by James Mace
“And what of A Company?” Burgess asked. “They took it worse than anyone. How many men do you have left?”
The corner of the colour sergeant’s mouth twitched. “Forty-two,” he finally answered. “Forty-two soldiers remain with A Company of the 80th Regiment. Lieutenant Johnson has promised to transfer whomever he can, probably from the companies still on garrison duty in the Transvaal. Regardless, I intend to bring them through the rest of this war.”
There would be various transfers between companies of the 80th in order to supplement the strength of A Company. However, all told, Major Tucker’s remaining fighting strength was just 373 redcoats. This, coupled with the loss of so much in the way of foot stores and ammunition, meant the plan for sending his five companies to reinforce Colonel Wood’s No. 4 Column now lay in ruins. It would be some time before the 80th Staffordshire Regiment was ready to join the fight once again.
Chapter XXXI: Burn them out!
British Fort at Khambula
24 March 1879
Private Edmund Fowler, 90th Regiment / Imperial Mounted Infantry
A week following the disaster at Ntombe, Evelyn Wood received a telegram from Major Charles Tucker of the 80th Regiment, at last giving his official report of what had transpired at Myer’s Drift. A few days later, he decided to see what measures could be taken to dispose of Prince Mbilini and his army of renegades. Taking his staff, all of Redvers Buller’s mounted forces, as well as his personal bodyguard from the Imperial Mounted Infantry, the colonel rode north to survey the situation personally and to lead an expedition towards Tafelberg Mountain. He also directed the newly-formed battalion of turncoat Zulus from Hamu’s followers to join him. His expedition consisted of 360 mounted troops and around 200 African warriors. It was a bit unnerving for some of the white soldiers. Every indigenous warrior accompanying them had fought against the British at either Isandlwana or Rorke’s Drift. Some of these men still carried their regimental shields, though all now wore red and yellow scarves on their heads, denoting them as Prince Hamu’s followers and allies of the British.
In response to the Ntombe disaster, Wood directed Lieutenant Colonel Buller, Major Moysey of the Royal Engineers, and Captain Hamilton of the 90th Regiment to form a commission-of-enquiry into the matter. Before his departure, he sent word to Lieutenant Colonel Russell for the Imperial Mounted Infantry and Natal Native Horse to move up from Balte’s Spruit to Khambula. His personal enmity against Russell aside, Wood knew he would require his mounted troops soon.
A cool mist engulfed Evelyn and his entourage as they departed the Khambula camp just before dawn. Twelve miles lay between Wood’s camp and the Phongolo River, with Luneburg just beyond. The terrain was predominantly wide-open grasslands with a few small forests of trees dotted about. The entire region was mostly devoid of people. Mbilini’s territory lay north of Luneburg, and the abaQulusi stronghold at Hlobane was roughly ten miles to the east of Khambula.
For Private Edmund Fowler and the nine other mounted infantrymen who made up Colonel Wood’s bodyguard, this was their first real foray from the camp in many weeks. The colonel intended to be away for some time and they were ordered to pack a week’s worth of tinned rations into their saddlebags.
“Think the Zulus will come out to fight?” one of the men asked.
“Bloody cowards only seem capable of committing murder in the middle of the night,” another said venomously.
“They seemed willing to fight in the open at Isandlwana,” Fowler observed, drawing a few glares from his companions.
“It’s true,” the first soldier concurred. “But this damned Swazi kaffir, Mbilini, is most certainly a sodding coward! When not stabbing men in their beds, he contents himself with butchering women and babies.”
The mounted infantrymen kept up their banter for most of the journey to the Phongolo River. Four rode on each side of Colonel Wood, with two more behind, all keeping a distance of about fifteen yards from their column commander. Most of the time, they strained their ears to listen in on whatever gossip they might be able to glean from the officers. And, as Wood was notoriously hard of hearing, his voice usually carried much further than was intended. However, on this morning he was sombre and quiet.
