ZULULAND.--THE DASH WITH THE COLOURS FROM ISANDHLANA.
At the same time that the war in Afghanistan was being carried to a
successful issue serious trouble was brewing in South Africa. The Zulus
under Cetewayo, who had long been restless, now threatened to overrun
Natal and the Transvaal, and precipitate a general revolt of the black
races against the white.
To go into the whole history of the quarrel would take too long, but it
may be said that the grievances of the natives arose out of long-standing
feuds between them and the Boers over the seizure of land. The immediate
cause of the war was a dispute over a strip of territory extending along
the left bank of the Tugela River into Zululand. To this piece of land
the Zulus obstinately asserted their right, and their claim was upheld by
a Commission which was appointed to inquire into the matter.
After the annexation of the Transvaal by Great Britain in 1877 Sir
Bartle Frere had been sent out to South Africa as High Commissioner,
and unfortunately for everyone concerned he now strongly opposed the
arbitrators’ award. Regarding Cetewayo as a dangerous enemy, as a cruel,
savage monarch whose power it was necessary to curb, he withheld the
award for several months, in the course of which time the Zulu king
nursed an ever-growing resentment towards the British.
In this interval Cetewayo, who set himself to follow in the steps of his
uncle, the famous chief Dingaan, perpetrated many atrocities which showed
him to be a bloodthirsty tyrant. When he was remonstrated with for his
cruelties he insolently answered that the killing he had done was nothing
to the killing he intended to do, a reply which was taken as a warning
that the Zulus looked forward to “washing their spears” in the blood of
white men.
A raid into Natal to recapture some native women who had fled thither
for protection, and the subsequent murder of the captives, increased Sir
Bartle Frere’s determination to take strong measures against Cetewayo.
Accordingly, when the award was announced to the king it was accompanied
with an ultimatum that the vast Zulu army must be disbanded and certain
objectionable practices discontinued.
Cetewayo, looking over his impis, which numbered some 50,000
warriors--all well drilled and well armed--laughed at the proposal.
His army had measured itself against the white men already and with no
little success. So the thirty days of grace allowed him passed unheeded,
and, war having been declared, a British force crossed the Tugela into
Zululand.
Lord Chelmsford, who commanded the troops, divided his little army into
three main columns. One marched to an important station in the Transvaal;
another to a position near the mouth of the Tugela; and the third--the
invading force--to Rorke’s Drift, on the banks of the Buffalo River,
thence to cross over into Zululand. It was to this last column that the
great defeat at Isandhlana befell, a disaster which filled all England
with consternation when the news of it arrived. And to it belongs the
story of how Lieutenants Melvill and Coghill made that desperate dash to
escape with the regimental colours of the 24th that won them everlasting
fame.
* * * * *
How the disaster occurred is soon told. Although advised by Boer veterans
well versed in Zulu warfare as to the necessity of laagering his waggons
every evening and of throwing out scouts well in advance, Lord Chelmsford
preferred to adopt his own tactics. He was an experienced and brave
officer, whose record of active service included the Crimean, Indian
Mutiny, and Abyssinian campaigns, but he now made the fatal mistake of
despising the enemy before him.
After one or two successful skirmishes with the Zulus, the little force
of about 1300 men marched up through the country, crossed the Buffalo
River, and encamped at the foot of a hill known to the natives as
Isandhlana, “the lion’s hill.” Here the tents were pitched but no laager
formed; no proper precautions taken to guard against an attack.
This was negligence enough, but worse was to follow. Two small
reconnoitring parties who were sent out on January 21st were alarmed
by the sight of a large body of Zulus not far away. In some haste they
sent to the camp for reinforcements. On receipt of this intelligence
Lord Chelmsford got together several companies of the 24th, some mounted
infantry and a few guns, and at a very early hour the next morning
started out to meet, as he confidently supposed, Cetewayo’s main army.
A body of Zulus was encountered and repulsed, but they did not form the
larger portion of Cetewayo’s impis. While the British commander-in-chief
was thus decoyed from his base, an army of 20,000 Zulus was hastening
fleet-footed round the hills, to swoop down upon the doomed camp.
