Cruelty of Fate

by James Mace

  Layout of the Camp at Khambula

  The morning of 25 March dawned with only a few clouds in the sky. Of course, when there were no clouds, it usually meant an intensely hot day. With the constant changes between cold rain and sweltering heat, it was no small wonder that so many of the British soldiers and European volunteers came down with fever.

  While Colonel Wood had left this raid to his mounted troops, who could quickly ride away should they run into trouble, Major Charles Tucker insisted on bringing three companies of infantry in support. Leading this contingent was Captain Howard of A Company. Both he and Colour Sergeant Booth had gone through great pains to make certain the replacements into their company were well assimilated. As none of the company’s NCOs were killed at Ntombe, aside from Colour Sergeant Fredericks, it was all private soldiers who were transferred into their ranks.

  “The company is formed and ready to march, sir,” Booth said, with a sharp salute after a quick morning parade.

  Tents would be left behind and each soldier was ordered to bring an extra twenty rounds of ammunition in their packs. Like the men of Colonel Wood’s bodyguard, they were told to bring enough preserved rations to last a week. The three companies from the 80th, numbering 220 riflemen in all, were formed into three columns at the centre of the force. The mounted troops under Lieutenant Colonel Buller, who made up the bulk of the expedition, rode in columns by troops, with a wide dispersion between each formation. The eighty troopers from the Transvaal Rangers rode ahead in loose skirmishing order to form the vanguard. Warriors from Prince Hamu’s followers were arrayed on the flanks.

  Just prior to departure, Colonel Wood rode along the head of the formation, addressing all who were in earshot. “Gentlemen, today we take the fight to Mbilini and his band of kaffir outlaws! We will leave his stronghold a smouldering ruin. Should their women and children wish to surrender, they will be shown clemency. For the rest, there will be no mercy!”

  This elicited a series of cheers from the white soldiers both mounted and on foot. The officers in command of the indigenous warriors elected not to translate the colonel’s words verbatim, settling instead to exhort their men to fight well once they found the enemy. With shouted orders from Lieutenant Colonel Buller and his troop commanders, the column made its way east into the Ntombe Valley.

  Though the veld and surrounding hills of the Ntombe Valley appeared to be deserted, both Mbilini and Manyanyoba had wisely left small groups of scouts dispersed throughout. One such pairing, who’d made their little camp behind a reverse slope sheltered by Mphafa trees, first spotted the imposing force of imperial soldiers. They also saw no wagons or carts that would impede the movement of their adversaries. These men were coming to fight!

  “I am the faster runner,” one of the men said. “I will inform the prince that the enemy comes.”

  “And I will keep watch on them,” the other warrior promised.

  His friend placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do not let them see you. Even the fastest of us cannot outrun their horses.”

  Two hours later, word reached Prince Mbilini, who was having his midday meal outside his large cave in the Tafelberg. Though alarmed, he knew he should not be entirely surprised.

  “The enemy comes with both horsemen and redcoats,” the messenger relayed.

  “They intend to flush us out,” the prince said with dismay. He then shook his head. Manyanyoba had called home most of the warriors who’d aided him in the attack on the British convoy at Myer’s Drift. Even if he hadn’t, there were not enough warriors available to fight against such a force.

  “We must withdraw towards Hlobane,” he then told the messenger. Mbilini then called for Tshwane, who was ever by his side. “We make for Hlobane at once.”

  “What of the people and crops?” the young Zulu asked. “The mealies in this valley are among the only ones that remain untouched by the English and have yet to be harvested.”

  Mbilini shook his head sadly. “There is nothing we can do. We don’t have the strength to fight them this day. But take heart, my friend. When the English see we are no longer here, it will goad them into attacking the great mountain. They have become aggressive after what we did to them along the Ntombe. Let them try to take Hlobane from us.”

