enemy against the north-west wall just below the hospital; but here
again the defenders were ready to meet it, and again the assailing
torrent broke and fell back. Such of the sick and wounded in the
hospital as were able to rouse themselves from their beds of pain
had by this time seized rifle and bayonet and joined their comrades;
but though every man was now mustered, the total number was all too
small for the grim task before them. The misfortune of the extreme
hurry in the preparations for defence was now painfully apparent. In
strengthening any position for defensive occupation one of the first
measures taken by a commander is to clear as large an open space as
possible round the parapet or fortifications which he proposes to hold.
All ditches and hollows should be filled up; all buildings, walls, and
heaps of refuse should be pulled down and scattered; all trees, shrubs,
and thick herbage should be cut and removed; so that no attack can be
made under cover, no safe place may be found from which deliberate fire
may be delivered, or any movement can be made by an enemy unseen, and
therefore unanticipated. At Rorke’s Drift, not only were the buildings
and parapets overlooked and commanded to the southward by a rocky hill
full of caves and lurking-places, but there was a garden to the north,
a thick patch of bush which was close to the parapet, a square Kaffir
house and large brick oven and cooking trenches, besides numerous
banks, walls, and ditches, all of which offered a shelter to the enemy,
which they were not slow to profit by. The post was encircled by a
dense ring of the foe, and from every side came the whistle of their
bullets.
Up till this time, though several men had been wounded, no one had been
struck dead. Suddenly a whisper passed round among the 24th, “Poor old
King Cole is killed.” Private Cole, who was known by this affectionate
barrack-room nickname, was at the parapet when a bullet passed through
his head, and he fell doing his duty--a noble end.
If the Zulu fire was telling, however, the steady marksmanship of the
English officers and men was still more effective. Private Dunbar, of
the 24th, laid low a mounted chief who was conspicuous in directing
the enemy, and immediately afterwards shot eight warriors in as many
successive shots. Everywhere the officers were present with words of
encouragement, exposing themselves fearlessly and showing that iron
coolness and self-possession which rouses such confidence and emulation
in soldiery on a day of battle.
Assistant-Commissary Dalton was continually going along the parapet,
cheering the men and using the rifle with deadly effect. There was a
rush of Zulus against the spot where he was, led by a huge man, whose
leopard-skin kaross marked the chief. Dalton called out “Pot that
fellow!” and himself aimed over the parapet at another, when the rifle
dropped from his hand, and he spun round with suddenly pallid face,
shot through the right shoulder. Surgeon Reynolds was by his side at
once, and bound up the wound.
Unable any longer to use his rifle, Dalton handed it to storekeeper
Byrne, but continued unmoved to superintend the men near to him and
to direct their fire. Byrne took his place at the parapet, and his
bullets were not wasted. In a few minutes Corporal Scammel, Natal
Native Contingent, who was next to him, was shot through the shoulder
and back. He fell, and crawling to Chard, who was fighting side by side
with the men, handed him the remainder of his cartridges. In his agony
he asked for a drink of water. Byrne at once fetched it for him, and
whilst handing it to the suffering soldier, was himself shot through
the head, and fell prone, a dead man.
While fighting was thus going on all round the post, a series of
specially determined attacks was made against the northern side. Here
the Zulus were able to collect under cover of the garden and patch
of bush, and from that shelter were able to rush untouched close up
to the parapet. Soon they were on one side of the barricade, while
the defenders held the other, and across it there was a hand-to-hand
struggle of the bayonet against the broad-bladed _bangwan_, the
stabbing assegai. So close were the combatants that the Zulus seized
the English bayonets, and in two instances even succeeded in wrenching
them from the rifles, though in each case the breechloader took a stern
vengeance. The muzzles of the opposing firearms were almost touching
each other, and the discharge of a musket blew the broad “dopper” hat
from the head of Corporal Schiess, of the Natal Native Contingent. This
man (a Swiss by birth), who had been a patient in hospital, leaped on
to the parapet and bayoneted the man who fired, regained his place, and
shot another; then, repeating his former exploit, again leaped on the
top of the mealie bags and bayoneted a third. Early in the fight he had
been struck by a bullet in the instep, but though suffering acute pain,
he left not his post, and was only maddened to perform deeds of heroic
daring.