They reached the river around midmorning with the town laager on the other side. There was a recently erected small, rickety bridge that was just wide enough for them to cross three abreast. Uncertain as to how much weight it could hold, the colonel ordered no more than six men at a time onto the bridge. As this would mean taking a couple hours to cross, many of the troopers decided to swim their mounts across. One thing that struck Private Fowler and the others was the horrific smells permeating from Luneburg.
“What in the bleeding piss is that smell?” Fowler asked, scrunching his nose in disgust.
“Exactly that,” Lieutenant Lysons said. “The people of Luneburg have been, essentially, trapped within the confines of the laager for months. Not under siege, exactly, but facing many of the same deprivations.”
“It smells like none of them have washed in all that time, either,” a soldier remarked. “I swear the damned kaffirs are cleaner than this lot!”
“What do you expect from Continental Euro-filth?” another mounted infantryman remarked with disdain.
Once his senior officers and bodyguard were across, Colonel Wood rode into the camp of the 80th Regiment located just outside the town. Major Tucker was waiting for them with his senior staff and sergeant major.
“Colonel, sir,” he said, rendering a salute.
“Major,” Wood replied. “I am sorry to hear of the misfortunes you have suffered.”
“Yes, well, I am glad to see you’ve come to help us make it right,” the major responded.
Evelyn then nodded in the direction of Buller. “Colonel Buller is heading the commission-of-enquiry into the matter at Myer’s Drift. If you would kindly send a guide with him to the drift, we’ll get down to the business of sorting out this Swazi and his army of freebooters.”
Tucker tasked Alfred Lindop, who’d been promoted to full lieutenant the day after the battle, with escorting Buller and the rest of the officers of the enquiry commission to Myer’s Drift. There were constant patrols between the river crossing and Luneburg. The mounted officers passed a group of ten soldiers led by a lance sergeant, as they reached the old Myer farmhouse. The NCO, William Burgess, ordered his men to attention and saluted Lieutenant Colonel Buller, as the group rode past.
“I know that man,” Lindop said, as soon as they were out of earshot from the group of infantrymen. “He was one of the two non-comms who led the retreat back to the farm.”
“Yes, I recall reading that in Sergeant Booth’s report,” Buller recalled. “It baffles me that, as the senior officer present, Lieutenant Harward did not pen the report.”
“Except he wasn’t, sir,” Lindop stated. “Mister Harward took to his horse soon after the fighting began; in his words, ‘to fetch reinforcements’.”
“Indeed,” Buller replied, his voice deadpan and masking any personal feelings.
“Sergeant Booth…or rather, Colour Sergeant Booth, took charge of the survivors,” the lieutenant continued. “Despite the calamity the Regiment has suffered, it could have been even worse. Many men owe their lives to Colour Sergeant Booth’s actions. Major Tucker is considering him for the Distinguished Conduct Medal.”
“Distinguished Conduct Medal?” Buller asked in amazement. “One would think he’d earned the Victoria Cross.”
“It’s not for me to decide, sir,” Alfred said, though his vocal inflections said he felt the same way. In his mind, many had been awarded the Victoria Cross for actions far less substantial than those of Colour Sergeant Anthony Booth. After all, if one could earn the VC for saving a single life, what reward could there possibly be for a man who had saved dozens?
They soon came to the Ntombe crossing at Myer’s Drift. The water level had dropped considerably and there was a muddy slope now visible which lead d
own to the river. Most of the wagons had finally been retrieved and sent back to Luneburg, albeit without their cargo. Two remained on the north bank, their axels broken and wheels split.
“Over there is where we buried the dead,” Lindop said, pointing to a large cairn approximately a hundred yards back from the river. “Captain Moriarty and Doctor Cobbin were both given plots at the Luneburg cemetery by the good citizens.”
“Not much to see, is there?” Major Moysey remarked.
“The outline of the camp is still visible, sir,” Lieutenant Lindop stated. He pointed to the rutted ground which still formed an inverted ‘V’ on the north side.
