Three days later an officer and a native soldier rode into the British camp, dust-covered and with clothes torn. Dismounting, the officer left his mule in the care of the native and passed on to the encampment of G.H.Q.
Down the dry dust-thick lanes of the camp stalked the well-known figure of the famous scout—the lean, the brown, the worn bushman, scarred and tired with exposure and climate—a thing of the wild world and the silent places—unassuming, almost shy. But, on a thousand lips the news flew among the troops that Clive Clifford was back—and glad men came from their tents to cheer him past.
And Saidi, unsaddling the mules in the horse lines, hearing the welcome, smiled in content.
CHAPTER IV
THE FIRST ADVANCE
The dusty road through dense tropical thorn-bush followed the “lie” of the mountain, and to approach Longido West you came round the bend from the west, and swung easterly, to find the camp, an irregular, partly cleared space in the midst of trees. The camp, with cunning purpose, was under cover, for it was within the timber line, which hung densely in colour and form along, and all around, the mountain base. Beyond, at no great distance to the south and west, the bush terminated, and open yellow veldt stretched far out to the hill-marked distance where sheltered the considerable town of Arusha.
The whole was a wilderness country, neither bush nor veldt held human creature! All that lived was of nature’s giving! In the forest of thorns, and by the mountain-fed streamlet which gave the camp sparingly of priceless water, bird, insect, and plant life, in myriad forms, were habited in abundance. Beyond the jungle of low-stature trees, the veldt lay in expressionless vagueness and silence, with but the slow, dark movement of a small number of ostrich and wildebeeste, and the flight of a ranging vulture, to attract and hold the wandering eye.
GERMAN EAST AFRICA THREATENED
And it was here that our forces were congregating, over the German border, under the south-western continuance of Longido Mountain. We had been days in coming, and we had come from many places—British, South African, Indian, and native African—and we knew by the unwonted stir of traffic that there was “something on.” A day passed, two days, and still the gathering grew! Troops and transport—ox wagons, mule wagons, and motors—and the hundred-and-one oddments that accompany a large force, came into view at the clearing entrance, passed down the road and camped, and thenceforth became part of us. In time, it came to be the evening of the second day, and a great stir arose in camp.
Orders were out: we were to commence the advance to-morrow! Suppressed excitement was in the air! Down the dust-smothered road, as I passed to camp, there trooped to water a hurrying continual line of thirsty, road-tired, sad-visaged horses, mules, and oxen, accompanied by gesticulating, chattering, khaki-clad attendants. The men were discussing the news, and the prospect ahead, in many different ways and in different tongues of English, Dutch, Hindu, and Swahili. It was nigh to the common hour of peacefulness—that is, peace as near as it is ever realised in the army—when half-clad, begrimed, talkative soldiers grub and wash up around the evening camp fires. But to-night there was no peace. Sergeants were calling out orders on every rustle of the wind, fatigue parties were falling-in here, there, and everywhere. Final preparations were in full swing, and—what use to deny it?—fuss and confusion held sway, as if in devilish glee. Rations, the most vital care of the army, were discussed and arranged. Kits to go, 25 lb. per man, including his blanket and spare boots, and surplus kits to be left behind were packed and loaded on wagons, or stored. Sick men, and men not particularly robust, were sorted out and detailed for garrison, for commanders realise that only the very fittest can endure the hardship of a long trek in Africa. Finally all was arranged and the sleep of night settled on the camp.