alarming-looking figures. On the head of each man was a plume of
feathers, or sometimes a single beautiful feather, taken from the bell
crane, rising a good two feet into the air. Round his waist hung a kilt
of white oxtails, and beneath his right knee and shoulder were small
circles of white goat’s hair. For the rest, he was naked; unless he was
a chief, in which case he wore a leopard’s-skin kaross, or cloak, as
an emblem of authority. In his left hand he carried a fighting shield
made of oxhide, of which the colour varied according to the regiment
to which he belonged. In his right hand he held his great broad-bladed
“bangwan,” or stabbing assegai. He also had three lighter and smaller
assegais for throwing as javelins, and a “knobkerrie,” or club, made
of hard “umzimbete” wood. Many of them had rifles, but very few were
good shots, and their fire only became formidable when they had a broad
mark, like a body of men, to aim at.
The Zulu tactics were always the same. They always tried to attack in
a half-circle, throwing forward both flanks of their fighting force,
like two horns, which strove to encircle and threaten the rear of their
enemy, while their centre, in successive waves of men, charged to their
front with irresistible determination.
[Illustration:
[_Photo.: Crewes._
KING CETEWAYO.]
It has been said that the warlike Zulu kingdom had been a standing
menace for years to the European colonies on its frontier. Except in
the towns these colonies were only occupied by farmers, whose solitary
homesteads were scattered over the country at wide distances from
each other, each European’s house having near it a small “kraal,” or
village, where lived the peaceful and unwarlike Kaffirs who formed the
native population. In days not long gone by, the first settlers had
frequently been obliged to fight for their lives, and the Dutch names
of such places as “Weenen” (weeping) kept alive the memory of old Zulu
incursions. Many were the alarms which spread through the country from
time to time lest these incursions should be renewed, and many were
the frontier farms which had been, in consequence, deserted by their
owners. Causes of dispute had arisen, moreover, with Cetewayo, and the
savage potentate had showed that war would be far from unwelcome to
him. The English Governor and High Commissioner in South Africa in 1878
was Sir Bartle Frere, one of the ablest of the many able politicians
and administrators who have been produced by our Indian Empire, and
he did all in his power to induce the Zulu king to come to such terms
as might secure the continuance of peace--to no purpose. Finally, an
ultimatum was sent to Cetewayo, and he was warned that if it was not
complied with before the 11th January, 1879, operations against him
would be at once commenced.
It had long been foreseen in Natal that war was almost inevitable,
and all the available troops had been massed along the frontier,
under the command of Lieutenant-General Lord Chelmsford, K.C.B. The
whole resources of the colony had been organised and prepared for a
campaign. There were seven regiments of English regular infantry, a
naval brigade, seventeen guns and a rocket battery Royal Artillery,
and two companies Royal Engineers. There was no regular cavalry, but
there were two squadrons of mounted infantry, and nearly 800 colonial
volunteers and police, besides more than 300 native Basuto horse. There
was also a native contingent, about 9,000 strong. The whole amounted
to 6,639 Imperial and colonial troops, 9,035 native contingent, with
802 conductors and drivers in charge of nearly 700 waggons, forming the
transport train.
The period allowed to Cetewayo for reply to the ultimatum having
expired, a declaration of war was made by Sir Bartle Frere, who then
placed in the hands of Lord Chelmsford the further enforcement of all
demands.
Lord Chelmsford’s army as detailed above was divided into five
columns, which were to march into Zululand at different points, and
to move on Ulundi, Cetewayo’s capital, where they were expected to be
able to concentrate victoriously. For our present purpose we need only
consider the 2nd and 3rd columns, as the others were in no way involved
in the operations which led to the battle of Insandhlwana. The 2nd
column, under Colonel Durnford, R.E., was almost entirely composed of
natives, and was, in the first instance, more intended to be used as
support and communication between the 1st and 3rd columns than for any
other purpose. The 3rd column was the strongest and most important, and
to it Lord Chelmsford attached himself and his staff. It was under the
immediate command of Colonel Glyn, C.B., and was formed by six guns,
R.A., one squadron mounted infantry, the 1st battalion 24th Regiment,
the 2nd battalion 24th Regiment, about 200 Natal volunteers, 150 Natal
police, three battalions of the native contingent, and some native
pioneers. This force crossed the Buffalo river on the 11th of January,
and encamped on the further side. The rainy season was not yet over,
and not only was there some difficulty and even danger in crossing the
flooded river, but the broken country in front of the column was nearly
impassable from swamps and heavy ground, so that much road-making had
to be undertaken to enable the guns and transport to push forward.
