by James Mace
Due to his feelings of inevitability, Wood had also sought to expel all Zulus from the region who were not already members of his indigenous force of auxiliaries. It therefore surprised him greatly when he received a despatch from Lord Chelmsford at the end of December, urging him against taking such actions.
I do not think Sir Bartle-Frere will approve of you turning out Zulus from your neighbourhood until war is actually declared. Sir Bartle-Frere feels it ideal to allow them to remain where they are, but as British subjects.
This both confused and angered the colonel. Firstly, it was difficult enough for the British to tell one black African from another. It would be nothing more than a pointless waste of resources, should he have to send patrols and interpreters out to ascertain the nationality and loyalties of every homestead in the district. This quickly became irrelevant during the coming weeks. The massing of imperial soldiers had not gone unnoticed. Many loyalist Zulus took their families and migrated slowly towards Ulundi, while they awaited the king’s official muster for war. Most of those who remained headed west towards Utrecht, where the men and boys of fighting age offered their services to the British Crown.
Chapter II: Time for Initiative
Balte’s Spruit, the north-eastern border of the Zulu Kingdom
4 January 1879
Colonel Wood’s bodyguard from the Imperial Mounted Infantry (IMI), made up of volunteers from the 90th Regiment
A week until the ultimatum expires, Colonel Wood thought with a yawn as his batman woke him. The private then offered him a tin mug of steaming coffee which Evelyn gladly accepted. Even the most senior officers in Her Majesty’s forces thrived on that bitter brew which first came to England more than two hundred years before. Sleep was a commodity that few enjoyed on campaign, least of all the officers. Though exempt from guard and fatigue duties, they were always awake long before their men and bedded down well after ‘lights out’. Coffee, therefore, acted as a substitute for sleep.
The only ones who rose earlier than the senior officers were their batmen; private soldiers selected to be the officers’ servants. A batman’s daily tasks may have seemed menial, as they were charged with keeping their masters’ uniforms, weapons, kit, and horses in order, as well as preparing meals and of course the ever-crucial tea and coffee. This meant having to rouse themselves at least half-an-hour before their officers, and they were often the last to bed each night. However, the position also held plenty of rewards and incentives, to include better pay, living conditions, and the fact that a batman was exempt from the tedium of guard duty, latrines, and all the other dreadful yet necessary details needed to maintain an army in the field. Considered to be a great privilege, these postings were often given to enlisted men as a reward for outstanding service.
“What time is it?” Wood asked. He rubbed the heel of his palm into his bleary eyes.
“It’s just before 4.00, sir,” replied the batman; a thirty-year-old soldier who had just finished his twelfth year with the Colours.
“Inform Captain Campbell that I wish to see him before meeting with the rest of the staff,” the colonel replied. He ran his fingers through the back of his hair, ever self-conscious that he was going bald.
His batman fetched him a pair of fresh socks and undergarments. “Should I invite Captain Campbell to share in your breakfast?” the private asked.
“Yes, of course,” Wood replied. He then dismissed the soldier, preferring to dress himself.
As he’d suspected, Major Francis Clery was transferred from his staff to that of Colonel Richard Glyn’s No. 3 Column shortly after his return from Luneburg. While he missed the affable major’s company, Evelyn knew Glyn needed someone with his experience who was adept at strategy, logistics, as well as diplomacy with fellow officers. This was particularly true as the GOC, who had recently become Lord Chelmsford following the death of his father, was accompanying No. 3 Column. Chelmsford was notorious for micromanaging, and Wood speculated he would effectively usurp all control from Richard Glyn. Furthermore, Chelmsford’s most influential staff officer was the notorious Lieutenant Colonel John North Crealock. Though officially his lordship’s military secretary, Chelmsford relied upon him so heavily that he was effectively his chief-of-staff. Glyn hated Crealock, as did most of the staff officers in No. 3 Column. Francis Clery was among the few who was adept at dealing with the GOC’s military secretary, who was nicknamed ‘the wasp’ due to his often haughty and overtly hostile disposition.
