in the morning to the support of Major Dartnell. Between six and seven
in the morning the general had joined the force, which had bivouacked
out during the night, and operations against what was then supposed
to be the main portion of the Zulu army were at once commenced. The
mounted infantry were despatched to the left front to press the enemy
seen in the distance, while the general with the main body and the
guns, protected on the right by the police and volunteers, moved up the
valley against the position which had checked Dartnell on the previous
day. That “kloof” was now found deserted, but a strong force was seen
to be established on the mountain spurs. It was engaged and driven
back with heavy loss. Everywhere the English troops gained ground;
everywhere the Zulus retired before them. But it is more than probable
that the retirement was a piece of elaborate strategy, intended to draw
the general farther and farther away from his camp and thus reduce
the force available for its defence. Whether such was the case or
not, the result was the same, and at midday the general found himself
twelve miles from Insandhlwana, looking for a spot on which to form a
second camp. Several messengers had been despatched to him by Colonel
Pulleine, telling of the threatened attack, but by fatal mischance none
of them reached him. Between twelve and one reports were brought in
by scouts that firing had been heard at Insandhlwana, but when, from
the top of a hill, careful examination had been made with a powerful
telescope, nothing unusual could be detected, and, consequently, no
uneasiness was felt. The presence of large bodies of Zulus on the plain
which had been traversed in the morning was now announced, and Lord
Chelmsford resolved to retrace his steps with the mounted men and the
native contingent, leaving the artillery and the second battalion of
the 24th in bivouac. At four p.m., when he was within six miles of the
camp, a solitary horseman met him, reeling in his saddle and riding
at a foot’s pace. It was Commandant Lonsdale, who, having been taken
ill with fever in the morning, had sought medical aid. He brought the
ghastly news, “The camp is in possession of the enemy.” It appeared
that when, riding in the half-lethargy of sickness, he was entering
the camp, he was startled by a shot fired at him. He looked up and
saw, sitting in and around the tents, groups of redcoats. He then saw
a gigantic Zulu stalking out of a tent with a blood-smeared assegai in
his hand. Looking more carefully, he saw that the wearers of the red
coats were black men, and black men only. The real state of the case
flashed upon his mind, and he turned and galloped off under a scattered
fire. Providentially he was not hit, and was able to meet the general
and prevent him from riding with his staff into the trap of destruction.
Orders were at once sent to the guns and the 24th to join the general,
but it was six o’clock before they came. The force then collected was
in little case for much exertion. They had covered nearly thirty miles
under an African sun with only the slight supply of food which each man
carried in his haversack. They knew that a nearly equal force of their
comrades had been destroyed, and that a victorious army was between
them and support. English soldiers never lose heart, however, in the
hardest straits, and Lord Chelmsford’s men did not fail to respond
gallantly to the call which he made for renewed effort. The march was
resumed, and at nightfall they were again beneath the “little hand.”
There was no sign of life or movement, but the enemy might be lying
hidden ready to break forth. Two or three rounds of shell were fired,
but they only awoke the slumbering echoes. Then two companies of the
24th, under Major Black, ascended to the neck of ground south of the
great hill. The enemy had gone, bearing with them their blood-stained
plunder.
The night had fallen, and the silence of death was around. There was
nothing for it but to bivouac on the spot. No one who shared that
bivouac will ever forget its horrors. The air was heavy with the scent
of blood, and mangled corpses of English soldiers and Zulu warriors
lay thickly around. It was well that the shades of night hid the
blood-curdling details. The infantry lay down grasping their rifles,
and the mounted men held the reins of their horses during the long,
anxious night. Shots were fired and alarms spread at intervals, but it
is doubtful whether the enemy wished to make any real attack. If they
had, though each man was prepared to die in his place, the attempt
would in all probability have been successful.
With the earliest light of morning the retreat to Rorke’s Drift was
continued unmolested. Bodies of the enemy were seen on the hills
overhanging the road, but no collisions with them took place. When the
Buffalo River was reached a first gleam of encouragement and hope for
the future came from the British flag, still waving over the feeble
fortifications which Lieutenants Chard and Bromhead had so resolutely
made good against the long assault by a numerous and determined foe.
[Illustration: LORD CHELMSFORD.]
