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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.