by Max Hennessy
His face slipped into a smile, and in her anxiety, she immediately snapped at him. ‘Be serious!’
His jocularity died. ‘I’m always serious when I look at you, Gussie, and see you’re worried.’ His face was grave again. ‘You’re the nicest thing that ever happened to me.’
She was startled by the confession, because it was so unlike him to let her know, but her heart swelled with pride at the knowledge.
‘You were afraid last time,’ he reminded her quietly. ‘And I rode through half the Zulu army without a scratch.’
She had a feeling that there ought to be arguments to counter what he pointed out but for the life of her she couldn’t think of any. She was only aware of a numbness and fear that refused to go away.
‘You might not again,’ she said. ‘Besides–’
His expression changed. He reached forward quickly and took her by the arms, pulling her round to face him. ‘Besides what?’ he demanded sharply. ‘You said “Besides–” last time. Besides what?’
She gazed at him, her eyes full of tears, then her face grew pink and her temper flared again. ‘Because I’m having another baby,’ she said.
The grip on her arms loosened and he straightened up. ‘Good God!’ he said. ‘Another?’
‘The way we go at it, it’s not all that surprising.’
‘But you were having one when I left for the Gold Coast!’
‘And I’m having one now you’re leaving for Zululand.’
‘Do you want it?’
‘Of course I want it.’
He stared at her, bewildered by the intensity of her emotions. ‘Then why are we worrying?’ he asked.
‘I’m not worrying about the damn baby,’ she stormed. ‘I’m worrying about you! Or at least about your children! Suppose you’re killed? There’ll be four of them without a father!’
Six
By the time they started thinking of moving into Zululand once more, Augusta was already ungainly with the coming child and was finding the heat in Pietermaritzburg trying.
The shock of Isandhlwana was finally beginning to wear off and as the panic died so the grief died a little too. But Colby was rarely with her because the army had been demoralised and he spent most of his time moving about the country reorganising, reshuffling and recruiting. Before they could even consider crossing the Tugela again, they had to wait for the five infantry battalions and three cavalry regiments which were due to arrive from England.
‘We’ve got more Imperial reinforcements than the number we started with,’ he announced on one of his rare visits home. ‘They’ve decided there should be two regiments of lancers because they’re more effective in the long grass, and one of them’s to be the 19th, so with luck I ought to be back with the regiment before long.’
Perspiring, uncomfortable, and faintly worried by the thought that the arrival of the regiment meant nothing to her, Augusta listened to her husband’s thoughts unhappily. The idea that he would be leaving again before long depressed her, the dream she had had terrified her and always at the back of her mind was a heavy feeling that she would never understand what the regiment meant to those who belonged to it. Yet, when Colby’s hopes of returning to it were dashed by a note from Chelmsford informing him that, like Wood, Buller and a few others, he was too experienced to be wasted on regimental duties, she rushed to console him, trying desperately to make him feel it mattered to her when actually she had been praying that he’d remain on the staff and not sent forward to the fighting.
‘Perhaps it’s only for a time,’ she said, clinging to him on the stoep as he prepared to leave.
It seemed most unlikely. ‘You’ll be in command of the North Cape Horse,’ Chelmsford told him when he reported, ‘and will join a new column assembling at Potgeiter’s Drift. You’ll be second in command to George Morrow.’
The name dropped into the conversation with the sullenness of a signal gun, and Chelmsford’s expression changed as he saw Colby’s frown. ‘He did well in Burma,’ he pointed out. ‘He’s been sent out at the request of General Wolseley, who also asked that you should be available to assist him with your knowledge of Zulu methods.’
‘I’d prefer to be with Wood, sir,’ Colby said stiffly.
‘Doubtless you would,’ Chelmsford said dryly. ‘But “England’s Only General” has made the request and it would be difficult to ignore it.’
‘Can’t I persuade–’
‘No, sir, you can’t!’ Chelmsford snapped. ‘I already have too much on my mind. Pearson has to be rescued from Eshowe, Wood’s still far from safe, and Wolseley’s itching to get out here to snatch any kudos that’s going.’ Chelmsford sounded bitter, and concluded his instructions unsmilingly. ‘You’ll join Morrow’s column at the end of the week.’
As Colby rode north, every man of his party leading a spare horse for Wood’s hard-pressed men, he was in a sour mood. England’s Only General would have done better, he thought, to keep his nose out of Colby’s business. Wolseley’s damned Ring was in danger of taking over the army.
Wood was pleased to receive his remounts but was curiously unforthcoming about the activities of the column further north, as if he, too, had had occasion to doubt Morrow’s ability. Potgeiter’s Drift was heavy with the acrid odour of horses when Colby arrived and he didn’t like the look of it from the start. There was a shortage of outposts and Morrow seemed to think they had nothing to fear from the Zulus. He greeted Colby cheerfully, clearly with no thought in his mind that he had ever let him down.
