by Saul David
'The very same, Colonel. He's attached himself to the headquarters of the Native Contingent.'
'Bloody correspondents,' interjected Chelmsford, 'always getting in the way. I told Frere it was a mistake to let him accompany the column, but he was insistent. Good for public awareness of the campaign, he told me. Not if Norris-Newman gets himself killed, it won't be. All right, Gossett, give Russell the signal to advance.'
Gossett raised his hand and the red-coated Mounted Infantry began to splash across the shallow river ford known as the old drift in open column, four abreast, followed by the various contingents of volunteer cavalry, including George's comrades in the Carbineers, with the Natal Mounted Police bringing up the rear. A couple of horses were washed off their feet by the current, but they managed to swim the rest of the way with their riders clinging to their saddles.
Chelmsford nodded with satisfaction as the mounted volunteers spurred towards the high ground to establish a chain of outposts that would prevent the column from being surprised as it crossed. 'So far, so good,' said Chelmsford, 'Where's Colonel Glyn?'
'Here, my Lord,' replied a short, stocky officer with a bushy beard and a red face.
'Very good. Now I expect you, as column commander, to issue the necessary orders for setting up camp on the Zulu bank. Get the infantry across first, and once you've secured the camp perimeter, you can bring the guns, wagons, oxen and supplies over. It will take most of the day so you'd better get on with it.'
'Yes, my Lord,' said Glyn. 'Shall I bring all the infantry over the new drift in the ponts?'
'No. Just the white troops. Commandant Lonsdale's Kaffirs can wade across. And use both drifts: it will save time.'
'Is that wise, my Lord? The new drift is much deeper, and with the current as strong as it is, we might lose a few.'
'Just do it, Glyn. The sooner we have the fighting troops across, the better.'
'Yes, my Lord. And do you want me to circle the wagons into a defensive laager?'
'No. There's no need.'
'Begging your pardon, my Lord, but your own instructions advise laagering every night in Zululand.'
'Yes, Colonel, I know what my instructions say. I wrote them. But they only apply if there's an imminent threat of attack from the main Zulu army. At the moment that couldn't be further from the case. Anything else?'
'No, my Lord.'
'Good. Gentlemen,' said Chelmsford, turning to his staff, 'shall we?'
The ride to Nkonjane Hill was over broken, hilly terrain and took a good three hours. Only one Zulu was sighted, and he quickly scuttled into cover as Chelmsford's mounted escort spurred forward to relieve him of his small herd of cattle. The staff hollered their approval, but George stayed silent, aware the cattle almost certainly belonged to his kinsman, Sihayo. Shortly before nine, the horsemen crested Nkonjane's flat summit to be met by Colonel Wood and a small party of Frontier Horse, off-saddled among a pile of loose rocks.
'Good morning, my Lord,' said Wood, touching the brim of his wideawake hat. 'I trust your crossing of the Buffalo is going to plan?'
'Like clockwork,' replied Chelmsford. 'I've left Glyn in charge. How are you, Wood? It's good to see you.'
'And you, my Lord. I'm well.'
The general and his staff dismounted and sat on boulders next to Wood. 'Buller not here?' asked Chelmsford.
'He's rounding up cattle, as per your instructions.'
'Excellent. And thank you for marching south so speedily to cover my flank. Fynn's spies were convinced that Sihayo would contest the crossing and your movement might have dissuaded him.'
'It might have, my Lord. But all the intelligence I've received still points to the first serious Zulu attack falling on the Central Column. As far as I'm aware, the main Zulu army is still at Ulundi, and has been since it gathered for the First Fruits Ceremony on the ninth. But when it moves, it will strike the Central Column first. You must be on your guard because Cetshwayo's warriors can cover forty miles in a day and could be up with you in three. Apparently Cetshwayo's strategy is to win a crushing victory that will force us to negotiate.'
Chelmsford tugged at his beard. 'I wish that were true, Wood, because I have every confidence in the Central Column's ability to repulse any number of Zulus. But I very much doubt they'll risk an attack. What do you say, Mr Fynn?' he enquired of the civilian advisor sitting alongside him.
'I don't wish to contradict the colonel, my Lord, but my spies paint a very different picture. They say the main Zulu army will aim to slip between our two columns and try to cut our lines of communication.'
George's ears pricked up. Was this the start of Fynn and Crealock's plan to point Chelmsford in the direction of Chief Matshana? It sounded like it.
'Hear that, Wood?' said Chelmsford. 'And that's from a man who knows the Zulus and has contacts close to the king himself. If he's right, and we have to assume he is, our main priority is to prevent the Zulu army from sidestepping our columns and attacking us from the rear. That is why a careful coordination of all three columns is vital, and to that end I would ask you not to continue your advance for a further three days, to give Colonel Pearson the chance to catch up. He doesn't cross the Lower Drift with the Southern Column until tomorrow and, as you know, has the furthest distance to cover.'
'I quite understand, my Lord. I'll hold fast at Bemba's Kop until the fifteenth. But do take care. I have a number of Boers with me who've fought the Zulu, and they all warn against a sudden attack.'
