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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Native Kraal.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.