by Saul David
It was two in the morning when Durnford's camp finally came into view on the hill ahead. Finding the camp deserted, George rode on and discovered Durnford's troops lined up in orderly columns on the edge of the bluff, ready to descend to the drift below. Durnford was on horseback, conferring with his staff officer, Captain George Shepstone, the brother of Offy, when George rode up. 'Colonel, I have an urgent message from Lord Chelmsford.'
'George,' said Durnford, squinting in the gloom, 'is that you? It is. How good to see you. But what could be so urgent that you're required to ride through the night?'
George handed the message over. As Durnford read, his face drained of all colour. 'I can't believe it,' said the colonel. 'He's actually threatening to replace me.'
George remained silent.
'He says I've disobeyed orders by not carrying out his previous instructions to move two battalions to Sandspruit. But if I had, and the Zulus had attacked across the Middle Drift, what then? They still might.'
'According to Fynn, that's not likely.'
'How can he be certain?' said Durnford angrily.
George paused before answering. He knew that Durnford's command was hanging by a thread and was tempted to let him stew in his own juice, secure in the knowledge that it would end any hopes he had of becoming a hero and impressing Fanny. But then he realized that this was not about romantic point-scoring, but winning a war, and he chided his selfishness.
'He can't be certain,' replied George, 'but he has Chelmsford's ear. Colonel, can I be frank with you?'
'Please.'
'Chelmsford suspects you're exaggerating the threat down here as a means of keeping your command together.'
Durnford's eyes flashed with anger. 'That's nonsense. But I won't deny it's been frustrating watching from the sidelines while your column and the others have crossed into Zululand. Next I'm told that I'm subordinate to Colonel Pearson's Southern Column and mustn't move until he's cleared the ground opposite the Middle Drift. And then the final insult: I'm to split up my command and send part of it north to Sandspruit. All I want, George, is an opportunity to show what I can do.'
'I understand, Colonel, but if you don't obey orders, you won't even have a diminished command.'
'I suppose you're right, and it's not all bad news. In his note, Chelmsford also promises that I can use my initiative once we're over the border. He writes,' said Durnford, reading from the note,' "When a column is acting separately in an enemy's country, I am quite ready to give its commander every latitude, and would certainly expect him to disobey any orders he might receive from me, if information which he obtained showed that it would be injurious to the interests of the column under his command." '
'Exactly so, Colonel, and all the more reason to toe the line until you're in Zululand.'
'Sound advice. Captain Shepstone?'
'Yes, Colonel.'
'Be so good as to order the men to return to camp.'
'Right away, sir.'
Durnford turned back to George. 'Tell me, have you heard from Fanny since the war began?'
'No.'
'Nor me. Do you think she'll ever forgive us for fighting her beloved Zulus?'
'I don't know,' said George. 'She can be very stubborn.'
'Yes. But if she only knew the threat the Zulus posed to civilians along the Natal border, she might not be so precious.'
'Is a Zulu counter-invasion likely?'
'I'd go further than that and say it's inevitable. And when it happens, Fanny and her family will be singing a different tune, mark my words.'
Four days later, George was back at Chelmsford's headquarters on the Zulu bank of the Buffalo, attending yet another conference with the staff and senior officers, when Henry Fynn entered the tent.
'Mr Fynn!' said Chelmsford, looking up from a map of Zululand. 'What a pleasant surprise. When you were recalled to your duties at Umsinga, I feared we'd seen the last of you.'
'And I too,' replied Fynn, smiling, 'but it seems Sir Bartle changed his mind. I can't help thinking Your Lordship must have put in a good word.'
'I wrote to Frere on the subject, it's true, but I didn't expect such prompt action. Yet here you are, and not a moment too soon. We were just discussing the progress the troops have made in repairing the road. A few more days should do it. But it's vital we know the movements of the Zulu army. What news from your spies?'