[Illustration: “THE CAMP WAS A PICTURESQUE SIGHT”
(_p._ 150).]
A successful attack was made on the 12th against the Isipezi Hill, but
the stubborn resistance that was then made by the induna, or chief,
Sirayo and his followers showed that no final success was to be hoped
for except at the cost of hard fighting. Several long reconnaissances
were made by the mounted men into Zululand, and shots were exchanged
with detached parties of the enemy, but there was nothing to show how
fearful a storm was gathering in the horizon and was nearly ready to
burst.
By the 20th of January all the first difficulties had been overcome,
and the 3rd column was encamped at the foot of the Insandhlwana
Hill. The position of the camp was thus described:--“We had a small
‘kopjie’ (stony hillock) on the right of our road, and then about
fifty yards to our left rises abruptly the Insandhlwana mountain,
entirely unapproachable from the three sides nearest to us, but on the
further--viz., that to the north--it slopes more gradually down, and it
is there connected with the large range of hills on our left by another
broad neck of land. We just crossed over the bend, then turned sharp
to the left, and placed our camp facing the valley, with the eastern
precipitous side of the mountain behind us, leaving about a mile of
open country between our left flank and the hills on our left, the
right of the camp extending across the neck of land we had just come
over, and resting on the base of the kopjie before mentioned.”
The camp was a martial and picturesque sight in the glow of the
African sunset. Here were the tents of the Queen’s Infantry, the men
busy cleaning their arms and cooking their rations, there the long
lines of picqueted horses, there the gun-park, there the swart native
contingent, as savage-looking as the foe that they had come to fight,
while the flag of England waved over the marquee of the general,
speaking pride and defiance to all assailants. There was one fatal
mistake, however. The waggons, which should have been ranged end to
end in front of or round the camp, in the fashion called in Africa
a “laager,” forming a defensible barricade against sudden assault,
were drawn up uselessly in line behind the camp, and many a veteran
of the old colonial wars saw with apprehension that old lessons were
neglected, and that undue confidence had taken the place of the caution
taught by experience.
It was known that, at about twelve miles from Insandhlwana, there
was, on the Inhlazatye range of hills, the stronghold of a chief
called Matyana; and on the 21st two separate parties were despatched
from the camp at an early hour to reconnoitre and, if possible,
attack the place. One of these parties consisted entirely of mounted
men--Natal volunteers and police--under Major Dartnell, the other of
two battalions of the native contingent under Commandant Lonsdale.
Major Dartnell, the head of the police, was an experienced soldier, who
had served with the highest credit in the English army, and had taken
part in several campaigns. Commandant Lonsdale was also an old soldier
of proved knowledge and judgment. Major Dartnell’s force encountered
Matyana’s men about ten o’clock in the morning, and, though the enemy
appeared anxious to fight, it was not considered prudent to engage
them without supports. The Zulus occupied a rugged “kloof,” or cleft
in the hills; and whenever the mounted men approached they sallied out
in large numbers. Mr. Mansel, of the police, a most daring officer,
was sent forward with a small body to try to make them show their
force, and succeeded in this, as the Zulus advanced to attack, throwing
forward their two “horns” and trying to surround Major Dartnell. The
volunteers and police then retired before superior numbers, and joined
Commandant Lonsdale’s men about three miles from the kloof.
The native contingent had shown on several occasions that they were
subject to panics, and were not to be depended upon; so Major Dartnell
decided that he and Lonsdale would bivouac for the night where they
were, and sent a messenger to Lord Chelmsford asking for the assistance
of some regular infantry to enable them to storm Matyana’s position.
