THE EVENING OF GINGHILOVO.
Much about the time that the conversation we have just recorded was
taking place between the two fair equestriennes, the subject thereof,
then with the troops in the laager of Ginghilovo, was very full of
the same matter they had in hand--himself and his supposed wrongs.
'She never could have really cared for me, or she never could have
acted as she did, unless she wished with the contingencies of war to
have two strings to her bow,' thought Hammersley, as he lay on the
grass a little apart from all, and sucked his briar-root viciously.
'Perhaps she thought it was her money I wanted--not herself. Ah, how
could she look into her glass and think so!'
Ever before him he had that horrid episode in the shrubbery, and saw
in memory the girl he loved so passionately in the arms of another,
who was giving her apparently the kisses men only give to one woman
in the world--a sight that seemed to scorch his eyes and heart.
'Yes,' he would mutter, 'one may be mistaken in some things, but
there are some things there is no mistaking, and that affair was one
of them.'
Perhaps at _that_ very instant of time Finella was posed, as he had
seen her last, with 'Cousin' Shafto, and the thought made him hate
her! He felt himself growing colder and harder, though his heart
ached sorely, for the 'soul-hunger of love' was in it.
'Well, well,' he would mutter, as he tugged his dark moustache; 'what
are called hearts have surely gone to the wall in this Victorian age.'
His bitter memories would have soon passed away, could he have seen,
as if in a magic mirror, at that moment Finella, in her riding-habit,
on her knees in the solitude of her own room, before a large photo of
a handsome young fellow in the uniform of the 24th (his helmet under
his right arm, his left hand on the hilt of his sword), gazing at it,
yet scarcely seeing it, so full were her soft eyes of hot salt tears,
while her sweet little face looked white, woe-begone, and most
miserable. But now the bugles sounding on the various flanks of the
laager, when about six in the evening a general hum of voices
pervaded it, and the order 'Stand to your arms!' announced that the
enemy was in sight of the trenches.
In front of the old kraal of Ginghilovo, behind an earthen breastwork
and abattis of felled trees, were the 60th Rifles, in their tunics of
dark green, and sailors of the _Shah_ with their Gatling guns, which
they playfully called 'bull-dogs and barrel-organs.'
They were flanked by some of the 57th and two seven-pounders; the
Argyleshire Highlanders, then in green tartan trews, held the rear
face; and the defences were prolonged by the Lanarkshire, the 3rd
Buffs, and some more of the Naval Brigade with a rocket battery.
Every heart in the laager beat high, and every face flushed with
intense satisfaction, as two sombre columns of Zulus appeared,
spreading like a human flood over the ground, after crossing the
reedy Inyezane stream, deploying in a loose formation, which enabled
them to find cover behind scattered boulders and patches of bush.
Now, when on the eve of an action, Hammersley, like every other
officer, felt that new and hitherto unknown dread and doubt of the
result which has more than once come upon our troops of all ranks,
born of the new and abominable system which in so many ways has
achieved the destruction of the grand old British army--'the army
which would go anywhere, and do anything'--by the abolition of the
regimental system, and with it the power of cohesion; but the worst,
the so-called 'territorial system,' had not yet come.
Encouraged by the countenance and praises of Hammersley, Florian left
nothing undone to win himself a name, and had already become
distinguished for his daring, discretion, and acuteness of
observation among all the Mounted Infantry when scouting or
reconnoitring, and his further promotion seemed now to be only a
matter of time.
Both courted danger, apparently with impunity, as the brave and
dashing often do: Florian with a view to the future; Hammersley to
forget. Soldiers will make fun, even when under fire, so some of his
comrades quizzed Florian in his old laced tunic, and dubbed him 'the
Captain;' but Vivian Hammersley thought, how like a gentleman and
officer he looked in the half-worn garment he had given him.
Through the long, wavy, and reed-like grass two columns of Zulus
crept swiftly on in close rather than extended order, and furiously
assailed the north face of the square held by the Highlanders,
flanked as usual by extended horns, and all yelling like fiends
broken loose, while brandishing their great shields and glittering
assegais, till smitten with death and destruction under the
close-rolling Highland musketry.
They were commanded by a noble savage, named Somapo, with Dabulamanzi
and the eldest son of Sirayo as seconds.
