Rorke's Drift

by Adrian Greaves

  Surgeon Blair-Brown continues:

  In every instance the wounds when seen by me on Jan 26th were in a sloughy condition. Large masses of purulent matter could be withdrawn with a little pulling by dressing forceps. The wounds were unmistakably made by ordinary round bullets fired from smooth-bored guns. The ease with which most of the bullets were turned aside from their straight course after penetrating can, I think, be accounted for by the fact that they were fired, from such weapons, at considerable range, and the charges of powder must have been limited, as the enemy individually carry but one bullock’s horn, transformed into a powder-flask; this is usually all they have. Their fire is described to be very poor, blazing away and only occasionally hitting. It is with the assegai, however, they can do their deadliest work; but this necessitates very close quarters, what is scarcely likely to occur again. The assegais – a lance-shaped piece of steel or iron, on a comparatively thin but well-balanced round stick as a handle – are of two kinds; the ‘throwing’ assegais are longer and broader in the blade than the ‘stabbing’ kind. The handles of both also differ; that of the first kind is exceedingly well-balanced, to allow of its flight through the air, which it traverses like an arrow, the broad blade acting the part the feathers do in the other, only at opposite ends of the instruments. The Zulus hold them in their right hand, their fingers clenched round the handle not far from the blade, and bending their forearm at right angles to their arms, with a backward and forward movement they direct with a sudden jerk the instrument upwards into the air, where it is seen coursing like an arrow, and descending in a similar manner. At thirty yards many of them are very accurate in hitting their object. The ‘stabbing’ assegai has a short and stouter handle, has a much smaller and narrower blade, and is attached to the handle by a continuation of the blade in the form of a steel shaft for about half a foot, and there securely fastened. In stabbing they keep the edge very low, making numerous cuts, stabs, and dashes therewith as they approach; suddenly raising the point, they make a direct stab, and, without withdrawing, a rip. It appears to be a thoroughly methodical operation, requiring considerable skill to acquire. It is an error often made to think that, on nearing an enemy, they all, at a certain signal, bend the handles of their long assegais on their knees, and break them short. I am told this does not take place except when they have no ‘stabbing’ and all ‘throwing’ instruments with them – a circumstance which rarely occurs, as they always keep close to one of the latter as their chief defence.

  The wounds, therefore, received from these different proceedings must also differ in character. My late confrere and friend, Surgeon-Major Shepherd, was killed by a thrown assegai just as he was starting from the side of a wounded Natal Carabineer whom he was examining. Trooper Muirhead, of the Carabineers, who was with him at the time, informs me that he saw it coming, bent his head down on his horse’s neck, and escaped it. Shepherd was close to him, and received it in his back. He at once fell from his horse with a loud exclamation, and was surrounded by Zulus and finished. The depth a thrown assegai will penetrate is great. In stabbing the abdomen appears to be the target they aim at, if possible. Assegai wounds of the extremities I have met with none-except the case already recorded – of any interest, no important vessel having been injured. One officer of the Contingent received one through the calf of his leg, ‘pinning him to his saddle’; this healed at once, and he hopped about all the time. I simply kept a bandage upon it.

  It will therefore, be readily conceived that severe and numerous cases of gunshot injuries are not likely to occur in Zulu warfare as far as we are concerned.

  If we have to retreat rapidly, then a wounded man means a dead one, as the enemy converts the one into the other at once. Assegai wounds of regions not immediately fatal generally require but the simplest treatment.

  Without medicines, lint, bandages, or any of the usual equipment at Helpmakaar, I had to make use of what I could find. A considerable amount of well-tarred tow was found in a box where some wine bottles were packed. This I used as the dressing for all the wounds, and no case did badly. Water or watery lotions were not used, except the former to wash the skin in the neighbourhood of the injuries. A few fibres of the tow were used as drains in the wounds, and appeared to serve the purpose as well as anything else.

