bayonets in
their attempts to break through in ordered formation, but in all they
were defeated and scattered in the bush, in the end to escape in disorder.

The 130th Baluchis did splendidly in this fighting and bore the brunt
of the attack. Losses on both sides were severe, as a result of the
closeness and the fierceness of the fighting. Toward noon the fighting
on our front had eased off, and, with the enemy scattered and in full
retreat in the bush, we continued southward on the Behobeho road, camping
at 11.30 p.m., when the column had advanced some fifteen miles, and was
in touch with our force in occupation of Wiransi: for a small detachment,
travelling through the bush the previous night, had surprised and
captured Wiransi early in the day, taking some white prisoners and some
stores.

During the day operations to our east had been progressing with equal
success. On the centre General Cunliffe, with the Nigerians, had
advanced from Nkessa’s out to Kiderengwe, clearing the enemy from the
strong entrenchments before him on the south bank of the Mgeta River.

On the left flank, a column under General Lyall made a hard cross-country
trek in crossing westerly from Kiruru to cut the Duthumi—Kiderengwe road,
on reaching which they intercepted enemy retiring from before the central
force. Among other incidents during the fighting, a company from this
column charged and captured one of the renowned 4·1 Koenigsberg guns.

[Sidenote: MGETA RIVER IN OUR HANDS]

Thus evening found the whole network of entrenchments on the Mgeta River
front—so long the halting-place of operations—completely in our hands,
and the enemy in full retreat.

The night of 1st January passed uneventfully. Bugleless, drumless
“_Réveillé_”—silent as always in enemy country—was at 4.30 a.m. and
we trekked soon afterwards, but only into Wiransi, where we halted
until 4 o’clock in the evening; then continuing, we advanced out on
the Behobeho track some three to four miles, before striking off
south-westerly through tall grass and fairly open bush in the direction
of the Fuga hills. Aided by the light of a full moon, the column kept
on until midnight, when the hitherto level bush became more uneven,
and thick bush belts were encountered among low hills and “dongas” of
rough gravel surface. Halt was called in a fairly clear space of tall
grass, but almost immediately exclamations of pain and acute irritation
were heard on all sides from much-provoked individuals, and the air was
literally full of abuse—we had camped among a swarm of fighting ants, who
straightway attacked the bare legs and arms and faces of everyone, in no
half-hearted manner, but with all the malice of their angered millions.
It was suggested that we move to another camping-ground at once, but no
order came to that effect, and by and by, when the attacks abated, we
dropped off to sleep, one by one, too tired to continue to kill the more
vengeful of the ants that still bit deep into quivering weather-toughened
skins.

Next day we continued on, but made progress slowly in the neighbourhood
of Mount Fuga, hampered by river-beds and their precipitous descents
and ascents. We put in a trying day’s trek, considerably exhausted by
the heat and oppressive atmosphere of the enclosed bush, and finally
made camp at dusk between Mount Fuga and Behobeho—which was known to be
occupied by the enemy.

In conjunction with our force a column to the east are advancing on the
Behobeho track, and we heard that column in action to-day. We, on our
part, now outflank the enemy from the west.

On 4th January we moved before daylight, and slowly headed in toward
Behobeho. An hour or two later we made a prolonged halt, and lay
hidden under cover of the bush in widely extended formation, while
north-east we could hear the other column in heavy action. Anxiously
we waited—impatiently—but no enemy fell into the ambush. After a time
scouts, who had been watching the track which was but a short distance
ahead, hurriedly reported that enemy in scattered forces were retiring
along it. We then moved forward on the track-road, to take up positions
closely viewing it. As we drew near to the road some enemy were seen
approaching. On these we immediately opened machine-gun and rifle
fire, surprising them completely, and inflicting severe casualties.
Notwithstanding this they retaliated, gamely enough for a little, but
our firing wore them down, and soon those that remained were silent,
and fleeing in the bush. We were now astride the road in the rear of
enemy forces, but to the wily foe, aided by the nature of the country,
this only meant the brief blocking of their line of retreat. They would,
and did, avoid the danger in their path by taking to the wide area of
vacant bush to the east of the track, and scattered there to meet at some
prearranged rendezvous, in a distant zone of safety.

[Sidenote: TRYING FIGHT AT BEHOBEHO]

[Sidenote: F. C. SELOUS KILLED IN ACTION]

Meantime, having cut on to the track very close to the village of
Behobeho—which we later learned harboured a large German camp—a lively
action soon developed with forces entrenched before the village. Directly
north of the level ground on which Behobeho is situated, there are some
low, gravel-covered ridges, facing the village, and those we advanced on
to, and there a line was established, while fierce fighting continued
for some hours, with our men lying on the almost red-hot ground of the
ridge crests, beneath a scorching, merciless sun. Men who had been
exposed to African sun for nigh on two years, and were skin-hardened and
browned to the colour of leather, nevertheless suffered serious sunburn,
and were blistered and peeled like delicately skinned children, on the
following day, so great had been the heat reflected from the white gravel
crystals on which they had lain. It was a trying fight in other uncommon
ways, for, though we were in fair positions against the enemy before
the village, we were fully exposed to sniping from the tall trees which
shaded the village, and we suffered a considerable part of our casualties
on that account. It was here that Captain Selous was killed, when
commanding his company in attack. His death caused a deep-felt whisper
of gravity and regret to pass along the line of faithful soldiers, who
loved him in uncommon manner, as their officer and as their grand old
fearless man. Here occurred an incident which speaks volumes for Selous’s
understanding of natives—on the just consideration of whom he held strong
opinions, and a broad generous view of kindliness toward untutored
humanity in any form, tempered with the latent authority of a strong
man. When Selous was killed, his native servant, Ramazani—who had been a
gun-bearer of Selous’s before the war—was overcome with grief and swore
to avenge his master’s death, and through the remainder of the engagement
he exposed himself in absolute fearlessness in his grim rage against the
foe. At the end of the day he claimed with conviction that he had killed
the man who had killed his master. About 4 p.m. Behobeho was occupied,
and the enemy in full retreat to Rufiji, which was now but another day’s
march farther on. Later in the evening the eastern column, which had had
severe fighting in dislodging the enemy from entrenched positions on the
road farther back, joined our force here. At Behobeho Captain Selous
and a few of the faithful “lean brown men” were buried in the shade of
a great baobab tree. Thus the famous hunter finished a career that had
been full of great risks and great adventures, fighting for his country,
at the age of sixty-five years—seeing through his last undertaking in
Africa as, perhaps, he would have chosen it should be, for this was the
continent he had explored the outer frontiers of, more than any other
living man, and in the early days, when Africa was “darkest” Africa, and
primitive races and strange diseases far more difficult to contend with
than they are to-day. Here he had found his life’s work, and had risen to
renown; and here, on the soil of Africa, he was destined to die.

The next four days, being wounded, I remained behind, and missed our
occupation of the north bank of the great Rufiji River. But bandaged, and
fit but for a crippled left “wing,” I was able to rejoin my battalion at
Kibambawe, and again take on my machine-gun command, which was otherwise
without an officer, since few remained fit at this stage. I found all
our forces on the banks of the Rufiji, and dug in against the enemy away
across the marsh-banked stream which, from memory, had a width of from
700 to 1,000 yards.

The opposite bank had been subjected to searching machine-gun fire
during the first two days, and now the enemy were quiet, and to effect a
crossing of our forces we—and also the western column, which had reached
Mkalinso—were apparently but waiting the construction of rafts, and the
arrival of the row-boats which were being brought up, all this distance
inland, from Dar-es-Salaam to surmount the difficulty of bridging this
river. However, our battalion remained but three more mildly eventful
days on the Rufiji front: then, being relieved, we had to commence a
long fourteen days’ march back to Morogoro, there to enter rest-camp,
and ultimately, some time later, to be sent from Dar-es-Salaam to South
Africa to recuperate for three months at “the Cape.”

The big rains were approaching. It transpired that they broke on 25th
January, soon after our forces had crossed and effected a lodgment on
the south shores of the Rufiji—and there active operations ended for some
months, while the country was deluged with torrential tropical rains.

A dispatch of General Hoskins, then commanding the East Africa
Forces—since General Smuts had a few weeks previously been called to the
War Cabinet in London—stated:

“By the 27th January the lines of communication from Mikessa
(on the Central Railway) to Kibambawe were interrupted by
the washing away of bridges and the flooding of roads, and
operations in all areas were henceforth seriously hampered by
the untimely rains.

“In the Mgeta and Rufiji valleys roads constructed with much
skill and labour, over which motor transport ran continually
in January, were traversed with difficulty and much hardship a
month later by porters wading for miles in water above their
waists.”

To native regiments was left the unpleasant task of “holding on” under
those dreadfully trying conditions, and there they remained, through
the months to come, marooned on their little bits of dry islands, with
flood water ankle deep around them; while we, lucky people, were out of
it for the time being, and were at last to enjoy rest and change, and
to witness, in South Africa, the civilisation and society to which our
long-bushed eyes and minds had been completely estranged for nigh on two
years.

[Illustration: LINDI AREA]

CHAPTER VII

THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN ON GERMAN SOIL

Our glorious rest of three months at “the Cape” came to an end—months
which had been filled with the joy and appreciation of men who had come
out of scenes that had borne something of nightmare into the full light
of life, among people of their own kind, in a beautiful, peaceful land.
The intellectual uplifting was supreme. Minds that were fever-weakened,
and depressed, and unresponsive—and few had not been affected by
prolonged hardship and equatorial climate—came again to life and ordinary
buoyant activity.

But our rest was over. On 12th May, 1917, we regretfully bade good-bye
to Cape Town and travelled by train overland through the bleak Karroo
Veldt, and on to Durban, to embark again there for East Africa on
19th May. Durban had for some days been the gathering-point for this
movement, and many troops were congregated here when we arrived. Five
ships, loaded with troops and stores, made up the convoy which sailed
from Durban for East Africa, a considerable reinforcement that promised
an immediate recommencement of offensive operations now that the rainy
season was over. Then, too, on the _Caronia_, which was one of the ships
of the convoy, were General Van Deventer and General Beves, and their
staffs, hastening back to take again the field. This great liner, the
_Caronia_, was on her way to India with troops, and was only to touch
in on the East African coast, but serious combustion set in in her coal
bunkers and threatened to delay her voyage, and therefore, on nearing our
destination, those of us going to East Africa transferred to naval craft
at sea, and thenceforward proceeded to port.

On the morning of 29th May, I and a few comrades, who had been travelling
overnight on an auxiliary cruiser, found ourselves on deck, and the ship
standing off the low white sand shore of Lindi Bay, a mile or more from
land. Thus we had again come in sight of East Africa—again we looked on
the silent land that lay before us, darkened with that unforgettable
growth of bush thicket that reached to the very borders of the sea. We
viewed the shore with mixed feelings: adventure still held an attraction
to us, but the country had, in its latent possibilities, the power to
appal the searchings of imagination, and it was with feelings more sober
than otherwise that we contemplated the land before us. For there lay the
bush-land, as it had always lain before us, an over-dark picture which no
man could surely read, though he knew, since he had seen it in another
light, and had looked at it closely, that behind the foreground in view
there was concealed the vague lines of startling drama.

[Sidenote: LINDI]

Meantime a small steam tug had put out of Lindi, and when this drew
alongside we boarded her, and, bidding cheery good-bye to the officers
of the cruiser, who had been brief but the best of comrades, the little
tug “jug-jugged” earnestly in for shore. Approaching shore we again
transferred—this time to a row-boat, which in turn grounded on the
shallow beach before the town; and we finally landed dry-shod on the
backs of the native crew, who waded ashore.

Lindi, a town of some 4,500 native inhabitants, is about sixty miles
north of the Portuguese border, and about eighty-five miles south of
Kilwa (Kivenje). Lindi, before it fell into our hands, had been the
southern head-quarters of the Protectorate, and at the north end of the
town there is a large, stone-built fort and extensive barrack buildings.
Along the shore front, facing the sea, there are a number of large,
colonial, commercial buildings and residences: otherwise the town, which
extends inland from the sea, is comprised of palm-shaded streets of
grass-roofed, mud-walled huts, with an odd whitewashed hut inset here and
there—the barter-den of an Arab or Goanese trader. Lindi is low-lying
and unhealthy, as is the Lukuledi Valley, south of the town, where the
broad swamp estuary of the Lukuledi River flows into the bay. Moreover,
the brackish-flavoured well water of the town was very bad, and added to
the tremendous difficulty that was experienced in maintaining the health
of white troops in this area. Behind Lindi the ground rises to a low
hill-crest, the ridge of which runs north parallel to the coast line, and
it was along this crest, overlooking the roads inland, that our present
line terminated. In pre-war days sisal, palm oil, and rubber had been the
chief products developed in this area by settlers, and large, carefully
cultivated estates were plentiful in this neighbourhood.

[Sidenote: VON LETTOW’S FORCES]

At Lindi we were soon fully occupied preparing for active operations.
The main force of the enemy—excepting the smaller force near Mahenge
under Tafel, and opposed to General Northey—were now confined to a
limited area in the south-east corner of the Colony, and were facing our
forces at Lindi and Kilwa. This force, under General von Lettow-Vorbeck,
was estimated to be 4,000 to 5,000 strong. Against these forces a new
offensive began under the command of General Van Deventer, who at the
end of May relieved General Hoskins; and from June onward was carried on
relentlessly, while the enemy, with their backs to the wall, as it were,
fought desperately.