  Having witnessed a trace of the suffering that was afflicting the Zulu and abaQulusi people, Tshwane was particularly distraught about having to abandon the Ntombe Valley and Tafelberg Mountain to the red-jacketed soldiers. He understood that the English and their allies were fearsome in battle. Cunning and surprise had won the day at Ntombe; a stand-up fight was a different matter entirely. He recalled seeing the small band of soldiers across the river. They had withdrawn in good order, firing controlled volleys into those who assailed them. Tshwane had admired their leader’s calm demeanour and bravery, while at the same time wishing he’d had a rifle, that he might put an end to him!

  The taskforce of mounted troops, imperial infantry, and newly-recruited allied tribesmen departed from Luneburg just before sunrise. Their vision was impeded for the first couple hours, as they headed east, directly into the sun. Soldiers, troopers, and warriors alike marched slowly, using a hand to shade their eyes while watching for any signs of the enemy.

  Around 6.00, with the sun now fully risen, they came upon a large mealie field hidden within a narrow valley between two large hilltops. The crop was ripe, yet only partially harvested. Piles of grain stalks, ready to be taken back to the local settlements, lay abandoned nearby.

  “Captain Barton!” Buller called to one of his troop commanders. “Take your men and ride to the top of the north hill. Captain D’Arcy, see if you can find any trails of mealie residue that might tell us where they’ve gone.”

  As a hundred horsemen rode off in each direction, Colonel Wood ordered Hamu’s followers up onto the high ground on both sides of the column. The infantry and remaining horsemen set about destroying the field. With the crops so ripe and damp from the recent rains, it made the unharvested stalks far more difficult to burn. The piles of stacked mealies were somewhat drier and easier to set alight. Still, it took the better part of an hour before the flames grew hot enough to engulf the surrounding field. As he watched from astride his horse on the southern slope of the nearest hill, Colonel Wood was joined by Captain D’Arcy of the Frontier Light Horse.

  “Colonel, sir,” he said, with a quick salute. “We’ve found a trail of mealie grains and broken stalks; likely fallen residue from when the rest of their crops were taken away. Request permission to follow and see where it leads.”

  “Granted,” Wood concurred. He then turned to his orderly, Lieutenant Lysons. “Inform Colonel Buller that he is to send reconnaissance parties in the direction of any possible strongholds or caves. The rest of the column will follow behind Captain D’Arcy.”

  Captain Henry Cecil D’Arcy

  Troop Commander, Frontier Light Horse

  Aside from a pair of partially harvested mealie fields and one rather large settlement of abandoned huts, there were no signs of life within the area. It was around noon when Captain D’Arcy’s detachment found a large kraal consisting of around 200 huts. Indigenous scouts located a long series of caves dotting the hill just beyond.

  While the mounted troops rode in the direction of the caves, dismounting just behind a reverse slope so that they might not expose themselves to Zulu skirmishers, the redcoats from the 80th Staffordshire set about destroying the complex of huts.

  “Search the huts for anything of value,” Captain Howard directed. “Then burn this damned place to the ground.”

  “At least they were good enough to leave us coals from their breakfast fires,” Private John Mace remarked. He took a long stick and stirred up the red-hot embers.

  Lance Sergeant Burgess and two other men from E Company soon emerged from one of the huts. The NCO was shaking his head in disappointment. “Not even a sodding assegai to send home as a souvenir,” he grumbled.

  It took just a few minutes for the c
ontingent of three companies to scour the complex.

  Colour Sergeant Booth walked over to his officer commanding, once A Company finished their search. “Nothing to be found, sir. Just a few broken sleeping mats and the occasional ratty blanket. It seems the enemy had ample warning of our approach.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” the captain said, nervously scanning the surrounding hills dotted with trees and brush stands. “Bastards could be watching us at this very moment.”

  Anthony nodded. “I would, if I were Mbilini,” he said candidly. “That little devil is certainly resourceful.”

  Despite the horrors he’d endured just a week before, with so many of his friends and old comrades savagely killed, he could not find it in him to hate their Swazi adversary. He most certainly wished for Mbilini’s demise, yet whatever animosity he felt was born out of the necessity of dispatching a dangerous foe.