Almost unseen by the darkness of their uniforms, the Rifles lay down
flat behind their shelter-trenches; the barrels of their weapons
rested firmly on the earthen bank, enabling them to take steady and
deadly aim, while dropping in quick succession the cartridges into
the breech-blocks without even moving the left arm or the right
shoulder, against which the butt-plate of the rifle rested, and their
terrible fire knocked over in writhing heaps the Zulus, who, in all
their savage fury and bravery, came rushing on ten thousand strong
and more.
'Their white and coloured shields,' wrote one who was present, 'their
crests of leopard-skin and feathers, and wild ox-tails dangling from
their necks, gave them a terrible unearthly appearance. Every ten or
fifteen yards, and a shot would be fired, and then, with an unearthly
yell, they would again rush on with a sort of measured dance, while a
humming and buzzing sound in time to their movement was kept up.'
Meanwhile the laager was literally zoned with fire and enveloped with
smoke; yet within it no sound was heard save the rattling roar of the
musketry, the clatter of the breech-blocks, and triumphant bagpipes
of the Highlanders, with an occasional groan or exclamation of agony
as a bullet found its billet.
In the fury of their advance and struggles to get onward over their
own dead and dying, the Zulus from the rear would break through the
fighting line, jostling and dashing each other aside, and rush
yelling on, until they too bit the dust.
The booming of the Gatling guns and the dread hiss of the blazing
rockets were heard ever and anon amid the medley of other sounds, and
for half an hour the showers of lead and iron tore through and
through the naked masses, where the places of the fallen were
instantly taken by others.
By half-past six the shrill yells of the Zulus died away; but in mute
despair and fury they still struggled in hope to storm the laager,
when, if once within its defences, the fate of all would be sealed.
Four times like a living sea they flung themselves against it, and
four times by sheets of lead and iron they were hurled back from the
reddened bayonet's point, while some remained in the open, firing
from behind the bloody piles of their own dead, which lay in awful
lines or swathes of black bodies with white shields, a hundred yards
apart, in rear of each other.
At last the survivors gave way, and all fled in confusion.
'Forward, the Mounted Infantry!' cried Lord Chelmsford.
And these, under Captain Barrow and Hammersley, sprang with alacrity
to their saddles, slinging their rifles as they filed out of the
laager.
'Front form squadron!' was now the order, and the sections of fours
swept round into line.
'Come on, my lads!' cried Hammersley, as he unsheathed his sword and
dug the spurs into his horse; 'forward--trot, gallop! By Jove! an
hour of this work
'"Is worth an age without a name!"'
And away went the Mounted Infantry over the terrible swathes at a
swinging pace.
Like most of the few officers of that peculiar and extemporised
force, Vivian Hammersley had been accustomed to cross country and
ride to hounds, and to deem that the greatest outdoor pleasure in
life.
Tattoo, Florian's horse, fortunately for him in the work he had to do
that evening, proved to be a tried Cape shooting-horse, accustomed to
halt the moment his rein is dropped, and to stand like a rock when
his rider fires. An experienced shooting-horse requires no sign from
his master when required to stand, and on hearing a sound or stir in
the bush is alert as a dog scenting danger or game.
Florian loved the animal like a friend, and often shared his beer
with him, as Homer tells us the Greek warriors of old shared their
wine with their battle-chargers; we suppose it is only human nature
that we must love something that is in propinquity with us.
The Mounted Infantry overtook the fugitive Zulus, and fell furiously,
sword in hand, upon their left flank, but not without receiving a
scattered fire that emptied a few saddles.
The routed fled with a speed peculiarly their own; but Captain Barrow
and his improvised troopers were in close pursuit, and from the
laager their sword-blades could be seen flashing in the evening
sunshine, as the cuts were dealt downward on right and left, and the
foe was overtaken, pierced, and ridden over and through.
In this work the force necessarily became somewhat broken, and
Hammersley, who, in the ardour of the pursuit, and being splendidly
mounted, had outstripped all the Mounted Infantry and gone perilously
far in advance, had his horse shot under him.
'Captain Hammersley--Hammersley! He will be cut to pieces!' cried
several of the soldiers, who saw him and his horse go down in a cloud
of dust, and in another moment he was seen astride the fallen animal
contending against serious odds with his sword and revolver. And now
ensued one of those episodes which were of frequent occurrence in the
service of our Mounted Infantry.