Buller nodded and took out his notebook. He swam his horse across and spent the next hour riding around the trampled ruins of the camp, making numerous notations and asking any questions Lieutenant Lindop was able to answer. “A beastly unfortunate affair,” he said, before ordering the small contingent back to Luneburg.
Upon reaching the 80th Regiment’s camp, Buller and the other officers made their way to Major Tucker’s tent. They found him and Colonel Wood pouring over a crude map Tucker had procured from a local settler. Also present was Wood’s civilian interpreter, Llewelyn Lloyd.
“Ah, colonel,” Wood said to Buller. “Completed your enquiry?”
“I have, sir.”
“Very good. Now to see about dealing with those who’ve caused our men and the citizens of Luneburg so much bother. Major Tucker, if you would.”
“Yes, sir,” Tucker responded. “According to local sources, the abaQulusi have numerous homesteads and kraals within the mountains to the east of here. And as you know, sir, the Swazi prince, Mbilini, is said to have his stronghold within the caves along Tafelberg Mountain. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing their actual fighting strength. Survivors of the Ntombe battle state that they were attacked by roughly a thousand warriors.”
“The croplands of this region have as yet been untouched by our forces,” Wood noted, running his finger along the regions east of Luneburg. “Most of our efforts have been in the direction of Hlobane and to its south. Time, then, to burn these devils out of their caves!”
“I have spoken with some of your natives, colonel,” Mister Lloyd said. “They tell me there is the possibility of more of Prince Hamu’s followers lurking in the region. There could be as many as a thousand, with two to three hundred warriors.”
“Then let us hope their friends and relations can differentiate them from hostile kaffirs,” Wood said coldly. “If we can rescue more of Prince Hamu’s followers, splendid. But our chief mission is disrupting enemy activity in this region and hopefully killing that upstart, Mbilini, in the process.”
Major Tucker then spoke up. “With your permission, sir, I’d like to bring three of my companies in support. I know we lack the speed and mobility of your mounted troops, but they deserve the chance to avenge their mates.”
Evelyn pondered this for a few moments before nodding in approval. “Should we end up in a scrap, a couple hundred rifles will certainly be welcome. Very well, gentlemen, we shall rise at 4.00 and depart before dawn.”
Back at Khambula, orders were sent to move the fort about half a mile from where it currently sat. The reason was once again hygienic. The stench of the garbage and latrine trenches had become intolerable, even after they were covered in several feet of dirt.
“Two thousand men, several thousand oxen, mules, and horses all shitting in one place,” Harry Davies said, in response to his soldiers’ grumbling about having to take down their tent and move again.
Colonel Wood had surveyed the new location prior to his departure and tasked Captain Woodgate with overseeing the matter. Tactically, it was in a far more defensible position than their last encampment and was much closer to the high redoubt where a company of riflemen and two cannon had maintained a picquet for the past few weeks.
The rains were also becoming less frequent, making the ground more traversable. The column packed in its tents and camping equipment. Representatives from each company, mostly subalterns or NCOs, met with Captain Woodgate. He had a large diagram sketched of where the colonel wished them to emplace. These men, in turn, guided the company wagons to their positions along the large perimeter.
The laager was not a perfect square. Instead, it had seven sides to face in all possible directions from which the enemy might come. The 1/13th would occupy the southern face of the laager looking towards the long valley, as well as the shorter southwestern and eastern legs. The 90th Regiment would man the remaining sides. To the east of the main laager, just south of the high redoubt, a large kraal was established for the column’s draught oxen and slaughter cattle.
At the southern base of the redoubt knoll, there was roughly twenty yards of open ground which dropped off a rocky cliff thirty feet in height. Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert was troubled by this and called over Major Rogers and Captain Woodgate.
“I see a bit of a problem. Or rather, it’s what we can’t see. Any enemy force coming up the valley to the south will be difficult enough to maintain eyes on. But this stretch of ground here is a total blind spot. The Zulus could mass an entire regiment here, with complete cover and concealment.”