In the middle of the night Dartnell’s communication was received,
and, as it told of the enemy being in far greater numbers on the
Inhlazatye hills than had been supposed, the general considered that
an overwhelming strength should be brought against them, and that an
opportunity was presented of striking a paralysing blow against an
important part of the Zulu army. He therefore ordered the 2nd battalion
24th Regiment, the mounted infantry, and four guns to be put under arms
at once in readiness to march, and, placing himself at their head, he
moved with the first faint grey of morning to join Major Dartnell. As
this detachment would considerably weaken the camp, Lord Chelmsford at
the same time sent orders to Colonel Durnford--who, with a portion of
the 2nd column, was now near Rorke’s Drift--telling him to move at once
to Insandhlwana with the rocket battery and the Basuto horse.
Lieutenant-Colonel Pulleine, of the 24th Regiment, was left in command
of the camp. He had with him six companies of the 24th, two guns R.A.,
about eighty mounted men, including mounted infantry, police, and
volunteers, and four companies of the native contingent. His orders
were to draw in his line of defence and infantry outposts, but to keep
his mounted vedettes still far advanced.
After the departure of Lord Chelmsford with the detached column,
nothing unusual occurred in the camp till between seven and eight
o’clock, when it was reported from a picquet about 1,500 yards to
the north that a body of the enemy could be seen approaching from
the north-east, and the appearance of various other small bodies was
subsequently noticed. Then, in the camp, there was all the bustle of
quick preparation for battle. Lieutenant-Colonel Pulleine put every
available man under arms. The draught oxen, which had been grazing,
were driven into camp and tied to the yokes; the native contingent was
pushed forward on advanced duty on the hills to the left; the guns were
put in position on the left of the camp; the mounted men stood ready by
their horses; and the 24th were formed up, awaiting the duty which the
turn of events might bring.
About ten o’clock Colonel Durnford arrived in camp, and, as the
senior officer, became by right the commander. He did not, however,
take the dispositions out of Colonel Pulleine’s hands, and the two
officers worked cordially together. Colonel Durnford had served for
more than six years in South Africa, knew the natives and their
customs thoroughly, and, with the most undaunted valour, which he
had proved in war and to which a disabled arm bore testimony, he
combined a chivalrous and sympathetic heart towards all who were
brought in contact with him, whether Europeans or natives. A handsome,
soldier-like man, with a long, fair moustache, he had an anxious
expression of face, as of one who is born to misfortune.
Repeated and more or less conflicting reports now came rapidly from the
outposts on the left: “The enemy are in force behind the hills;” “The
enemy is in three columns, one moving to the left rear, and one towards
the general;” “The enemy is retiring in all directions.” The estimates
of the enemy’s strength were most varied, but none approximated to the
real numbers that were threatening the doomed English force, and the
full extent of the danger was not realised.
On hearing these reports Colonel Durnford sent one troop of his
Natal Native Horse to reinforce his baggage-guard, which had not yet
joined him, and two troops, under Captains G. Shepstone and Barton,
to the hills on the left, while he himself determined to go out to
the front with the remaining two troops, which were to be followed by
Major Russell’s rocket battery, escorted by a company of the native
contingent.
[Illustration: VICINITY OF INSANDHLWANA]
It is here worth while to say a word about the Natal Native Horse,
than which no corps fought more loyally, bravely, and disinterestedly
during the troubles in South Africa. They were principally recruited
in Edendale, a Basuto agricultural settlement formed by Wesleyan
missionaries, who had recognised that Christianity could best be taught
to people who had given up a savage life, and had been trained in and
appreciated the arts of peace. The good missionaries had taught the
wild Basutos to build houses, to make waggons, and to cultivate the
ground scientifically, and, in conjunction with these benefits, had
inculcated the Christian’s moral law and the Christian’s sentiments.
The settlement at Edendale flourished exceedingly, and the Basutos
became not only prosperous citizens, but God-fearing men. When war
threatened, they were appealed to to give their services to the Queen,
and they eagerly responded. As soldiers, they were like the old
Covenanters. Every morning they assembled round their head-man for
prayer, during the day no troops were more daring and trustworthy, and
at night, before they lay down to rest, they again assembled for united
worship. In truth, they were soldiers whom any general would be glad to
command, and disciples whom any religious body would be proud to claim.