  “Once all the huts are lit, we are to retire behind the village,” the captain then ordered, relaying instructions he’d received from Colonel Wood. “We’ll hold in reserve, in case the mounted troops get into trouble.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Along the network of caves, a group of skirmishers from the Frontier Light Horse cautiously advanced on foot. They carried uprooted bushes and piles of broken timber which they piled near the cave entrances. So far, all was utterly quiet.

  “Think they’re waiting to ambush us, sir?” Lieutenant Lysons asked Captain Campbell.

  The staff officer shook his head. “If they were looking to fight, we would know it by now. They’re either hiding or have abandoned the area.”

  “Well, we’ll soon find out,” Colonel Wood spoke up, having overheard their discussion.

  In short order, a series of fires burned hotly along the face of the hill. A breeze came up from the valley behind the contingent of soldiers, blowing thick clouds of choking smoke directly into the caves.

  After around twenty minutes, the column commander let out a sigh of resignation. “It would seem our hosts no longer wish to bid us ‘welcome’,” he muttered, before ordering the taskforce to begin its trek back to Luneburg. It was now mid-afternoon, and he knew they would have to make rapid progress if they were to reach the camp and laager before dark.

  While hunger was a very effective weapon, its results went unseen by the British. Had they witnessed the suffering mothers and their children, as Tshwane had, it might have put his mind at ease. Instead, all he knew was that his enemies had slaughtered sixty-one British soldiers and for the time being gotten away.

  Chapter XXXII: Blind to Our Enemy’s Intentions

  Khambula Fort

  26 March 1879

  Lieutenant Colonel (retired) Frederick Weatherly

  Commanding Officer, Weatherly’s Border Lances / Border Horse

  While their commanding officer was away inspecting Luneburg and leading the expedition to Ntombe Valley, rumours reached the camp at Khambula regarding a massive Zulu impi massing near Hlobane Mountain to attack the fort. The senior officer remaining at the fort was Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert of the 1/13th Somerset. Alarmed by these rumours, he summoned the other senior officers, along with Piet Uys and the recently-arrived commanding officer of the small Border Horse detachment, Frederick Weatherly.

  Weatherly was a forty-nine-year-old veteran of the Crimea War and retired lieutenant colonel, formerly of the Sussex Volunteer Artillery. Having arrived in Southern Africa two years prior to sort out troubles with his gold investments, he resigned his commission in the hopes of taking up a position of military prominence during the Xhosa War. Political and personal conflicts, to include a very public feud with Sir Theophilus Shepstone and a humiliating divorce after discovering his wife of twenty years was having an affair, left him in disgrace. The war against the Zulus offered him a chance at redemption. Given the army’s desperate need for cavalry, he soon convinced Lord Chelmsford to allow him to raise a contingent of mounted troops. They were officially known as Weatherly’s Border Lances; an unusual name, referring to themselves as ‘lances’ instead of ‘lancers’. It was also a moot point, as they were devoid of lances in their arsenal and were instead equipped with cavalry carbines. More commonly, they were simply referred to as the Border Horse.

  The commanding officer of the Border Horse was the first to arrive at the headquarters tent. Philip Gilbert stood and extended his hand.

  “Commandant Weatherly, it’s good to see you, sir,” he said good-naturedly.

  “And you, sir,” Frederick replied, clasping Gilbert’s hand.

  There had been some concern of awkwardness following the arrival of the Border Horse. Weatherly had previously held seniority over both Gilbert and Buller; his date-of-rank to lieutenant colonel preceding both of theirs. However, Weatherly understood that because he had retired and resigned his commission two years before, his previous seniority was now meaningless. His current appointment as a commandant of mounted troops was roughly the equivalent of a lieutenant colonel; however, it was also a local rank, which meant he could no longer give orders to those who held the Queen’s Commission. Still, he was a professional and determined to do his duty, while hopefully restoring his fortunes and reputation before his intended return to England.

  “And I see young Rupert has grown into a strong lad,” Gilbert added, nodding to Weatherly’s fourteen-year-old son who accompanied him and was acting as his aide-de-camp.

  Frederick placed a firm hand on the lad’s shoulder, smiling proudly. “Give him a few more years, and we’ll gain him a commission with the Dragoon Guards, like his father before him.”