“True, but they cannot climb these cliffs,” Major Rogers observed. “And if they come up the gentle slope to the west, they will run straight into the bulk of your companies.”
Gilbert then countered, “And if they come up the stretch of ground between the redoubt and our natives’ huts, they will only be subjected to enfilade fire from the redoubt for a few seconds before they are in amongst our cattle, which is another blind spot we cannot effective engage.”
Major Rogers took a few moments to walk up the side of the redoubt hillock and survey the ground. “Dash it all, I see what you mean. There’s nothing for it, we’ll have to establish a supplementary position off the cattle kraal, large enough to hold, say, a company of riflemen.”
“They’ll be a fair distance from the main laager, but they can receive fire support from the redoubt,” Captain Woodgate noted.
A smaller kraal was subsequently marked off, with a work detail assigned to gather up stone and construct a shoulder-high wall. A company of infantry could overwatch and engage the low ground below the stone cliff, which the officers now realised was invisible to those in the redoubt and main laager.
The soldiers of C Company, 1/13th were ordered to establish their tents with the rest of the battalion outside of the southeast edge of the defences. In addition to erecting their tents, Captain Thurlow ordered drainage trenches scraped around each tent, as well as behind their company wagons.
“Looks like we’re going to be staying here for a while, fellas,” Sergeant Walker announced to the section as they followed Lieutenant Pardoe to the company’s place near the south-easternmost end of the camp.
Eight of their men pulled their folded bell tent off the wagon. Others grabbed bundles of stakes and the long coils of rope. Two more hefted the long pole that ran up the centre.
“And here come the rains,” Private Grosvenor spoke aloud, as the first drops splashed off his head.
The entire company had stacked their rifles, while removing their tunics and helmets as they established camp.
“I knew the reprieve was too good to last!” Private George Hill took a mallet and feverishly beat the wooden stakes for their tent into the earth.
The ground was hard and rocky which meant less mud; however, it also made the driving of stakes into the earth more difficult, as well as the digging of drainage trenches and erection of ramparts between the wagons. Private Hill made a note of this with a slew of profanities, as twice he split the stakes he was beating into the ground.
As soon as the centre pole of their tent hefted the walls up and the support ropes were staked down, every man from Harry Davies’ section clambered inside to get out of the rain, even if only for a few minutes. Packs were dropped as soldiers claimed their sleeping spots. The ground was rough, yet for the bedra
ggled redcoats it was a reprieve just to be out of the relentless rain.
“I need to check with the colour sergeant and see about guard and detail schedules,” Sergeant Walker said to Harry. “Meantime, see if we can’t dry this place out a bit.”
The corporal nodded and ordered six of their soldiers to take up spades and try to scoop as much of the pooled water from their sleeping area as possible. It was stifling beneath the tent, the air thick and humid. Private George Myers removed his spectacles to wipe them off with his soaked handkerchief, complaining that they kept fogging up. Despite the continued rains, Harry Davies rolled open the entrance flap of the tent, allowing a breeze to blow in.
“That’s a little better,” Myers said with a grin, even as spraying raindrops splashed against his face and glasses.
There was no shortage of work to be done at the stronghold of No. 4 Column. Chief among these was the hauling of stones to build the walls of the cattle kraal and smaller overwatch position. While the rest of the company set up their tents, twenty men were tasked with heaving their wagons into the proper position within the laager. Captain Woodgate was overseeing this aspect, though as their fort was roughly the same size as the last, most of the men already knew approximately where to drag the heavy wagons. The long bars used for spanning the oxen were then chained to the rear axles of the wagon in front of them.
Each company was tasked with building up the earthworks which would form an outer rampart beneath each wagon, thereby denying any skulking enemy spies’ access to the camp. It took most of the day, and from a distance it looked like the chaotic swarming of ants. Yet, like an ant swarm, each soldier knew his task and purpose. By around suppertime, with the intermittent rains ceasing and the soft glow of the sun casting its rays from the west, the soldiers of No. 4 Column had established their new fort atop the Khambula ridge.