[Illustration:
LINES OF COMMUNICATION
ZULU CAMPAIGN. 1879.]
The struggle here was too severe and unequal to be long continued.
Besides the ceaseless attacks of their enemy in front, the defenders of
the parapet were exposed to the fire which took them in reverse from
the high hill to the south. Five soldiers had been thus shot dead in a
short space of time. At six p.m. the order was given to retire behind
the retrenchment of biscuit-boxes. When the defence of the parapet was
thus removed, the dark crowd of Zulus surged over the mealie bags to
attack the hospital; but such a heavy fire was sent from the line of
the retrenchment that nearly every man who leaped into the enclosure
perished in the effort. Again and again they charged forward, shouting
their war-cry “Usutu! Usutu!” and ever the death-dealing volleys smote
them to the ground.
The story has now been told of the struggle during the first hour and
a half about the storehouse and large enclosure, till the moment came
when it was no longer possible to hold the whole of the defences as
they were at first organised, and Chard was constrained to withdraw
behind the biscuit-box retrenchment which his foresight had provided.
All this time the enemy had been making fierce and constantly
reiterated attempts to force their way into the hospital, which was at
the west end of the enclosure. Here Bromhead personally superintended
the resistance, and here such deeds of military prowess, cool presence
of mind, and glorious self-devotion were performed as our nation may
well inscribe on its proudest records. It has been said that the
building had a thatched roof, and the Zulus not only strove to force
an ingress, but used every expedient to set the thatch on fire, and
thus to destroy the poor stronghold which so long mocked at their
attempts to take it. While many of the patients whose ailments were
comparatively slight had risen from their pallets and taken an active
part in the defence, there were several poor fellows, utterly helpless,
distributed among the different wards; and it is difficult to conceive
a situation more trying than theirs must have been, listening to the
demoniac yells of the savages, only separated from them by a thin wall,
thirsting for their blood. At every window were one or two comrades,
firing till the rifles were heated to scorching by the unceasing
discharge. Bullets splashed upon the walls, and the air reeked with
dense sulphurous smoke. The combatants may have been excited and
carried away by the mad fury of battle; but to men depressed by
disease, weakened and racked with pain, truly the minutes must have
been long and terrible in their mental and physical suffering. Shortly
after five o’clock the Zulus had been able so far to break down the
entrance to the room at the extreme end of the hospital that they were
able to charge at the opening; but Bromhead was there, and drove them
back time after time with the bayonet. As long as the enclosure was
held, they failed in every fierce attempt. Private Joseph Williams was
firing from a small window hard by, and on the next morning fourteen
warriors were found dead beneath it, besides others along his line of
fire. When his ammunition was expended, he joined his brother, Private
John Williams, and two of the patients who also had fired their last
cartridge, and with them guarded the door with their bayonets. No
longer able to keep their opponents at a distance, the four stood
grimly resolute, waiting till the door was battered in and they stood
face to face with the foe.
[Illustration:
DEFENCE OF
RORKE’S DRIFT.]
Then followed a death struggle. The English bayonet crossed the
broad-bladed _bangwan_, the stalwart Warwickshire lads met the
lithe and muscular tribesmen of Cetewayo, and the weapons glinted
thirsty for blood. In the _mêlée_ poor Joseph Williams was
grappled with by two Zulus, his hands were seized, and, dragged out
from among his comrades, he was killed before their eyes. But now it
was known that the hospital must be abandoned, and as the usual path
was occupied by the enemy, a way had to be made through the partition
walls. John Williams and the two patients succeeded in making a passage
with an axe into the adjoining room, where they were joined by Private
Henry Hook. John Williams and Hook then took it in turn to guard the
hole through which the little party had come, with the bayonet, and
keep the foe at bay, while the others worked at cutting a further
passage. In this retreat from room to room, another brave soldier,
Private Jenkins, met the same fate as did Joseph Williams, and was
dragged to his death by the pursuers. The others at last arrived at a
window looking into the enclosure towards the storehouse, and leaping
from it, ran the gauntlet of the enemy’s fire till they reached their
comrades behind the biscuit-box retrenchment. To the devoted bravery
and cool resource of Privates John Williams and Hook, eight patients,
who had been in the several wards which they had traversed, owed their
lives. If it had not been for the assistance of these two gallant men,
all the eight would have perished where they lay. These, however, were
only some of the hairbreadth escapes from the hospital, and only some
of the deeds of stubborn hardihood performed in it.
