Rorke's Drift

by Adrian Greaves

  As the construction of the final redoubt progressed, an excited shout rang out from a soldier facing towards the Helpmekaar road. He claimed to have seen marching redcoats approaching from the direction of Helpmekaar but although the officers peered through the gloom, they saw nothing to indicate help was at hand. The rumour quickly spread and a loud cheer rang out. This confused the Zulus who slackened their attack as if to await events. For ten minutes everything was quiet; but no relieving troops came. The Zulus regrouped and darkness finally fell. Chard wrote about this incident:

  It is very strange that this report should have arisen amongst us, for the two companies 24th Regiment from Helpmekaar did comedown to the foot of the hill, but not, I believe, in sight of us. They marched back to Helpmekaar on the report of Rorke’s Drift having fallen.

  It will be remembered that Major Spalding, the Officer Commanding Rorke’s Drift, had earlier ridden to Helpmekaar to speed up the overdue reinforcements. He was nearing Helpmekaar at about 3.30 p.m. when he encountered the two companies of the 24th marching to Rorke’s Drift. Spalding accompanied them to the steep pass and went on ahead accompanied by a Mr Dickson of the local Buffalo Border Guard. As they descended the pass they began seeing the first native fugitives from Rorke’s Drift; puzzled, they rode on until they met the first fugitives from the Mounted Infantry. All told the same story: Isandlwana had fallen to the Zulus and Rorke’s Drift was about to suffer the same fate.

  Uncertain of the best course of action, Spalding rode on until he gained a low crest; from his vantage point he could see the mission station in flames. He and Dickson then saw a large group of Zulu skirmishers approaching; the Zulus came on to within 100 yards and then began to form into their traditional encircling attack formation whereupon Spalding and Dickson retreated back to the marching column, now only a mile distant. Spalding was in a dilemma; should he proceed to relieve Rorke’s Drift or return to Helpmekaar? On reaching the column, Spalding was informed that Zulu raiding parties had been seen approaching the pass they had just descended; in the light of this information, Spalding decided to retreat. He ordered the column to ‘about turn’ and the two companies, along with all their wagons, laboriously turned round and began the ascent of the pass. All safely reached Helpmekaar at about 9 p.m. whereupon they formed a defensive laager using the wagons and all available stores. During the evening numerous fugitives rode past Helpmekaar and all confirmed the British disaster. Spalding and his men spent the night in anticipation of a full Zulu attack but it never materialized. There can be little doubt that the defenders at Rorke’s Drift, even in the failing light, had seen the approaching column; indeed, Spalding reached a position less than 2 miles from Rorke’s Drift before he retreated: this would have placed the marching column less than 3 miles from Rorke’s Drift – due to its size and associated dust from the marching men, wagons and oxen, the relieving force would all have been comparatively easy to see at that distance, especially by the attacking Zulus.2

  Meanwhile the Zulus had begun to concentrate on the one remaining building still defended by the British, the storehouse. Corporal Attwood of the Army Service Corps had defended a window in the building throughout the action and now performed the vital task of shooting at the warriors trying to fire the thatch above him. Until the end of the battle he held his position and kept the Zulus from firing the roof. Nevertheless, the pressure of hand-to-hand fighting continued unabated and eventually the British holding the outer wall of the cattle kraal were forced to retire, first to an intermediate wall which divided the kraal and then finally behind the wall which actually joined onto the storehouse. This was to be the final British position; there was nowhere else to go and there could be no further retreat.