  Private J.H. Mayer of the 1st Battalion 3rd Regiment Native Contingent had sustained an assegai wound to his leg during the assault on Sihayo’s stronghold and was a patient at Rorke’s Drift during the battle. While there several outbursts of severe haemorrhage occurred from the wound, and though the bleeding points were searched for by the surgeons at the camp it could not be permanently stopped, breaking out again after a day or more, or whenever the local means of arrest were withdrawn. On 26 January he was sent to Helpmekaar for treatment by Surgeon Blair-Brown. The surgeon wrote:

  I found a wound of a regular punctured nature in the lower end of the left ham, a little above the popliteal space. As there was no bleeding, I simply ordered the limb to be kept as quiet as possible. Next day, however, haemorrhage – which was found by two civil surgeons who attended, to be almost impossible to control – took place. When I arrived, he had fainted, and his pulse could only just be felt. No further bleeding took place for two days, when it burst forth again. Assisted by Surgeon M’Gann and others, the patient being put under chloroform, I enlarged the wound to look for the bleeding vessels. Having made the incisions, I found a large cavity filled with coagulated blood extending up the limb and amongst the muscles; compression over the femoral during this procedure was maintained. On relaxing this, after the clot was cleared out, numerous points of bleeding were seen, none of which could be seized fortorsion or ligature. The patient was again almost pulseless and his face very pale. Raising the limb, prolonged digital and instrumental pressure all failing, it was agreed that ligature of the femoral was the only remedy left to us. I proceeded at once to do that. On reaching the sheath of the vessel, the profunda was found to have a longer course than usual, and to be lying very close to the superficial femoral, both vessels being plainly felt pulsating. On applying pressure with the point of one finger on the profunda branch, I found not a drop of blood escaped at the wound after the withdrawal of the tourniquet from the groin. I therefore adopted the lesser operation, and tied the profunda. The wound healed rapidly, and after the first two days, when he complained of slight uneasiness in the limb, there was nothing else to note. On the 15th of February he left Helpmakaar for the base hospital. He afterwards returned to duty and joined “Buller’s Horse,” with which famous body he went through all the reconnaissances and battles, including Ulundi, without any inconvenience. This patient was one of those in the hospital at Rorke’s Drift on the memorable 22nd January, and managed, under fire, to hop out from one building to the other.

  He therefore had four marvellous escapes within a few days – first, that of the stab at Sihayo’s Kraal; secondly, the escape under fire from the hospital at Rorke’s Drift; thirdly, the frequent profuse haemorrhages; and fourthly, the operation.

  CHAPTER 13

  Personalities and Defenders at Rorke’s Drift

  Lord Chelmsford: Second Baron, Commander-in-Chief

  There are two categories that matter for a military leader; successful and unsuccessful. Wellington, Campbell, Wolseley, Roberts and Wood can be counted as belonging to the former. Cornwallis, Raglan, Colley and Lord Chelmsford can reasonably be argued as belonging to the latter. Although both categories of leaders shared setbacks at some time, only the second group actually presided over military disasters: Cornwallis at Yorktown, Raglan with the loss of the Light Brigade, Colley at Majuba and Chelmsford at Isandlwana. Lieutenant General Frederic Augustus Thesiger, or Lord Chelmsford as he became following his father’s death, lost his reputation when his inadequately defended camp at Isandlwana was overrun and laid waste by Cetshwayo’s army. Despite his eventual success in defeating the Zulus and the strenuous efforts of his friends in high places to absolve him of blame
, Chelmsford is generally regarded as an unsuccessful commander.

  Chelmsford was born in 1827 to parents of German origin; his father became Lord High Chancellor and was raised to the peerage as Baron Chelmsford, Essex in 1858. His background, despite lacking much wealth, was conventional for a Victorian gentleman. His education at Eton was followed by the purchase of a commission, initially into the Rifle Brigade and then into the Grenadier Guards. He was a conscientious and diligent officer at a time when most officers did not take much interest in their military duties. He was subsequently promoted to the rank of captain and appointed aide-de-camp (ADC) to the commander of forces in Ireland. In 1855 he joined his regiment in the Crimea and thus missed the battle of Inkerman, in which the Guards played so crucial a role. He was designated to a succession of staff duties and ended his posting to the Crimea as deputy assistant quartermaster general.

