I handed the bottle over to my servant Quin and told him to guard it with his life, and he swore he would do so. I was called away and I left Quin on sentry go over that precious bottle; he placed it carefully between two sacks and sat down on it so I thought it safe and attended to my duty. That afternoon we had our usual rainstorm and when it was over Harford came to me and asked me if he could have some gin. I was very busy at the time and said “Certainly, ask Quin for some.”
Now it struck me it was strange that Harford should ask for it as he never touched spirits, but I thought he might feel chill after the rain and want a tot to warm himself.
Well the retreat was blown, the men manned the parapet, the O.C. inspected, and the men fell away. In a few minutes round came my friends, anxious for the tot they fondly expected to be in store for them.
“Hoots, Maori, where’s the drappie?” said Black. I turned to Quin, who was standing stiffly at attention, and at once saw the worthy man was disgusted, sulky, almost mutinous. “Give me the bottle, Quin,” I said. “Better ask Mr Harford for it, sir,” he answered, with a grin on his expressive mug like an over-tortured fiend. “Harford,” said I, “where is the gin?” and at once my heart darkened with apprehensions. “Oh, Commandant,” quoth he, “I have caught such a lot of beauties,” and he produced two large bottles filled with scorpions, snakes and other foul creeping beasts and reptiles. “Do look at them.” “But the gin, Harford?” I murmured, so full of consternation that I could hardly articulate. “I’ve preserved these with it,” said he, utterly oblivious to his horrid crime. “What!” yelled I. “Oh yes,” said he, “this is a very rare and poisonous reptile indeed” – pointing to a loathsome beast and beginning to expatiate on its hideousness and reel off long Latin names. “I don’t care if it is a sucking devil,” groaned I, “but where is the gin?” “In these bottles,” said he, and so it was, every drop of it. Ye Gods! The only bottle of gin or any other drop of decent drink within 100 miles of us had gone to preserve his infernal microbes, and a dozen disgusted officers, who were just beginning to grasp the awful situation, were cursing him and lamenting sadly, oh, so sadly, his pursuit of Natural History, while dear old Black had to be supported back to his angle making remarks in Gaelic. He was such a good fellow he was soon forgiven, but I do not think the dear fellow ever quite understood what an awful sin he had committed or realized what a wicked waste of liquor he had perpetrated.
Much of the chaos and many of the problems following the battle of Rorke’s Drift can be attributed to the lack of control by the commanding officer of the 1/24th Regiment, Colonel Richard Thomas Glyn, and his senior officers who were ultimately in command of the garrison. All the officers were undoubtedly shocked by the magnitude of the Zulu victory at Isandlwana and of those who suffered, none felt greater anguish than Glyn. In a complete state of shock at the loss of his regiment, fellow officers and men, he was left in the midst of chaos and despondency to repair the outpost and re-establish a fortified camp.
Although there were no armed Zulus within 10 miles of Rorke’s Drift, Glyn feared that the Zulu Army would attack at any time; he had the perimeter around the camp rebuilt and made everyone move inside during the hours of darkness. Conditions were terrible and to make matters worse the rain was unremitting; the interior of the fort became such a quagmire from the trampling of so many feet that fatigue parties were employed for the best part of the day in carrying liquid mud away and emptying the slush outside. It was the repair and reconstruction of the defences around the mission station and the construction of the outpost cemetery that gradually brought discipline and order back to the garrison. On 25 January all the able-bodied were put to work repairing the storeroom and stones were collected from the nearby rock terraces in order to build a stronger fortification around the outpost’s perimeter. This work continued until 29 January when the 5th Company of Royal Engineers commanded by Lieutenant Porter arrived and thereafter supervised the work; they swiftly constructed a loopholed barricade round the entire outpost. The new construction was formally renamed Fort Bromhead and boasted a 7 pound gun at each corner; these were the same guns that had accompanied Chelmsford to Mangeni and which had shelled Isandlwana camp on their return.