Behind the Kitulo hill, which rose immediately west of Lindi, lay a broad
flat swamp through which crossed the Mtupiti and Ngongo Rivers on their
course to the Lukuledi estuary. Across this waste the enemy were holding
a strong line, on a nine-mile front, in the rubber plantations and bush,
with particularly strong fortifications at Schaafer’s Farm and Mingoyo
village on this line.

On 10th June it was decided to attack, and on that day columns left Lindi
to flank widely those positions on their north and south extremes. The
force to the north, which marched inland from Lindi, was composed mainly
of a battalion of King’s African Rifles and some artillery. The force
operating south was comprised of another battalion of King’s African
Rifles, our own battalion—the 25th Royal Fusiliers—and South African
Field Artillery. Under cover of darkness the latter force was to proceed
some miles inland up the wide river estuary, and effect a landing,
if possible, in the centre lagoon of the three at the head of the
estuary, where a trolley line from Mkwaya terminated at a small timber
landing-stage. General O’Grady was in command in this area, and the
operations were carried out under his direction, and personal supervision
in the field.

On the evening of 10th June, toward sundown, scenes that were strange,
and that must have astonished the native inhabitants, were afoot on the
water-front at Lindi. Out in the sultry, windless channel, with their
bows up-stream, lay the active-looking warships H.M.S. _Hyacinth_ and
H.M.S. _Thistle_, while between them and shore fleet motor-boats plied
busily on ordered errand. Inshore wide-beamed lighters with steam tugs in
attendance lay off the end of the shallow-draught pier, while a number of
large open boats, linked together in twos and threes by their bow ropes
and towed by motor-craft, lay outside in the current—all in readiness
to take aboard their human freight. And then, into the town marched
soldiers in fighting kit; a battalion of British infantry appearing from
the north, while black troops and some artillery came down from the
hills: all to come to a halt in a long column on the dust-thick road
on the shore front near to the pier. As dusk approached, embarkation
commenced, under naval and military direction, and under orders of strict
silence—and gradually the boats filled while the line on the road melted
away until none remained on shore!... All were aboard! and we drew off
shore and lay to in the bay waiting for darkness—an ominous force, in
their silence that was nigh to sullenness, but in reality filled with
suppressed excitement over the novelty and promise of adventure.

We had not long to wait for darkness. Soon it crept down rapidly, as is
its habit in Africa. Under naval direction the craft then cast loose
one by one, and the dark forms on the water, each in the wake of the
other, followed silently on their way up-stream. In the lead were the
patrol launches armed with machine-guns, and some of the intermediate
motor-boats were likewise prepared for emergency.

[Sidenote: A NIGHT LANDING]

Hour after hour we crept up the wide stream with black, threatening
shores on either beam, and all remained quiet, and nothing stirred
on land to break the stillness of the sultry night nor our pent-up
expectancy. Our destination was eight miles up-stream. About half-way
we passed through the narrow neck between Kombe and Kala islands, and
a short time later our motor-boat, when hugging the east bank, had the
misfortune to ground on a sand-bar and hold fast. While we lay there,
phantom dark craft passed us, going up-stream and returning down. One
heard a low, tense word or two spoken across the gloom, the muffled beat
of the engines; and then the darkness swallowed everything. After some
delay and much exertion with poles and oars, we got afloat again and
proceeded, now more slowly, up-stream, keeping our course by following
a tiny bright light, like a firefly, that showed now and again in the
distance ahead, where the leaders were in the stream or had landed at an
important bend in the channel.

About midnight, when we were still persistently working up the channel,
which had narrowed considerably, exclamations and low voices drifted to
us out of the darkness ahead. In a moment more we knew that we were at
our destination, while voices directed us to the landing-place close
on our right. It was very dark—so dark that one could at best see a
yard or two—so, groping along the boat-bottom, you got near to where a
voice said “jump,” and in doing so found yourself immersed to your very
knees in deep, holding mud through which, after you had got rifle and
equipment clear of the mess, you waded heavily ashore; no longer dry and
fairly comfortable, but wet, mud-plastered and chilled, and thoroughly
uncomfortable.

On our arrival we learned that, at the landing, a German picket had been
alarmed and driven in, and therefore we knew that the enemy command would
soon be warned that danger threatened.

Back from the landing there was a long, narrow, level mud-flat, clear of
the bush that bordered it blackly on either side, and here our forces
formed up as they landed. Finally, when all were accounted for and in
position, word was passed round that we were to remain here for an hour
or two, and men stretched themselves on the hard tidal-damp ground and
shivered; yet slept as only tired soldiers can sleep.

At 3 a.m. we were up and on the move again; slowly marching up the
trolley line that led inland, in a southerly direction, toward Mkwaya.
Breaking the stillness of a bush-land that apparently lay asleep and
without inhabitant, I remember a solitary cock, at some near-by dwelling,
crowed clear and full-voiced as we neared Mkwaya; declaring habitations,
and promising the coming of dawn. Almost immediately afterwards the
first faint shade of daylight was heralded by the boom of artillery from
the direction of Mingoyo.

[Sidenote: ARTILLERY ENGAGED]

Overnight the monitors had moved into the estuary, and it was on H.M.S.
_Thistle_, who had nosed her way far up-stream, that the Germans opened
fire. Reply came immediately from the ships, and, as soon as it was full
daylight, they were heavily shelling all enemy positions within range.
During the action H.M.S. _Thistle_ received one disturbing direct hit,
but not a vital one, and she remained seaworthy through the action.
Aeroplanes were up all morning busily “spotting” for our guns, and
observing enemy movements as best they could in the darkly screened bush.

[Sidenote: ZIWANI]

Meantime, our turning-point had been reached at Mkwaya, and we now headed
westerly in the direction of the Mohambika valley, behind Mingoyo, while
the King’s African Rifles, who were an hour or so in advance of us, were
now well out on our left flank and moving parallel to us. Some two hours
later we had reached the valley crest at Ziwani, and overlooked the
Mohambika valley and across to the opposite crest where lay hidden, in
the bush and forest, the large native village of Mrweka and Schaadel’s
Farm. Large numbers of the enemy were seen, about 1,500 yards distant,
moving along the edge of the bush in rear of Mrweka, while smoke-puffs
of gun-fire from the enemy artillery could be plainly seen farther
down the valley toward Mingoyo. An advance was attempted down into
the valley, and action thereafter commenced, but the valley was found
to be almost impenetrable—a wide sugar-cane swamp in which the enemy
were already located, and which they commanded from the opposite valley
crest—and, as the left column were by this time heavily engaged and not
making progress, we were ordered, meantime, to dig in on the Ziwani crest
while the enemy kept up persistent long-range machine-gun fire on us.
Enemy soon appeared to be everywhere on our front and left, for whenever
patrols left the ridge and commenced descent into the valley they
encountered enemy in force, and were driven in. Finally, the situation
culminated when, about 2 p.m., the enemy launched a terrific attack on
our left flank and attempted to storm our position. On the left the
ground fell away, as in front, and they had crept up the valley side in
the grass and bush, until no more than thirty yards from our line—when
their fire burst on us like a thunder-clap. From then on one lost all
reckoning of time, all reckoning of everything, except that there was
something big on that kept every energy alive and working at fever speed.
In the end, toward night, we had won, and won handsomely; finally routing
the foe from their offensive at the point of the bayonet, and capturing
two of the three machine-guns which they had in the line. To add one
final trial to this grim encounter, hives of bees had been shot down
from the trees during the action, and their inmates descended on us at
the end of the day in infuriated swarms to drive us almost crazy with the
agony of their stings. They inflicted such punishment that many men could
barely see through their half-closed eyelids on the following day, while
everyone suffered from cruel yellow-poisoned face scars.

The attack had been a tremendously bold venture on the part of the
enemy, who were, for the present, under Von Lettow in person, apparently
in large and even superior force in the neighbourhood, and it gives
an idea of their strength and desperation, and the gameness of their
fighting—which one cannot help but admire. Had we been native troops,
the result of such a daring blow might have been different; and even as
it was, one looked back and thanked God for one thing—and that was that,
even at point-blank range, the enemy’s shooting had been bad, for their
deadly sweep of fire was, in general, too high. Had they got the correct
elevation, their machine-guns alone were sufficient to deal terrible
havoc along our short, hastily and half-entrenched line.

Meantime the column in the bush—wide on our left—had met with opposition
that they could not well break through; and no word had come in from the
inland column that was operating in the north, which was momentarily
expected to converge on to the position across the valley, and relieve
the pressure on that side; and so, for the night, there was nothing for
it but to hold on where we were.

One had here a striking example of the difficulties of bush operations;
of the disappointments, of the almost impossible task of keeping in touch
with each force, across wide areas of dense, untouched, unfamiliar bush
miles ahead of the base. One never knows, at the commencement of a day,
the full difficulties to overcome; one can never altogether foresee the
obstacles that will be encountered to enforce delay, be it an impassable
swamp, impenetrable forest, an unbridged river, a loss of direction, or
an unknown enemy force. It has been called a difficult campaign; but the
difficulties have been so gigantic that the wonder one has is that the
men who direct it have not grown old and grey with the weight of the
anxieties imposed.

Next morning, too late, the force on the north occupied Mingoyo and
Mrweka, for overnight, under cover of darkness, the enemy had evacuated
their positions, and had fallen back on their second line of defence
across the trolley rails at Mohambika village.

The battalion remained the day at Ziwani, and the following day, leaving
other troops to hold the line, we crossed the valley and proceeded by
stages, overland, back to Lindi. The enemy force, through the sudden
appearance of new companies on this front, apparently now outnumbered
ours, and it was, it appeared, necessary to hold on and recuperate our
forces, as far as possible, which were becoming increasingly difficult
to keep up to reasonable establishment owing to overwhelming sickness
and lack of proportionate reinforcements. Also, our column was operating
in conjunction with the Kilwa column, which had a much longer distance
to advance before both would close in on Massassi, the enemy base of
operations. Therefore those causes accounted for our again “holding on”
for a period at Lindi.

[Sidenote: SICKNESS RIFE]

On 15th June we were again back in Lindi. A week later the battalion was
experiencing a fell wave of coast fever, which thinned our ranks at an
appalling rate. On 26th June the S.M.O. inspected the men remaining on
duty, to inquire into their general physique and endeavour to trace the
plague to any local fault, and at that time less than half our fighting
strength were on parade. Other units were suffering in similar manner,
but were losing men somewhat less rapidly. Next day camp was moved to
higher ground, above Lindi, but though sickness abated it still continued
to find daily victims, and it was heart-breaking to be thus weakened of
our fighting strength; more especially as we were not long returned from
our rest at the Cape, which it had been thought would surely resuscitate
our health for further campaigning. But looking back now it is apparent
that the hardships of the first two years in Africa had sapped far more
than the mere surface strength of the men, and the short change, though
it brightened everyone outwardly, had not time to repair completely the
debilities of thoroughly exhausted systems. Moreover Lindi, and the
Lukuledi valley, were undoubtedly the most unhealthy country it was ever
our misfortune to enter, and we had been in more than one bad area in the
past.

On 1st July I received orders to take up a position on Mtanda Plateau,
with fifty rifles and two machine-guns, and there to establish an outpost
one and a half mile from Lindi on the Noto Road, defending the approach
on Lindi from the north-west, and north, where coast tracks led away to
Kilwa, on which the enemy might retire, from before the Kilwa column,
and here congregate. Mtanda Plateau was a broad ridge, overlooking Lindi
and the sea from its south-east bank, and, crossing to the other side,
where the ground again fell away to low country, its north-west aspect
overlooked great distances of hill-broken, bush-covered country. The
plateau was a jungle of breast-high grass and low bush, within a forest
of stately mango trees.

Routine on the outpost was to have strong, alert pickets posted near the
road at night, and, through the day, to patrol the country out before
us, sometimes to an outward-bound distance of ten miles. In view of the
possibility of a night attack, on one or two dark nights the monitor
H.M.S. _Severn_ experimented with her flash-lights, turning them on to
our position from where she lay in the bay, and weirdly those lights, lit
up the jungle.

We remained twenty-four days on this outpost, but experienced in that
time no untoward incident. One or two German natives came in and gave
themselves up, claiming at the same time to be porters, but sometimes
such deserters had the military bearing of Askaris, and no doubt were
really such, and had discarded their equipment and rifle in fear of
terrible punishment for having fought against us—which was a belief
taught them by their white masters.

[Sidenote: ON OUTPOST AT LINDI]

On the morning of 25th July the detachment evacuated the outpost, and
rejoined the battalion at Lindi in preparation to again resume the
offensive. On the 26th the battalion trekked from 4.30 a.m. until 2 p.m.
via Naitiwi, to Mayani, a planters’ station, having then come thirteen
miles, by track, out into the country of our June operations.