Despite Clery’s departure, it was not a complete loss for Evelyn Wood. His principle staff officer was now Captain the Honourable Ronald Campbell, who had spent most of his eight years with the Colours as part of the venerable and elite Coldstream Guards. Both intelligent and well-spoken, he had a degree of candour about him which the colonel found refreshing in an army that was all-too-often full of flatterers and sycophants.
“A fine morning to you, Captain Campbell,” Wood said, emerging from his tent and buttoning his tunic as he was joined by his principle staff officer.
“And to you, sir,” Campbell replied, holding his mug, which the colonel’s batman had filled with piping hot coffee. He took a drink before handing a sheaf of papers to his commanding officer. “Here are the reports you requested, detailing the state of our personnel and stores.”
Evelyn’s previous assumptions about the disposition of forces along the Zulu border had proven correct. As he had foreseen, the number of invasion columns had been reduced from five to three. Colonel Richard Glyn’s centre No. 3 Column, accompanied by Lord Chelmsford, was massing at Rorke’s Drift. The southern No. 1 Column under Colonel Charles Pearson was staging at Lower Drift, near the mouth of the Thukela River, just a short way inland from the Indian Ocean. An advantage afforded by the proximity of the ocean was that it meant Pearson’s southern flank would be secure as he advanced into Zululand. Conversely, Colonel Wood’s No. 4 Column was completely exposed on its northern flank. They would be compelled to advance through territory held by hostile tribes fiercely loyal to King Cetshwayo. One reason for Wood ordering his forces to advance into enemy held territory before the ultimatum’s expiration was that he might seize the initiative from the abaQulusi, either bringing them to terms or subjugation before the invasion commenced in earnest. Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Durnford’s highly mobile No. 2 Column was much smaller than the others, consisting of a few hundred mounted troops and indigenous auxiliaries, acting as a reserve force. Colonel Hugh Rowlands still held command over the No. 5 Column, but their numbers were greatly reduced and those who remained were tasked with garrison duty in northern Natal and the Transvaal.
The No. 4 Column was currently encamped at a place known as Balte’s Spruit, along the border of the recently-annexed Transvaal and the northern territories of the Zulu Kingdom. They were approximately thirty miles southeast of the town of Utrecht, where the column had initially staged. Like all the other forces mustered by Lord Chelmsford, they were a mix of professional soldiers, settler volunteers, and locally raised African warriors. The disposition of No. 4 Column was as follows:
25 Staff and Departments officers
1,502 professional infantry redcoats divided between seven companies from 1/13th Somerset Light Infantry, and the eight companies of the 90th Perthshire Light Infantry
108 artillery crewmen and drivers from 11/7 Battery, Royal Artillery, equipped with six 7-pounder cannon and four rocket troughs
208 mounted troops divided between the four troops from the Frontier Light Horse and two troops from Baker’s Horse
387 indigenous warriors known as Wood’s Irregulars
48 conductors, wagon drivers, and voorloopers
The indigenous warriors of Wood’s Irregulars were not from the Natal Native Contingents (NNC) which made up the local levies for the other columns. They were, in fact, Zulus. For reasons the average imperial redcoat failed to comprehend, they had rebelled against King Cetshwayo and offered their services to the British Crown.
Keeping th
is force supplied were ninety-seven wagons and five carts, hauled by 1,700 oxen, 123 mules, and 20 horses.
“All told, 2,278 men,” Campbell noted. “That is, provided the men of the Frontier Light Horse choose not to extend their enlistments. Not a weak force by any means; however, we have less than half the strength of Glyn and Pearson’s columns. To top it all, we have no sapper or pioneer companies. Even one or two sections from a Royal Engineers field company with a single light equipment wagon would make our trek across the northern frontier a lot less burdensome.”
Wood gave a short nod as he scanned the report, though he said nothing in response. He had known since first receiving command of No. 4 Column that he was understrength and lacking in many logistical and engineering requirements for this campaign. Simply put, these resources were not available in Southern Africa. Her Majesty’s Armed Forces were perpetually spread thin as it was, with the government constantly seeking to cut the cost to the taxpayer of maintaining the largest Empire the world had ever known. All told, the British Army had just over 124,000 total soldiers scattered throughout the Crown’s dominions, which encompassed nearly a third of the globe. Unfortunately, it was often the land component of the Forces that was first to feel the pinch, ‘In benefit to the taxpayer,’ as Prime Minister Disraeli was fond of saying.