  Chard and Dunne, assisted by four soldiers, then began the task of converting the two large pyramids of bagged maize into an oblong redoubt. The purpose of their endeavours was to construct a final position for the wounded and, if the final wall was surrendered to the Zulus, the few survivors could occupy the redoubt. Chard supervised the work and in ten minutes their final position was ready. Access to the core of the pile was by a narrow entrance that could be sealed from the inside; the wounded were then placed inside the new position and Chard detailed marksmen to occupy the upper rampart. This gave them an elevated field of fire, which with the dying glow of the hospital building enabled them to pour several volleys into the massed Zulu ranks now pressing up against the final wall of boxes and mealie bags. Within the British position Allen and Hitch, regardless of their wounds, continued to supply ammunition around the perimeter; it was now about 10.30 p.m. and still the attacks came. Then the glow from the hospital fire began to dwindle and, as it did so, the Zulus’ enthusiasm for close combat showed the first signs of waning. By midnight the battle had transformed from a constant Zulu attack into a series of isolated but determined attacks; this change in Zulu tactics enabled the British to anticipate more accurately the direction of each attack, each being repulsed with the same vigour that had characterized the whole British defence. The defenders had been without water for over eight hours and all were suffering from a raging thirst. Chard could see the water cart that he had earlier filled from the river and brought to the position; with bayonets fixed, he led four men, including Private Hook, in an almost suicidal charge over the wall to reach the water cart that had been abandoned halfway between the two buildings. Not recognizing the cart for what it was, the Zulus had ignored it, even though they were also desperate for water. The Zulus retreated before the advancing line of bayonets, thus enabling Chard to drag the cart back to the defenders’ wall. The cart was too heavy to lift over the wall so they improvised by means of leather hose, and drained the water through a hole in the wall into an assortment of containers.

  Final Assault

  After midnight the Zulus were clearly more exhausted than the British; not only had they run from Isandlwana, they had been without food for two days and had last drunk water when they crossed the river some nine hours earlier. Their attacks became sporadic but their marksmen continued to fire into the British position. The final flickering from the remains of the burning hospital died out at about 4 a.m. and thereafter there were no more Zulu attacks. Not knowing what the Zulus were doing under the cover of darkness and fearing an attack at any moment, Chard ordered his battle-weary men to remain at their posts. Shortly after 5 a.m. the early dawn lightened the sky and the British realized that the only Zulus in sight were the dead and wounded. The Zulu force had vanished.

  After satisfying himself that the Zulus had retreated, Chard sent out a patrol to flush out any hidden Zulu marksmen and to put the wounded Zulus out of their misery; all round the British outpost lay nearly 400 dead with many more human remains still visible in the smouldering hospital building. One Zulu had remained in hiding about 100 yards from the mission station; why he had not retreated with his colleagues was a mystery – some later presumed he might have fallen asleep. He rose to his feet and fired a shot at the startled defenders. The shot passed harmlessly over their heads whereupon the Zulu ran off in the direction of the river. Some of the defenders fired after him but he survived to tell a remarkable story. Another native appeared and because he was unarmed and walked straight into the British position, he was not fired upon. Chard had him interviewed by Daniells the pontman who could speak some Zulu. Daniells had armed himself with Spalding’s sword in order to overawe the terrified native though he appeared to have been in the NNC and claimed to have escaped from Isandlwana. Chard took pity on the man; he was rescued from Daniels’s theatrical interrogation and was dispatched to the officer commanding at Helpmekaar with a situation report and a request for assistance.

  Chard’s wagon driver, a Cape black man, had panicked when firing was first heard and let his oxen free. He ran from the outpost and climbed the slope of the Oskarsberg before secreting himself in the back of a cave. His situation worsened when Zulu marksmen entered the cave and then spent several hours firing into the British posi
tion. When the British returned fire one Zulu marksman was killed by a well-aimed shot. Chard’s driver remained undetected and left his hiding place only when the Zulus finally departed.

  Obviously no one at Rorke’s Drift had any definite knowledge of Chelmsford’s column or its fate or even whether the general had survived. Neither did they know whether Helpmekaar had been attacked. Shortly after 7 a.m. the Zulus reappeared on the western slope of the Oskarsberg; the defenders waited, but the Zulus had lost the will to fight: they rested for several minutes, took snuff and then Dabulamanzi led them at a safe distance back towards the drift and Zululand. Chard later wrote that he was glad to seize an opportunity to wash his face in a muddy puddle, in company with Private Bushe, a hospital defender whose face was covered with blood from a wound in the nose caused by the bullet which had passed through and killed Private Cole as he fled.