Florian saw the sore strait in which Hammersley was placed, and had,
quick as thought, but one desire--to save him or die by his side. At
that part of the field a watercourse--a tributary of the Inyezene
River--separated him from Hammersley, but putting the pace upon
Tattoo, he rode gallantly to face it. Rider and horse seemed to
possess apparently but one mind--one impulse. Tattoo cocked his
slender ears, gave a glance at the water, sparkling in the setting
sun, and, springing from his powerful and muscular hind-legs, cleared
the stream from bank to bank--a distance not less than fifteen feet.
'Well done, old man!' exclaimed Florian; 'you _are_ game!'
'Hurra!' burst from several of the troop, some of whom failed to
achieve the leap. So Florian rode forward alone, and in less time
than we have taken to record it, was by the side of Hammersley, who
was bleeding from a wound in the left arm from an assegai launched at
him by one of three powerful savages with whom he was contending, and
in whom Florian recognised Methagazulu, the son of the famous Sirayo.
The last shot in Hammersley's revolver disposed of one; Florian shot
a second, 'and drove his bayonet through the side of Sirayo's son,
whom others were now returning to succour, and, lifting Hammersley on
his own horse, conducted him rearward to a place of safety, covering
the rear with his rifle, pouring in a quick fire with an excellent
aim till a dozen of his comrades came up and received them both with
a cheer.
Though wounded, Methagazulu did not die then, for, as we have
elsewhere said, the close of the war found him a prisoner in the gaol
of Pietermaritzburg.
But for the succour so promptly accorded by Florian, another moment
would have seen that savage, after wounding Hammersley by one
assegai, give him the _coup de grace_ with another; as it is a
superstition with the Zulus that if they do not rip their enemies
open, disembowelling them, as their bodies swell and burst when dead,
so will those of the slayers in life; and so firm is their belief in
that, that after the victory had been won at Rorke's Drift many of
the Zulus were seen to pause, even under a heavy fire, to rip up a
few of our dead who lay outside the entrenchment; and cases have been
known in which warriors who have been unable to perform this
barbarous ceremony have committed suicide to escape what they deemed
their inevitable doom.
Florian tied his handkerchief round Hammersley's arm, above the
wound, to stay the blood, till he left him safely with the ambulance
waggons and in care of Staff-Surgeon Gallipot; and though faint with
the bleeding, for the wound was long and deep--a regular
gash--Hammersley wrung the hand of his saver, and said:
'My gallant young fellow, you will have good reason if I live--as I
doubt not I will--to recall this evening's work with satisfaction.'
'I shall ever remember, sir, with pride that I saved your life--the
life of the only friend I have now in our decimated regiment since I
lost poor Bob Edgehill.'
'It is not that I mean,' said Hammersley faintly, 'but, if spared, I
shall see to your future, and all that sort of thing, you understand.'
'I thank you, sir, and hope----'
'Hope nothing,' said Hammersley, closing his eyes, as memory brought
a gush of bitterness to his heart.
'Why, sir?'
'Because when one is prepared for the worst, disappointment can never
come.'
Florian knew not what to make of this sudden change of mood in his
officer, and so remained discreetly silent.
'Have you any water in your bottle?' asked Hammersley.
'A little, sir.'
'Then give me a drop, for God's sake--mine is empty.'
Florian took the water-bottle from his waist-belt and drew out the
plug; the sufferer drank thirstily, and on being placed in a sitting
position, with a blanket about him, strove to obtain a little sleep,
being weary and faint with the events of the past day.
'Whoever he is, that lad has good blood in his veins, and he has no
fear of lavishing it,' was his last thought as he watched the
receding figure of Florian leading away his favourite Tattoo by the
bridle.
Our total casualties at Ginghilovo were only sixty-one; those of the
Zulus above twelve hundred. The story of the encounter might have
been different had another column of ten thousand men, which had been
despatched from Ulundi by Cetewayo the day after the march of Somapo,
effected a junction with the latter.
Etschowe, the point to be relieved, was now fifteen miles distant;
but Colonel Pearson in his isolated fort must have heard of the
victory, for Florian, when out with a few files on scouting duty,
could see the signals of congratulation flashed therefrom.