Colonel Durnford had asked Colonel Pulleine to let him have two
companies of the 24th, but when it was represented that they could ill
be spared, the request was not pressed.
As has been said, the full amount of the impending danger was not
realised, and there was no expectation of an attack on that day. As a
precautionary measure, however, a company of the 24th, under Lieutenant
Cavaye, was sent out as a picquet about 1,200 yards north of the camp,
while the remainder of the troops were dismissed from parade, but to
remain in readiness to fall in at a moment’s notice.
The two troops which had been sent out under Shepstone and Barton had
proceeded about five miles from the camp, when they met a large Zulu
force on the march. Captain Shepstone at once ordered a retreat, and
himself rode in with the warning that an attack was probably imminent,
but the appearance of masses of the enemy surging over the hills
had already given the alarm. Meantime, Colonel Durnford had, with
two troops, moved to the front at a canter, followed by the rocket
battery at a slower pace. After he had proceeded some miles, his
advanced files reported an immense “impi” behind the hills, and almost
immediately the Zulus appeared in force on his front and left in loose
order, ten or twelve deep, with heavy masses in support. They opened
fire and advanced with the startling rapidity which marked all their
movements. Colonel Durnford retired a little way behind the shelter
of a “donga,” a ravine-like crack in the plain. There he extended his
men and commenced a steady fire, but the numbers against him were so
overwhelming that he had to continue his retreat, only to find that
the enemy had been beforehand, and had annihilated the rocket battery,
slaying its commander, Major Russell, with all his gunners. Deserted
by the escort of the native contingent, the battery had fought with
unflinching courage, but had been overwhelmed by the fierce charge.
Durnford, sorely pressed, disputed every inch of ground until he
reached another donga, where he found himself in line with the camp
troops, and was reinforced by thirty or forty Natal Volunteers, under
Captain Bradstreet. Here his last desperate stand was made.
Two companies of the 24th, under Captains Mostyn and Younghusband, had
been pushed forward to the support of Cavaye’s picquet, but they were
too weak for the gigantic task, and all were driven in upon the main
body.
The situation was now this: The usual Zulu attack in half-circle was
being made on the camp, while a whole Zulu regiment, the Undi, was
pushing round the English left to gain possession of the waggon road
and line of retreat upon Rorke’s Drift.
The two guns and the whole of the 24th were in line, the native
contingent was on the right of the 24th, and then came Durnford’s
shattered and weary band. All were doing their duty manfully and well.
The guns were in action, served coolly and steadily as on a home
parade. The 24th, one of the smartest battalions in the service, was
dealing withering volleys, and Basutos and Volunteers fought stubbornly
for the homesteads of Natal. The enemy fell in hundreds, but kept on
advancing with undiminished resolution. Rank after rank of the foremost
were swept away, but still others pressed forward. The air was rent
with the roar of battle. The guns, which had been firing shell, now at
such close quarters were pouring in case, and each shot of the infantry
told on the dense masses. Even Zulu courage could not maintain an
advance against the deadly hail, and Cetewayo’s chosen warriors wavered
and lay down, seeking shelter and covering the valley in detached
groups to the depth of three-quarters of a mile. It almost seemed for
a space as if English tenacity was once again, as in the past, to be
rewarded with victory.
But the dire crisis of the day was at hand. The widespread horns of
the Zulu army had worked their way round the flanks, and were even
now showing themselves in rear of the English position. The native
contingent had always been a broken reed upon which to lean, and it
now broke and fled in the utmost disorder, thus laying open the right
and rear of the 24th. The ammunition began to fail, and the Zulu
opportunity had come. Nor were their chiefs slow to note and profit
by it. Hitherto the attack had been made in the silence of perfect
discipline. Now, as the iron-hearted warriors recovered from their
momentary check they raised the ominous Zulu war-shout, and dashed
forward in a last irresistible charge. They poured through the fatal
gap in the line of defence, and in a moment the English soldiers were
lost in the midst of the seething savage crowd.