  The two men were soon joined by Piet Uys and the other senior officers remaining at Fort Khambula.

  Philip Gilbert decided to first address the commanding officer of Wood’s Irregulars, Major William Knox-Leet. “Major,” Gilbert began. “I understand some of your men have been hearing rumours regarding a massive Zulu impi in the area. Am I correct that they believe this force to number around 12,000 warriors?”

  “Yes, sir. Though when pressed for details, they cannot say for certain whether or not these are elements of Cetshwayo’s main army coming up from Ulundi or regiments of abaQulusi warriors.”

  “Sounds like superstitious paranoia,” Major Robert Rogers of the 90th Regiment countered. “The abaQulusi number maybe a few hundred total fighters. At one time there was a sizeable impi in the area, but they are long since gone. If they still had a force this large, why then have they allowed us to rampage their lands, steal their cattle, and burn their crops?”

  “A fair point,” Gilbert conceded. “But what the army needs right now is actionable intelligence, not rumours or hearsay.”

  “We are blind to our enemy’s intentions,” Piet Uys added in his heavy accent.

  “Colonel, I suggest we send a large reconnaissance patrol out to ascertain the truth behind these rumours,” Weatherly said. “If they are unfounded, we should recommend to Colonel Wood that we take the abaQulusi’s mountain fortress once and for all.”

  “Which is where I now need you, Frederick,” Gilbert remarked. He then ran his finger along his crudely-drawn map in a sweeping arc, leading south from the westernmost tip of Hlobane. “The Border Horse and Boer Burghers will conduct a wide-ranging patrol of this region from Hlobane down towards the White Mfolozi River, and then back to Khambula.”

  “That takes us about twenty miles from camp,” Piet noted.

  Weatherly nodded and looked to Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert. “We’d best get started, then.”

  The week-long purification rituals were complete, and once again the armies of King Cetshwayo were spiritually cleansed and ready for battle. Regimental shields were retrieved along with assegais, iklwas, and knobkerries, plus whatever firearms each warrior possessed. The sixty izinduna in command of the companies of the iNgobamakhosi Regiment met with their commanding inkosi on the morning they were set to depart from Ulundi. Despite the losses suffered at Isandlwana, the regiment was enormous. Roughly 6,00
0 warriors swelled its ranks.

  There had been a touch of confusion as their inkosi, a fifty-three-year-old distinguished general named Sigcwelegcwele, was instead left at Ulundi and replaced by Prince Zibhebhu, who previously commanded the Undi Corps. At thirty-seven, Zibhebhu was considered old enough to be both wise and experienced, while young enough that he could better relate to the young men now under his charge.

  “By the divine command of the Little Branch of Leaves, the Great Elephant, Devourer of Men, the Black Lion, King Cetshwayo kaMpande, we are heading north to destroy the red soldiers that have plagued our people from the hills of Khambula,” Zibhebhu proclaimed. “Our regiment is the largest of the amabutho, and we shall be the ‘Right Horn’ when the time comes to face the White Queen’s soldiers in battle. We also have a personal honour to settle with our brothers in the uMbonambi.”

  This elicited a series of oaths and profane insults towards their rivals. Despite the ongoing crisis and violent struggle for the Zulu Kingdom’s very survival, none had forgotten the insults and intense rivalry that sprang up from their competitiveness against the uMbonambi; a regiment of warriors in their early thirties who were anxiously awaiting the king’s permission to marry. What’s more, it was their inkosi, a warrior named Ntuzwa, who compelled Cetshwayo to award the willow charmed necklaces of the abaqawe—heroes of the Zulu people—to his regiment instead of the iNgobamakhosi. He had personally insulted both Mehlokazulu and his entire regiment during the ceremonies before the king, following Isandlwana.

  “I have spoken with both the king and his chief ministers,” the inkosi continued. “When the time comes for battle, it is agreed that Mnyamana himself will observe both regiments and determine which one closes with and engages the red soldiers first. We will take back that honour which was stolen from us! And once the kingdom’s enemies are destroyed, our king will know it was the iNgobamakhosi who led the people of amaZulu to final victory!”