Memories of Forty-Eight Years Service Chapter 1d - The Zulu War
They were not only a moral but a sober and honest race, and
remained so until civilisation touched them. When the war was over and peace
declared, so far from showing any bitterness, they were cordiality and
hospitality itself, in many cases giving of their milk and food and refusing to
take payment. The only spot in Zululand I know of where this high morality did
not obtain was at a Christian mission station called Kamagwassa St. Paul's and
over the border where the white men ruled.
They were, too, very simple and truthful, and loved to speak
in metaphor. They made no attempt to minimise their own losses at Isandhlwana,
and when I add that our own killed amounted to 52 officers, 806 white N.C.O.s
and men, in addition to 200 or 300 native troops, some idea of the desperate
nature of the fighting can be formed. To quote from the speech made by General
Sir Reginald Hart, V.C., K.C.B., K.C.V.O., when he unveiled the 24th obelisk at
Isandhlwana in March 1914: " The terrible disaster that overwhelmed the old
24th Regiment will always be remembered, not so much as a disaster, but as an
example of heroism like that of Leonidas and the three hundred Spartans who
fell at the pass of Thermopylae."
The next few days after the battle, St. Matthew's simile, "
Wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be gathered together," was
fully illustrated, for literally the sky was darkened at times by continuous
streams of " Aasvogels " heading from all directions to the battlefield marked
by that precipitous and conspicuous crag, like a lion couchant, " Isandhlwana "
where nearly 900 British and 2,000 or 3,000 natives, friend and foe, had
breathed their last on the fatal 22nd.
Meanwhile Lord Chelmsford had withdrawn all troops from the
enemy's country, had given orders that the border-line should be guarded by a
series of small fortified posts, and had gone with his staff to Maritzburg to
await reinforcements from home.
My fate was Helpmakaar. There the Commandant constructed a
fort with a huge ditch, revetting the parapet with sacks full of mealies. The
wet season came on, the grain went rotten, and the ditch filled up with putrid
water, the smell of which was appalling, and out of thirty-two officers all but
one were down within a couple of months with fever, mostly typhoid. I got it,
and was carted in a mule-wagon via Dundee down to Ladysmith some seventy miles,
where a General Hospital had been formed in the Dutch Church. Hospital comforts
were conspicuous by their absence in those days. Straw on the stone floor
formed our beds, and there I lay for two months, hovering between life and
death. The hospital was full, as far as I recollect, almost all typhoid cases,
and dead were carried out every day.
At last I was convalescent, and could get about with two
sticks when I was told I was to start the following morning in a sick-convoy to
Durban and thence to England.
It was the middle of May. The reinforcements had all come
out, the new centre column was forming at Dundee (forty-five miles off), and it
was expected would start against the enemy in a fortnight's time. I was very
feeble, but the last place I wanted to go to was England until we had defeated
the Zulus.
Luckily I had a splendid old soldier-servant, Private Elks
of the 24th, and also three horses. I told Elks to
have the horses ready at the corner of the churchyard at
midnight, one saddled for myself to ride, one with my pack-saddle and valise
strapped on, and the third barebacked. All went according to plan; Elks lifted
me into the saddle and off I went. Mercifully there were no telegraphs in those
days, so I was lost to all intents and purposes, and the convoy started without
me. I fetched up at Dundee all right, and when I was helped off and supported
into the tent of my boss. Major Essex of the Gordons and Chief Transport
Officer, he nearly had a fit, for he thought I was a walking corpse. I am full
of gratitude to this day to him, for he acceded to my request that I should lie
low in a tent, trusting to nature to pull me round sufficiently to do duty by
the time the advance commenced. It was glorious weather, clear and bright with
frost every night, and I picked up every day, and by the time the doctors
traced where I had gone to I was well into Zululand.
We had crossed the Blood River at Landsman's Drift, near
Kopje Allein, on the 1st June, and it was soon after this I first became
acquainted with that fine old soldier, now General Sir Charles Tucker, then
Major C. Tucker of the 80th, commanding the fort at Kopje Allein.
Our first day's march was productive of a tragic incident
which touched the heart of every man in the force and marred the joy of being
on the move again against the enemy. H.I.H. the Prince Imperial of France,
previously a Cadet at Woolwich, and wearing the undress uniform of the Royal
Artillery, had been allowed to accompany the expedition attached to the
C.-in-C.'s Staff. He had endeared himself to all with whom he came into touch
and had been especially friendly to myself. He took deep interest in the
organisation of every branch of our force, and was in my tent up to 11 p.m. the
night before extracting from me a promise to write him a treatise on bullock
transport. We had moved forward a day's march, and on reaching the next camp
rumours (which were soon confirmed) came in that the Prince had been killed ;
and next morning, when we halted for the day at Itelezi Hill camp, the body
with sixteen assegai wounds was brought in on a stretcher formed of lances and
a blanket. The brief account of this lamentable event which I am about to give
is based on the stories given by those who were present, and by the story of
Zulus, as told in their naive and truthful way by themselves after peace had
been declared.
