Cruelty of Fate

by James Mace

  Accompanied by Tshwane and a small group of his izinduna, Mbilini made the journey from his stronghold to that of Seketwayo near Hlobane Mountain. They departed just before dawn, the air smelling fresh from the rains of the previous night. The Swazi prince always enjoyed his treks up the vast mountain. It gave him confidence in the ability of his allies to hold off any potential attack from the white invaders. There were only two real avenues up the mountain, one off the western spur known as the Ntendeka Nek which joined with Zungwini Mountain, and another to the east. The plateau was mostly flat and extended roughly five miles from east to west, running about a mile north-to-south. It presented a commanding view of the region, and the abaQulusi were able to spot any approaching threat for many miles. The Ntendeka plateau extended to the west for another mile.

  “Had King Cetshwayo established the royal kraal here, the white soldiers would never contemplate war against the Zulus,” Tshwane asserted confidently.

  “Then it is fortunate for us that the abaQulusi view us as their guests,” Mbilini replied with a chuckle.

  The mountain was covered in green grass with numerous stands of waist-high scrub brush scattered about. It was very rocky in places; particularly along the path the Swazi prince and his band trekked to where a formidable and impenetrable pass went down the centre of the stronghold.

  The steep cliff-face, near the top of Hlobane, photo by Ian Knight

  The kraals belonging to the abaQulusi were similar to those of the Zulu izikhulu. They consisted of numerous huts in a large circle enclosing a cattle kraal. This particular homestead, belonging to Seketwayo, was quite large with over a hundred huts arrayed in two rings around the cattle pen. A young man who stood watching from a rickety stand near the western entrance to the kraal gave a loud cry. It was echoed, in turn, by many within and without the enclosure. Sounds of singing and chanting followed. Over a hundred warriors emerged, forming a corridor for Mbilini and his men to walk through. All the while, they chanted and beat their spears in a rhythmic cadence against their shields.

  “Bayade!” they shouted, as their chieftain emerged. Though typically a word used to hail the sovereign, it was sometimes used as a form of greeting, which simultaneously expressed their fealty to the Zulu king.

  Seketwayo raised his hand and bowed to his guest. “Welcome, Mbilini, Prince of the Swazis and rightful king.”

  “I am honoured, Seketwayo of the abaQulusi.” The Swazi prince also gave a short bow.

  The abaQulusi chieftain ushered Mbilini to his large, private hut. The two then sat around the fire pit in the centre where servants brought warm beer and food.

  “This white inkosi has placed me in a fearful position,” Seketwayo said.

  “He has stolen the king’s cattle,” Mbilini stated. “And now he wishes to use them to cow us into submission.”

  “Yes, they are the cattle which I was charged with keeping. It was foolish of me not to send a regiment to protect the herds while they grazed. The enemy’s mounted troops are few, yet they move quickly. When they strike, those watching the herds are unable to stop them. Some of my herdsmen have been killed, and the rest are terrified to leave their kraals. The king will undoubtedly hold me accountable for allowing his cattle to fall into the hands of his enemies.”

  “It was not your doing,” the Swazi stressed. “The main impi is assembling at Ulundi. You do not have the strength necessary to safeguard the royal herd against an army of red-jacketed soldiers and those damned horsemen.”

  “True,” Seketwayo conceded. “However, I lacked the intuition to take the royal cattle and have them driven to the top of Hlobane Mountain. The white soldiers fear this place, otherwise they would not bother with such indignant bribery. I am afraid the only way for me to regain the royal cattle is to defect to the English; yet, it would be a betrayal of our master, King Cetshwayo.”

  “And the cattle are being kept too close to their stronghold,” Mbilini noted.

  Seketwayo nodded. “We do not have sufficient warriors to launch a raid to retrieve them.”

  “And it would be foolish to face the white soldiers in open battle,” the Swazi prince added. “I am sorry, my friend, but it appears we have been placed in a terrible situation.”