We stayed a few uneventful days at Mayani, and on the night of 1st
August moved on into Mingoyo, there to join the column, on the eve of
an offensive against the enemy, who were holding a front which had its
centre before Mohambika village, on the trolley line, its extreme north
flank on Kipanya Ridge, and its extreme south flank on Tandamuti Hill: in
all a front of some four miles. The next day we were in action, which I
can, perhaps, best describe in quoting the following notes:

[Sidenote: FIGHTING AGAINST LARGE FORCES]

One a.m., night of 2nd August, up and getting ready to move. Left Mingoyo
at 3 a.m.—our battalion, with the main column, which was to operate on
the left flank, and which advanced slowly through thick bush in the
direction of Tandamuti Hill. Enemy first encountered about 6 a.m. Engaged
in force 9 a.m. and 3/4 King’s African Rifles in attack. They were a
newly recruited battalion, and this was their first time in action,
and the wear of attack told heavily on them, particularly when finally
opposed to the fortifications on Tandamuti Hill crest. It was then that
two companies of our unit went forward to reinforce the front line.
They lost no time in charging the enemy position, but found themselves,
ultimately, against a dense, thorn-built boma fence, through which they
could not break and, under telling fire, they swung off to the left
flank, and withdrew. The battalion machine-guns were now established
fifty yards from the boma, after casualties had lost me four of the most
able and invaluable gunners, and thenceforward the boma and fort were
raked with heavy machine-gun fire, and shelled by Stoke’s guns; until
finally, about 3.30 p.m., the enemy response was completely silenced
within the fort, while German bugles rapped out their rallying calls
in the valley in the rear of the hill. But orders were now received
to retire, as the other two columns on the right had been held up; in
fact, the central force, operating immediately south of the trolley
line near to Mohambika, had even been forced to retreat, by weight of
the numbers opposed to them. This was indeed a day brimful of adventure
and expectancy, while everyone was aware of the great strength opposed
to us, and the desperation of the fighting. But this was not the end of
it. Soon after commencing the retirement heavy firing broke out in our
original rear. It transpired that Kraut, in command of a company, had
broken into our line of communication, and had attacked and scattered the
whole of the 1st-line transport porters and their escort. The defenceless
porters had flung away their loads and fled, leaving everything to the
mercy of the enemy, and we encountered inconceivable disorder on the
baggage-littered track when we came along. But, just before reaching this
point, we, too, were pounced on by an ambush on the left, and terrific
firing again ensued until the enemy were driven off. We then came to
the advanced Field Hospital, where it was found the German raiders had
entered, and even had had the audacity to order the native orderlies to
supply the German whites with tea, while they removed all the quinine and
such medicines of which they were in need. But the whites had treated the
wounded with consideration, and, with revolvers drawn, had ordered their
wildly excited blacks to stand clear of any possibility of interference.

[Illustration: TANDAMUTI.]

Finally we marched wearily into Ziwani, to camp about 11 p.m., very
tired after being twenty-two hours on our feet. So ended another day of
battle, one of hard fighting and heavy casualties, and one which goes
to show that at periods we had not got it all our own way by force of
numbers, nor by superior fighting qualities, and that the final defeat
of the enemy was the result of many a hard knock, given and taken. As
General Van Deventer said, later, in a dispatch dated 21st January,
1918:—“The completion of the conquest of German East Africa could only be
brought about by hard hitting and plenty of it”—which has, has it not?
much of the theory which General Foch had on the battle-fields of France.

On 9th August preparations were again afoot to resume the offensive, and
a column under Colonel Taylor—which contained, in part, the remnants of
the 8th South African Infantry, lately landed in Lindi from farther up
the coast—left about midday to strike east into the Lukuledi River, and,
thence, southward, to be in a position to outflank widely Tandamuti on
the following day.

[Sidenote: TANDAMUTI FRONT CLEAR]

On 10th August our force advanced up the Mohambika Valley in touch with
the trolley line, which was on our right. At evening we camped west of
the old Tandamuti position, having passed Mohambika village and come
to our halting-place without encountering any sustained resistance....
On the morning of this day at 7 o’clock, and again recommencing at 1
p.m., Tandamuti Hill was heavily shelled by the long-range guns of the
monitors _Severn_ and _Mersey_, from where they lay up the river estuary
some eight to ten miles to the north-east, and also by the howitzers of
the Royal Garrison Artillery, and the field guns of the South African
Artillery. And this cannonade, and the threat of impending attack of
the same severe nature as in the preceding week, apparently decided
the enemy’s retirement, for by the evening we had advanced and were in
possession of all the positions which we had fought so hard for a week
before. Next day, but now leaving the trolley track and striking deeply
into the bush, the advance continued, and during the forenoon we joined
in with the left column, which then preceded us in a southerly direction,
through tall grass and much bad bush. Light engagements occurred from
time to time with the advance guard, but the column kept moving on,
though progress was painfully slow, while every new aspect of the country
ahead was being carefully investigated, for well was it known that any
100 yards of fresh ground might hold an ambush and a trap. At the end
of a wearisome day we reached the Lukuledi River, where it flows for
some miles on a course due east, and then camped about 1½ mile west of
Narunyu, which was reported occupied by the enemy.

_12th August._—Thoughts recall the grouse moor, and this day of days at
home, but again it passes with but memories. All porters have gone back
to bring forward rations, while we halt here near Narunyu.

From 13th August to 18th August we remained closely in one area, where
low hills and ridges encompassed us on all sides. West of us the enemy
had established a line defending the approach to Narunyu, and our line
dug in before them, while engagements daily occurred here and in the
neighbourhood, and we were fitfully subjected to shelling by the enemy’s
artillery.

The weather at this time broke down, and we had five consecutive days of
heavy rain, which, as we had no blankets or grass-hut shelters, made us
very cold, wet, and miserable, while during the nights we slept lying in
rain-soaked mud—a condition of things that brought out even more fever
than usual.

[Sidenote: FIERCE FIGHTING]

_18th August._—Overnight, under cover of darkness, part of our forces
evacuated camp and travelled northerly, and then westerly, until we
drew in to the trolley line: then we lay down and waited until early
morning. At 3 a.m. we were moving again, and the column had crossed
the open avenue of the trolley line, and were lost again in the bush,
before daybreak. All morning we moved, through truly terrible thorn-bush
country, in a south-westerly direction, thereby widely circling round
to attack the Narunyu position from the west, while our other forces,
at the camp we had left, would hold the enemy’s attention on the east.
About 11 a.m., when drawing in to the hill-crest overlooking Narunyu,
which is situated in a valley bottom, the first-second King’s African
Rifles, in the lead, encountered large forces of the enemy, and entered
into action. On their establishing a firing line, the rear of the column
was drawn in, and a perimeter was formed, for, in the thick bush we were
then in, attack might threaten from any direction. This was a wonderfully
wise and fortunate precaution, for no sooner were our lines on all sides
established than the enemy opened a determined attack on our right flank;
and, as the fight continued, fierce and sustained attacks developed
later, even in our rear and on our left. In other words, the enemy were
all around us and trying to break through our “square” in the bush.
It was a day of tremendous battle. There were, within the circle, the
first-second King’s African Rifles, 25th Royal Fusiliers, and Stoke’s
Guns, and back to back they fought, without one minute’s cease in the
deafening fusillade, until long after dark. It was here that one saw, and
realised, the full fighting courage to which well-trained native African
troops can rise. The first-second King’s African Rifles was one of the
original pre-war regular battalions, and magnificently they fought here;
and we, who were an Imperial unit, felt that we could not have wished for
a stouter, nor a more faithful, regiment to fight alongside of. About 8
p.m. the firing ceased and we had at last a breathing space and could
hear each other speak in normal voice. But all was not yet over. At 9.30
p.m. an enemy whistle blew sharply—and instantaneously a great burst
of enemy fire swept the square from the right flank, and from closer
quarters than before. An enemy force had crept in in the darkness and
silence, and tried to take us by surprise. But they reckoned wrongly, and
in the end, after a fierce encounter, they were driven off and silenced:
though movement and groans, from beyond our front, continued long into
the night while the enemy collected their dead and wounded.

There was now opportunity to review the situation and its vital points:
the King’s African Rifles were very short of ammunition, and it was felt
that the situation might become serious in the event of a sustained night
attack—what ammunition could be spared was handed over to them by our
battalion.

Casualties, after such extremely heavy fighting, were not excessively
heavy, which was undoubtedly due to the lie of the ground, for our
position was in a slight dip that could not be detected from the enemy
lines. We were out of touch with G.H.Q. and the reserve column, and a
patrol was sent out to try to get through to Head-quarters, though we had
now no fear of joining up, for we had confidence we could hold on, and
had in the fighting worn down the enemy’s will to strike. _Water_ was our
greatest need—there was none within our square.

[Sidenote: AN ANXIOUS NIGHT]

At last our anxieties ceased. Weary, powder-blackened, mud-filthy,
thirsty beyond the telling, the line slept fitfully through the
remainder of the night.

Dawn found everyone standing to, and patrols investigating the bush out
in front of the lines. Some patrol fighting took place close in, but the
enemy trenches of yesterday were found to be evacuated, and the enemy
line now some 700 yards away on our right flank and front. At 9 a.m.
General O’Grady arrived in camp, and relief was felt that we were again
in communication.

Heavy fighting had been experienced at all points yesterday, and
casualties of comrade acquaintances, in other units, were learned of with
regret.

It was decided that we were to hold on here, and arrangements were made
to bring water to camp, while bully and biscuit would be our ration—no
tea, no cooked food, for no fire could be allowed on account of the
smoke, which would have marked our position to enemy artillery. The enemy
were shelling the square and shooting dangerously close, but were unable
to locate us exactly, or tell where their shells were landing, in the
dense bush. To-day all ranks were very exhausted after the past week of
blanketless, half-sleepless nights and the extreme strain of yesterday.

For five days we lay in the confined square in our shallow trenches,
drinking sparingly of foul water, and holding impatiently on, while
smaller engagements went on with the enemy, who continued to invest our
front closely and right flank. Our porters had a bad time here. In time
cooked food was sent up for them from the rear, but on the first two days
it was common to see the poor creatures hungrily munching their uncooked
ration of hard rice-grains. At the end of the five days, many of them
were almost unable to walk, and could not be burdened with an ammunition
load.

On 22nd August our battalion received orders to withdraw under cover
of night to the reserve column at the main camp back some miles on the
trolley line and west of Tandamuti—a camp which was designated C.23.

The withdrawal was quietly accomplished, and at 9.30 p.m. we camped at
C.23. And then we had, what in the past few days we had come to dream
of—tea, tea, tea. Camp-fires were started everywhere, and we sat there
and feasted our fill of tea that tasted threefold more fragrant and
delicious than ever before, and on cooked food, warm and palatable, and
long we sat into the hours when weary heads should have been asleep.

We remained at C.23 until 4th September, and at intervals each day were
shelled by the enemy’s long-range guns, at aggravating intervals.

[Sidenote: TERRIBLY UNHEALTHY COUNTRY]

A large camp had sprung up at C.23, and additional forces and additional
stores were daily arriving. But we were in terribly unhealthy country;
the air was close and oppressive, and the sun merciless; and men went
about their duties with listless bearing. The hospitals were full of
sick, and troops and porters were being evacuated in hundreds every few
days. The native African was suffering as much as if not more than the
European. The 25th suffered no less than other units, and our forces were
sadly growing smaller and smaller.

On 4th September the battalion left C.23 and advanced to the centre and
left camps before Narunyu, to occupy the front line there; relieving the
8th South African Infantry, who were tottering with sickness and unfit
for further service in active fields.

Here utter physical exhaustion, and fever, which had gripped me for some
time, began slowly to master endurance. For a few days I struggled on,
having just enough strength to “stand to” by the machine-guns in the
early mornings, and afterwards to direct the day’s routine. Those days
were commonplace—there was sometimes some exchange of firing at daybreak,
and on some occasions the camp was shelled; while we were gratified to
see considerable numbers of porter and Askari deserters come in and give
themselves up.

On 5th September we had news that the Kilwa column had progressed
considerably and were at Mssinoyi River on 4th September, sixty
miles south-west of Kilwa, and some 110 miles off their ultimate
objective—Massassi.

On 9th September I had not strength to walk, and later in the morning
I was taken to hospital. I was beaten, hopelessly overcome, though no
man likes to give in. General O’Grady came to see me when I lay on my
stretcher at the Field Hospital—perhaps the bravest man I have fought
under, and the kindest—and, in my weakness, when he had gone, I hid my
face in the gloom of the low grass hut and broke down like a woman. I
had worked under his direction many times, on reconnaissance and other
special work, when he was Chief of Staff, and when he commanded a
brigade, and now he was sorry I was _done_—and I, ah well! my heart was
breaking because I could not stay on, as he and the last of my comrades
were doing.

[Sidenote: THE END]

There remains little more to add. By stages I was transported by
ambulance to Lindi, and thence by sea to Dar-es-Salaam, where at the end
of September I lay for a few days dangerously ill, and was pulled through
only by the tireless care of the doctor and sisters. On 2nd October I was
borne aboard the _Oxfordshire_ and sailed for South Africa.

My actual experience of the German East Africa campaign thus ended.
The Lindi column were, at the time of my departure, reinforced by the
Nigerians, and fighting of the same severe nature as I have described,
against Von Lettow and his concentrated forces, continued 1½ month more
in the fever-stricken Lukuledi Valley before the Kilwa and the Lindi
forces effected a junction.

Not long after that was accomplished, on 25th and 26th November, Von
Lettow avoided final surrender by crossing the Rovuma River south-west
of Massassi, and escaped up the Luyenda River into Portuguese territory;
while Tafel’s force—of some 2,000 to 3,000—which, too late, tried to
effect a junction with the main force, was cut off, and on 28th November
surrendered unconditionally.

On our side, there is one sorrowful disaster to record which touches this
narrative deeply. In the final action which my unit undertook—the only
one after my departure—the remnants of the band, steel-true men who had
come through everything till then, were pitted against overwhelming odds,
when covering a retirement, and fought till they were cut to pieces.

It was a tragic ending.

CHAPTER VIII

NATURE NOTES

It would be difficult to picture East Africa without her vivid abundance
of Nature, for it is “the creatures of the earth” that for ever astonish
all who enter this country of vast wildernesses and few habitations of
white men.