“How fair the lads from the 13th?” Wood asked, in reference to the 1st Battalion of the 13th Somerset Light Infantry; the only other force of imperial redcoats in No. 4 Column besides his own 90th Perthshire Regiment.
“As we suspected, sir, they are in pretty rough shape,” the captain replied candidly. “They’ve spent the past four years in Natal with illness and time-expired discharges depleting their ranks. They saw some of the worst of the fighting against the Xhosa. Plus, they had the furthest routes-of-march to get here. I only wish we could requisition them some new uniforms. Honestly, sir, I’ve seen beggars in the gutters of Glasgow appearing less wretched.”
“Unfortunately, even his lordship cannot compel Her Majesty’s government to loosen the purse strings,” Evelyn replied. “They’ll simply have to make due until the Army’s annual uniform re-issue in April, like everyone else.”
It was just after 4.30 in the morning. The camp was stirring with officers and senior non-commissioned officers emerging bleary-eyed from their tents. There was a plethora of tasks to accomplish before the bugles sounded reveille; orders to be disseminated, review of any pertinent intelligence, work details to assign, and so forth. All the while, their commanding officer watched from a camp stool, drinking his morning coffee, and contemplating his next move in the simmering crisis that would soon envelop Natal, the Transvaal, and the Zulu Kingdom.
Of all the officers and men under Evelyn Wood’s command, the one he had become most dependent on was the man who led his roughshod cavalry, Lieutenant Colonel Redvers Buller. Thirty-nine years of age, his late father had served in Parliament as the MP for Exeter. His mother had been the daughter of a lord. Commissioned into the 60th Rifles in 1858, Buller saw immediate service during the Second Opium War in China. In 1870, he accompanied then-Colonel Garnet Wolseley during the Red River Expedition in Canada to capture Fort Garry from the rebellious Louis Riel. Three years later, he again joined Wolseley, this time in West Africa during the Third Anglo-Ashanti War, where he first met Evelyn Wood. He was present for the decisive British victory at the Battle of Amoaful. Wounded at the Battle of Ordabai, Buller was promoted to major and appointed a Companion of the Order of the Bath (CB) for his exceptional service.
Having been granted a leave-of-absence from his regiment in 1878, Buller accompanied Lord Chelmsford—then still Major General Frederick Thesiger—to Southern Africa as a special services officer. Colonels Hugh Rowlands and Evelyn Wood were among these officers. Much to Buller’s chagrin, he was assigned under Rowlands’ command during the fiasco surrounding the attempt to put down Sekhukhune. While Rowlands had firmly stated that his officers ‘to a man’ supported his decision to abandon the pursuit and withdraw to British territory, Buller, in no uncertain terms, expressed quite the opposite in a private message to Lord Chelmsford. And while not renowned for his tactical or strategic prowess, Buller managed to inspire his men with his extreme personal bravery, often to the point of recklessness. One of his officers described the colonel in his diary as, ‘brave to the point of insanity’. This had, in fact, earned him great favour with the GOC, who took him from Rowlands’ command and placed him in charge of all mounted troops under Evelyn Wood’s No. 4 Column.
One reason Wood came to rely so heavily on Buller was the need for rapid mobility. While serving as the left-wing pincer in Chelmsford’s advance on Ulundi, they were designated a ‘flying column’ that needed to be ready to react to the ever-changing strategic, not to mention political, realities. And while his two battalions of professional infantry from the 1/13th and 90th Regiments would provide the crux of the column’s firepower during a major engagement, much of the campaigning in the north required the speed and flexibility of mounted troops.
As he finished his coffee, Colonel Wood noted that Buller and the Frontier Light Horse (FLH) were due to arrive in camp that very day. Wood was, at least somewhat, aware of the less-than-favourable report toward Colonel Rowlands that Buller had sent to Lord Chelmsford, even if he had not personally read it. He was greatly concerned regarding the morale of the FLH, particularly since many of their enlistment contracts were set to expire soon. His concerns were borne out later that morning.