  “We?” The abaQulusi chieftain’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  Mbilini nodded. “You and I stand together, my friend. I am afraid the king’s cattle are lost. We can only hope to exact retribution against the white soldiers as opportunities arise. I promise you this, I will not rest until the red-jackets are driven from our lands. Given a chance to make them suffer, I will.”

  “And you shall have as many warriors at your disposal as you need,” Seketwayo stressed. “I shall personally speak with Manyanyoba. He is of a like mind and will doubtless commit his warriors to our cause.”

  Unfortunately, time was something Colonel Wood did not have regarding the plundered royal cattle. The 2,500 head were not only a chore to look after but were consuming vast quantities of forage needed for the column’s draught oxen. As soon as the second day passed, he summoned Major William Knox-Leet, the commanding officer of Wood’s Irregulars. Leet was a career officer in his mid-forties who came from 2nd Battalion of the 13th Somerset Light Infantry. His battalion had recently arrived in the Cape from Malta. While it was unusual for both battalions of a regiment to both be on Foreign Service at the same time, the two battalions of the 24th Regiment were also both in Southern Africa. Leet had volunteered to come to the Cape the previous year as a special services officer, having finished his term as Musketry Instructor at Hythe. Originally a member of Colonel Wood’s staff, he was assigned command of all indigenous troops within No. 4 Column.

  Major William Knox-Leet

  Battalion Major, 2/13th Somerset Light Infantry and Commanding Officer, Wood’s Irregulars

  “You sent for me, sir?” the major asked. He’d found the colonel standing along the western ramparts of the fort. The day was warm, and he removed his helmet, running a handkerchief over his mostly bald head. What hair that remained on the sides and back was mostly grey, as was his thick moustache.

  William Knox-Leet was an officer greatly admired by Wood and respected for his tactical and administrative talents. He’d come from a family of modest means, which greatly prohibited his rise through the ranks. Leet was four years older than Wood, though he had only achieved the rank of major two years prior, having languished for fourteen years as a captain with the previous eight as a lieutenant.

  “I need you to send a detachment to the Transvaal,” Wood explained. “Take all these captured beasts with you and have them sold to the contractors in Newcastle.”

  “I’ll send an officer and fifty warriors to act as escorts, sir,” Knox-Leet confirmed. “When do you wish to have them removed?”

  “Tomorrow, as soon as you are able to muster your men.”

  “Very good, sir.” The major saluted and took his leave.

  For Wood, it made the most sense to dispatch some of his indigenous Zulus to escort the cattle, as they could make their way rapidly cross-country. They also knew the terrain and how to best avoid any encounters with their adversarial kinsmen.

  “Unfortunately, there goes our one chance of negotiating a peaceful settlement with the abaQulusi,” Lieutenant Colonel Buller remarked, as he joined the column commander.

  “Our terms were simple and fair,” Wood countered. “If the kaffir chieftains have no desire to accede to reason, then we shall forcibly subdue them.”

  Chapter VII: The Sound of the Guns

  Bemba’s Kop

  20 January 1879

  The Battle of Isandlwana, by Charles Edwin Fripp

  The following morning, the commanding officer of No. 4 Column gave the order to break down the fort and make ready to advance into abaQulusi territory. From what Wood knew, his lordship and No. 3 Column were still encamped on the east side of the uMzinyathi River at Rorke’s Drift. He reckoned he had a few more days to sort out the abaQulusi, thereb
y securing his northern flank before continuing the combined advance on Ulundi.

  The past few days had been relatively dry, making their journey less arduous. The wagons were kept to the centre of the formation, travelling four abreast. This meant the length of the column still extended a couple of miles from end to end. Despite the failure of the abaQulusi to accede to Colonel Wood’s demands, there was little overtly hostile action coming from their nemesis to the northeast.