'I've just heard on good authority that Sihayo and the bulk of his warriors are bivouacked near Ibanbanango Mountain, which, as you know, is about halfway between here and Ulundi, and not far from the site you've chosen for your advanced depot at Siphezi Hill. The bulk of the main Zulu army is still at Ulundi but will leave tomorrow. Its plan is to link up with Chief Matshana's tribe and shelter in the Mangeni Gorge, to the right of our line of advance, and wait until we've marched past so that it can sever our lines of communication and attack us from the rear.'
George's ears pricked up at this first mention of Chief Matshana. Clearly Fynn and Crealock's plan was to fake intelligence so that Chelmsford felt compelled to attack the chief before continuing on to Ulundi.
'You're certain of this, Fynn?' asked Chelmsford.
'I am, my Lord. I'd trust these spies with my life.'
'In that case we must proceed cautiously. In two days, as planned, we'll establish an intermediary camp in the shadow of the Isandlwana Hill, ten miles from here,' he said, pointing to the map, 'from where we can clear the border region to the southeast, including the Mangeni Gorge. Only then will we move to Siphezi Hill in preparation for the final advance on Ulundi. For the moment, Wood can remain on the defensive, but Pearson and Durnford's columns must stay in close contact until we've secured the country behind the Tugela and Buffalo Rivers. Crealock, do we know how Pearson's column is getting on?'
'It's still en route for the Eshowe Mission.'
'Good. When it gets there, he's to leave part of his force and take the rest to the Entumeni Mission. What about Durnford?'
'I don't think we'll have any more trouble from him. Your order for him to march on Rorke's Drift with one battalion, the mounted troops and the rocket battery should have reached him on the sixteenth. I estimate he'll arrive at Rorke's Drift tomorrow.'
'Excellent. His mounted Kaffirs will be extremely useful when we clear Chief Matshana out of Qudeni Forest, and, to be honest, I'd prefer him close so that I can keep an eye on him.'
'A wise precaution, my Lord,' said Crealock. 'It might even make sense to put him under Colonel Glyn's orders.'
'I don't think that's necessary - not yet, at any rate. So that's our strategy, gentlemen, to coordinate our movements so that Cetshwayo has no hope of slipping through the net. We shall oblige him to keep his force together, when it will suffer from want of food and become thoroughly discontented; or else he'll attack, which will save us going to find him.'
George stepped out of the humidity of the tent into the sunshine. All around him the camp was humming with industry, like a well-oiled machine that could not fail. Or could it? Because Chelmsford, thanks to Fynn and Crealock's machinations, was basing his whole campaign strategy on intelligence reports that were impossible to verify. What if they were wrong? What if the Zulu army was planning to attack the Central Column at the earliest opportunity, as was its habit? As he looked up towards the distant hills, he had a sudden premonition that they would all be fighting again sooner than the general thought.
The mood was festive as the huge Central Column, after days of inactivity, rumbled to life during the morning of 20 January. The ten-mile journey from the Buffalo River to the intermediary camp near Isandlwana Hill would take the slow-moving ox-wagons - 110 of them in all - almost the whole day, but few of the column's 4,800 soldiers were minded to complain. After so many months of preparation and waiting, they were just glad to be on the move.
Even George was infected by the high spirits, chatting amiably with Gossett as they and the rest of the staff followed the mounted troops at the head of the column. O
nce through the Bashee valley, the track made a slight ascent over a low saddle and on to a plateau, which was intersected here and there by small streams, before dropping down to a valley bounded on the right by steep ravines and rocky kranses, and on the left by a fresh range of hills. At the base of the valley was the one remaining obstacle for wagons if not horsemen, a rocky stream known as the Manzimnyama, and beyond that it was a short uphill ride through bush and rocks to the broad saddle of land - or nek, as such a feature was known to the colonists - that lay between the peak of Isandlwana and a much lower, rock-strewn hill that the soldiers had already christened the Stony Koppie.