After the fierce excitement of the past day, he felt--he knew not
why--depressed and almost sorrowful; but perhaps the solitudes among
which he rode impressed him when night came on.
Lighted up by hundreds and thousands of stars, the clear sky spread
like a vast shining canopy overhead, and then the great round moon
shed down a flood of silver sheen on the grassy downs where the black
bodies of the naked dead, with fallen jaws and glistening teeth and
eyes, lay thick as leaves in autumn, and Tattoo picked his steps
gingerly among them.
And in such a solemn and silent time, more keenly than ever, came to
Florian's mind the ever-recurring thoughts of Dulcie Carlyon and of
what she was doing; where was she and with whom--in safety or in
peril?
Next morning Florian--as he was detailed for duty to the front with
the Mounted Infantry, paid a farewell visit to Captain Hammersley,
whom he found reposing among some straw in a kind of tilt cart, and
rather feverish from the effects of his wound, and who had been
desired to remain behind in the laager for a little time, though he
could with difficulty be prevailed upon to do so.
Preceding the march of the column, the Mounted Infantry under Barrow
filed forth at an easy pace in search of the enemy.
It was scarcely a new experience to Florian now, or to any man with
the army in Zululand, that of putting a savage to death. Every rifle
slew them by scores, when a hundred rounds of ammunition per man were
poured into the naked hordes in less than an hour's time.
Lord Chelmsford left some of the Kentish Buffs, the Lanarkshire, and
the Naval Brigade to garrison the laager at Ginghilovo, and marched
for Etschowe with the 57th, the 60th Rifles, and Argyleshire
Highlanders, escorting a long train of Scottish carts, laden with
food and stores, preceded by the Mounted Infantry scouting far in
advance.
The whole column wore the white helmet, but the dark green of the
Rifles and the green tartan trews of the Highlanders varied the
colour of the scarlet mass that marched up the right bank of the
Inyezene river, with drums beating and bayonets flashing in the April
sunshine.
Along the whole line of march were seen shields, rifles, assegais,
furs, and feathers strewed about in thousands, cast away by the
fugitives who had fled from Ginghilovo, and here and there the Kaffir
vultures, hovering in mid air above a donga, or swooping down into it
with a fierce croak, indicated where some dead men were lying.
Briskly the troops pushed on to rescue Colonel Pearson and his
isolated garrison, which, during a blockade that had now extended to
ten weeks, had been in daily expectation of experiencing the fate of
those who perished at Isandhlwana; and surmounting all the natural
difficulties of a rugged country, intersected by watercourses which
recent rains had swollen, by sunset the mounted men under Barrow were
close to the fort, and heard the hearty British cheers of a hungry
garrison mingling with a merry chorus which they were singing.
Under Colonel Pemberton, the Rifles pushed on ahead with Lord
Chelmsford, just as an officer on a grey charger came dashing round
the base of the hill surmounted by the fort.
'Here is Pearson, gentlemen,' cried the Commander-in-Chief.
'How are you, my friend?'
'Old fellow--how are you?' and grasping each other's hand, they rode
on towards the fort, where the General was received with an
enthusiasm which grew higher when the Argyleshire Highlanders marched
in with all their kilted pipers playing 'The Campbells are coming.'
The fort was destroyed and abandoned, and on the 4th of April the
united columns began to fall back on Ginghilovo, the Mounted Infantry
as usual in front, but clad in the uniform of that service--a Norfolk
jacket and long untanned boots, all patched and worn now.
It was justly conceived that the laager would not be reached without
fighting, as a body of Zulus, led in person by Dabulamanzi and the
son of Sirayo, was expected to bar the way, and consequently serious
loss of life was expected; but so far as Florian was concerned, he
felt that he could face any danger now with comparative indifference,
and his daily pleasure consisted in carefully grooming and feeding
Tattoo; and Florian, as he rode on, was thinking with some perplexity
of the farewell words of Captain Hammersley.
'Good-bye, sergeant--we have all our troubles, I suppose, whatever
they are, and I should not care much if mine were ended here at
Ginghilovo.'
'I should think that you cannot have much to trouble you, sir,' was
Florian's laughing response as he left him.