  While the infantry and indigenous warriors made the long trek, the mounted troops continued to raid further afield, snatching cattle and driving away small bands of abaQulusi and Zulus at every opportunity. Many of the captured beasts were used as extra meat for the column, while others were escorted back to the town markets in Transvaal and Natal. Bands of warriors were now making their presence known as well, albeit they mostly kept their distance and were content to simply watch the white soldiers.

  “What in the bleeding hell are those bastards playing at?” Private Grosvenor asked when they spotted a group of about ten warriors occupying a low hill a thousand yards off the right flank of the advancing column.

  “They’re watching and gathering intelligence,” Corporal Davies surmised.

  “Intelligence? Those filthy kaffirs?” one private said in disbelief.

  “What do you think they are doing, out for a Sunday stroll?” Private Hill retorted. “These people may wear animal skins and live in huts, but they are not stupid. They’re not only counting our troops, but also our movements and how quickly we can traverse across the terrain.”

  “Damned kaffir ‘intelligence’ won’t do them much good with their heads blown off or a bayonet in the guts,” the irritated soldier said with a shrug.

  “And if one stabs you in the throat, we won’t have to listen to your complaining anymore,” Harry added.

  By the evening of 20 January, the column had reached a high point just east of the White Mfolozi River known as Tinta’s Kop. The redcoats called their new home ‘Fort Thinta’. Located roughly ten miles southwest of Hlobane Mountain, Colonel Wood found it an ideal location to establish his column while they sorted out the abaQulusi. As the sun set, soldiers still working the ground with pickaxes and shovels, Evelyn met with the staff and battalion commanders.

  “This is a good location,” Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert of the 13th Regiment concurred as they gathered around Wood’s map.

  Although only partially complete, it gave the locations of the most significant mountains, as well as the Zulu royal kraal. It was also covered with marks showing various hills and rivers that the column had come across.

  “Once his lordship gives us our movement orders, we can skirt between the White and Black Mfolozi Rivers, minimizing our need to conduct major water crossings,” Major Rogers of the 90th Regiment added.

  Captain Campbell then remarked, “Sanitation will be one of our greatest challenges, the longer we remain in one location. We can only dig so many latrine trenches and shovel away the animal scat before any fort becomes a death trap of disease.”

  “And that is why we must enforce strict standards of waste removal,” Colonel Wood stressed. “Make certain your men only use designated latrine trenches for conducting their personal business. We will assign a mule cart for hauling away animal waste from the kraal each day. It’s an unpleasant duty, but one of the most necessary if we are to keep our soldiers healthy.”

  “A suitable punishment for any ill-disciplined soldiers,” the 90th’s sergeant major added.

  “Sir, there is one other matter I wish to bring up,” Captain Campbell said, producing an almanac. “Two days from now, we are expected to have an eclipse of the sun. It will not be total, but there will be a period of relative darkness, not to mention a decrease in temperature. I ask that we inform the column, lest the more superstitious lose their nerve over an event as simple as the moon passing between the earth and the sun.”

  “Thank you, captain,” Wood acknowledged before turning his attention back to his map. “Gentlemen, this large mountain known as Hlobane is one of the most formidable strongholds in the region. If we can draw our enemies down and into the open, it will save us a lot of grief. Colonel Buller, you will therefore continue in your raids to the north and east.”

  Buller nodded. “The Zulus and abaQulusi cannot allow us to keep taking their livestock. They are cattle farmers first and foremost, and each time we drive off their herds, we diminish their primary source of wealth and subsistence.”

  “Out of curiosity, how many head have your men captured?” Philip Gilbert asked.

  “Including those belonging to King Cetshwayo, around 7,000,” Buller replied.

  “We’ve managed to secure a number of lucrative deals with the markets,” Wood noted. “In addition to our mounted troops lifting their source of wealth, the enemy will not be able to tolerate the presence of Her Majesty’s soldiers in the heart of their territory for long.” He then looked to Piet Uys. “Mister Uys, you know these lands better than any. I need your scouts to lead Colonel Buller’s troopers to the most likely places where the abaQulusi and Zulus could be staging.”