A few of the sick men were half carried, half led by chivalrous
comrades across the enclosure to the retrenchment, but many had to
make their own way over the space now swept by the Zulu bullets, and
that that space was clear was due to the steady fire maintained by
Chard, which prevented the Zulus themselves from leaving the spots
where they were under cover. Trooper Hunter, Natal Mounted Police,
a very tall young man, who had been a patient, essayed the rush to
safety, but he was hit and fell before he reached his goal. Corporal
Mayer, Natal Native Contingent, who had been wounded in the knee by
an assegai-thrust in one of the early engagements of the campaign,
Bombardier Lewis, Royal Artillery, whose leg and thigh were swollen and
disabled from a wagon accident, and Trooper Green, Natal Police, also
a nearly helpless invalid, all got out of a little window looking into
the enclosure. The window was at some distance from the ground, and
each man fell in escaping from it. All had to crawl (for none of them
could walk) through the enemy’s fire, and all passed scathless into
the retrenchment except Green, who was struck on the thigh. In one of
the wards facing the hill on the south side of the hospital, Privates
William Jones and Robert Jones had been posted. There were seven
patients in the ward, and these two men defended their post till
six of the seven patients had been removed. The seventh was Sergeant
Maxfield, who, delirious with fever, resisted all attempts to move him.
Robert Jones, with rare courage and devotion, went back a second time
to try to carry him out, but found the ward already full of Zulus, and
the poor sergeant stabbed to death on his bed.
[Illustration: “THERE WAS A HAND-TO-HAND STRUGGLE”
(_p._ 335).]
It has been mentioned that a wounded prisoner was being treated in the
hospital. So much had he been impressed by the kindness which he had
received, that he was anxious to assist in the defence. He said “he was
not afraid of the Zulus, but he wanted a gun.” His new-born goodwill
was not, however, tested. When the ward in which he lay was forced,
Private Hook, who was assisting the Englishmen in the next room, heard
the Zulus talking to him. The next day his charred remains were found
in the ashes of the building. That communication was kept up with the
hospital at all, and that it was possible to effect the removal of
so many patients, was due in great part to the conduct of Corporal
Allen and Private Hitch. These two soldiers together, in defiance of
danger, held a most exposed position, raked in reverse by the fire from
the hill, till both were severely wounded. Their determined bravery
had its result in the safety of their comrades. Even after they were
incapacitated from further fighting, they never ceased, when their
wounds had been dressed, to serve out ammunition from the reserve
throughout the rest of the combat.
When the defence of the hospital was relaxed, it had been easy for the
enemy to carry out their plan of setting fire to the thatched roof,
and now the whole was in a blaze, the flames rising high and casting
a lurid glare over the scene of conflict. The last men who effected
their retreat from the building had as much to dread from the spreading
conflagration as from the Zulu assegais. We have seen that, from
the want of interior communication, it had been necessary for those
who did escape to cut their way from room to room. Alas! to some of
the patients, it had been impossible for the anxious leader and his
staunch, willing followers to penetrate. Defeated by the flames and by
the numbers of their opponents, Chard records in his official despatch,
“With the most heartfelt sorrow, I regret we could not save these poor
fellows from their terrible fate.”
While in the hospital the last struggle was going on, Chard’s unfailing
resource had provided another element of strength to his now restricted
line of defence, and had formed a place of comparative security for
the reception of his wounded men. In the small yard by the storehouse
were two large piles of mealie bags. These, with the assistance of two
or three men and Assistant Commissary Dunne, who had from the first
been working with energy and determination, he formed into an oblong
and sufficiently high redoubt. In the hollow space in its centre were
laid the sick and wounded, while its crest gave a second line of fire,
which swept much of the ground that could not be seen by the occupiers
of the lower parapets. As the intrepid men were making this redoubt,
their object was quickly detected by the enemy, who poured upon them
a rain of bullets; but Providence protected them, and unhurt, they
completed their work. The night had fallen, and the light from the
burning hospital was now of the greatest service to the defenders, as
it illumined every spot for hundreds of yards round, and gave every
advantage to the trained riflemen of the 24th. The Zulu losses had been
tremendously heavy; but still they pressed their unremitting attack.