In this connection I will endeavour to describe some of the forms of wild
life that were most closely associated with camp and trek during the
campaign.

[Sidenote: NATIVES OF EAST AFRICA]

To begin with, if I may bring them into the category of wild things,
there were the natives of the country—who aided us tremendously during
the campaign, and without whose aid it would have been well-nigh
impossible for our columns to traverse the country. Broadly speaking,
we had to deal with four distinct types of native—the Swahili-speaking
tribes, the Kavirondos, the Kikuyus, and the Masai. The Swahili-speaking
natives, whose tribes were numerous and included such fighting peoples as
the Whahamba, Diruma, and Nandi, were most generally recruited from the
coast areas; they were the most intelligent and adaptable natives in our
service. Many of them made splendid Askaris, while as trained porters,
for machine-guns, signalling sections, and stretcher-bearers, they
were extremely useful, and many thousands were utilised for such work.
Those natives were extraordinarily keen on their drills—in which they
were daily instructed, whenever opportunity arose, to ensure combined
movement without confusion, and quick obedience to orders—and it was a
common thing to see them, after a parade had been dismissed, continue
their drill within their own lines, under the direction of one of their
enthusiastic headmen. They were simple, good-natured people, those
blacks, and very easy to deal with if one took the trouble to understand
them and their language, and ruled with a strong yet considerate hand.
But they were unfortunate, and at a loss, when they came under the charge
of strangers who had not had opportunity to understand them or their
language—which often occurred, owing to loss of experienced men through
sickness or casualties, and their replacement by men freshly arrived in
the country.

When we entered German territory many Swahili natives, of the inhabited
districts we passed through, were hired by all ranks as personal
servants, and thenceforth became followers of the column. Those were
usually boys of from fifteen years to twenty-five years. They subsisted
on any kind of diet, and often foraged for scraps in camp and for
fruits in the bush, with much of the instinct of animals. Those who
were ignorant were taught to cook, and to do the many little duties of
body-servant; and were a great boon to trek-tired men when camp was
reached and they were available to cut grass for the bed on the ground,
fetch water, kindle camp fires, and help in the cooking of food.

The Kavirondos from the Lake District, and the Kikuyus from the Nairobi
area, were used almost exclusively for carriers and camp cleaners, and
were perhaps less intelligent than the average Swahili native, and of
lower type. Nevertheless, some of them were very useful, and I have used
picked men from both tribes as higher-grade machine-gun porters, and
found them come very close to the standard of the good Swahili.

The warlike nomad Masai roamed the upland grass-lands of their great
reserves and held aloof from warfare. Only as guides in the early days on
the frontier were they of usefulness to our forces, and at that time they
were often seen about our camps. They were remarkable for their knowledge
of direction in a country of few apparent landmarks, and for the speed at
which they could cover long distances, with their ungainly shuffling run.

[Sidenote: BIG GAME]

I turn now to the big game of the country.

I know no more interesting and wonderful sight than that we often
witnessed, and that may be to-day witnessed, on the Kajiado Plains, and
in the neighbourhood of the Guaso Nyero valley. Not even the wonderful
migration of the vast bands of caribou in the far Canadian North can
surpass the sight of game one will see here in a day. In a single day’s
march herd after herd of game may be passed feeding plainly in view
in the open grass veldt—herds of wildebeeste, hartebeeste, zebra, and
Grant’s gazelle, are the most plentiful; and small groups of Thomson’s
gazelle, oryx antelope, giraffe, and ostrich. While in the Guaso Nyero
valley it may be your good fortune to sight a large herd of buffalo.

[Illustration: OSTRICHES.]

Eland antelope I only remember seeing in two localities—at Maktau on the
frontier, and in the Rufiji valley.

Within German territory no such vast numbers of game were encountered:
but that may have been because we did not again travel through open veldt
of the same nature as contained the herds on the frontier. Most game, in
German territory, were seen in the low-lying Mgeta and Rufiji valleys.
At Tulo and Kissaki, some species of game were plentiful. At Tulo,
reedbuck, waterbuck, mpala, and wart-hog were numerous, while a number
of hippopotamus haunted the sluggish Mwuha River. At Kissaki, bushbuck,
Harvey’s duiker, and wart-hog were the principal small game, while here,
and out to the great Ruaha and Rufiji Rivers, the territory was renowned
for elephant.

Elephant tracks, old and new, were everywhere in the neighbourhood of
Kissaki, but animals were seldom seen, since they were very wary,
and extraordinarily quick in scenting danger. If they detect human
scent—which they will pick up a mile or more down-wind—they are at once
alarmed and fast travel away from the danger, very often covering great
distances before reassured that they have reached a zone of safety.

[Sidenote: HIPPOPOTAMUS, RHINOCEROS]

At the Rufiji River a remarkable number of hippopotamus were seen. North
of Kibambawe village there is a chain of lakes no great distance apart,
and I have passed one of those lakes, Lake Tágalala, when there have been
scores of hippo, visible in the water. I should think the marsh-banked
Rufiji River throughout its course teems with those strange, cumbersome,
uncomely animals.

Rhinoceros were perhaps most plentiful on the frontier, and were often
encountered when patrolling the thick bush, or bush-covered hill-country.
During the many times I have met those animals at close quarters—and I
have stumbled across as many as four separate animals in a single night
when on particular reconnaissance—I have never known them to charge
seriously when not wounded. I have experienced them rush straight on to
the sound of a stick crackling underfoot, but, when they drew close and
got my wind, they veered off instantly to one side, and escaped in the
bush rapidly and fearfully. I remarked my experiences to Selous, for they
were not what I had been led to expect, and he corroborated them by
saying that he also had never seen one charge a man when unmolested.

Selous, too, in discussing lions, in his quiet, practical way, laid very
little stress on the dangers of hunting those animals. He said there was
little danger of their ever venturing to attack unless wounded, and then
the greatest danger was in going into long grass to search for an animal
that in all probability would be lying there concealed, and at bay, and
ready to spring on an over-hasty pursuer. Selous’s advice was that, “in
hunting lions you should try to get a clean clear shot at your quarry, at
fairly close quarters, and to shoot to kill with your first shot.” “Don’t
attempt snapshots and wild shooting, which only lead to a bad hit, and a
dangerous lion at bay to be dealt with.”

The eerie roar of lions was often heard at night outside our camps, or
near to the bivouac of a lonely outpost, and sometimes, through the day,
they were seen by our outlying pickets; but I only know of three being
shot by members of our battalion during our service in East Africa.

[Sidenote: BIRD LIFE]

I turn now to the bird life of the country. In the bush, in the
neighbourhood of water, birds, of various kinds, were often plentiful,
and were remarkable, as a rule, for their brilliant plumage. But they
were seldom conspicuous in numbers in the open, for, as a rule, they
kept closely within the cover of the bush and jungle grass; and on this
account I have often heard unobservant men remark on how little bird
life they saw during the campaign in East Africa. Their unobtrusiveness,
too, was added to by the fact that very few African birds are songsters.

I think the bird most commonly seen throughout the campaign was the
Red-eyed Turtle Dove (_Streptopelia semitorquata_), and their soft cooing
in the quiet evenings was certainly the outstanding note of bird life in
the country. It is a truly African sound—a sound which one who has heard
it will always associate with African fantasy—and which sometimes strikes
the ear as most pleasant and soothing, and, at other times, haunts you
with its persistent hint of native sadness.

A more remarkable call, but only heard in certain localities, was the
strange bottle-bubbling echoing call of the Lark-heeled Cuckoo—a largish
partridge-barred brown bird with a long tail—which was usually uttered
at dark, or through the night, by a lone bird perched somewhere on the
topmost twig of an outstanding bush or tree, sending his soft note-clear
call out over the ocean of misty leaf-tops; where it would be picked
up and responded to by another like sentinel at some other distant
signal-post.

The most common bird to enter our encampments was the White-necked Raven,
a bird similar in habit and colour to the British Rook, but with a large
white mark on the nape of the neck. He was the chief scavenger of our
camps, though, sometimes, he was ably aided by the Egyptian Kite, one, or
a pair, of which species was commonly with us.

Common varieties of the neat little mouse-like Waxbills were, on
occasions when we were near to permanent habitations, the only “sparrows”
to visit camp.

In odd hours, when the chance occurred, I, and one or two others who
became interested, collected some specimens of bird life, chiefly with
catapult and trap, in the absence of better weapons, and, notwithstanding
the difficulties of storage and transport of the skins, at the end of
the campaign had secured the specimens below recorded; which, along with
a collection of butterflies, eventually, by purchase, passed into the
magnificent collection in Lord Rothschild’s museum at Tring, where such
splendid scientific research in world-wide zoology is being extensively
and actively prosecuted.

The correct nomenclature of all species has been very kindly formulated
by Dr. E. J. O. Hartert, Director of the Tring Museum.

LIST OF SPECIES COLLECTED

Name of Species. Sex. Where Secured. Date. Reference
No.

WADERS

Plover, Ringed (_Charadrius
hiaticula hiaticula_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 25.10.15 30
Stilt (_Himantopus himantopus
himantopus_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 29.12.15 81
Sandpiper, Common (_Tringa
hypoleuca_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 27.9.15 12

HERONS, STORKS, ETC.

Hammerhead (_Scopus umbretta
bannermani_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 29.12.15 82
Heron, Buff-backed (_Bubulcus
ibis ibis_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 9.4.16 110

PIGEONS

Pigeon, Hartert’s Green (_Treron
calva brevicera_)
♀♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 12.4.16 115,
116
Pigeon, Rameron (_Columba arquatrix
arquatrix_)
♂♀ Kibosho, G.E.A. 1.5.16- 147,
5.5.16 150,
juv. ♀♂ 154, 155
Pigeon, Crimson-winged (_Turturoena
delegorguei harterti_)
♂ Kibosho, G.E.A. 7.5.16 160
Dove, Tamburine (_Tympanistria
tympanistria fraseri_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 16.4.16 128
” Red-eyed Turtle (_Streptopelia
semitorquata semitorquata_)
♀ Lindi, G.E.A. 6.7.17 218

GAME BIRDS

Guinea-fowl, Crested (_Guttera
pucherani_)
♂ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 2.12.16 210

BIRDS OF PREY

Hawk, Lesser Barred (_Kaupifalco
monogrammicus
meridionalis_)
♀ Lindi, G.E.A. 25.6.17 216
Eagle, African Crested (_Lophoaetus
occipitalis_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 23.12.15 78
” Steppe (_Aquila nipalensis
orientalis_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 30.11.16 209
Buzzard, Steppe (_Buteo buteo
rufiventris_ Jerd.
[= _anceps_, Brehm])
♂ ” 30.10.16 183
Falcon, African Lanner (_Falco
biarmicus biarmicus_)
♀ ” 14.11.16 196
Falcon, Pigmy (_Poliohierax
semitorquatus_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 7.11.15 45

OWLS

Owl, Great Eagle (_Bubo lacteus
lacteus_)
♀ Tulo, G.E.A. 26.9.16 171
” Spotted Eagle (_Bubo africanus
africanus_)
♂ Lindi, G.E.A. 7.7.17 219

PARROTS

Parrot, Meyer’s (_Poicephalus
meyeri_ Matschiei)
(Remarkable yellow
variety)
♀ Namanga, G.E.A. 2.3.16 85
” Brown-headed (_Poicephalus
fuscicapillus_)
♀ Lindi, G.E.A. 9.7.17 221

PLANTAIN EATERS

Plantain Eater, White-bellied,
Grey (_Schizaerhis
leucogastra_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 22.12.15 77
” Hartlaub’s (_Turacus
hartlaubi_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 22.4.16 138

CUCKOOS

Cuckoo, Lark-heeled (_Centropus
superciliosus
superciliosus_)
♀ Bura, B.E.A. 16.11.15 49
” ”
♂ ” 14.12.15 69
Coucal, Southern Green
(_Centhmochares aereus
australis_)
♂ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 20.11.16 202
Cuckoo, Golden (_Chrysococcyx
caprius_ [= _cupreus
auct._])
♂♂ Bura, B.E.A. 18.11.15 50
14.12.15
” Klass’s Golden
(_Chrysococcyx klassi_)
♂ Lindi, G.E.A. 11.7.17 222

BARBETS

Barbet, Black-winged (_Lybius
melanopterus
melanopterus_)
♀♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 16.4.16 125-130
” Yellow-vented (_Lybius
torquatus irroratus_)
♀♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 15.11.16 197,
198
” Spotted-breasted
(_Tricholaema
stigmatothorax_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 19.9.15 3
” ”
♀♂ ” 27.9.15 10-11
” Pied (_Tricholaema
lacrymosum_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 3.4.16 95
Tinker, Small (_Barbatula pusilla
affinis_)
♀ Bura, B.E.A. 3.1.16 84
Barbet, Böhm’s (_Trachyphonus
darnaudi böhmi_)
♀♂ ” 11.12.15 57,
58
” White-cheeked (_Smilorhis
leucotis kilimensis_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 27.4.16 142

WOODPECKERS

Woodpecker, Bearded (_Mesopicos
namaquus_)
♀ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 20.11.16 203
” Masai Cardinal
(_Dendropicos guineensis
massaicus_)
♀? Moschi, G.E.A. 8.4.16 106
” Hartlaub’s Cardinal
(_Dendropicos guineensis
hartlaubi_)
♀ Kissaki, G.E.A. 9.11.16 192

COLIES

Coly, White-headed (_Colius
leucocephalus_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 1.11.15 36
” White-cheeked (_Colius
striatus affinis_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 12.12.15 62
” ”
♂♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 5.4.16 101,
8.4.16 108