The Prince had gone ahead of the force that morning with a
small reconnaissance party consisting of a Staff Officer and a few (six, I
think) mounted men. At about 8 p.m. they had ridden into a kraal and
off-saddled for a short time to feed men and horses. The outlook, if kept, was
indifferent, and unbeknown to them a few Zulus crept up through the crops and
long grass and fired a volley at close range as the party was in the act of
mounting. No one appeared to have been hit then, but the horses were frightened
and the party galloped away, doubtless thinking H.I.H. was with them. Two men
were left in the kraal, and one of them, on mounting, was hit and knocked off
his horse. Their bodies were found next day. The Prince's horse, however, was
exceedingly restive, and he came out of the kraal on foot, endeavouring to
mount, but at last the horse broke loose. By this time the remainder of the
party were some little way off, and the Zulus, seeing the Prince alone on foot,
rushed in and killed him.
The Zulus described that, being only six or eight in number,
they had no intention of fighting the whole party, but seeing one man alone,
took courage and attacked him. They had no idea that he was a person of the
highest importance, and that the deed performed by them that day would affect
very materially European politics for years.
The Staff Officer was tried by court-martial and sentenced
to be shot, and was only saved at the request of the Prince's mother, the
Empress Eugenie. The officer died a few years later of fever in India.
Lord Chelmsford's plan for our column, the one with which he
was marching, was to establish food depots along our line of advance at
intervals, building forts for the purpose. The column consisted of a Cavalry
Brigade, the King's Dragoon Guards and 17th Lancers, under Major-General Fred
Marshall; the 2nd Division, under Major-General Newdigate, of two Brigades, the
first formed by the 2/21st
R.S. Fusiliers and the 58th under Colonel Glynn, and the
second by the l/24th and the 94th under Colonel Collingwood ; Batteries, R.E.
etc.
The first depot was at Kopje Allein, where half a Battalion
of the 80th were left under Major C. Tucker. The next place selected was near
the River Nondweni, twenty-five miles from Kopje Allein, and was called Fort
Newdigate, after the 2nd Divisional Commander.
From Fort Newdigate I accompanied Wood's Flying Column to
the frontier to escort 240 empty wagons to be refilled at Landsman's Drift. It
was the 17th June before we got back to Fort Newdigate again, and then with
some 600 loaded wagons, having picked up some 400 extra at Landsman's Drift.
Meanwhile, some of the force had been moved on, and Fort Marshall, sixteen
miles farther on, was being commenced. On arriving at the spot where Fort
Newdigate was to be constructed on the 6th June, our camp was laid out as usual
in the shape of a great rectangle; the wagons formed the wall, and about 200
yards outside it the new fort was commenced. By sundown the walls had begun to
rise. Piquets were posted all round at some distance from the laager. It was a
moonlight night and clouds were flitting across the moon, and a shadow from one
of these was mistaken for an advancing body of Zulus. The piquet gave the alarm
and the men manned the sides of the laager. Unfortunately some of the piquets,
in falling back, took refuge in this partially constructed fort. I was asleep
in a tent outside the laager. The order was for all tents outside the laager to
be lowered when the alarm sounded. My stable companion, Alexander of the 21st
R.S. Fusiliers, had some difficulty in awakening me, and before I could get out
of the tent firing had commenced from the laager, so, striking the tent as best
we could, we rushed into the laager. Undoubtedly the men's nerves were in a bad
state, owing, I consider, to the fact that they were young soldiers and that
the Staff never missed an opportunity of instilling into their minds the
fierceness of the enemy and their love of night attacks. In a few minutes every
face of the laager was blazing away and a battery in action at one corner was
firing " grape." It was a long time before the firing could be stopped, and
then it was found to be a false alarm, but a disastrous one for there were four
casualties, three of them in the embryonic Fort, where the walls were not high
enough to give cover from fire from the laager. It was found afterwards that
there was no enemy within fifteen miles. Our expenditure of ammunition was
heavy, 50,000 rounds it was said at the time. This place was more generally
known after this as " Fort Funk." We had several more false alarms before we
fought the battle of Ulundi, but these I will not describe here.
So far I have only been referring to the column to which I
belonged, but there were two other forces operating, the one assembled at
Eshowe, some seventy miles south-south-east of Landsman's Drift and about forty
miles south of Ulundi, the 1st Division under General Hope Crealock; the other
to the north-west under Colonel Evelyn Wood, V.C. Both these columns had had
their share of fighting. Before General Crealock assumed command, a force under
Colonel Pearson of the Buffs drove off an attack at the River Inyezane on the
22nd January, the same day as the battle of Isandhlwana, and later on had been
besieged at Eshowe, but had been relieved on the 4th April by a force under the
C.-in-C. by the battle of Ginginlovo, fought two days previously.
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