[Illustration: LISSA
BY A HILLIARD ATTERIDGE]
“Give me iron in the men, and I shall not mind much about the iron
in the ships,” said the American admiral Farragut, when some of his
officers were discussing the changes that would be introduced into
naval warfare by the new ironclad navies. And Farragut was right in
holding that, whatever the ships might be made of, the most important
thing was to have enough “iron in the men” who worked and fought them.
We are sometimes too apt to think that the power of rival fleets
can be estimated by setting off their weight of guns and thickness
of armour in two parallel columns, and striking a balance, as if it
were an account in a ledger. But all naval history goes to prove
that, within certain wide limits, the power of navies depends chiefly
upon an element that can only be tested by the stress of storm and
battle--namely, the courage, the nerve, and the “grit” of their
officers and men.
No more striking proof of this was ever given than that which is
afforded by the sea-fight of Lissa, the only battle between ironclads
that has yet taken place in European waters. In ships, in guns, in
armour the Italian fleet was superior to the Austrian. On paper there
could be no doubt on which side lay the power that would secure, in
event of war, the command of the Adriatic. The war came, and its grim
reality showed how fallacious was the comparison made beforehand.
The object of the Italians in 1866 was to drive the Austrians out of
Venetia, by attacking them there while they were occupied elsewhere by
the struggle with Prussia. The Italian plan of campaign was to march
against the Austrians in northern Italy, and, after defeating their
land army, besiege Venice by sea and land. The fleet was to crush
the Austrians at sea, in the early days of the war, so to be ready
to co-operate in the operations against Venice. It all worked out
beautifully on paper. But the plan was never reduced to practice. War
was declared on June 20th, and four days later the Italian field army
was defeated by the Austrians at Custozza.
Nearly a month before war was declared, Count Persano had been placed
in command of the Italian fleet, and ordered to prepare it for active
operations in the Adriatic, making Ancona his headquarters. On June
20th, the day of the declaration of war, eight ships (including two
ironclads) were at Ancona. Persano with the main body of the fleet,
consisting of ten wooden ships and nine ironclads, was still at the
naval arsenal of Taranto. Admiral Tegethoff, the Austrian commander,
was getting his fleet ready for sea at Fasana and Pola, at the head
of the Adriatic. He had taken command on the 9th of May, and ever
since had been hard at work fitting out his ships and training his
crews. The only effective portion of the fleet was a squadron of seven
ironclads, broadside ships, with thin armour, and no guns of really
heavy calibre. At first, the Austrian Admiralty suggested that the
fleet should consist only of these ironclads and a few light steamers
to act as scouts and despatch-vessels. But there were lying in the
dockyard at Pola and in the port of Trieste an old wooden screw line
of battle-ship, the _Kaiser_, and six wooden frigates. Tegethoff
asked for these to be added to his command. “Give me every ship
you have,” he said: “you may depend on it I will find good use for
them.” He was given a free hand, and he organised his fleet in three
divisions. The first was composed of seven ironclads. The second, under
his friend Commodore Petz, consisted of the seven wooden ships. The
third was made up of gunboats, paddle-steamers, and other light craft.
The crews were rapidly recruited among the fishing population of the
Dalmatian coast, and the sailors of Trieste and Pola. So new were many
of them to work on board a man-of-war that they were not even uniformed
when the fleet sailed, and they still wore at Lissa the clothes in
which they enlisted. But they were brave and hardy seamen to begin
with, and Tegethoff had given them some weeks of training in which the
crews were busy from morning to night at target practice, the captains
of the guns being taught to lay a whole broadside so as to converge on
a single mark; and there was also practice in manœuvring under steam,
in which great stress was laid on the importance of rapid turning so
as to avoid the enemy’s rams, and use the same weapon successfully
against them. The result was that even the newly-enlisted men learned
confidence in themselves and in the brave and skilful leader who
commanded them.
[Illustration: “FROM THIS POINT TEGETHOFF KEPT ON THE
BRIDGE” (_p._ 160).]