Rush after rush was made right up to the parapets so strenuously held,
and their musketry fire never slackened. The outer wall of the stone
kraal on the east of the store had to be abandoned, and finally the
garrison was confined to the commissariat store, the enclosure just in
front of it, the inner wall of the kraal, and the redoubt of mealie
bags. But the steadfastness of the defenders was never impaired. Still
every man fired with the greatest coolness. Not a shot was wasted,
and Rorke’s Drift Station remained still proudly impregnable. At 10
p.m. the hospital fire had burnt itself out, and darkness settled over
defence and attack. It was not till midnight, however, that the Zulus
began to lose heart, and give to the garrison some breathing space
and repose. Desultory firing still continued from the hill to the
southward, and from the bush and garden in front; but there were no
more attacks in force, and stress of siege was practically over. The
dark hours were full of anxiety, and even the stout hearts which had
not quailed during the long period of trial that was past must have had
some feeling of disquietude for the morrow, lest wearied, reduced in
numbers, and with slender supply of water, they should be called upon
to meet renewed efforts made by a reinforced foe.
The dawn came at last, and the eyes of all were gladdened by seeing the
rear of the Zulu masses retiring round the shoulder of the hill from
which their first attack had been made. The supreme tension of mind and
body was over, and if the struggle had been long and stern the victory
was for the time complete. How bitterly it had been fought out was
shown by the piles of the enemy’s dead lying around, and by the silence
of familiar voices when the roll was called. There was yet no rest. The
enemy might take heart and return, for, though many of their warriors
had seen their last fight, still their numbers were so overwhelming,
and they must have known so well how close had been the pressure of
their attack, that they might well think that, with renewed efforts,
success was more than possible. Patrols were sent out to collect the
arms left lying on the field. The defences were strengthened, and,
mindful of the fate of the hospital, a working party was ordered to
remove the thatch from the roof of the store. The men who were not
employed otherwise were kept manning the parapets, and all were ready
at once to snatch up their rifles and again to hold the post which
they had guarded so long. A friendly Kaffir was sent to Helpmakaar,
saying that they were still safe, and asking for assistance. About
7 a.m. a mass of the enemy was seen on the hills to the south-west,
and it seemed as if another onslaught was threatened. They were
advancing slowly when the remains of the third column appeared in the
distance, coming from Insandhlwana, and, as the English approached, the
threatening mass retired, and finally disappeared.
Lord Chelmsford, Colonel Glyn, and that part of their force which,
having been engaged elsewhere, had not been in the Insandhlwana camp
when it was attacked and taken, had passed the night in sad and anxious
bivouac among the dead bodies of their comrades and the _débris_
of a most melancholy disaster. Full of disquietude about the fate of
the post at Rorke’s Drift, and the line of communications, they had
pushed on with earliest dawn. Their advanced guard of mounted men
strained eager eyes towards Rorke’s Drift. The British flag still waved
over the storehouse, and figures in red coats could be seen moving
about the place. But smoke was rising where the hospital had stood,
and, remembering that the victorious Zulus at Insandhlwana had clad
themselves in the uniforms of the dead, there was a moment of dread
uncertainty to the officer who was leading the way. But surely that was
a faint British cheer rising from the post! A few hundred yards more
of advance, and it was known that here at least no mistake had been
made; here courage and determination had not been shown in vain; and
that here something had been done to restore the confidence in British
prowess which had just received so rude a shock elsewhere. What a
sight was the spot in the bright morning sunlight! There lay hundreds
of Zulus either dead or gasping out the last remains of life; there
was the grim and grey old warrior lying side by side with the young
man who had come “to wash his assegai”; there a convulsive movement of
arm or leg, the rolling of a slowly glazing eye, or the heaving of a
bullet-pierced chest showed that life was not quite extinct; and there
were the defenders wan, battle-stained, and weary, but with the proud
light of triumph in their glance, standing by the fortifications which
they had so stoutly held--fortifications so small, so frail, that it
seemed marvellous how they had been made to serve their purpose. The
skeleton of the hospital still was there, but its roof and woodwork had
fallen in, and in the still smoking pile men were searching for the
remains of lost comrades. And there, in the corner of the enclosure,
reverently covered and guarded, were the bodies of the dead who had
given their lives for England and sealed their devotion to duty with
their blood. Well might Lord Chelmsford congratulate the defenders of
Rorke’s Drift on the brilliant stand that they had made, and well might
the colony of Natal look upon them as Heaven-sent saviours from cruel
invasion.
