The German commandant turned away furiously after the rejection of his
olive branch. For he knew now that his captives knew that the game was
up, and it gave him food for thought indeed.




THE BEASTS OF THE FIELD


We are camped for the present on the edge of a plateau, overlooking a
vast plain that stretches a hundred miles or more to where Kilimanjaro
lifts his snow peaks to the blue. All over this yellow expanse of grass,
relieved in places by patches of dark bush, are great herds of wild game
slowly moving as they graze. Antelope and wildebeests, zebra and
hartebeests, there seems no end to them in this sportsman's paradise. At
night, attracted by to-morrow's meat that hangs inside a strong and
well-guarded hut, the hyaenas come to prowl and voice their hunger and
disappointment on the evening air.

The general impression in England, you know, was that in coming to East
Africa we had left the cold and damp misery of Flanders for a most
enjoyable side-show. We were told that we should spend halcyon days
among the preserves, return laden with honours and large stores of
ivory, and in our spare moments enjoy a little campaigning of a picnic
variety, against an enemy that only waited the excuse to make a graceful
surrender. But how different the truth! To us with the advance there has
been no shooting; to shoot a sable antelope (and, of course, we have
trekked through the finest game preserves in the world, including the