  The battered garrison used the lull and uncertainty to repair their defences. They strengthened and raised the walls, then contemplated removing the thatch from the roof of the commissariat store to prevent another fire should the Zulus return to renew their attack. Not being totally sure what the Zulus were doing, Chard initiated further patrols around the mission station perimeter to collect the arms and ammunition from the dead Zulus.

  The defeated Zulus steadily made their way to the drift and, after quenching their thirst, they assembled on the far bank of the Buffalo river. It was at this stage that they first noticed the distant but approaching column led by Lord Chelmsford. The column was retracing the route it had taken a few days earlier and was approaching the drift from the direction of Sihayo’s stronghold. Not wishing to engage the British, the Zulus turned right and followed the river bank, presumably so as to avoid conflict. It is uncertain whether the Zulus knew that Chelmsford and a portion of his force had survived; local myth suggests the Zulus genuinely believed that they had all died at Isandlwana. Some historians have suggested that the Zulus thought they were seeing the ghosts of vanquished British soldiers as the column approached the drift and avoided them on superstitious grounds. It is probable that Chelmsford’s direct approach surprised the retreating Zulus but there is no evidence to support the ghost theory. In any event the two groups passed each other at a distance of 400 yards; Chelmsford’s men had but twenty rounds of ammunition per man and the Zulus were exhausted: neither side had any enthusiasm for a fresh fight.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Aftermath of Battle

  The dead Zulus lay in piles, in some places as high as the top of the parapet.

  COMMANDANT HAMILTON-BROWNE

  Shortly after dawn on 23 January, the British defenders at Rorke’s Drift realized that the Zulus had withdrawn en masse to a knoll well out of range of the outpost. With instructions from Chard to exercise extreme caution, inspection patrols were deployed around the smouldering and battered mission station. The cautious soldiers found dead and dying Zulus scattered all round the outpost perimeter; most were in piles, sometimes five deep. Those Zulu bodies crushed against the front wall outside the hospital almost reached the top of the barricade. Dying and wounded Zulus were calmly given the coup de grâce by bayonet to put them out of their misery – there was initially no malice on the part of the soldiers; in any event, taking prisoners had never been British Army policy in South Africa, so for the soldiers given the grim task, there was simply no alternative. Once the immediate area around the outpost had been secured, and with some 120 Zulu firearms and 300 spears brought into the outpost out of harm’s way, the soldiers then spent some time examining their night’s handiwork. Quietly, almost as though they were paying their respects, they wandered round the perimeter of the outpost; most were drawn to examine the dead foe. They noticed that many of the close-range dead bodies were locked in curious positions by rigor mortis and grotesquely disfigured by Martini-Henry bullet wounds. Initially no effort was made to remove the numerous dead from around the outpost; the soldiers were simply too exhausted or occupied with caring for their own wounded. Apart from the relief of still being alive, the survivors were all suffering the effects of firing their Martini-Henry rifles for hours on end; there were braised chins and shoulders, burnt fingers, hands and blackened faces to attend to before any consideration would be given to the Zulu bodies.

  Within the outpost the scene was equally disturbing; pools of congealed and smeared blood bore witness to the death throes of both British and Zulu warriors; the area was littered with spears, empty ammunition boxes, torn cartridge packets and clusters of spent ammunition cases. The remnants of discarded red army jackets lay in the dust; they had been torn apart by the soldiers as binding for the red-hot rifle barrels in the desperate attempt to save their hands from burns as they fired. The whole inner area was covered in trampled maize that had poured from the damaged sacks along the walls, walls that had successfully born the brunt of the Zulu attacks. The heat from the burnt-out hospital gradually abated and, not deterred by the smell of cooked human flesh, the defenders found the charred bodies of Sergeant Maxfield and the other patients who had died within its walls. As there were many more charred bodies than the defenders had expected, they naturally presumed that these were Zulus, killed either by the defenders or by the hospital fire. The heavily stabbed body of Joseph Williams was found just outside the room he had defended; the fourteen dead Zulus immediately in front of his position showed that he had fought bravely to the end.