In telling the story of the events of the 22nd, it has been said that
Major Spalding left Rorke’s Drift to seek reinforcements at Helpmakaar.
There he found two companies of the 24th, under Major Upcher, and with
them he at once commenced to march to the river post. On their way
they met several fugitives who asserted that the place had fallen, and
when they arrived within three miles of their destination, a large
body of Zulus was found barring the way, while the flames of the
burning hospital could be seen rising from the river valley. It was
only too probable that if they went on, they would merely sacrifice
to no purpose the only regular troops remaining between the frontier
and Pietermaritzburg. Helpmakaar was the principal store depôt for the
centre column, full of ammunition and supplies, and it seemed best that
its safety should, at any rate, be provided for as far as possible. The
two companies were therefore ordered to return, and preparations for
the defence of the stores were commenced.
Many names have been mentioned of men who, when all did their duty
nobly, were particularly remarkable in the duty which they did and in
their manner of doing it. Two men have not, in this narrative, been
yet specially named, but they were each as heroic as any of those who
stood behind Chard’s improvised defences. Theirs was not the duty of
handling deadly weapons; theirs was not the lot to meet the enemy hand
to hand. It was for them to comfort the dying, to tend the sick, to
give aid to the wounded--and right worthily they played their part.
The Rev. George Smith, acting chaplain to the forces, and Surgeon
Reynolds, Army Medical Department, were exposed to all the dangers that
surrounded every man of the garrison, and to every man they showed the
example of treating those dangers with a grand indifference. Besides
performing to the full the tasks of their noble professions, they
were constantly present among the soldiers with words of cheer and
encouragement. They distributed such poor refreshment as was available,
and were indefatigable in supplying reserve ammunition to those whose
cartridge-boxes were empty. Never can British soldiers hope to have
with them, in a time of trial, better men than the Rev. George Smith
and Surgeon Reynolds.
According to the closest estimate, the number of Zulus who attacked
Rorke’s Drift was about 4,000, composed of Cetewayo’s Undi and Udkloko
regiments, and about 400 dead bodies were buried near the post after
the attack. The wounded were all carried away from the field. The loss
of the garrison was fifteen killed and twelve wounded, of whom two died
almost immediately.
No military rewards could have been too great for the glorious actions
at Rorke’s Drift, and of rewards there was no niggardly distribution.
Lieutenants Chard and Bromhead became Captains and Brevet-Majors.
The Rev. George Smith, a missionary chaplain in Natal, received a
commission as Army chaplain. Every officer was promoted in his corps
or department, and besides the decorations given to others, Chard,
Bromhead, and Dalton, Corporal Allen, Privates John Williams, Henry
Hook, William Jones, Robert Jones, and Frederick Hitch received the
Victoria Cross; Colour-Sergeant Brown and eight men received medals for
distinguished service in the field.
Many brave exploits have been performed by men of the English army,
and we may believe that the scroll of glory is not yet complete; but
whatever the future may have in store, it would be difficult to find
in past history any action which excels in brilliancy the defence of
Rorke’s Drift.
[Illustration: “THE BRITISH FLAG STILL WAVED OVER THE
STOREHOUSE” (_p._ 339).]
[Illustration:
Mars-la-Tour
By Charles Lowe]
“Look out for cavalry!” Such was the cry that was raised on the
sanguinary field of Vionville-Mars-la-Tour oftener than in any other
battle of the Franco-German war.
When France declared war against Germany in July, 1870, she sent all
her available troops--numbering about 300,000 men--as fast as ever
she could to her eastern frontier, where they formed themselves into
what was called the “Army of the Rhine,” under the supreme command
of the Emperor Napoleon. This “Army of the Rhine” was composed of
eight separate Army Corps, or Corps d’Armée, commanded by Marshals
Bazaine, MacMahon, and Canrobert, and by Generals Bourbaki, Frossard,
Ladmirault, Failly, and Félix Douay.