As the horsemen drew rein on the gently sloping grassland beyond the nek, to the left of which the site of the camp had already been marked out with whitewashed posts by Major Clery, Glyn's principal staff officer, George was struck by the rugged beauty of the terrain. The track continued on towards Siphezi Hill across an undulating plain, five miles wide and twice as long, strewn with rocks and crisscrossed with narrow watercourses and deep, dry riverbeds known as dongas. To the south of the plain lay the broken country where Chelmsford hoped to find the main Zulu army: the Malakatha Hills, the Mangeni Gorge and, beyond it, Qudeni Forest which led down to the Buffalo. To the north was a steep escarpment known as the Nyoni Ridge, which led up to the Nqutu Plateau. This plateau, George noted, could be reached by way of several steep ravines, the biggest of which began just beyond a distinctive conical hill that rose from the plain a mile or so from where he sat on horseback.
But dominating all was the steep, stocky eminence of Isandlwana itself. No more than 700 feet high, it rose boldly from the surrounding country to a rocky peak that reminded George of a crouching lion. Gossett disagreed. 'It's much more like the Sphinx at Cairo, which is quite a coincidence when you consider the Twenty-Fourth wear a sphinx on their collars for good service during the Egyptian campaign of eighteen hundred.'
'So they do,' said George, picturing the badge on Jake's uniform. 'Do you think it's auspicious?'
'I bloody hope so.'
'Gentlemen,' interrupted Chelmsford, looking at his pocket- watch, 'It's twelve o'clock and time for a spot of early lunch. In an hour we leave with the mounted troops to scout Chief Matshana's stronghold in the Mangeni Gorge. We've got a hard ride ahead of us if we're to be back before dark, so be ready to leave at one o'clock precisely.'
The route to the gorge took Chelmsford, Glyn and their staffs over a hard rolling plain, intersected at intervals by yet more dongas. With scouts out in front and on either flank, they headed in a southeasterly direction, keeping the Malakatha Hills to their right, and took more than two hours to cover the ten miles to the dramatic waterfall at the head of the gorge. It was a hot day and the thirsty horses drank greedily from the swift waters of the Mangeni as their riders gazed down into the precipitous gorge below, its steep rocky sides riddled with caves.
'So that's Matshana's stronghold, is it, Fynn?'
'It is, my Lord,' replied Fynn, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
'And you're convinced the main Zulu impi is due here any day now?'
'According to my spies, it left Ulundi on the eighteenth and will be here tomorrow or the next day.'
'To link up with Matshana?'
'Yes, my Lord.'
'And yet we haven't seen a single Zulu today, nor any of their livestock. Are you sure they haven't all scarpered?'
'They're here, you can be certain of that. You can't see them because they're probably hiding in those caves below.'
With Chelmsford seemingly unconvinced, Colonel Crealock chipped in, 'I'm sure Fynn knows what he's talking about. After all, he's the local expert.'
'I'm well aware of that, Colonel, but we have to be careful not to put all our eggs into one basket. And even if Matshana's men are in the caves below, it will be a devil of a job to flush them out.'
'For white troops maybe, my Lord,' said Fynn, 'which is why I'd use Lonsdale's Kaffirs. They're used to fighting in caves and, let's be honest, are more expendable.'
'I agree with Fynn, sir,' said Crealock. 'And just to make sure the Kaffirs stay out of trouble, we can send the mounted troops along too. Between them they'll discover if there are any hostile Zulus between our camp and here.'
Chelmsford scratched his beard. 'I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to send Lonsdale's men and the cavalry down here tomorrow. But not the imperial infantry, mind. We'll keep them in camp until the picture is a little clearer. Now, if that's all, we'd better be getting back. We'll go across the Malakatha Hills this time, if you please Mr Fynn, and see what we find.'