ROLLERS

Roller, Lilac-breasted (_Coracias
caudatus caudatus_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 9.4.16 112
” Cinnamon African
(_Eurystomus afer
suahelicus_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 6.12.16 40
” ”
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 7.12.16 212

HORNBILLS

Hornbill, Crested (_Bycanistes
cristatus_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 30.4.16 145
” von der Decken’s
(_Lophoceros deckeni_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 31.10.15 32
” Crowned (_Lophoceros
melanoleucus suahelicus_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 1.5.16 149

KINGFISHERS

Kingfisher, Hooded (_Halcyon
leucocephala leucocephala_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 14.12.15 68
” Lesser Brown Hooded
(_Halcyon albiventris
orientalis_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 28.4.16 143
” Striped (_Halcyon
chelicuti_)
♂ Makindu, G.E.A. 29.7.16 167
” Painted (_Ispidina picta
picta_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 14.5.16 163
” Crested (_Corythornis
cristata_)
♂? Bura, B.E.A. 19.12.15 74

BEE-EATERS

Bee-eater, Little Yellow-throated
(_Melittophagus pusillus
cyanostictus_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 2.11.15 39
” Southern Little
Yellow-throated
(_Melittophagus pusillus
meridionalis_)
? Bura, B.E.A. 4.1.16 85
Bee-eater, Southern Little
Yellow-throated
(_Melittophagus pusillus
meridionalis_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 21.10.16 178
Bee-eater, Cinnamon (_Melittophagus
oreobates_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 28.4.16 144
” Olive-Green (_Merops
superciliosus_)
♀ Lindi, G.E.A. 8.7.17 220

HOOPOES

Hoopoe, Wood (_Irrisor
erythrorhynchus marwitzi_)
♂ Lindi, G.E.A. 6.7.17 217

NIGHTJARS

Nightjar, Inornated (_Caprimulgus
inornatus_)
♀ Makindu, G.E.A. 5.12.15 55
” Fosse’s (_Caprimulgus
fossii fossii_)
♀ Lindi, G.E.A. 12.7.17 223

SWIFTS

Swift, Palm (_Tachornis parvus
myochrous_)
♂ young Kissaki, G.E.A. 18.10.16 176

SWALLOWS

Swallow, Common European (_Hirundo
rustica rustica_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 31.10.16 31
” Lesser Stripe-Breasted
(_Hirundo puella_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 1.4.16 88
” ”
♀ ” 7.5.16 157
” Ermin’s Red-breasted
(_Hirundo emini_)
♂ ” 2.4.16 90
” Wire-tailed (_Hirundo
smithi smithi_)
♂ Kibosho, G.E.A. 21.4.16 137
” ”
♀ ” 1.5.16 148

FLYCATCHERS

Flycatcher, Neumann’s Scrub
(_Bradornis neumanni_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 7.11.15 46
” Mouse-coloured Scrub
(_Bradornis pallidus
murinus_)
♂ Makindu, G.E.A. 28.7.16 166
” Littoral Puff-backed
(_Batis molitor
littoralis_)
♀? Maktau, B.E.A. 7.11.15 47
” ”
♀ Bura, B.E.A. 12.12.15 64
” Puff-backed (_Batis molitor
puella_)
♀♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 15.4.16 121,
122
” Wattle-eyed (_Platysteira
peltata peltata_)
♀ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 21.11.16 207
” Suaheli Paradise (_Tchitrea
perspicillata suahelica_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 16.4.16 126

SHRIKES

Shrike, White-headed Crow
(_Eurocephalus rüppelli
deckeni_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 18.12.15 72
” Helmeted (_Sigmodus
retzii_)
♀ juv. Narunyu, G.E.A. 2.9.17 226
” Yellow-spotted Bush
(_Nicator gularis_)
♂ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 19.11.16 119
” Black-fronted Bush
(_Chlorophoneus
nigrifrons_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 19.4.16 141
” Red-breasted (_Rhodophoneus
cruentus cathemagmenus_)
♂♀ Makindu, G.E.A. 7.11.15 44-48
-18.11.15
” Sombre (_Laniarius funebris
funebris_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 18.9.15 2
” Lesser Sombre (_Laniarius
funebris degener_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 7.4.15 105
” Black-and-White Bush
(_Laniarius aethiopicus
aethiopicus_)
♂ ” 13.4.16 119
” Grey-headed Green
(_Malaconotus
poliocephalus approximans_)
♀ Lindi, G.E.A. 16.7.17 224
” Lesser Puff-backed
(_Dryoscopus cubla
suahelicus_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 9.4.16 111
” ”
♂ Makindu, G.E.A. 30.7.16 169
” Great African (_Lanius
cabanisi_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 24.10.15 29
” Fiscal (_Lanius collaris
humeralis_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 8.4.16 107
” Black-crowned Bush
(_Harpolestes senegalus
orientalis_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 18.11.15 52
” Lesser Three-streaked Bush
(_Harpolestes australis_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 6.11.16 185

DRONGOS

Drongo (_Dicrurus ater lugubris_)
♀ Makindu, G.E.A. 28.7.16 165

ORIOLES

Oriole, Lesser Black-headed
(_Oriolus larvatus
rolleti_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 3.5.16 151

STARLINGS

Starlings, White-bellied, Glossy
(_Cinnyricinclus
leucogaster verreauxi_)
♂♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 7.5.16 158,
159
” Stuhlman’s Lesser
Red-winged (_Stilbopsar
stuhlmanni_)
♂? ” 7.5.16 156

WEAVERS, WAXBILLS, WHYDAHS, ETC.

Weaver, Black-headed (_Ploceus
nigriceps_)
♂ Bura, B.E.A. 18.11.15 51
” Cabanis’ Yellow-Black
(_Ploceus melanoxanthus_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 7.11.15 43
” Golden (_Ploceus
aureoflavus aureoflavus_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 8.11.16 189
” Uniform Gros-beak
(_Amblyospiza unicolor_)
♀ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 21.11.16 205
Bishop, Red-crowned (_Pyremelana
flamiceps_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 15.10.16 172
Finch, Hooded Weaver (_Spermestes
scutata_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 18.4.16 133
Waxbill, White-spotted (_Hypargos
niveoguttatus_)
♀ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 19.11.16 200
Finch, Melba (_Pytelia melba_)
♂ Makindu, G.E.A. 30.7.16 168
” ” (or Kirk’s?)
(_Pytelia melba
belli_ [or _kirki_])
♀ juv. Kirengwe, G.E.A. 21.11.16 204
Waxbill, Mozambique (_Estrelda
astrilda cavendishi_)
♀ Kissaki, G.E.A. 22.10.16 181
” Little Ruddy
(_Lagonosticta
senegala ruberrima_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 18.4.16 136
” Violet-bellied
(_Uraeginthus
ianthinogaster hawkeri_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 6.10.15 17
” ”
♀ ” 1.11.15 35
” Bengali (_Uraeginthus
bengalus niassensis_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 18.10.16 177
” Northern Bengali
(_Uraeginthus bengalus
schoanus_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 26.4.16 140
Whydah, Pied Pintail (_Vidua
serena_)
♂ ” 16.4.16 129

FINCHES

Sparrow, Suaheli, Grey-headed
(_Passer griseus
suahelicus_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 4.4.16 97
” ”
♀ ” 17.4.16 131
Finch, Hartert’s Serin (_Serinus
maculicollis harterti_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 25.9.15 6
” Buchanan’s Serin (_Serinus
buchanani_)
♂ ” 18.9.15 1
” ”
♀ ” 9.10.15 26
Siskin, Spotted African (_Spinus
hypostictus_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 15.4.16 123
” ”
♂ ” 18.4.16 132

WAGTAILS AND PIPITS

Wagtail, African Pied (_Motacilla
vidua_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 3.4.16 92
” Long-tailed Pied
(_Motacilla clara_)
♂ ” 3.5.16 152
Pipit, Golden (_Tmetothylacus
tenellus_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 1.11.15 38

LARKS

Lark, Masai Sabota (_Mirafra
poecilosterna_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 15.10.15 24
” Foxy (_Mirafra alopex_)
♂ ” 19.10.15 25
” ”
♀ ” 31.10.15 33

BULBULS

Bulbul, Greater Green Forest
(_Andropadus insularis
insularis_)
♀ Kirengwe, G.E.A. 21.11.16 206
” Yellow-vented (_Pycnonotus
barbatus micrus_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 3.4.16 96
” ”
♀ ” 12.4.16 113

SUNBIRDS

Sunbird, Little Collared
(_Anthreptes collaris
elachior_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 21.10.16 179
” Lampert’s Senegal
(_Cinnyris senegalensis
lamperti_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 31.3.16 86
” ”
♀ ” 3.4.16 93
” Yellow-bellied (_Cinnyris
venusta falkensteini_)
♂ ” 1.4.16 87
” Bifasciated (_Cinnyris
bifasciata microrhyncha_)
♀ Kissaki, G.E.A. 18.10.16 173
” Kilimanjaro Long-tailed
(_Nectarinia kilimensis
kilimensis_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 13.4.16 117

WARBLERS

Warbler, Red-headed Grass
(_Cisticola ruficeps
scotoptera_)
♂ Maktau, B.E.A. 29.9.15 14
” Dwarf Grass (_Cisticola
nana_)
♂ ” 8.10.15 18
” Common Grass (_Cisticola
lateralis_)
♂ Moschi, G.E.A. 6.4.16 102
” Uniform Wren (_Calamonastes
simplex simplex_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 10.10.15 20
” Long-tailed Scrub (_Prinia
mistacea tenella_)
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 9.11.16 194
Crombec, Jackson’s (_Sylvietta_)
[probably _jacksoni_]
♀ juv. Moschi, G.E.A. 7.4.16 103
Warbler, Yellow-bellied Bush
(_Eremomela flaviventris
abdominalis_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 10.10.15 21
” Golz’s Long-tailed Forest
(_Euprinodes flavidus
golzi_)
♀ ” 8.10.15 19
” ”
♂ Kissaki, G.E.A. 9.11.16 191
Babbler, Aylmer’s (_Argya aylmeri
mentalis_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 26.9.15 8
” Kirk’s (_Crateropus
kirki_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 14.4.16 120
Whinchat, African (_Saxicola
torquata axillaris_)
♂ Kibosho, G.E.A. 8.5.16 161
Wheatear, European (_Oenanthe
oenanthe_)
♀ Maktau, B.E.A. 28.9.15 13
” Pileated (_Oenanthe
pileata_)
♀ Moschi, G.E.A. 4.4.16 98

[Sidenote: SPECIES OF INTEREST]

This was, under the circumstance of soldier life, but a small collection,
but it is interesting to note that they proved useful and of interest.
Dr. Hartert wrote concerning them:

“Nos. 1 and 26. It is surprising that a new species should
still be found in British East Africa. It seems, however,
probable that the specimens mentioned by Reichenow from Ugogo
as probably—judging by the somewhat poor description and figure
in the Proceedings of the Zoological Society—being _Serinus
donaldsoni_, are not the latter, but this new species, which I
have described as _Serinus buchanani_ at the January meeting
of the British Ornithological Club, 1919. I have compared the
specimens with the types and other examples of _S. donaldsoni_
in the British Museum, from Somaliland, and it is evident that
_S. buchanani_ differs by its larger and less curved bill,
longer wing, and more yellowish colour, especially the sides
being yellow with faint stripes, not green with black streaks.

“The nest of _S. buchanani_ was found at Maktau in the fork
of a thorn tree about eight feet above the ground, on 26th
September, 1915. It is a somewhat flat structure of fibres and
rootlets, interwoven with cobwebs and wool. The three eggs are
pale blue with purplish black dots and short lines around the
wide pole. They measure 20 by 14·8 and 19·3 by 14·7 mm. They
closely resemble the eggs of the Trumpeter Bullfinch.

(init.) “E. H.”

“No. 13, _Oenanthe oenanthe_ (European Wheatear) collected at
Maktau, B.E.A., on 28th September, 1915. This appears to be an
early date for the occurrence of the European Wheatear so far
south.

(init.) “E. H.”

“No. 36. _Colius leucocephalus_ (White-headed Coly). This
species is still very rare in collections. It is at once
distinguished from all other colies by its well-marked white
head. The first example was obtained by Fisher at Wapokomo,
B.E.A., in 1878, and long remained a unicum. The trader Abdu
Jindi sold a skin from Bardera to the Paris Museum. The British
Museum possesses specimens obtained on the Guaso Nyero, B.E.A.,
by Lord Delamere, and by Atkinson at Logh, Somaliland. The late
Baron Erlanger collected five specimens in Southern Somaliland.
The bird is figured in _Coliidae_, Genera Avium VI, 1906. Quite
recently Zedlitz received three males and one female from
Afgoi, South Somaliland.

(init.) “E. H.”

“No. 105. _Laniarius funebris degener_ (Lesser Sombre Shrike),
collected at Moschi, Kilimanjaro Area, is from a locality that
is remarkable. Hitherto only known from South Somaliland,
but agrees perfectly with _degener_, being smaller than
_atrocaeruleus_, and much less deep black than _L. funebris
funebris_.

(init.) “E. H.”

