Three years of war in East Africa E-Book

Angus Buchanan

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

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.

Leseprobe

THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA

Lukigura River.

Frontispiece

THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA

BY CAPT. ANGUS BUCHANAN, M.C.

WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

1920

© 2023 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782385740221

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.”

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

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

Angus Buchanan.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Foreword

ix

Preface

xviii

CHAPTER

I.

Outward Bound

1

II.

Frontier Life

17

III.

Cattle Raiders

43

IV.

The First Advance

64

V.

The Second Trek

87

VI.

The Third Stage

125

VII.

The End of the Campaign on German Soil

173

VIII.

Nature Notes

200

IX.

Here and Hereafter

225

Index

242

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Lukigura River

Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

Kilimanjaro

34

The Neck at “German Bridge”

92

German Paper Rupee

106

Native Kraal

144

A Good Bag: 268½ lb. of Ivory

160

Tandamuti

188

Ostriches

202

LIST OF MAPS

From the Frontier to Morogoro

86

Morogoro to Rufiji River

124

Lindi Area

172

THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA

CHAPTER IOUTWARD 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:

Miles

Gibraltar to Malta

1,200

Malta to Port Said

1,125

Port Said to Aden

1,675

Aden to Mombasa

1,950

Total

5,950

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

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.