In the event they found nothing but a few deserted kraals, from one of which they saw women running away with bundles on their heads. George volunteered to search the kraal and was accompanied by Glyn's orderly officer, a dapper young lieutenant with a neat beard called Nevill Coghill, who was keen to find food for the colonel's pot. George, on the other hand, was on the lookout for any information that might challenge Fynn's assertion that the Zulus were not about to attack the column. As he entered the first of the huts, revolver in hand, he heard a squawk, a shout and then a cry of pain. Running outside, he found Coghill on the ground, clutching his knee. 'What happened?'
'I was trying to catch that bloody bird,' said Coghill, nodding towards a scrawny chicken at the far side of the kraal, 'when I fell and twisted my knee.'
George knelt down and felt Coghill's knee. 'There's a lot of swelling. Do you think you can walk?'
'I can try.'
George helped the grimacing Coghill to his feet. 'Damn it to hell! It hurts like fury.'
'Best sit down while I finish off here.'
Coghill did as he was told, waiting patiently while George checked the remaining huts. In one there was a pot of Zulu porridge still warming on a fire, but no sign of life. He was about to leave when he sensed someone behind him. He spun round to see an old man, his face wizened with age, rushing him with an assegai. Loath to shoot him and lose a possible source of valuable information, George dodged the feeble blow and struck the Zulu full in the face with the barrel of his revolver. The old man's nose gushed with blood as he fell to his knees.
'Drop the assegai or I'll shoot,' said George in Zulu, pointing his revolver.
The spear clattered to the floor.
'Here,' said George, handing the old man his handkerchief to stem the flow of blood. 'Now tell me your name.'
The old Zulu was shaking with fear, but said nothing.
'Answer me! Or I'll personally see to it that every one of those women we saw running away a short time ago is hunted down and shot.'
It was, of course, an idle threat - one George was neither able nor willing to carry out - but the Zulu was taken in.
'My name is Mpatshana.'
'Good. That's a start. So tell me, Mpatshana, what you know about Cetshwayo's impi. Will it come soon?'
'All I've heard is that it will camp near Siphezi tonight.'
'Tonight? Are you sure?'
'That's what my nephew told me. He left today to join the Uve Regiment.'
'And what then? Will the impi join forces with Matshana?'
'I don't know. But it will fight, you can be sure of that.'
Yes, thought George, nodding, I'm sure it will. 'Thank you, Mpatshana. I'll leave you in peace. But stay inside until we've gone; if my colleagues see you, they'll want to take you prisoner.'
George left the hut and made his way over to where Coghill was sitting on the ground.
'I've just had a very interesting chat with an old Zulu.'
'What did he say?'
'That the Zulu army is heading in this direction.'
Coghill punched his fist into an open palm. 'Just my confounded luck: a battle in the offing and I'll be confined to my campbed. Hopefully it won't be the last. Help me on to my horse, would you, Hart? We mustn't keep the general waiting.'
Dusk was beginning to fall as the mounted column passed through the outer infantry picket and rode th
e remaining mile to the camp. Pitched in the shadow of the mountain, it had appeared as if by magic: row upon immaculate row of eight- man bell-tents, grouped in order of regimental importance: to the right of the track, in pride of place, the tents of the 1st/ 24th, then the mounted troops, the artillery, the 2nd/24th and lastly the two native contingent battalions on the extreme left. Most of the wagons had been placed on the nek, the broad saddle of land to the rear of the camp, while the headquarters and hospital tents were pitched behind the centre of the camp, under the scarped face of the mountain. No attempt had been made either to entrench the camp or to laager the wagons in accordance with Chelmsford's own field regulations. When Sub-Inspector Mansel of the Natal Mounted Police presumed to ask why, at the council of war held later that evening, Lord Chelmsford was brusquely dismissive. 'Because, my dear Sub- Inspector, this is not a permanent camp. We shall remain here a couple of days at most. In any case, the ground is far too stony to dig and the wagons are needed to ferry up supplies from Rorke's Drift.'