With the sun obscured by thick clouds, the air was hot and stifling as the large force of around four hundred mounted troops rode towards the camp. Lieutenant Colonel Buller ordered his sergeant major to establish their own camp outside the main defences. He then sought out his new column commander. Wood greeted him just outside his command tent.
“Colonel, sir,” Buller said, coming to attention and saluting.
“Colonel Buller, by God it is good to see you, sir!” Wood replied.
The two clasped hands and went into the tent, where the side walls were rolled up. They took their seats on a pair of camp stools Wood’s batman had fetched for them. “I am sorry I do not have refreshments to offer,” Evelyn said. “I was compelled to order a prohibition on spirits for the time being. There have been too many cases of drunk and disorderly conduct in recent months. I’d rather not have to spend my time overseeing court martials and floggings every time a private or frontier trooper loses control of his good senses due to drink.”
“Understandable, sir,” Buller replied. “But as you saw, given the state of my men, we have problems far greater than when we can next have a snort of brandy.”
“Yes, they are a haggard lot,” Wood replied bluntly. “I can’t say I’m surprised, given they are frontier settlers rather than professional soldiers. Still, the reports of their prowess during the Xhosa uprising were most favourable.”
“They are also exhausted and demoralised,” Buller stated with surprising candour. “I’ll speak plainly, Evelyn; we had Sekhukhune cornered. His cowardly followers may have outpaced our infantry, but they were utterly spent trying to outrun my horsemen. I’ll grant you, the column was starving, deprived of water, and improperly supplied. But we had not broken! Another day of pursuit, maybe two, and that kaffir upstart would no longer be a thorn in the Crown.”
Wood said nothing, but nodded diplomatically. While he sympathised with Buller and the FLH, he was not about to publicly disparage a fellow VC holder. Instead, he addressed the practical matter at hand. “The question now is, will any of them extend their enlistment contracts?”
Redvers shrugged and held up his hands in resignation. “That I don’t know. Half are set to expire within the next few days, and many of these elected not to even travel with me. If we cannot compel enough of them to stay, we will be severely short of both reconnaissance and mounted shock troops.”
“That is something we will just have to plan for,” Wood remarked. “We may have to look to other sources for
mobile warfare in this column.”
Chapter III: A Banker’s Son in Zululand
Balte’s Spruit
5 January 1879
Officers from the 13th Somerset Light Infantry on Home Service in England
While most of the column’s leadership began to stir during that early hour before reveille, it had been a most unpleasant night on picquet duty for Corporal Harry Davies and two sections of soldiers from C Company, 1/13th Somerset Light Infantry. The patch of high ground they occupied, approximately 200 yards beyond their encampment, offered a spectacular view of the surrounding hills and valleys. Fighting positions large enough for four soldiers to lie down in were dug into the earth with loose rocks piled in front. While offering excellent views and fields-of-fire, this area was devoid of trees, leaving the picquets completely exposed and at the mercy of the elements. Soon after their arrival at Balte’s Spruit, the years-long drought in Southern Africa came to an abrupt end. The region was notorious for its wet weather during the summer months. With the start of the New Year, the days seemed to alternate between blistering heat and torrential downpours. During the previous night’s rains, the fighting positions dug by the picquets filled with water, and with nothing but their greatcoats for protection, every last man in C Company was left soaked and shivering by morning.
When the column first formed at Utrecht in December, there had been plenty of chiding from the 1/13th Regiment towards their fellow redcoats from the 90th Perthshire. Their bright crimson contrasted sharply with the battered and utterly shabby appearance of the Somerset infantrymen. Yet now, all of their tunics were faded and blotched with sweat stains, not to mention heavily patched and stitched. Their once deep blue trousers were similarly faded, permanently streaked by mud and grass stains and with most of the knees patched over. It would be another ten to twelve weeks before the annual uniform reissue, when the haggard-looking soldiers would look presentable on parade again.