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

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

All Rights Reserved

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

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.”

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....

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

DARING