[Illustration: “THEY RAISED THE OMINOUS ZULU WAR-SHOUT,
AND DASHED FORWARD” (_p._ 152).]
So sudden was the catastrophe, so rapid the charge, that but few of the
English soldiers had time to fix their bayonets and prepare for the
hand-to-hand struggle. Many a brave heart among the defenders was cold
in death long ere this, and sadly reduced were the numbers that strove
desperately against the nervous Zulu arms and the assegais thirsting
for blood. The savage warriors closed upon the doomed men with a shout
of “Bulala umlongo!”--Kill the white man! Then followed a scene of
direst confusion. Horse and foot, English and Zulu, friend and foe, in
one writhing slaughtering mass, slowly pushed through the camp towards
the road to Rorke’s Drift, the road of retreat to safety. But of the
24th, few, if any, left the ground where they had fought so well. The
battalion fell and lay by companies, surrounded by slain enemies. When
the battle-field was revisited, the remains of officers and men were
all found in the line of their last parade. No man had flinched, and
all had died as they had lived, shoulder to shoulder. When all was
lost, the artillery had limbered up and striven to save the guns, and
the mounted men who were yet unwounded forced their way, weapons in
hand, through the press. But the right of the enemy already occupied
the waggon road and barred the outlet. There was no safety except in
seeking another passage to the Buffalo River, and the ground to be
traversed was rugged, boulder-strewn and broken. None but mounted men
had escaped from the precincts of the camp, and the ground was such
that an active Zulu could cover it even faster than a horse. The guns
were soon hopelessly impeded, and the drivers were assegaied in their
saddles. The long ravine, which has since been called the “fugitives’
path,” was a scene of continuous slaughter, and even when the Buffalo
was reached, it ran swift, deep and fordless, an alternation of
boiling current and sharp rocks. Not half even of those who arrived
on its bank succeeded in crossing. Many were drowned, many assegaied,
some were shot, and the unrelenting pursuit continued even into Natal.
The only troops which had maintained a semblance of cohesion were some
of the Natal Native Horse. These gallant Basutos assisted many in the
flight, which they covered as well as they could under Captain Barton,
who rendered essential service by checking the pursuit on the Natal
bank of the Buffalo.
Such a day as that of Insandhlwana could not pass without the
performance of many deeds of gallantry and devotion, but the actors
and spectators in too many cases were left among the slain, and
their voices are dumb. We know of the heroic death of Captain George
Shepstone, who, having disengaged his men, and finding that Colonel
Durnford was still among the foe, said, “I must go and see where my
chief is,” and turned his horse again into the _mêlée_, there to
lay his body with that of his friend and leader. Private Wassall, of
the mounted infantry, gained the Victoria Cross by plunging a second
time into the torrent of the Buffalo, under a heavy fire, to save a
wounded comrade, who would otherwise have been lost. Captains Melville
and Coghill, of the 24th, who were both mounted, saved the Queen’s
colour of their regiment after they had fought to the last in its
ranks. They made their way to the river, and Coghill managed to get
to the further side. Melville lost his horse, and was left struggling
in the swift current. With sublime chivalry Coghill rode back to his
assistance, when his horse also was shot. Both these brave officers
succeeded in reaching the Natal shore, but, exhausted and wounded, they
could do no more, and were overtaken and killed, fighting till the
fatal “bangwan” did its work.
In this terrible disaster there perished twenty-six imperial officers
and 600 non-commissioned officers and men, while the loss of the
colonial forces was not less severe, twenty-four officers being among
the slain. All the waggons and oxen, two guns, 1,200 rifles, and an
immense quantity of ammunition and commissariat supplies, were also
lost.
Of all the regiments in the Queen’s army, the 24th has perhaps paid as
high a price as any for the glorious legends inscribed on its colours.
Insandhlwana was the second battle-field in which a battalion had been
practically annihilated. About thirty years before, at Chillianwallah,
thirteen officers and the greater part of the non-commissioned officers
and men had laid down their lives for the honour of England. Then
the cheers of victory had been raised over the dead. The evening of
the second fatal day in the regimental history closed in gloom and
unrelieved sorrow.