“Nos. 115, 116. _Treron calva brevicera_ (Hartert’s Green
Pigeon). In _Novitates Zoologicae_, XXV. 1918, I have, with the
help of Arthur Goodson, reviewed the African Green Pigeons of
the _calva_ group. We were able to distinguish not less than
nine sub-species, and there seem to be one or two other, still
doubtful ones, in N.E. Africa. In the _Catalogue of Birds_ in
the British Museum all these nine forms were united, while
Reichenow separated two, and recently four different ones. The
specimens from East Africa have given us the greatest trouble.
It is evident that a distinct form with a very short naked
‘cere’ or basal portion of the beak, and with a sharply defined
lavender-grey nuchal collar, is found in East Africa around
Kilimanjaro and thence to the Athi River, Machakos, Matabato
Hills, and to the Kikuyu Mountains and Escarpment. This form we
called _Treron calva brevicera_.

(init.) “E. H.”

“No. 152. _Motacilla clara_ (Long-tailed Pied Wagtail). This
is the bird which used to be called for many years _Motacilla
longicauda_, but as this name had been preoccupied, Sharpe
named it _Motacilla clara_ in the fifth volume of the
_Hand-list of Birds_.

(init.) “E. H.”

[Sidenote: PLANTS COLLECTED]

I collected also during our travels some specimens of plants for Dr.
A. B. Rendle of the British Museum, and was fortunate to secure some
interesting species, four of which were new, and not formerly recorded,
and have been described in the _Journal of Botany_ (October, 1916), while
others, unfortunately, were too fragmentary to determine, or to give more
than a genus name, though nine of them are possibly new species.

The East African plants obtained were:

CAPPARIDEAE
_Cleome hirta_ Oliv.

PORTULACACEAE
_Talinum cuneifolium_ Willd.

TILIACEAE
_Grewia canescens_ A. Rich.

GERANIACEAE
_Pelargonium_ sp.

LEGUMINOSAE
_Vigna fragrans_ Bak. fil.
_Rhynchosia_ sp.

RUBIACEAE
_Pentas carnea_ Benth. (forma)
_Oldenlandia Bojeri_ Hiern

COMPOSITAE
_Erlangea Buchananii_ S. Moore (sp. nov.)
_Vernonia Hoffmanniana_ S. Moore
_Vernonia lasiopus_ O. Hoffm.
_Ageratum conyzoides_ L.
_Notonia abyssinica_ A. Rich.
_Wedelia abyssinica_ Vatke
_Melanthera Brownei_ Sch. Bip.
_Senecio disciflorus_ Oliv.
_Berkheyopsis diffusa_ O. Hoffm.
_Aspilia_, sp.
_Achyrocline luzuloides_ Vatke
_Zinnia multiflora_ L. (New World plant; an escape from gardens.)
_Erythrocephalum longifolium_ Benth.
_Triplocephalum Holstii_ O. Hoffm.
_Mikania scandens_ Willd.
_Pluchea dioscoridis_ D. C.
_Polycline_ (sp. nov.?)

OLEACEAE
_Jasminum Buchananii_ S. Moore (sp. nov.)

APOCYNACEAE
_Adenium coetaneum_ Stapf

ASCLEPIADACEAE
_Daemia extensa_ R. Br.
_Sarcostemma viminalis_ R. Br.

BORAGINACEAE
_Cynoglossum lanceolatum_ Forsk.

CONVOLVULACEAE
_Ipomaea Wightii_ Choisy
_Hewittia bicolor_ Wight

SOLANACEAE
_Solanum panduraeforme_ E. Mey.

SCROPHULARIACEAE
_Rhamphicarpa Heuglinii_ Hochst.
_Rhamphicarpa serrata_ Klotzsch. var. _longipedicellata_ Engl.
_Striga elegans_ Thunb.

GESNERIACEAE
_Streptocarpus caulescens_ Vatke (Ulugúru Mts.)
_Streptocarpus_ sp. (Ruwu River)

PEDALINEAE
_Sesamum_ (sp. nov.?)

ACANTHACEAE
_Thunbergia affinis_ var. _pulvinata_ S. Moore
_Thunbergia alata_ Bojer
_Barleria maculata_ S. Moore (sp. nov.)
_Ruellia_, sp.
_Eranthemum Hildebrandtii_ C. B. Clarke
_Ecbolium namatum_ C. B. Clarke
_Barleria_, spp.
_Barleria ramulosa_ C. B. Clarke
_Somalia_ (sp. nov.).
_Blepharis linariaefolia_ Pers.
_Justicia Fischeri_ Lindau

VERBENACEAE
_Priva leptostachya_ Thunb.

LABIATAE
_Leucas_, sp.
_Erythrochlamys spectabilis_ Gürke
_Coleus decumbens_ Gürke
_Plectranthus buraeensis_ S. Moore (sp. nov.)
_Leucas leucotricha_ Baker

NYCTAGINEAE
_Boerhaavia plumbaginea_ Cav.
_Boerhaavia pentandra_ Burch.

AMARANTACEAE
_Aerua lanata_ Juss.
_Aerua brachiata_ Mart.
_Digera arvensis_ Forsk.
_Centema rubra_ Lopr.

CHENOPODIACEAE
_Chenopodium album_ L.

EUPHORBIACEAE
_Phyllanthua amarus_ Schum. & Thonn.

(Species possibly new when genus only is given.)

A. B. RENDLE.

BRITISH MUSEUM (NAT. HIST.) _30th May, 1916_.

In collecting in this way, in odd hours, one was constantly moving about,
and to that, strange as it may seem, I ascribe my good fortune in keeping
fit and free of sickness during the first two years of service in the
tropics. I feel sure, even if one feels listless and exhausted, that it
is a mistake to lie about camp in the oppressive heat when off duty,
pestered by flies and camp dust, and brooding over your discomforts.
Some of the men of the battalion became interested in this searching
for curious things, and, after a time, it was noticeable that they were
the ones most contented with the hardships they endured, and among the
fittest on trek. Africa had undoubtedly the power to depress men’s
spirits in no light manner, and thus, to find something to do and think
about, in any interval of idleness, was a good thing.

[Sidenote: PESTS OF CAMP AND TREK]

Lastly, I will refer to the pests of camp-life and trek.

The common house-fly was a terrible pest at all times. They swarmed over
everything, and were a particular source of annoyance when food was being
prepared, or being eaten. It was impossible to take steps to reduce their
number in the limitless areas through which we were constantly passing,
and there was nothing for it but to endure the plague, while, whenever
camp was established for a few days, all rubbish was scrupulously burned
or buried so that they would have as little to attract them to our
neighbourhood as possible.

A large glossy “blue-bottle”—following the ghastly trail of dying
transport animals, was also a common and disease-carrying pest. When the
elephants—mentioned previously—were shot in the Ulugúru Mountains, they
were miles from any habitation, and in vague bush country, which one
would judge was no habitat of “blue-bottles,” yet in an hour they were
in millions on the dead carcases—so many that the standing grass was
weighed down with the blackness of flies settled on each stem. The sense
that brought such swarms to one small centre in so short a time is beyond
understanding. Should a horse die on the roadside, but a day will elapse
before it becomes a seething mass of “blue-bottle” larva and terrible to
look upon.

Mosquitoes, in regard to their irritating bite and their nocturnal
activities, were, on the whole, not very troublesome, and in no instance
have I a record of their being particularly bad, but they carry the
malaria germ, and, in that they did so, they were our most deadly enemy.
As protection against them everyone was supposed, by S.M.O. order, to
sleep beneath mosquito net, but that was often quite impossible when
trekking, and our kit miles in rear.

In some parts we passed through, especially if riding, the tsetse fly was
a terrible pest, for they bite hard and deep, and follow you persistently
on your way for many miles. It is that fly which is credited with
carrying the germ of that dread disease sleeping sickness—while, as is
well known, its bite is particularly fatal to imported horses and mules,
and, in lesser degree, to cattle.

[Sidenote: ANTS AND BEES]

Ants, too, were among our enemies. And once you have been amongst red
fighting ants in long marsh grass you are never likely to forget them.
Sometimes, too, those species trek during the night, and I have seen a
sleeping camp turned out in the middle of the night by those insects
swarming over everyone and biting furiously. And, after a day of hard
trekking, this kind of disturbance is very far from pleasant, as may
be judged by the vicious exclamations of abuse that arise out of the
darkness. These red ants were the worst of their tribe, and many an
uncomfortable experience we had with them. Again, there was a tiny
species of ant that was always with us. It infested every article of our
belongings, and particularly anything edible, and on that score was a
great nuisance, though quite harmless otherwise. As if there was not
enough to plague the life of man, spiders, tarantulas, and scorpions
on occasions found their way into your blanket, and they were insects
that were dreaded, for their stings were very painful and poisonous and
inflamed and irritated the part afflicted for days.

There are a great many bees in East Africa, and the natives place hives
for them in the trees and collect the wild honey from time to time.
These bees, if annoyed, are the most dreadful insect in Africa. On two
occasions hives were disturbed by our battalion, and swarms of the
annoyed inmates descended to inflict terrible punishment on all those
in the neighbourhood. On the first occasion their attack was more than
human flesh could endure, and an entire company was routed in disorder
from the neighbourhood. I have never before seen bees attack with such
ferocity nor sting so poisonously. On the first occasion of attack one
unfortunate man was completely overcome, and lay on the ground groaning
and screaming, while bees were apparently biting him to death. From this
he was rescued, but not before he was mentally unbalanced, and had to be
removed to hospital. On the second occasion of attack another individual
suffered almost equally severely.

Many snakes were killed about camp, but no one of our battalion, so far
as I know, was ever seriously bitten by one. One python was killed and
a number of puff-adders, and a great many of the smaller grass snakes.
I have seen men, when sleeping in the open, awake at daylight to find
a snake, 4 to 6 feet long, curled against their body for warmth, but,
on being disturbed, they slid off quietly into the grass, and were gone
without attempting to be antagonistic.

At Kissaki camp we experienced a bad plague of mice. At the time we were
there, the entire neighbourhood had been burnt out by the natives in
clearing their cultivated ground of undergrowth, and this had driven the
mice into camp. There were thousands of them—they lived in your grass
roof by the score, they scuttled about the floor of your hut o’ nights,
and while you slept they played “hide and seek” over your blankets. It
was a common thing for half a dozen biscuit-tin traps—make-shift traps
made by ingenious Tommies—to catch a hundred mice in a night.

Those are but brief references to the forms of Nature that were closely
associated with the campaign; some giving us pleasure, some adding to our
trials and discomforts—but all memorable to those who have bivouacked and
trekked under the tropic sun.

CHAPTER IX

HERE AND HEREAFTER

WAR

War is as a storm of the clouds—a human storm. Dark frowning clouds,
commotion and strife, and outbursts of thunder—and before the threatening
disaster we tremble, and hope and fear.

It is the changing of the Universe, this mighty upheaval within nations,
and there is the impulse of Destiny in it. As a storm will clear the
atmosphere, afterwards there will be sunshine and better things. Not for
to-day, and the present, is this warring of nations, but for the future,
and the wisdom of those who in generations will follow us.

Was not the world growing fast into a plaything? Something in the form of
a pleasure-giving empty bubble, growing larger, floating uncertainly, the
surface substance—that which is visible to the eyes and mind—transparent,
and weak, and unworthy of the clear and vigorous world from which it had
risen, brightly coloured, and to which it was fast descending, colourless
and vague. As a bubble will burst, so was a climax imminent.

Does not war, this drastic liberation of opposite forces, hold for us a
lesson? Are we not passing through the throes of upheaval to change the
mind of our race from vanity to wisdom? The world to-day is steeped in
blood and sorrow; and all the suffering would be in vain, were there not
hope that the world will arise in the end sobered, and humbled, and eager
to live anew.

WAR MATERIAL

[Sidenote: THOUGHTS FROM THE FRONT]

Is not to enter war to enter an arena of great possibilities, wherein
a great game may be played, or a bad game? but, in any case, it is so
closely and seriously fraught with terrible issues that it bares the
character of men to the very bone. And there are many characters—not
one character, but a thousand characters; some great, some small, some
active, some dormant, but out of all such elements it is a wise man’s
wish to weld a universal organisation of strength; and an ignorant man’s
folly to look at no other ambition but his own.

And therein lie the factors of all troubles of organisation, and the
tremendous internal difficulties of army or national construction. One
man—or body of men—may plan to build well, but can only succeed if the
material is good: if the material is bad, there results failure, with
credit neither to the builder nor the material. And human character is
material—the most delicate material great builders may know and direct,
in war, or commerce—just so many human beings prone to be directed so
far, and for the rest to rise or fall, in the world’s estimate, as our
characters decide. But out of this mass of human character, out of these
manifold qualities of a multitude, is formed the final whole which
goes to mark the characteristics of an era of history, and a national
greatness or littleness.

* * * * *

Like unto axe-men felling trees in a forest is the destructive hand of
warfare. The land is depopulated of its finest timber, and that which
will take a lifetime to replace.

Wholesale destruction reaches far beyond the actual crime of killing. It
breaks the evolution of growth, retards or destroys the life-history of a
species, and leaves, through the age it occurs in, an irreplaceable blank
in the population and wealth of a country.

This is not the first war, nor has anyone in the present authority to
state that it is the last. If war and the felling of our forests must
be, it is well to cling stoutly to the old features of the race and
cultivate, in place of the fallen giants, clean-limbed sturdy saplings of
full-worthy quality to serve the generations of the future.

It will concern us greatly in the future to cultivate a race strong
enough to endure the buffeting of great elements, and true and straight
as the best of the race of the past. For the country will want a race
that is fine-grained and sure-rooted, and fit to stand up against the
stress of the many storms of a restless world’s brewing.