As soon as war was declared, Tegethoff sent one of his steamers out
with orders to reconnoitre the Italian coast from Ancona southwards as
far as Bari. On June 23rd she returned to the Admiral’s headquarters at
Fasana, and reported that there were only a few ships at Ancona, and
no sign yet of the enemy’s main fleet coming up the coast. Tegethoff,
on this, resolved to see if it was possible to make a rapid attack on
Ancona, and on the 26th he put to sea with thirteen ships, including
six of his ironclads. He arrived off Ancona next day, and saw for
himself that in the meantime Persano had collected his entire force in
the harbour. But the Italians showed no signs of coming out to meet
him, and he had no intention of fighting both their forts and their
ironclads at one and the same time. So he steamed back to Fasana.
Persano’s orders were “to clear the Adriatic of the enemy’s fleet by
destroying it or blockading it in its harbours.” But though he had on
his side superior numbers, heavier guns,[2] and thicker armour, he
seemed very reluctant to begin. The fact is, he had not much confidence
either in his own powers or in his officers and men. He remained at
Ancona till July 8th, and only put out to sea on that day because he
had received a telegram from the Government bidding him to look for
the Austrian fleet, and blockade it if it was still at Pola. But even
then all he did was to steam across to the Dalmatian coast and come
back to Ancona on the 13th, after practising some fleet manœuvres.
The appearance of his fleet off the island of Grossa was telegraphed
to Tegethoff, who, however, refused to sail from Fasana till he knew
clearly what were the plans and destination of the enemy.
[Illustration: SHORES & PORTS OF THE ADRIATIC.
(Naval Campaign of 1866.)]
Two days after the Italian fleet returned to Ancona its admiral
received a peremptory message from his Government informing him that,
after the great hopes that had been built upon the fleet, everyone was
disappointed with his inactivity, and that if he did not do something
at once he would be removed from the command. It was suggested that he
should attempt to capture by a _coup-de-main_ the fortified island
of Lissa on the Dalmatian coast, and several battalions were placed at
his disposal to act as a landing party in case he decided to adopt this
plan.
Persano was thus driven to venture upon what has always been recognised
as one of the most dangerous of naval operations. He was to escort
a fleet of transports across the Adriatic, and co-operate with the
troops embarked in them in an attack upon a maritime fortress, having
all the time a hostile fleet watching for the opportunity to fall upon
him, while he was engaged in the siege. True, the Austrian fleet was
supposed to be inferior to that which he commanded; but, if this was
so, the sound course for him was to blockade it in its harbours or
crush it if it tried to come out. The enemy’s fleet ought to have been
dealt with before anything else was attempted. If he was not strong
enough to do this, he could not hope to reduce Lissa and keep Tegethoff
at bay at the same time. But the fact is, he was not acting on any
sound principle of naval war. He was merely trying to “do something”
to satisfy public opinion; and there was just the chance that he might
reduce Lissa before the Austrians arrived, or that Tegethoff might
shrink from attacking him; or, if there was a battle, he might still
hope that numbers and weight of metal would give Italy the victory over
Austria.
Lissa is an island about thirty miles from the Dalmatian coast, and
one hundred and thirty from Ancona. As the nearest of the Dalmatian
Islands to Italy, it has always been a naval station of some importance
when a war has been in progress in the Adriatic; and in our last war
with France its waters were the scene of a brilliant frigate action in
which our sailors defeated a much superior French force. In 1866 the
chief harbour of Lissa, that of San Giorgio, and the neighbouring inlet
of Porto Carober were protected by strong batteries. There were also
batteries on the high rocks at Porto Comisa and at Manego. The signal
station on Monte Hum, the highest point in the island (about 1,600 feet
above the sea), commanded in clear weather a view of both sides of the
Adriatic, and the island was connected by a submarine cable with the
neighbouring island of Lesina and the Dalmatian coast. The garrison
of Lissa consisted of 1,800 men, with eighty-eight guns, commanded by
Colonel Urs de Margina.