'Well, let's hope they're right, Wood,' said Chelmsford, smiling, 'because the Central Column only has supplies for two weeks. How long can you stay in the field?'
'Seven weeks, my Lord. Mr Hughes, my commissariat officer, has performed miracles.'
'He's to be congratulated. But I'd hope to be back in Pietermaritzburg long before the spring. Well, I must be off,' said Chelmsford, rising. 'Glyn was wittering on about defensive arrangements and has probably built a fort in my absence. Keep in regular contact and don't forget: hold your ground until the fifteenth at the earliest.'
'I will, my Lord. By the way, is that young Hart I recognize among your staff?'
'It is. He saw fit to join the Carbineers and is now my galloper.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' said Wood. 'Buller took quite a liking to him on the boat and thinks he will make a fine soldier.'
'We'll see.'
'Good luck, my Lord.'
'Luck don't come into it, Wood. It all comes down to careful planning, and making sure these damn Zulus don't slip through the net. See you in Ulundi.'
As the lone bugle sounded Reveille, George looked at his pocket- watch and groaned. It was 3 a.m, and in just three hours a portion of the column would leave its camp on the Zulu bank of the Buffalo and assault Sihayo's kraal. There was every possibility that George's kin - Sihayo himself, or at least some of his sons - were in residence, and the very thought made George uncomfortable. Not that he felt, since his trip to Zululand, any particular ties of loyalty to them - far from it - but nor did he wish to take part in the destruction of their home.
He rose and made his way in darkness to the headquarters marquee, his boots sinking deep into the sodden turf. All around, the camp was stirring, with men lighting fires for coffee and cattle lowing. Two redcoats snapped to attention as George entered the marquee. Inside, grouped around the map table, he found the general and his senior officers and staff.
'Good of you to join us, Hart. Now pay attention. Our objective this morning is to capture Sihayo's kraal. It's a natural stronghold, situated in a huge horseshoe-shaped gorge on the far bank of the Bashee River, about two miles from here. We'll follow an old traders' track as far as the river, but from there on the going is extremely tough. Thick bush, ravines and rocky ground will bar our path. And that's even before we've reached the gorge, which, if defended, will have to be scaled and taken in hand-to-hand fighting. The First Third NNC will lead the frontal attack, with four companies of the First Twenty-Fourth in support. I will be present,
but Colonel Glyn will command. Any questions?'
'If I may be so bold, my Lord,' said Fynn.
'Yes?'
'Have you considered sending mounted troops to outflank the position, my Lord? That way you'd prevent any defenders from getting away.'
'It's a good idea, but is there a way up?'
'Yes, sir. Horsemen could ascend by a track I know to the right of the gorge.'
'Well, that's what we'll do. Any other questions?'
'Just one, my Lord,' said George. 'Could I ask whether any instructions have been issued on the subject of noncombatants? There are bound to be women and children in Sihayo's kraal.'
Chelmsford raised his eyes to heaven. 'Gentlemen, we have a humanitarian in our midst; never a good thing in war. But the answer to your question, Hart, is yes, I have issued instructions. I expressly told both battalions of NNC, when I spoke to them two days ago, that no women or children were to be injured in any way. I also told them that no prisoners were to be harmed. I hope that's satisfactory?'
George ignored the sarcasm. 'Very much so, my Lord, in so far as the native troops are concerned, but have our white troops been told?'
Chelmsford snorted. 'You forget yourself, Second Lieutenant Hart. A British soldier doesn't need to be told how to behave on the battlefield. He knows.'
'Sir,' interrupted Crealock, 'might I make a suggestion?'
'Please do.'
'If young Hart is so keen to make sure our troops don't get out of hand, why don't we let him accompany the lead battalion of the Native Contingent? Then he can relay back to us any vital information.'
'Good idea. All right with you, Hart?'
'Yes, sir,' said George. From the look of satisfaction on Crealock's face he suspected he was being deliberately put in harm's way, but there was not a lot he could do about it.
'Good. Now if there are no further questions, would you all return to your units and make your final preparations? Happy hunting, gentlemen.'
The advance began as the first streaks of dawn appeared from the direction of Sihayo's kraal, away to the northeast. Captain Shepstone and his Carbineers led the way in open skirmishing order, followed by Chelmsford and his staff, the rest of the mounted volunteers, the Natal Native Contingent and the four companies of redcoats. The flanks and rear of the column were protected by Mounted Infantry.
The old traders' track had been reduced to a quagmire by days of heavy rain, and even the horses had difficulty lifting their hooves clear of the sticky mud.
'Damn it,' said Chelmsford, peering down at the ground as he rode. 'This track's going to need lots of work before the guns and wagons can pass over it. Crealock, what's your opinion?'
Crealock nudged his horse forward until he was level with his leader. 'I'll get the sappers on to it, my Lord, but it could take up to a week.'
'A week! I can't spare a week. We're barely into Zululand and already the problems mount. My God, if we carry on at this rate we'll be lucky to reach Ulundi by Easter.'
Two lengths behind Chelmsford, George caught the gist of the conversation, but his mind was distracted by other matters, not least the imminent prospect of combat. He had killed before, of course, but that was in the heat of the moment. This was different: a planned assault on a natural fortress that was bound to cost many lives on both sides, possibly even his.