  Piet nodded and scanned the map for a moment before pointing to a mountain near Hlobane called Zungwini. “This is where you will find them,” the burgher said confidently. “While King Cetshwayo has likely summoned his warriors to muster into a large army at the royal kraal, the abaQulusi do not fall under the king’s amabutho. They are loyal the House of Zulu, but they manage their own regiments.”

  “Do we know their fighting strength?” Gilbert asked.

  Piet shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Theirs is not a full-time army, and they only muster on two occasions: the harvest and during crisis.”

  “Both of which are happening simultaneously,” Captain Campbell remarked.

  The collected officers looked to him as Ronald produced his almanac once more.

  Though he had only been given his leave-of-absence from the Coldstream Guards to accept a staff position in Natal just two months prior, Ronald Campbell had read everything he could find on the climate and agriculture within Southern Africa. This knowledge, which he had acquired as a mere hobby during the long journey by steamship from England, was now showing its value.

  “Please explain, captain,” Wood said, gesturing to Campbell.

  “As we all know, the climate in Southern Africa is vastly different from what we are used to. Not only are their summer and winter seasons the reverse of ours, but their harvest comes during differing periods, notably in February. Even if hostilities had not erupted between the Crown and the Zulus, Cetshwayo would soon be summoning his regiments to Ulundi.”

  “It is true,” Piet Uys concurred. “The Zulus hold great celebrations to commemorate the harvest.”

  “This may also give them a greater sense of urgency,” Campbell continued. “Forgive my presumption, colonel, but as I understand it, his lordship’s concern is that the Zulus will not engage us in open battle. Respectfully, I disagree. So long as British soldiers remain within the Zulu Kingdom, they cannot take in the harvest…”

  “…and without their mealie crop, plus our confiscating their cattle, they risk starvation,” Wood finished. He folded his arms across his chest and gave a thoughtful nod.

  Captain the Honourable Ronald Campbell, Coldstream Guards

  Primary Staff Officer, No. 4 Column

  While the officers continued in their meeting, a messenger arrived from the south. It was the same NNC warrior his lordship had dispatched almost two weeks prior. Wood ordered him to be shown in. He was anxious for any relevant news from the rest of the army.

  Have made camp at Isandlwana. Will spend the next few days staging supplies before continuing the advance.

  Accepted the surrender of a local chieftain and expect more to follow.

  Inform me once you are ready to continue towards Ulundi.

  Chelmsford

  Like most of Lord Chelmsford’s despatches, the message was vague and lacking
in specifics. For an officer who liked keeping his subordinates firmly under his thumb, the GOC had an annoying habit of leaving out key details. There was no mention regarding enemy sightings or intelligence nor of Colonel Pearson’s No. 1 Column. Still, he was glad to see Lord Chelmsford and Colonel Glyn had moved beyond the eastern bank of the uMzinyathi River at Rorke’s Drift.

  “Ah, so No. 3 Column has begun the push towards Ulundi,” Wood noted, as he read the despatch. “Splendid!”

  His primary staff officer, Captain Campbell, also read through the message. “It says they’ve reached the mountain of Isandlwana, where they intend to establish a temporary staging ground for their supplies.”

  “Yes, well, unfortunately, the severe shortage of wagons and draught beasts has left the centre column in quite the predicament,” Wood remarked. “They have more than twice as many troops as us and, therefore, require a substantially greater number of rations, ammunition, and supplies. Every time they reach a new camp, they need to send many of their wagons back to bring up the remainder of their stores. Given the weather and the lack of what one would call ‘roads’ in this land, I reckon it will take the centre column at least another month to reach Ulundi.”

  “If the Zulus don’t meet them in battle first,” Campbell added.

  “That is his lordship’s hope.”