  Note for this chapter: Long Service and Good Conduct Medal is abbreviated to LSGC Medal and India General Service Medal is abbreviated to IGS Medal.

  A further promotion brought him the lieutenant colonelcy of the 95th (2nd Bn Sherwood Foresters) and it was with his new regiment that he sailed for India in 1858. By the time they arrived, the Indian Mutiny had all but been suppressed, but the regiment was involved in mopping-up operations in Central India during 1859.

  Chelmsford’s reputation as a competent staff officer resulted in his appointment as deputy adjutant general. It was in this capacity that he was a bit player in a cause celebre which tested the army establishment. His younger brother, Captain Charles Weymess Thesiger, was serving with the 6th Dragoon Guards and became embroiled in a notorious scandal known as the Crawley affair. This issue stemmed from a bitter personality clash between the newly appointed commanding officer, Henry Crawley, and most of his officers, who objected to his autocratic behaviour. In his paranoia, Crawley saw plotting against him from every quarter, even from his most senior NCO, Regimental Sergeant Major Lilley. What made the case sensational was the close arrest of RSM Lilley who, with his dying wife, was confined in an ill-ventilated room at the height of the Indian summer. The RSM died through heatstroke. Chelmsford sided with the ‘Establishment’ and, despite two trials, justice was not seen to be done as Crawley was acquitted. It is of interest that one of the officers serving with the 6th at that time was Frederick Weatherley, who later commanded the ill-fated Border Horse at Hlobane during the Zulu War.

  When General Sir Robert Napier was ordered to mount an expedition against King Theodore of Abyssinia in 1868, he chose Chelmsford to be his deputy adjutant general. In a well-organized and successful expedition, the Anglo-Indian force suffered few casualties despite the potential for disaster. Chelmsford emerged from the campaign with much credit, being mentioned in dispatches and made Companion of the Bath for his tireless staff work. He was also appointed ADC to the Queen and made Adjutant General of India. This period of his life was to be his happiest and most successful, for he also married the daughter of an Indian Army general who eventually bore him four sons. It was also at this time that he became friendly with the Governor of Bombay, Sir Henry Bartle Frere, a man who would have considerable influence on his life. After sixteen years service in India, Chelmsford was recalled home. With little in the way of family wealth, for Chelmsford had married for love and not for money, the prospect of expensive entertaining befitting an officer of his rank was a constant source of worry to him.

  When he was offered the post of deputy adjutant general at Horse Guards, he felt obliged to decline and made known his wish to take a command again in India, where the cost of living was much lower. Instead, he was promoted to brigadier general commanding the 1st Infantry Division at Aldershot pending a suitable overseas posting. It was fate that the vacancy he accepted occurred in South Africa and was, coincidentally, his first independent active service command in thirty-four years. He was able to renew his association with Sir Bartle Frere, now the High Commissioner for South Africa, and to share Frere’s vision of a confederation of southern African states under British control.

  When Chelmsford arrived at the Cape in February 1878, the fighting against the Xhosa rebels was entering its final stages. His subsequent experiences against a foe that relied on hit-and-run tactics, rather than becoming involved in a full-scale battle, coloured his opinion of the fighting capabilities of South African natives. Chelmsford did, however, show himself to be a commander who did not shirk hard work, often riding great distances over rugged country in an effort to break any remaining resistance. He was a commanding figure with his tall, spare frame, his pleasant features usually hidden by a black beard and bushy eyebrows. The Frontier Wars finally petered out in May and Chelmsford felt that he had acquitted himself well. His handling of troops had been exemplary and he even earned the grudging respect of the generally ill-disciplined Colonial volunteers.

  For such an experienced staff officer, he displayed a curious personal weakness that did not help the British cause in the coming confrontation with the Zulus. He virtually disposed of his personal staff, surrounding himself instead with just a few trusted colleagues. Chelmsford thereafter found himself heavily embroiled in petty matters that should never have involved an army commander. This reluctance to delegate put enormous pressure on him, affecting his judgement and causing vacillation and an apparent lack of leadership. He was not helped by his choice of military secretary in Major John Crealock, a colleague from the 95th Regiment. Crealock’s abrasive and sarcastic manner antagonized anyone approaching the commander; this trait, together with his habit of vetting everything reported to his chief, produced circumstances that conspired to make Chelmsford a rather remote figure.