At Isandhlana only eight hundred men had been left. These comprised
a handful of Mounted Infantry and Volunteers, seventy of the Royal
Artillery with two guns, and some companies of the 24th Regiment and
the Natal Carabineers. This puny force was under the command of Colonel
Durnford, R.E., who had been hastily summoned thither from Rorke’s Drift.
Lord Chelmsford marched out at about four in the morning. Five hours
later the advancing Zulu impis were sighted by the watchers at
Isandhlana, and an urgent message was despatched to the front. This
message the General disregarded, his aide-de-camp’s telescope having
assured him that the camp was unmolested.
Not everyone, however, shared this optimistic opinion, for Colonel
Harness and Major Black, believing the messenger’s story to be true,
started back to Isandhlana on their own account, taking four companies
with them. But, to their grief, they were peremptorily recalled. Had they
continued their journey they would have been in time to witness the end
of the death struggle which was even then in progress at the camp; though
it is doubtful if they could have done anything to save their comrades.
Eight hundred against twenty thousand. What chance had they?
By noon the crescent of the Zulu army had enveloped the camp. Drawing
closer and still closer in, the ringed warriors, the cream of Cetewayo’s
fighting men, armed with assegai, knobkerry, and rifle, burst upon
Durnford’s little company as they hastily tried to form a laager with
the waggons. Durnford himself was in the thick of it, encouraging the
troopers, placing a gun here and ordering a charge there. But it was all
in vain.
Before the fierce fire of thousands of Zulu rifles, and before the host
of assegais that hurtled through the air, the redcoats and the Basutos
of the Native Contingent went down like corn under the sickle. They
fought well, as desperate men will when driven to bay; but while they
fired and reloaded and fired again behind them came the right horn of the
overlapping Zulu army to strike at them in the rear. _That_, and not a
panic-stricken flight, accounted for the many assegai wounds which were
afterwards observed in the fallen men’s backs.
There were numerous deeds of valour performed that day, of which some
account has come down to us from the Zulus themselves. The 24th, the
South Wales Borderers, a regiment with a famous record, knew how to die,
and officers and men accounted for many a dusky foe ere they themselves
were borne down.
[Illustration: WITH THE FLAG … FIRMLY GRIPPED IN HIS HAND, MELVILL
SPURRED HIS HORSE FOR THE RIVER.--_Page 173._]
We have a picture of little parties of them found lying with their fifty
or sixty rounds of spent cartridges beside their dead bodies, to give
colour to the Zulus’ story that they “could not make way against the
soldiers until they ceased firing.” Then, and then only, could the
deadly assegais finish their work, as the warriors leapt in with the
fierce death-hiss.
And we have another picture given us of Captain Younghusband, of the same
regiment, standing erect in an empty waggon with three privates, and
keeping a crowd of the enemy at bay. The others fall at last, shot or
assegaied by the Zulus who clamber up the sides, but the tall, soldierly
figure holds the warriors off. Then, his last cartridge gone, he leaps
down, sword in hand, to cut his way through to liberty if it be possible.
It was not possible. But he died fighting like a lion. Said a Zulu who
took part in the attack, “All those who tried to stab him were knocked
over at once. He kept his ground for a long time, until someone shot him.”
Very few escaped alive from that camp of death. Of the gallant eight
hundred all but six lay stretched lifeless around the waggons and
overturned tents, or on the rough ground to the rear, where a line of
corpses marked the path to the river.
Lieutenant Teignmouth Melvill, Adjutant of the 1st Battalion of the 24th
Regiment, was among those who got away when all hope of rescue was given
up. To him Colonel Pulleine confided the Queen’s colours, telling him to
make the best of his way back to safety. For himself, and those with him,
said the colonel, their duty was plain. There was no thought of flight.
“Men, we are here, and here we must stop!” was his brief address to the
remnant of the 1st Battalion; and stop they did, till they and their
brave colonel had fallen.
Meanwhile, with the flag rolled and cased and firmly gripped in his
hand, Melvill spurred his horse through the press and dashed for the
river. After him panted a score or more of Zulus, pausing only in their
pursuit to stab any of the other fugitives whom they passed.
For six miles the adjutant galloped on his ride for life, gradually
leaving the Zulus behind, though their shots continued to follow him.