An hour into the trek and a Carbineer cantered back from the head of the column. 'A message from Captain Shepstone, my Lord. The Zulus are driving their cattle back towards Sihayo's stronghold.'
'I must see for myself. Gentlemen, follow me.'
Chelmsford spurred his horse forward, George and the others trailing in his wake, and came to a halt next to Offy Shepstone and a knot of troopers on the crest of the next rise. Below them the track fell away to a shallow stream, and beyond that, to the left of the track, rose the towering red cliffs of a huge gorge. A large herd of cattle, several hundred strong, had just forded the stream and was being driven by a handful of frantic Zulus towards the gorge's entrance.
'My Lord,' said Shepstone, his eyes flashing with excitement, 'there is still time to intercept them before they reach the gorge. May I advance with my squadron?'
'No, you may not, Captain,' said Chelmsford. 'There's no knowing how many Zulus are hiding in the gorge. It might be a trap.'
Shepstone looked towards Glyn, silently imploring the column commander to intervene. Glyn averted his eyes.
'Colonel Glyn will carry out the attack as planned,' continued Chelmsford. 'Carry on.'
George kept his head down as he stumbled across the familiar broken ground that lay between the Bashee River and the mouth of the gorge. Bullets were flying in all directions, and already a warrior of the Native Contingent had gone down with his thigh streaming blood. Up ahead, the short figure of Major Black turned and shouted in his broad Scotch accent, 'C'mon, men, stay together.'
George urged those warriors around him to keep moving, but the gunfire was so intense that many had already gone to ground. As he tried to drag one to his feet, a bullet whizzed uncomfortably close to George's ear, causing him to duck. He let go of the warrior, fell to one knee and fired his carbine in the direction of the enemy muzzle flashes. The heavy foliage and mass of creepers made it impossible to see individual targets, but the mere act of firing made him feel better.
The sound of running feet caused him to look behind. Heading towards him at full pelt, and looking alarmingly like Zulus, was the support battalion of the 2nd/3rd NNC, led by a young officer in a blue patrol jacket. Clean-shaven and tanned, he was wearing the type of light-coloured slouch-hat favoured by colonials.
'Am I glad to see you,' said George. 'We can't advance without covering fire. Where the devil are the four companies of the Twenty-Fourth?'
'They're scaling the high ground to the left, which is why we've been sent up in support. I'm Lieutenant Henry Harford, by the way, staff officer to Commandant Lonsdale, the commander of the Third NNC.'
George introduced himself and asked if he had heard Harford speaking Zulu.
'You did. I was brought up in Natal before joining the Ninety-Ninth Regiment. I'd like to chat more but you may have noticed there's a battle on. Where's Major Black?'
'Up ahead.'
'Good. Let's go.'
The two of them set off at a run and found Black crouching behind a large boulder. Next to him was a huge white-faced corporal, wrapping a field dressing round his foot.
'Hot work, sir,' said Harford.
'I've been in worse fights, Lieutenant,' replied a smiling Black.
Typical Scottish soldier, thought George; never happier than in a battle.
'Do you know where they're firing from, sir?' asked Harford.
Black pointed ahead to a mass of rocks, caves and crevices that lay at the foot of the sheer wall of the ravine. 'They're in there. You're welcome to try and flush them out.'
'Thank you, sir. I will.' Harford had barely finished his sentence when he fell to his hands and knees as if hit. George rushed forward but found Harford busy putting an insect into a small tin box.
'What on earth are you doing?'
'Oh, just collecting this beetle,' said Harford, grinning. 'It's very rare.'
'I'm sure it is. But this is hardly the place.'
'We entymologists have to take every opportunity we can get. Right, that's him safely stowed. Let's see about these Zulus.'
By now the bulk of Harford's warriors had come up and they were sent by Black to work their way round to the left of the caves. Harford preferred to climb the cliff to the right of the caves, and George offered to go with him. Ten minutes later, halfway up the cliff, they reached the base of a horseshoe-shaped ledge of rocks that curved away round the gorge. Directly opposite them on the far side of the ledge was the mouth of a large cave, below which were suspended several dead Zulus caught in monkey-rope creepers and thick undergrowth. Muzzle flashes indicated the presence of more Zulus in the cave.
Harford was inclined to hol
d his position until the rifles of the lst/24th were in a position to provide covering fire, but George wanted to press on, knowing the destruction of the main kraal would take place as soon as the defenders had been overcome. He began to climb round the ledge towards the cave, signalling for Harford to follow. It was tough going as they clambered over a jumble of huge rocks, and at least twice George almost lost his footing and tumbled into the valley below. Then, barely thirty yards from the mouth of the cave, a Zulu popped up from behind a rock, put the muzzle of his musket to George's head and pulled the trigger. Time froze. Snap! went the cap, but no explosion followed. The musket had misfired.
George raised his carbine but already the Zulu had dropped his faulty weapon and was scampering back towards the cave. He yelled an oath and set off in pursuit, firing at the Zulu's back.