  Despite this Chelmsford was considered a true gentleman who, at the beginning of the invasion at least, was regarded warmly even if he did not inspire. His letters reveal his tireless capacity for work and his commitment to trivia. They also show him to be solicitous as to the health and welfare of his colleagues, particularly his friends Evelyn Wood and Sir Bartle Frere. He displayed particular warmth to the former. His writing is not without irony and humour, though these are more in evidence before the invasion of Zululand began. In writing to Wood, he explained:

  All the other transport officers have been told off to their respective stations – I could send you up Lt. Col. Law to do the work, but it is questionable whether you would care to have him. He could do the work well enough if he chose, but he is not over-fond of work and his present idle life suits him down to the ground.

  He was critical of many of the officers and officials and openly wished they could all be like Wood and Buller. Significantly he was irritated by Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Durnford’s role on the Boundary Commission once it found in favour of the Zulus and he was to find further fault with Durnford’s actions in the days leading up to the Invasion. In one particularly stinging rebuke Chelmsford actually threatened to remove Durnford from his command. One can see that in the aftermath of Isandlwana Chelmsford would have had little compunction in laying the blame for his defeat on a despised, and now conveniently dead, subordinate officer. During this period before the Invasion, those who came into contact with Chelmsford found him unfailingly courteous but not outgoing. He kept his emotions firmly under control, until the enormity of the events at Isandlwana nearly crushed him, for he had no confidant to whom he could unburden his feelings. He wrote to his wife but her support and sympathy took many weeks to reach him. Chelmsford’s letters to Wood reveal much about his state of mind: seeming to suffer from bipolar depression, Chelmsford fluctuated between confidence and despair. Six days after the disaster he appears to have partially recovered, and wrote:

  If we establish ourselves in good positions at different points in that part of the country and make good use of the mounted men for reconnoitring and raids, we ought to be able to bring the Zulus down upon us again when thoroughly prepared to meet them.

  He then followed this with a despairing letter:

  The situation of affairs
does not seem to improve, and I am fairly puzzled when I contemplate our future operations. I wish I saw my way with honour out of this beastly country, and you as my travelling companion. Best love to Buller – You two will have to pull me out of the mire.

  He and Frere obviously discussed the option of resigning and Chelmsford accordingly wrote both to the Duke of Cambridge and to Colonel Frederick Stanley, the Secretary of State for War. In his letter to the latter, he reveals that he had contemplated being replaced as far back as June 1878. He wrote ‘...the strain of prolonged anxiety & exertion, physical & mental, was even then telling on me – What I felt then, I feel still more now.’ He suggested that ‘...an officer of the rank of Major General should be sent out to South Africa without delay.’ Furthermore ... ‘HE Sir Bartle Frere concurs in this representation, & pointed out to me that the officer selected, should be fitted to succeed him in his position of High Commissioner.’ The result was the appointment in May of Lieutenant General Sir Garnet Wolseley as both High Commissioner for South Eastern Africa and Commander-in-Chief of the Forces in South Africa. It is of interest that several other senior officers suffered physical and mental breakdowns during the closing stages of this campaign. Such suffering also affected many of the soldiers, some of whom went insane on campaign.1

  Adding to Chelmsford’s woes were the relentless personal attacks on him by the newspapers, which blamed him for the loss of the camp, despite the exoneration given him by the Court of Enquiry, which he convened solely to report back to him. Affecting disdain for the newspapers and in particular the ever-present war correspondents, Chelmsford was deeply hurt and shaken by the vitriolic attacks on his reputation, attacks which further eroded his confidence. His friends advised him to retire on health grounds but, with Wood’s decisive victory at Khambula and the arrival of several regiments of Imperial troops, Chelmsford seemed to sufficiently recover his determination to defeat the Zulus.