Such was the administrative chaos that no regimental orders were issued at Rorke’s Drift until 28 January; even by 2 February, orders for the garrison clearly indicate that a Zulu attack was still expected.10
No tents were available but in recognition of B Company’s bravery, the gallant defenders of Rorke’s Drift were permitted to have sole use of a tarpaulin and the rafter section in the ruins of Witt’s wrecked house. It was a meagre covering but it gave this select group of men some shelter from the rain; it was a sufficient honour in the eyes of the remaining garrison who slept out in the open with nothing more than a blanket or greatcoat, usually wet through, for their protection. The remaining garrison was crammed into the small walled area between sunset and sunrise, which was churned into a revolting, foul-smelling quagmire. Without tents, blankets or change of clothing and cold steady rain falling, the men began to suffer badly. Rotting stores and poor sanitation together with a monotonous diet contributed further to the low morale that afflicted everyone. Within two weeks disease broke out among the garrison, the patients soon including Lieutenant Chard; and as all medical supplies had been destroyed when the Zulus set fire to the hospital, there was little that could be done for the sick.
The grieving Colonel Glyn withdrew even further into his shell of despondency and took little interest in the misery around him. Without doubt, he was displaying all the symptoms of a breakdown. Not only did he feel bereaved by the loss of his regiment; he also expressed the feeling that he should have been with his men at Isandlwana as they fought for their lives, a common enough emotion amongst survivors who have lost friends. Captain Walter Parke Jones of the Royal Engineers, however, was not at all sympathetic and expressed what many felt: ‘Col. Glyn (our chief) does nothing and is effete’.11
Morale throughout the garrison suddenly improved when, on 4 February, a patrol led by Major Wilsone Black discovered the bodies of Coghill and Melvill on the Natal bank of the Buffalo river just 5 miles from Rorke’s Drift. A further search found the Queen’s Colour in the river some half a mile downstream. A cairn of stones was piled on the bodies and the Colour was taken back to Rorke’s Drift. Glyn was moved to tears when he received the Colour and learned of the fate of his favourite young officers.
When the companies of the 1st Battalion accompanied No. 3 Column of Lord Chelmsford’s army, they had with them the Queen’s Colour of the battalion, the Regimental Colour having been left with the detachment remaining at Helpmekaar. The rather melodramatic Records of the 24th Regiment clearly describe the drama concerning the Colour:
On the fatal 22nd January, 1879, when it was evident that all was lost in Isandhlwana camp, Lieutenant and Adjutant Melvill, 1st battalion 24th, received special orders from Lieutenant-Colonel Pulleine, to endeavour to save the colour. “You, as senior subaltern,” that officer is reported to have said, “will take the colour, and make your way from here.” Accompanied by Lieutenant A.J.A. Coghill, 1st battalion 24th, who was orderly officer to Colonel Glyn, but had remained in camp on account of a severe injury to his knee, Melvill rode off with the colour, taking the same direction as the other fugitives. Both officers reached the Buffalo, although, owing to the badness of the track, the Zulus kept up with them and continued throwing their spears at them. The river was in flood, and at any other time would have been considered impassable. They plunged their horses in, but whilst Coghill got across and reached the opposite bank, Melvill, encumbered by the colour, got separated from his horse and was washed against a large rock in mid-stream, to which Lieutenant Higginson, of the Native contingent, who afterwards escaped, was clinging. Melvill called to him to lay hold of the colour, which Higginson did, but so strong was the current that both men were washed away. Coghill, still on his horse and in comparative safety, at once r
ode back into the stream to their aid. The Zulus by this time had gathered thick on the bank of the river and opened fire, making a special target of Melvill, who wore his red patrol jacket. Coghill’s horse was killed and his rider cast adrift in the stream. Notwithstanding the exertions made to save it, the colour had to be abandoned and the two officers themselves only succeeded in reaching the opposite bank with great difficulty, and in a most exhausted state. Those who knew the precipitous character of the Natal side at the spot can fully realize how great must have been the sufferings of both in climbing it, especially of Coghill with his wounded knee. They appear to have kept together, and to have got to within twenty yards of the summit when they were overtaken by the foes and fell.12
Glyn wrote a moving letter to one of his daughters following the discovery of the Colour:
Helpmekaar 16th April 1879
My own Bess,
Yesterday I went down to where poor Melvill and Coghill’s remains were lying to erect the cross Sir Bartle Frere and staff sent. I had two strong coffins made and exhumed the bodies, rolled them up in blankets, put them into the coffins and buried them just under the rock on which the cross is placed. Henry D [Degacher] took a sketch which he is going to finish off at once and have photographed. I got from Melvill’s pockets a white silk pocket handkerchief, ten shillings and six pence in silver, a little dog whistle and his gold watch and chain which I shall carefully keep until I hear from Mrs Melvill what she wishes done with them. The water when he was in the river has got into the watch – and discoloured the face – it stopped at ten minutes past two p.m. which must have been about the time they crossed the Buffalo – I am so glad you liked your presents and especially the locket.