He had now been joined by Lieutenant Nevill Aylmer Coghill, of his own
regiment, who had cut his way through the circle of Zulus. Then the
tossing waters of the Buffalo came in view, and how the fugitives’ hearts
must have risen at the sight. For on the other side of the river lay
Natal and safety.
A last desperate spurt and the bank was gained. Down the steep slope
scrambled horses and riders, and plunged into the swirling stream. The
Buffalo runs swiftly between its high banks, the water being broken up by
large rocks, dotted here and there. Exhausted after its flight, Melvill’s
horse failed to make headway against the swift current, and in its
struggles the adjutant was swept out of his saddle.
Not far away from him, on another rock, was an officer of the Native
Contingent, named Higginson.
“Catch hold of the pole!” cried the adjutant; and the other, leaning
over, made a grab at it as the colours came within reach. But he, too,
was carried away.
By this time the foremost of the Zulus had come up, and they at once
opened fire upon the helpless men in the river. Lieutenant Coghill,
meanwhile, had swum his horse across the stream and gained the opposite
bank in safety. Reining up on the top of the slope, he looked back and
saw Melvill struggling in the water below.
There was a chance of life for him. His horse was still fresh, and the
road to Helpmakaar stretched away behind him. But Coghill gave no thought
to himself, or if he did he banished it instantly from his mind. Riding
down the bank again, he plunged into the river with a cheery call to
Melvill to “hold on.”
[Illustration: GRAVE OF MELVILL AND COGHILL.]
Then, just as he reached the other two, his horse was shot. The current
carried it swiftly down the stream, as a few moments later it bore the
colours which it had wrenched from Melvill’s grasp.
The three were now still more at the Zulus’ mercy. Bullets splashed
the water round them, and several of the warriors were scrambling down
the bank towards them. By making great efforts, however, Coghill being
hampered by an injured knee, they reached the Natal side. Here, before
they had gone far, the Zulus caught them up, and the two lieutenants
turned to make a fight for it.
I need not dwell on the last sad scene. Higginson--and we may think no
shame of him for doing so--had gone on alone. He had no revolver or
weapon of any kind with which to defend himself. Coghill and Melvill had
their revolvers.
Standing in front of an enormous rock, the two officers faced their foes,
to sell their lives as dearly as possible. And when their bodies were
discovered days later the stiffened corpses of a dozen Zulus lying almost
in a circle round them bore eloquent witness to the gallant stand for
life that they had made. They were buried side by side on the spot where
they had fallen, while a simple granite cross was raised to mark their
grave and tell to future generations the story of how Lieutenants Melvill
and Coghill died to save the colours of their regiment.
The flag itself, it may be added, was found by a search party some
distance down the river. It was brought back to England at the close of
the war and presented to her Majesty the Queen, who tenderly placed upon
it a wreath of immortelles in remembrance of the gallant pair whose lives
had been given for it.
At about the same time an announcement appeared in the _London Gazette_
to the effect that had Melvill and Coghill lived they would have received
the V.C. And so their names, too, are added to the glorious roll of
honour.
* * * * *
On the same day that Merrill and Coghill won fame, Samuel Wassall, a
private of the 80th Regiment who had been serving with the Mounted
Infantry, earned the third Cross that is associated with Isandhlana.
Having escaped from the Zulus, he too turned his horse towards the
Buffalo River. He was pursued, but managed to outdistance his enemies,
and gained the river unharmed at a point farther east than the ford.
Just as he was about to enter the water Wassall saw another
soldier--Private Westwood--battling vainly with the current and evidently
on the point of being drowned. To jump from his horse was the work of a
moment. Then, throwing himself into the stream, he swam to the sinking
man’s rescue, brought him out, got himself and the exhausted Westwood on
to the horse, and plunged once more into the river.
Some Zulus had appeared on the rocks above him as he was in the act of
mounting, and their bullets came perilously close, but neither he nor his
burden was hit. The horse needed no urging to get across the stream, and
ere long Wassall was out of reach of his discomfited pursuers.
The Staffordshire private takes an honoured place among the wearers of
the Cross for Valour, for his courage in turning to the rescue of his
drowning comrade stamps him a true hero.