* * * * *

How little we are, we pawns of a universe: how far-reaching is war in the
destruction of our plans! At the beginning of life it has picked us up
in its whirlwind, from every stage of life, and left our poor ambitious
castles in the air, tiny long-forgotten dust-heaps on the plain.

And yet we laugh and hide our sorrow, and go on, on our new-found task,
our future now no farther ahead than we can see, and trusting in God that
all will come right in the end.

* * * * *

We learn at the front and at home that nothing else matters, that
nothing really counts in the greatness of a nation but clean, unshaken,
sacrificing purpose, and ceaseless industry: worthless are all our little
deceits and vanities, and greed of personal gain.

That nation will find religion and prosperity which holds on to the
deeper lessons of war, long after war is over. To forget those lessons
will be to sin against God and conscience, and the great silent
grave-yard of our dead, who died that their nation might live.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: NEED OF INDUSTRY]

Industry will greatly concern us after the war. On that will our nation
depend for its solid existence hereafter, as it does to-day, on the
activities of our war-worn, long-enduring men-at-arms. We should be glad
that there will be much to do, for work is a fine thing. It is sincere in
its object—it accomplishes, and it satisfies the strongest trait in our
character: that wish of all men to establish a stable place of existence
where they can support an acknowledged standing of manhood.

Had we not to provide for ourselves, the chief care of our lives would be
taken away from us. In idleness we would become brainless and degenerate.

Nature has decreed her purposeful laws of all existence. Everything
that lives must industriously seek to find its means of livelihood, and
its means of defence against its enemies. For instance, in wild nature,
do not birds and animals without cease spend all their lives providing
themselves with food, and defending themselves against storms and their
enemies? In similar manner so must we; so must all things.

* * * * *

There are centuries of Time.

The World is very, very old, and a mighty universe in which a man is
but an infinitesimal activity of creation. After all, in spite of the
breathless, concentrated ambitions of a lifetime, we are a little people
and we only live on earth for a very little while. Let us then, above
all, make our fireside, and that of our neighbours, as pleasant as we
can. For love and beauty have a powerful influence to promote the better
religion, the stronger manhood of our race, and it is those intimate
characteristics, wisely planted, that may take root and grow, and be
everlasting long after we have travelled over the line and are gone.

* * * * *

It is sometimes our misfortune to misunderstand the scene or the life
around us. Forgetting our humility, it is often our temperament to find
fault, rather than reason, with the picture we view; and fault-finding
causes uneasiness, pain, and strife.

Perhaps our first care should be to perfect ourselves, and, next, to
harmonise with the endeavours of our neighbours. It would be well to go
pleasantly forward to find the best that is in anything—to look for the
little gleams of beauty which throw light across most pictures, no matter
how dark the background.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: IMPULSES OF CHARACTER]

Some men, like a giant moth in its full beauty of life when it breaks
from its chrysalis cell, fail to accomplish anything before they are
lured to the bright lights of the lamps of civilisation. Like an
unfortunate moth to a lamp, it is their fate to be inevitably drawn
towards the attraction, to seek an elusive something, and a possible
happiness. Persistently they damage their manhood and their strength in
trying to reach a luminous star within the radiant unattainable circle.
Again and again they return to flutter madly to their doom; and have no
wish to stay away. Until, at last—unless the will and mind overmaster
the weakness, and they go soberly away—the body drops to the darkness,
wasted and broken, and lies seriously damaged or dead. Ah, the pity of
it!—the sadness! There lies a creature of unknown possibilities come to
untimely grief.

Some men have no luck. Why are the strong impulses of a character born
in a creature without the one great saving grace of control? It is the
mystery of life, and it is impossible to criticise justly the man or the
ultimate end. It would be wise and kind to be very generous to all acts
and to all characters, since it is, above all else, “Destiny that shapes
our ends.” The moth could not damage its wings if the lamps were not
there, and alight, and yet for generations they have hung in their places
by the custom of our race, if not by the will of our God.

* * * * *

Judge no man hastily or harshly. Know a man long enough and, in most
cases, you will know him, in some phase of life, do an act of nobleness.

Environment has a great and often a deciding influence on man’s
behaviour; and sometimes it is a man’s misfortune never to have had a
chance.

* * * * *

Justice is not so straightforward as it seems. To bring blame home to the
true offender, or the true origin of offence, is often a task beyond
human breadth of mind and human skill. We attempt, as best we can, what
is God’s work—He who sees and knows all things.

It is not always what appears on the surface that really counts; it is
when the storms of battle are at their bitterest that the true materials
are found out, and the pure metal most praised.

How thoroughly in us is instilled the knowledge of right and wrong!
How clearly we know our wickedness when we err! That alone should be
sufficient to prove that there is a God and a sound foundation to
religion.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: WAR’S SCHOOLING]

Sleepless night—the bare hard ground an awkward resting-place, and our
look-out on the outer edges of outer civilisation. Over on the left of
camp a tireless, cheerful youngster, with spirit undaunted, is holding
the long, dreary watches through the night. Once he was a dandy-dressed
youth of a great city. He has come through a lot since then, he has
learned his lesson and his position in a grim world of naked realities.
He has risen from nothing to become a man—stripped of the fine clothes of
his drifting butterfly days, and aware now of how little they were. For
him the war has held more than loyalty to his country, for it held for
him, in its own time, and in its own way, the finding of himself.

A boy changed to a man, and the man seeing a world that is not as he
built it. He has sighed and fretted for lost dreams, but he knows the
battle-ground of Life’s conflict must be in the arena before him, and,
headstrong and vigorous, he accepts the challenge against strange weapons
and foes, and is of the stuff to prove that he has grown to be a worthy
defender of his race.

ROUTINE

At your post there are some days when mists are in your eyes, and you
cannot clearly see; there are days when mountains must be climbed with
aching limbs and burdened back; and there are days when you are humbled
in wretchedness, and glad of the kindliness of natives. Those days we
all experience, but, thank God, there are days when the sky is blue and
sunshine is in everything, and it is good to be alive.

CHARACTER AND COMMAND

Eighty per cent. of the rank and file are good fellows, glad to do their
best if treated with consideration, humanity, and a little love. They are
all very human, and you cannot prevent them from thinking in a human way.
What they expect and desire is a strong command that lays down a just and
reasonable order of things, and carries them through without confusion
and change. To supply such command is often difficult—for, again, it is
human nature that has to be dealt with.

Perhaps thirty per cent. of young officers are in part ignorant or
forgetful of their trust and its bearing on good or bad organisation.
They are sometimes inclined to imagine themselves set on a pedestal above
the rank and file, spending more thought than should be on rivalling one
another for rank, and stylishness, and a well-catered mess, while their
men go forgotten, and left to look after themselves.

One may truly say that one does not always find strong men in large
majorities down the list of young officers of a battalion—men who have
a prolonged determination and ambition to endure the hard fight for a
complete, wholesome, and wholly dangerous and united force. Here and
there one may pick out the strong men, who never lose their military
interest and who will brave anything, and then look at the remaining
line which clearly shows, in the chain which is to bind the whole of a
battalion, some weakness of strength, and the full extent of our failing.

It is a chain of some usefulness, thank God, but not capable, with its
weaknesses, of everlasting service, nor as strong as it might be if time
and material had allowed of a faultless welding.

By nature it is impossible to find all men of equal resolution, but at
the same time we of some means and education are often a thoughtless
people inclined to travel the line of least resistance in a difficult,
self-seeking world. And that is where, in part, the fault springs
from—the country from which we draw our stock has falteringly halted
or fallen back in producing men of refinement and chivalry, and has
encouraged in its stead a temperament of peculiar self-set vanity.

In a strong commander, a man who is loved by his men, you will always
find there is refinement and generosity and bravery, and little selfish
vanity—whether he be gentle-born or not. And look on the men who play the
clean, straight game in any field of life, and one cannot fail to see
that they are loved of all true-minded humanity. It is, they know, the
only game to play, the only game that wins a mighty battle.

LEADERSHIP

The control of an ordered parade is a simple thing, and for the drill
sergeant. But do not let us confuse the drill and discipline of the
barrack square, which is something of an ornament and impressive, with
the state of mind and aspect of a vital battle.

Gifted leadership is that which takes hold of and controls disorder—not
order. No matter what we have read and have preached about discipline,
the eternal fact which human nature will put before you on the awesome
field is that we are of many tempers, that all has not been calculated
or understood, and that Fate or Circumstance has, in part, destroyed the
plan so carefully arranged before setting out.

Out of such a situation nothing can lift the force, that is confronted
with difficulties, but quick thought, speedy action, and sure command.
And that is the leadership so hard to obtain.

Men essentially want strength in their leaders. They will go through
fire and brimstone for a good leader, and never be at a loss. Is it not
a mistake to rely too much on discipline as a factor of strength? May it
not be misleading to judgment of fighting strength? Drill and discipline
are somewhat automatic and ornamental, and it is just that surface which
is rudely swept aside in the first shock of battle.

Drill and discipline, in moderation, are good, but one should not overdo
it or overvalue it. Husband the high spirit of youth as long as one
can—it is the spirit that fights a winning battle.

Above all it should be remembered that soldiers are not schoolboys,
or mere tools, but men, often with high-strung feelings, who have put
their lives at the disposal of their country. The British soldier is
essentially a practical man; he has, in peace time, been an engineer, a
boiler-maker, an electrician, a mason, a farmer, or in a score of other
trades, and he does not easily lose the character of his long training;
nor should we expect it. He wants to be considered seriously, and as a
man. He wants to do his best, within reason, and, given a fair chance,
he never fails you. And, finally, he considers he has the right, at all
times, to be the keeper of his own soul.

Leadership imposes a wide knowledge of human nature, and a wide
responsibility; but tact, great patience, and a durable enthusiasm will
carry one far on an undertaking that is full of difficulties.

CRITICISM

A soldier said to me the other day: “I have been fifteen months out
here—I may be fifteen more—I may be shot to-morrow.”

To him it was a commonplace remark without a note of complaint. He merely
wished to show he had had time to think of the subject he was discussing
from a serious point of view.

And he had been discussing the folly, the uselessness, the narrowness,
the meanness of some of the newspaper and political criticisms so rife in
his home papers—the home that now he passionately hoped would emerge from
bloody battle-fields purified, serious, content, and aged to a greater
wisdom.

He thought some journalism at home and, incidentally, politics had been,
since the date of war, very disappointing. War had brought the golden
opportunity, while the State was in trouble and distress, to raise the
standard of thought to high Idealism. Yet had it carried on, on the
whole, as before, the chief forte criticism; sometimes uttered in weak
alarm or blundering foreboding—always in attack or defence of a narrow
circumstance.

[Sidenote: DISTURBING CRITICISM]

And, having warmed to his subject, the soldier went on to condemn
criticism—and his arguments were these:

There is far too much freedom of field given to fractious, unfounded
criticism. Criticism is nearly always, in some aspect, unjust; certainly
it is always unkind. For it aims at striking a down-felling blow while
it hits but one surface of the many-sided views of complex humanity. The
surface that is struck at may be bruised or even destroyed, if the blow
be straight, but there are others of the many surfaces which will merely
recoil and revolt, with cause, against the blow. And there are times when
the blow misses the mark altogether, and revolt is complete from all
sides.

Criticism can only be justified in two forms: when it condemns a great
wrong or a grave deceit—and then we should see to it that it is our
law, not criticism, that deals out judgment with certain understanding;
and, in the other case, when it is uttered in good spirit with helpful
purpose—and then it were more rightly called advice. Surely it is
wrong entirely to condemn, in bitter and unsubstantiated speech, the
thoughts and purpose of another body which dares to see a phase of
life, or government, in other light, and with another brain. Were it
not far better to prove by deed, by clear-sighted example—not merely by
words—the value of thought? And, if the opponent be a man, he will come
to thank you, and both views, in the process of discussion, will become
enlightened and instructive.

If he is not ‘a man’ his scheme of things opposed to yours should crumble
away if our laws are right, and concur with the common law of decay
which decrees that ill-fed roots cannot live and flourish. Does any man
do right to sit on a stool at home looking for trouble in the machinery
of the nation, when millions toil in endless endeavour, his object to
descry weakness or fault, or to direct to his temple of ideas, while he
raises no active hand to prove his knowledge or his understanding? Is he
certain of his usefulness? Does his position as a man of letters entitle
him, by self-appointment, to be king of people? Is there not a more
noble, if harder, method of reasoning a cause to greatness? If we are to
be truly great we must see the main views together, listening to all from
every human standpoint—and framing the final law with certain wisdom—for
the greatness of nations must spring from absolute unity of purpose, and
with an honesty near to the goodness of God. And is it not by example,
by action, and thereafter with broader vision, by help and advice, that
mankind should build together their fortresses of strength against the
battles of to-day and of the future? Have you seen a grim figure, grimly
occupied during an action, defending his yard of trench—which is to him
his Britain’s all—and dealing death with certain purpose and unshakable
resolution? He has nothing to say—only by deed can he hope to hold this
little yard for Britain’s honour.

He has no need for criticism. He has risen beyond any fault-finding or
narrowness.

He may live but to-day, but he lives those hours for the good and the
greatness of his motherland.

Should he criticise, if he comes through, methinks his words will be
measured with a new seriousness, and with warmth of comradeship more than
with enmity and bitterness.

And does not that common picture show the nobleness of _action_, and its
accomplishment—while criticism, ignorant and powerless, is blown back
into the four winds ashamed of its fragility?