Immediately after Isandlwana the two strategically important positions of Rorke’s Drift and Helpmekaar were placed in a more secure state of defence, and revetments were built with locally collected stone. By the middle of February both locations were gripped by fever and – because of overcrowding, fatigue, exposure to the cold, rain and want of sleep – the morale of both officers and men sank to a new low. At Rorke’s Drift Europeans and natives were now crowded together without tents or shelter, as at Helpmekaar; there were over 1,000 men exposed to cold and rain, some sleeping on wet mealie bags, others on the waterlogged ground saturated with the overflow from the latrines; even at night there was no respite from the constant alarms. When bilious, remittent, or enteric disease struck, it was the young and weakly men who first went down with fever, diarrhoea and dysentery.
At the end of February conditions had become so bad that a new fort, initially named ‘Fort Revenge’ but renamed Fort Melvill on Chelmsford’s order (he thought the original name too provocative), was built 800 yards away on an adjacent hillock overlooking the pont river crossing. The defences at Rorke’s Drift were abandoned and the stone walls of the outpost were demolished and used in the construction of Fort Melvill, an oblong fort, flanked with towers, a broad ditch surrounding the walls and built partly of masonry and partly of dry wall. The Illustrated London News commented:
Fort Melvill, named after the late Lt. Melvill, is an oblong fort with flanking towers, built partly in masonry, partly with dry wall, loopholed throughout, and surrounded by a ditch, with an obstacle formed of aloes planted on the glacis. It is constructed on a height 150 yards from, and overlooking and commanding, the ponts by which the invading army crossed on January 11th last. Lieutenant da Costa Porter, RE, has superintended its erection; and manned with 200 Europeans, it may be considered impregnable against any number of Zulus. A large stone store, roofed with galvanised iron, has been built inside, to hold commissariat supplies.
Meanwhile, little could be done to alleviate the grim conditions. Even in the new fort the men continued to be tightly confined at night, allowing sickness and disease to spread unchecked. During the day it was possible, with the aid of a telescope, to observe the battlefield of Isandlwana where vultures wheeled overhead for weeks on end and the ground became white with bleaching bones. Disease and sickness continued to take its toll among the soldiers and during the short period of occupancy of Fort Melvill no fewer than twelve men died. This number excludes Second Lieutenant Franklin of the 24th who, while seriously ill, was moved to Helpmekaar on 22 February. He died shortly after arriving and is buried in the Helpmekaar cemetery. Initially the soldiers’ bodies were buried in the Rorke’s Drift cemetery alongside those who had died in the fighting; when the total reached twenty-five, the remainder were buried in a small cemetery which lay across the river from the fort and which, over the years, became totally overgrown and forgotten. It was even omitted from military maps of the area, possibly due to the fact that it contained the bodies of fever cases rather than those killed in battle. During 2001 the cemetery was restored and repaired.
