piqued at the calm indifference of smart Belgian officers to the favours
they might have had. Openly chagrined were the local Hun beauties at
such a disregard of their full-blown charms.

"I fear for our women and children in Tabora," said the German doctor to
me in Morogoro. "Ach! what will the Belgians do when they hear the tales
that are told of our German troops in Belgium? You don't believe these
stories of German brutalities, do you?" he said anxiously, conciliatory.
But I did, and I told him so. "But you don't know the Belgian Askari; he
is cannibal; he is recruited from the pagan tribes in the forest of the
Congo, he files his front teeth to a point, and we know he is short of
supplies. What is going to happen to German children? It is the truth I
tell you," he went on, evidently with very sincere feeling. "You know
what became of the 1,500 Kavirondo porters your Government lent to the
Belgian General. Where are our prisoners that the Belgians took in Ujiji
and along the line? Eaten; all eaten." And he threw up his hands
tragically to heaven. "I know you won't believe it, but I swear to you
that Rumpel's story is true." Rumpel was Lettow's best intelligence
agent. "Our scout was a prisoner with a company of Belgian Askaris, you
know, and it was only that the Belgian company commander wanted to get
information from him that he was not eaten at once. Haven't you heard
the tale that Rumpel tells after his escape? How the senior native
officer came to his Belgian commander and complained that they had no
food, the villages were empty, not so much as an egg or chicken to be
got. Irritably, the Belgian officer shouted that the soldiers knew that
no one had food, and they must wait till they got to the next post on
the morrow. 'But,' urged the native sergeant softly, 'there are the
prisoners.' 'Oh, the prisoners,' said the Belgian officer, relieved by
an easy way out of a very difficult situation. 'Well, not more than
sixteen, remember that.' And the sergeant went away."