ALONE

I have been a lone sentry many nights now in this distant outpost, and,
like a single plover seeking out the flock, I could utter his weird, wild
cry of loneliness. Love is surely the strongest motive in our lives, and
ah! it is cruel, and cold, and barren without any of it.... Yet I carry
on, though sometimes losing control of wariness and pitching among the
far-off fields of dream-land in search of the old home ... then back to
this lone, wild beat as before.

Is it an untamed spirit beating its life out because it has not the
saving faculty of control? or is it lost for a time on unbeaten tracks,
out of the course that it was intended to keep?

* * * * *

The virtue of life is not in learning to get what you want, but in
learning to do without what you want; and a soldier may have to do
without everything. A motto is no good if it is only an ornament on the
wall. If we live up to it, then only does it become worth while.

* * * * *

There is one thing greater than strength that will carry one far, and
that is endurance.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: UNDERLYING SADNESS]

It is the fate of youth, in simple trustfulness, to venture forth on the
broad highway of life a dreaming idealist; and to return, if the wars go
against him, with deep-cut scars and bowed head. He knows that there are
plans made otherwise than his, and that they will remain unalterable,
while he must break his spirit to change, and self-denial, and humbleness.

There is something of bitterness in the struggle, but it is that
bitterness which makes for deeper experience and ultimate strength,
though underlain with haunting sadness.

INDEX

Aden, 14

Aeroplanes, 29, 77, 114

African sounds, 31

Africa’s vastness, 8, 139

Ambushed patrol, 26, 28

Ammunition abandoned, 127, 132

Animals dying, 76;
exhausted, 91

Ants, 167, 222

Armour-plate tests, 111

Army, a mixed, 65

Aruscha road, 70, 74

Askaris surrender, 151

Bagomayo, 124

Baluchis, 66, 85, 165

Bay of Biscay, 6

Bayonet charge, 110, 188

Bees, 222

Behobeho, 166

Belgian Force, 124

Beves, Gen., 164

Big game, 202

Bird life in East Africa, 206-207

Bird migration, north-bound, 10

Birds collected, 209-215

Birds of special interest, 216

Boat-hawking vendors, 9

Bridges destroyed, 104, 124

Bridges, repairing, 83, 122

Brits, Gen., mounted troops, 118

Buck jump, great, 89

Buffalo, 48, 92, 203

Buiko, delayed at, 95

Bukoba, 20, 22

Bukubuku, large camp at, 130

Bush foils decisive combat, 139

Bush-war difficulties, 29, 138, 184

Camp routine, 36

Camp shelters, 141

Cape Town, rest at, 171

Casualties, 165, 190, 194

Casualties at Kahe, 84

Central railway, marching on, 103

Central railway falls, 124

Character and command, 233

Character, impulses of, 230

Clifford strikes, 58

Climate of intense heat, 34, 114

Coaling, 9

Colony lost to Germans, 124

Convoy sail, 4

Country beautiful, Ulugúru Mts., 127, 154

Country, cultivated, 76, 125

Country terribly unhealthy, 197

Criticism, disturbing, 237

Crocodile shot, 141

Cultivation, native, 105, 146

Cunliffe, Gen., 165

Currency, doubtful German, 107

Dakawa, 165

Dar-es-Salaam surrenders, 124

Dark days, 195

Dartnell, Lieut., V.C., 19

Daylight, hours of, 13, 27

Defu River, 80

Desert, march through forsaken, 71

Dik-dik, 102

Doves, numerous, 146, 206

Dress, typical, 45

Driscoll, Colonel, 3

Driving off cattle, enemy, 44

Duiker, Harvey’s, 111

Dunthumi River, 133

Dust, marching in thick, 69

East Africa, nearing, 15

Egyptian kite, 15

Eland, 28, 203

Elephants, 155, 203

Elephant tusks, 160

Engare Naniuki, 70

Entrenchments, Ruhungu, 120

Fever, more cases, 141

Fires not allowed, 94

Fly pests, 220

Fly, tsetse, 221

Food at low ebb, 149

Food, bartering for native, 107, 112

Food, German, reported short, 151

Food, hunting game for, 97, 133, 143

Forces dwindling, 113, 150

Freebooters, German, 51

Frontiersmen, 2

Frontier skirmishes, 18

Frontier stations, 17

Front, four-mile, 187

Front, nine-mile, 177

Front, twenty-mile, 164

Fuga hills, 166

Fusiliers, 25th Royal, 67, 177, 193

Game, big, 202

Geraragua River, 71

Gerenuk antelope, 101

German askaris surrender, 151

“German Bridge” engagement, 93

German East Africa, area of, 139

German East Africa threatened, 65

German freebooters, 51

German natives hired, 133

German paper rupees, 107

Gibraltar, 7

Gilham, Lieut., goes hunting, 97

Gitu, 105

Goanese, 76

Gold Coast Regiment, 129

Greeks, 76

Guaso Nyero Valley, 47

Guerilla warfare, Bukoba, 22

Guinea-fowl, 99

Guns, heavy, stranded, 164

Guns, Koenigsberg, captured, 82, 166

Gun-teams, sickness depletes, 142

Handeni neighbourhood, 106

Hannyngton’s, Gen., Brigade, 118

Hartebeeste shot, 40

Heat, climate of intensive, 34, 147, 168

Hen, pet white, 112, 115

Hill country, impassable, 119

Himo River, 80

Hippopotamus, 204

Horses dying, 73, 108

Hoskins, Gen., C.-in-C., 172, 176

Hot springs, 158

Houses inhabited, 74

Hunting at Kajiado, 39

Hunting game for food, 97

Hyenas in camp, 143

Indian Ocean, 15

Industry, need of, 229

Information, natives give, 130

Ivory, 160

Jungle, cruel-fanged, 97

Kahe, enemy strength at, 84

Kahe, hard fighting at, 80

Kajiado, hunting at, 40

Kanga-Kilindi range, 118

Kasanga, 154

Kasigau, occupied by enemy, 42

Kavirondos, 202

Kearton, Cherry, 2

Kibambawe, 171

Kibo, 35

Kibosho, 87

Kiderengwe, 166

Kihunsa ridge, 129

Kikuyus, 202

Kilimanjaro, 35

Kilossa, 124

Kilwa, 176

Kilwa column, position of, 179

King’s African Rifles, 67, 144, 177, 188, 193

Kipanya ridge, 187

Kiruru, 166

Kissaki, activities, 149

Kissaki camp, 140, 144

Kissaki, enemy retiring to, 130

Kisumu, 19

Kite, Egyptian, 15

Kitulo Hill, 176

Koodoo, Lesser, 99

Kraals, native, 146

Kraut, Major, 78, 189

Krupp gun, small, 111

Kwa-Beku, 117

Kwa-Direma, 110

Lake Natron at dawn, 55

Lake steamship craft, 20

Lake Victoria Nyanza, 19

Landing effected, Bukoba, 22

Leadership, 235

Lembeni outflanked, 90

Lindi Bay, 174

Lindi, 175

Lindi, return to, 185

Lions, 40, 53, 205

Locusts, 34

London, departure from, 3

Longido west camp, 64

Long-range guns, enemy, 130

Loyal North Lancashires, 23

Luăle Liwăle River, 121

Lukigura River, march on, 109

Lukuledi River, 176

Luxuries (?), 39

Lyall, Gen., 166

Machine guns, death-dealing, 80

Magali Ridge, 127

Maize, 146

Makindu, 109, 113

Makindu, advance beyond, 118

Maktau, reconnaissance, 27

Malaria, victim of, 123

Malta, 9

Mango, tree and fruit, 145

Masai, 48, 202

Masai, respect white chief, 62

Massimbani track, 116

Massassi, 197

Material, war, 226

Mawensi, 35

Mayani, 187

Mbuyuni, back to, 87

Mediterranean Sea, 7

Mgata, 129

Mgeta river front, 140, 144, 164

Mice plague, 223

Millet, 146

Mingoyo, 184

Mkalamo, 103

Mkalinso, 171

Mkwaya, 177

Mohambika, 184, 187

Mombasa, 15

Mombo, 103

Monitors at Lindi, 177

Monsoon, South-west, 27

Morogoro occupied, 123

Moschi, 74

Moschi area all clear, 86

Mosquitoes, 221

Mountain pass partly blocked, 128

Mounted troops, Gen. Brits, 118

Mpala, 40, 133, 203

Mpapua, 124

Mrweka, 184

Mssente, 116

Mtanda plateau, 187

Mules dying, 73

Mules, Somali, 44

Mules, South American, 67

Mwúhe River, 122

Mwuha River, 131

Nagasseni, 70

Narunyu, 191

Native cultivation, 105, 146

Native kraals, 146

Natives fearful of shell-fire, 114

Natives, German, hired, 133, 201

Natives of East Africa, 201

Naval gun captured, 82, 166

Neuralia, troopship, 4

Nguru mountains, 109, 114, 118

Nguruman mountains, 47

Nigerian regiment, 165, 198

Night attack by enemy, 78, 194

Night landings, 20, 179

Night scouting, 30

Nkessa’s, 133, 134

North Pole Star, 13

Observation post destroyed, 129

Offensive, commencement of, 68, 174

Officers, 233

O’Grady, Gen., 177, 198

Ol Doinyo Orok, 32

Operations against Narunyu fail, 119

Operations in Ulugúru Mts., 125

Outpost, Maktau, 26

Outpost scattered, 71

Outram, George, 3

Oxen dying, 108

Pangani River, column leaves, 105

Pangani River, down the, 88

Parcels from home, 38, 148

Pare mountains, 93

Patrol ambushed, 26, 28

Patrols, 18

Plantations, coffee, 76

Plantations, rubber, 76, 176

Plants collected, 218

Plymouth Dock, 4

Port Said, 10

Punjabis, 66

Raiders, heading off, 52

Railway, central, falls, 124

Railway protection, 17

Railway to Tanga clear, 103

Rains, 35, 76, 145, 164, 172

Ramazani, Selous’s gun-bearer, 170

Rank and file, 233

Rations, Gen. Sheppard on, 147

Rations very short, 96, 104

Rearguard skirmish, 72

Rearguards harass advance, 108, 131

Reconnaissance flanking Ruhungu, 115

Reconnaissance, Maktau, 27

Red Sea, 13

Reedbuck, 133, 142, 203

Rhinoceros, 27, 28, 30, 204

Rhodesians, 2nd, 93

Routine in camp, 26, 36

Routing the raiders, 60

Rovuma River, Germans cross, 199

Royal Fusiliers, 25th, 67, 177, 193

Rubber plantations, 76, 176

Rufiji, enemy retreat to, 170

Rufiji, postponed advance to, 144

Rufiji River, north of, 125

Ruhungu, operations fail, 119

Russongo River, 121

Ruwu River (Kahe front), 78, 82

Ruwu River (Ulugúru Mts.), 127

Ryan, Martin, 3, 158

Saidi-bin-Mohammed, 43

Sanja River, 73

Scouting, night, 30

Selous, F. C., 2, 162, 169

Sheep hills, 69

Shelled by naval guns, 92, 110, 196

Shell-fire, prolonged, 114, 196

Sheppard, Gen., 93, 106, 147, 165

Shombole Mountain, 56

Sickness depletes gun-teams, 142

Sickness, food shortage causes, 38

Single-handed adventure, 44

Sleep in mud and water, 85

Sleep lost and overtaxed, 89

Smuts, Gen., C.-in-C., 68

Smuts, Gen., pressing forward, 95, 104, 121

Snakes, 223

Snowfall on Kilimanjaro, 35

Soko-Nassai River, 80

Soldiers underfed, underclothed, 146

Somali mules, 44

Sounds, African, 31

South African troops coming, 41

Southern Cross, 28

South Pare mountains, 93

Ssangeni, 106

Ssonjo, 108

Starving natives, 196

Stations, frontier, 17

Steamship craft, lake, 20

Stores abandoned, 132

Storks, 34

Suez Canal, 11

Sunburn, extreme, 169

Supply difficulties, adding to, 126

Surrender, Tafel’s force, 199

Swahili-speaking tribes, 200

Tabora, Belgian force occupy, 124

Tafel’s force surrender, 199

Tandamuti, attack fails on, 187

Tandamuti front clear, 191

Tanga clear, railway to, 103

Taveta base, 88

Telegraph wires cut, 150

Thorn trees, 98

Tieta hills, 30

Tobacco, out of, 148

Trackless country, 69

Tragic end, 199

Transport difficulties, 75, 104, 113

Transport attacked, 189

Trees, thorn, 98

Trolley line, 103, 180

Troopship, 4, 5

Tsetse fly, 221

Tulo, 132

Tulo, delayed at, 140

Uganda railway, 17, 42

Ulugúru mountains, operations in, 125

Ulugúru mountains, seeking road, 154

Unhealthy area, a very, 140, 197

Usambara railway, enemy leaving, 103

Usambara railway, west of, 88, 93

Van Deventer’s, Gen., column, 81, 124

Van Deventer, Gen., C.-in-C., 176

Victoria Nyanza Lake, 19

Voi Railway mined, 26

Von Lettow crosses Rovuma River, 199

Von Lettow, forces under, 176

Wami River, fight at, 122

War material, 226

Watch-dog’s duties, 17

Water, 18, 48, 194

Waterbuck, 142, 203

Waterless wilderness, 45

Waterloo station, 1

Whirlpools, 48

White troops leave country, 144

Wilderness and night, 47

Wilderness country, 64, 139

Wilhelmstal, 103

Willoughby, Major Sir John, 111

Wireless station destroyed, 20, 25

Ziwani, fighting at, 183

_Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, England._

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Three years of war in East Africa" ***

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