On July 17th Persano steamed round the island, reconnoitred its
defences, and decided on his plans for the attack. Next day Admiral
Vacca, with three of the Italian ironclads and one wooden ship,
attacked the batteries of Porto Comisa. The main body of the fleet
closed in upon the harbour batteries of San Giorgio, in order to keep
the garrison there as much occupied as possible while Admiral Albini,
with another squadron, brought six large screw steamers crowded with
troops into the bay at Porto Manego in order to effect a landing
there. At Porto Comisa, Vacca found he could not elevate his guns
sufficiently to do any serious damage to the high batteries, and he
was driven off by their shells. At Porto Manego, a heavy surf on the
beach and the fire of the Austrians from the shore made the landing
impossible. At San Giorgio, Persano silenced the low-lying batteries
at the harbour mouth, blowing up two of their magazines, but the
inner batteries prevented his ships from entering the port. During
the day one of his steamers had gone in to the neighbouring island of
Lesina and cut the telegraph cable there. While the Italians were in
possession of the telegraph station at Lesina, a message from Tegethoff
came through. It was addressed to Colonel de Margina, and told him to
hold out to the last, promising that the fleet would come to rescue
him. Persano tried to persuade himself that this message was intended
to fall into his hands, and was a piece of mere “bluff” on the part of
his opponent.
On the following day he renewed the attack on Lissa, but again failed
to force his way into the harbour, while an attempt to land troops at
Porto Carober was repulsed with heavy loss. On this same day, July
19th, Tegethoff put to sea with every ship he could muster. His last
order to his captains was to close with the enemy before Lissa, and
once the battle began, to “Ram everything painted grey.” This was the
colour of the Italian ships. He gave his own hulls a coat of black
paint before they started, in order to make it easier to distinguish
friends from foes in the coming _mêlée_.
On the evening of the 19th Persano was undecided what to do next day.
He had been two days in action, and though his ships had received only
slight injuries, his supply both of coal and ammunition was running
short. Yet if he went back to Ancona without having obtained a decided
success he would be deprived of his command. So he at last resolved to
capture Lissa by a combined attack by land and sea. Early next day he
signalled to his colleague Albini to prepare for the landing. It was a
fine morning, with a good deal of white haze on the sea shutting off
the distant view. Albini was getting the soldiers into the boats, and
two of his frigates were standing in towards the creek of Carober to
clear the way for the landing. A hospital ship had joined the fleet
and was taking its wounded on board. The ironclads had assembled, and
were getting up anchor for the attack on San Giorgio. It was eight
o’clock: the attack was to begin at nine; but suddenly out of the haze
to the north-westward appeared the frigate _Esploratore_, which
had been scouting in the offing. She was steaming her fastest, and as
she came nearer, Persano was able to read the signal she was flying.
“_Suspicious-looking ships are in sight._” He knew at once that he
had to deal with the Austrian fleet.
[Illustration: THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF LISSA.]
[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF LISSA. 10 a. m.
The Fleets closing.]
Tegethoff’s fleet had been steaming all night in three lines, the
ironclads leading, the wooden ships and gunboats following. The
despatch-boat _Stadion_ was out ahead, and at seven a.m., long
before Persano knew what was coming, six of his ships were sighted by
the keen eyes of the look-out at the masthead of the leading Austrian
ship. She signalled to her consorts, “_Six steamers in sight_.”
Then the haze closed down ahead, and Tegethoff slackened speed in
hopes it would clear, for in such thick weather he did not care to
venture into the narrow waters between Lissa and Lesina. He formed
for battle, each of his lines throwing forward its centre so as to
assume the shape of a flattened wedge. He led the first line in the
_Ferdinand Max_, with three ironclads on either beam. The second
line also consisted of seven ships, Petz in the _Kaiser_ leading,
with three frigates on each side. Thus the squadron moved towards Lissa
under easy steam. The haze was breaking up: it was a hot summer day,
and a little before ten o’clock the sky was bright, the air clear, and
the sea smooth; and close ahead the Austrians saw the forts of Lissa
with the imperial flag still waving over them, and in front of the
harbour mouth the mass of wooden ships, transports, and small craft,
interrupted in their preparations for the landing, and nearer still the
Italian ironclads steaming out in one long line ready for battle.
[Illustration: TRIESTE HARBOUR.]
Persano, regarding his wooden ships as useless, had decided to take
only his ten ironclads with him, believing that they would be able
to deal with the seven which Tegethoff was bringing against him. He
formed his ironclads in three divisions, each of three ships, with the
turret ship and ram _Affondatore_, then the most powerful vessel
in the Adriatic,[3] on the starboard side of the central division.