  While the defenders were taking stock of their situation, Colour Sergeant Bourne was reminded of the cask of rum that had been so carefully guarded throughout the battle; he relented and began issuing the spirit among the defenders. He was surprised by Private Hook, the last defender to leave the hospital building and a known teetotaller, who presented himself for the issue with a battered tin mug. He reacted to Bourne’s surprise with the comment ‘I feel I want something after all that’. He then returned to his campfire where he was attempting to make tea. At about 7 a.m. the Zulus slowly moved off towards the river and the defenders were wearily able to congratulate themselves on being alive. Some were so exhausted that they curled up in quiet corners or on the damaged maize sacks and simply fell asleep. Chard deployed several guards at the four corners of the outpost and it was one of these reluctant lookouts who first noticed Chelmsford’s surviving half of the original column approaching through the early morning mist along the far side of the river. The word quickly spread but the soldiers were uncertain whether the advancing body was the remains of Chelmsford’s column or the main Zulu army returning ‘for the kill’. After conferring with Chard, Bourne shouted out the order ‘stand to’ and the exhausted men again scrambled back to their posts. Chelmsford’s column had a great many native troops attached to it and it was not possible at a distance of over 2 miles to make out a significant number of redcoats. Chard knew only too well that his men had fired most of their rounds and less than fifty rounds per man remained. Thankfully, their frantic waving with an improvised white flag was answered from the column and some ten minutes later the first troop of mounted men, commanded by Major Cecil Russell and Lieutenant Walsh, crossed the drift and galloped up to the battered remains of the mission station. Russell and Walsh were relieved to find the outpost still in British hands as, having crossed the river, they had seen the rising smoke from other burning homesteads and farms far over the surrounding countryside. Lord Chelmsford, complete with his full complement of staff officers, arrived in due course.

  After the mission station was relieved by Chelmsford’s force, those defenders who had displayed exceptional bravery were interviewed, a few by Chelmsford himself. Private Hook was still engaged with his tea making when a sergeant called out to him that he was wanted by Lieutenant Bromhead, to which he replied ‘Wait till I get a coat on’. The order was repeated with the words ‘come as you are’ and in Hook’s own words he ‘went into the midst of the officers and Lord Chelmsford asked me all about the defence of the hospital as I was the last to leave the building. An officer took down all o
ur names and wrote down what we had done’. Chelmsford then made a short speech to the assembled defenders in which he thanked them for their endeavours. Gunner Howard recalled some of Chelmsford’s words when he wrote home, ‘The general said we were a brave little garrison, and this showed what a few men could do if they only had pluck’.1 The garrison at Rorke’s Drift had now increased dramatically to over 700 men, bolstered by the remnants of Chelmsford’s once proud Centre Column; the arrivals included the surviving companies of the 2/24th and sixteen companies of the NNC. The mounted troops and the Royal Artillery horses under the command of Colonel Harness were ordered to move onto the high plateau at Helpmekaar where the air was deemed to be healthier for the horses; the Royal Artillery guns and men remained at Rorke’s Drift.2

  It was only then that any thought was given to the horrendous task of clearing the hundreds of Zulu bodies from the site. Even though the survivors were exhausted, the Commissariat officers had begun checking their stores and with a fresh supply of natives from Chelmsford’s column, the mission station was prepared to withstand any further Zulu attacks that might materialize. Blocks of stone from the burnt-out hospital and the nearby garden wall were removed and used as a makeshift barrier to the front of the outpost while the remaining stores were searched so that hot food and tea could be prepared for the ravenous column. There can be little doubt that as Chelmsford and his staff rode out of Rorke’s Drift, leaving a very subdued Colonel Glyn of the 24th Regiment in command, they departed with mixed emotions; Chelmsford now faced the task of reporting to the world how he and his senior staff officers had lost the battle of Isandlwana and with it a famous British regiment – and to report a magnificent victory at Rorke’s Drift led by two lowly and humble lieutenants. Meanwhile, in the wreckage of one of the wagons, an undamaged bottle of beer was discovered. It was given to Chard and Bromhead who shared it, no doubt in celebration of their victory although at this stage neither had any idea of the impact their actions would have from that point in time.