Those who died at Fort Melvill are as follows – gaps denote information unknown;
At the beginning of April half of the battalion, under Lieutenant Colonel Degacher, moved to Dundee; four companies, under Brevet Major Black, remained at Rorke’s Drift. On the advance of the northern column from Landman’s Drift, two companies (G and H) 2/24th, under Brevet Major C.J. Bromhead, were brought down from Dundee to that post; but it having been decided to construct a strong fort at Koppie Alleen, Captain Harvey moved up with H company, and Major C.J. Bromhead joined with F company, under Lieutenant H. Mainwaring. The two companies speedily converted the small earthwork they had found on arrival into a substantial closed redoubt. On 3 June 1879 this detachment had the melancholy duty of furnishing a guard of honour and escort to the mortal remains of the Prince Imperial of France, whose body was escorted by the battalion from Koppie Alleen to Landman’s Drift and Dundee on its way to Pietermaritzburg. Captain Harvey, with H company and a party of Native pioneers, was also employed in constructing another fort on the Itelezi ridge, which Major General Marshall, commanding the lines of communication in Zululand – who was much pleased with the work – named Fort Warwick, in honour of the regiment. To replace H Company, B Company, under Major Bromhead, which had been sent up from Rorke’s Drift to a post near Conference Hill for woodcutting, was moved to Koppie Alleen. Detachments of the 24th remained at Rorke’s Drift until after the battle of Ulundi on 4 July 1879, when a redistribution of companies took place. It was a monotonous posting; during the day the men could pass the time by sifting through wagonloads of military debris that had been collected at Isandlwana by the various burial parties and brought back to Fort Melvill. This was sorted through and all irrelevant material was dumped in one of the several fort rubbish pits.
After the second division was broken up on 28 July 1879, Sir Garnet, now Lord Wolseley, who had arrived to supersede Lord Chelmsford, took F and H companies, 2/24th, under Major C.J. Bromhead, as his special escort. They accompanied him to Ulundi and in all his movements until the conclusion of peace. These companies then fell back on Isandlwana, completing the burial of the dead there, and afterwards marching to Pietermaritzburg, where they arrived on 6 October, to await the battalion headquarters. Sir Garnet Wolseley had selected the 2/24th for an expedition against Sekukuni; he bivouacked at Rorke’s Drift from 2 to 5 August and whilst there he presented Private Henry Hook with his Victoria Cross. On his arrival at Utrecht, on 9 September 1879, he gave the battalion the news that it was ordered to Gibraltar. Sir Garnet took the opportunity of presenting Victoria Crosses to Brevet Major Gonville Bromhead and Privates Robert Jones and Samuel Wassall.
In August the 24th were withdrawn from Rorke’s Drift and were temporarily replaced by a company of the 99th regiment (Duke of Edinburgh’s) who remained there until withdrawn in October. The final items of military property were sold off on 23 October. A Mr Craft (or Croft) occupied Fort Melvill and converted part of the building into a house, sharing it with the Revd Witt who was in the process of rebuilding the mission station.13
British Forces engaged in the defence of the mission station at Rorke’s Drift
Curiously, on 19 May 1879 the Natal new
spaper The Natal Colonist reported the death of Chard from fever. The Natal Witness followed the story with a disclaimer:
The Colonist on Saturday stated it was sorry to hear, on good authority, that Major Chard, one of the heroes of Rorke’s Drift, was dead. The report, we are glad to say, was quite unfounded, and was brought to us on Friday. We found however, on enquiry at the proper quarters, that there was no foundation in it. Major Chard is in hospital, and is, we are glad to hear, recovering from the attack of fever, from which he has recently been suffering.
CHAPTER 8
Helpmekaar
Like the bottom of the sea with grass on it.
MAJOR HARNESS ON ARRIVING AT HELPMEKAAR
At its best Helpmekaar is a high, open, windswept and desolate location on the edge of the Biggarsberg range of hills. In 1879 it was described by Colonel Harness RA as being like the bottom of the sea with grass on it; it has changed but little over the years. It was never a popular place with British soldiers and its reputation was about to get much worse, especially for the sick and wounded.
When the bedraggled and exhausted survivors from Isandlwana reached Helpmekaar, the sight that greeted them offered little comfort. The bustling depot they had left just a fortnight earlier had been reduced to an unfortified windswept and sodden area consisting of three corrugated store sheds and a few battered tents belonging to a section of infantry that had been left behind as guards. As the senior officer now present, Captain Essex took command and organized its defence with the few tools that he had at his disposal. He made a small laager by surrounding the main zinc shed with the three wagons that were left and infilling the gaps with sacks of mealies. At this time there were forty-eight people, including volunteers, camp followers and three farmers with their families who had come in for protection. For several anxious hours, there were just twenty-eight rifles to defend Helpmekaar from the attack that was fully expected.
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