A FRESH START 233 



from that side. My boy Moosa had to be left in 

 hospital with a sore leg : like all native-born 

 Africans, he had picked up Swahili wonderfully 

 quickly, and I now used him as my main inter- 

 preter, the local people in this part speaking only 

 Makua, their own language. 



Troubles never come singly, and my cook-porter, 

 an amazing coward, now asked me to let him go 

 into the Carrier Corps, having evidently had quite 

 enough of being with a " Bwana-ya-Scoutie " 

 (Intelligence Officer). Luckily, there were several 

 recently captured German askaris in the camp at 

 that time, and I secured one, a youth of about 

 fifteen. He informed me that his name was 

 Tomaas (Thomas), and that he was a Christ o 

 (Christian) : a very good, quiet boy he turned out 

 to be — though he was never as bright and quick 

 as Moosa — and I kept him with me right to the 

 finish. Tomaas, the Christo, and Moosa, the 

 Makuan heathen, would have been a dangerous 

 combination if both of them had not been very 

 honest youngsters; but, as a matter of fact, I 

 have always found native Africans honest except 

 when spoilt by town civilisation. 



Moosa eventually caught me up a couple of 

 weeks later. He had done well in following me 

 so speedily on his own, though, of course, as a 

 Makua, he was travelling amongst his own people 

 the whole way. My little Mnyamwezi corporal, 

 Kufakwenda (" Go-to-kill "), whom I had to 

 leave behind with toothache, never rejoined me, 