The _Affondatore_, with her ram and her heavy turret guns (two
300-pounders), was to come to the help of whichever of the three
divisions was in need of succour. At the last moment he himself went
on board of her--an unfortunate move, which led to much confusion
during the battle, as his captains were mostly unaware that the
_Ré d’Italia_, a large broadside ship, which had till then been
flagship, no longer carried the Admiral.
When the haze cleared, the Italian fleet was steaming across the
Austrian front. Tegethoff had already signalled to clear for action.
He now signalled to open fire with the bow guns, and the distant shots
from the leading Austrian ships were answered by the broadsides of
Admiral Vacca’s division, which led that of Italy. But the range was
fully two miles, and these “long bowls” did no harm. The fleets were
wrapped in drifting clouds of smoke, and geysers of foam shot up here
and there from the blue water in the space between. “Full steam ahead,”
signalled Tegethoff. The fleets were closing, the Italians still
keeping their broadsides to the advancing foe. The fire was closer,
and now spars and ropes were cut away, boats and wooden fittings were
knocked to splinters, and signalmen and others who had not yet got
under cover were wounded or killed by bursting shells. “_Ironclads
will ram and sink the enemy_,” signalled Tegethoff, the last order
he gave till the battle was won. From this point he kept on the bridge
of the _Ferdinand Max_, regardless of personal danger, and led his
fleet by showing his consorts what a well-handled battle-ship could do.
Two of his captains, Molb of the ironclad _Drache_, and Klint of
the _Novara_, were killed as the fleets came to close quarters,
Molb being struck down by the first Italian shot that fell on board his
ship.
[Illustration: “THE RAM CRUSHED IN HER IRON SIDE.”]
The two lines of ironclads closed amid thick clouds of smoke. The
Austrian ships broke into the gap between Vacca’s three ironclads
and the rest of the Italian fleet, and Petz, with the wooden ships
coming up on their right, co-operated with them in their attack on
the Italian centre. In a moment all order was lost, and the battle
became a _mêlée_. The _Ferdinand Max_ twice rammed a grey
ironclad without succeeding in sinking her, when suddenly up out of
the smoke loomed the tall masts of the _Ré d’Italia_, which came
up to the rescue of her consort. Tegethoff, thinking he was dealing
with the Italian flagship, charged her full speed and struck her fairly
amidships. This time he had succeeded: the ram crushed in her iron
side, and the tall masts toppled over as the ironclad went down with
her crew of 600 men. The _Ferdinand Max_ had reversed her screw to
clear the wreck, when another Italian vessel, the name of which could
not be made out by the Austrians, came bearing down upon her, trying
to ram. The Austrian flagship just avoided the collision, and the two
ships grazed past each other almost touching. As she thus ranged up
alongside, the Italian ship fired a broadside. What followed would be
incredible, only for the clear evidence which supports the Austrian
record. So close were the muzzles of the Italian guns to the side of
the Austrian flagship that the smoke of the broadside poured in through
the open portholes of the _Ferdinand Max_ and made her gun-deck
for the moment dark as night. But neither the ship nor the men were
injured, for in their hurry and confusion the Italian gunners had fired
_a broadside of blank cartridge_!
Admiral Ribotti, with the rearward division of the Italian fleet, as he
came into the fight encountered only the wooden squadron of Commodore
Petz. Ribotti ought to have sunk them one by one, but the Austrians
evaded his attempts at ramming, and Petz in the _Kaiser_ boldly
drove the oaken bows of his battle-ship against the iron sides of his
adversaries. He was not able to do them much damage. He hit the _Ré
di Portogallo_, Ribotti’s own ship, one good blow, that left its
mark on her armour, but in doing so his own ship was disabled. The
bowsprit was carried away, the foremast fell across the funnel, and the
wreck of mast and spars took fire. The _Kaiser_, her crew working
hard at cutting away the _débris_ and putting out the fire,
steamed through the Italian fleet and stood in to the harbour of Lissa,
exchanging shots with some of the Italian wooden vessels. Cheered by
the garrison, she passed the harbour mouth and anchored under the guns
of the forts, the first of the relieving squadron to arrive at San
Giorgio.