‘I wanted Buller,’ he said. ‘But Wood insists on hanging on to him, so I asked for you.’
Colby said nothing. It was nice, he thought, to be informed he was second-best.
Morrow was friendly enough but full of sage and patronising comments which sounded strange from a man who had just arrived. He clearly didn’t like irregulars.
‘We have to pull this column together,’ he said. ‘They’re nothing but rank amateurs. Look at this wretched site they chose. The drainage’s abysmal and the ground’s fouled already. Nothing on earth seems to make these wretched Kaffirs and Boers use latrines.’
His head was full of plans and he spoke quickly, his hand running over his maps. ‘I intend to smite the Zulus,’ he went on. ‘Hip and thigh. Pearson’s still high and dry at Eshowe, but Wood wants to leave Kambula and I’m intrigued by the idea of getting some of the semi-autonomous chiefs to defect to us. I think we might do it with the right men. I have a Boer called Deyer who hopes to win them round and there’s a chief called Mbini whose people are at a place called Tshethoslane whom he hopes to see. I want you to see he gets safely back.’
‘When does he go?’
‘Oh, he’s gone,’ Morrow said cheerfully. ‘Two days ago. You’d better be off.’
Colby vanished to his command in a fuming temper. Morrow seemed to think going out to meet the Zulus required no more preparation than going out to meet a girl in Hyde Park.
The North Cape Horse and Burger, the Boer who was second-in-command, were pleased to see him back, clearly happy to have a strong figure in control, though Ackroyd’s face was graver than normal.
‘You’ll never guess ’oo ’e’s got on ’is staff!’ he said.
‘Not Aubrey Cosgro?’
‘And very much in favour, too, sir,’ Ackroyd said.
‘Where is he now?’
‘He went out with half a dozen men with messages for this Deyer feller. They’re expecting to bring Mbini in.’
‘Well, I’ve news for you, Tyas,’ Colby said with grim amusement. ‘We’re going out to escort them.’
Morrow was in a pompous mood as he gave Colby his orders. ‘I want to destroy these people,’ he said sternly. ‘They’re nothing but gadflies bothering us. I’ve heard Wood’s been joined by Buller now, so that ought to keep the tribes down there busy, and I’ve also heard the Transvaal Boers are gathering on the High Veldt. We have nothing to fear, therefore, and I’ll be following you with the rest of the column just i
n case Mbini doesn’t come in. If Deyer isn’t successful it’ll be up to us to see he puts his words more forcefully.’
Riding out from Potgeiter’s Drift, late in the afternoon, Colby felt he’d been in the saddle forever, most of the time soaked by rain.
The grass was growing fast on the bare plains and was already tall enough to conceal war parties of Zulus so that it was a nervous business moving out into the blue. The Natalians were in no doubts about what would happen if they relaxed their vigilance, however, and for safety, Colby doubled his sentries and placed a ring of outposts well outside the camp at night.
On the third day, they spotted black figures in the distance and, as they rode forward, hoping to intercept them, a whole cloud of warriors rose from the long grass. They were clearly a scouting party and, while they did no damage and bolted with the loss of one man shot, Colby was doubly alert. The following morning he saw smoke in the distance and soon afterwards a group of horsemen galloping towards them. They were coming at a pace that suggested panic, their excited horses almost out of control.
‘Cosgro!’ Colby bellowed. ‘What in the name of Jesus Christ and all His pink angels is going on?’
Aubrey Cosgro struggled with his straining horse, holding it with difficulty as it wheeled and circled.
‘Get hold of that damned animal!’ Colby roared. ‘What do you think you are, a flat-footed bloody infantryman?’
Cosgro’s face was white and strained. He pointed backwards, gasping.
‘The whole Zulu impi’s back there,’ he said.
‘To hell with the Zulu impi! Where’s Deyer?’
‘We were too late! They’d already got him. That’s what the smoke is. They’re burning his wagons.’
‘Didn’t you make any attempt to rescue him?’
‘There was no chance! It had started before we arrived. I lost three men as it was. I’d better go on and inform Morrow!’
‘Contain yourself, dammit!’ Colby’s voice rose again. ‘I want to know where the buggers are.’
‘They’re on Tshethoslane.’ Cosgro gained control of himself and pointed to a hill rising from the dark veldt in a blue flat-topped peak. ‘I’d better go on.’
Colby stared at him for a moment then waved him away in disgust. Cosgro didn’t need any telling, but set spurs to his horse and disappeared with his escort behind them.
There was no sense in trying to find what was left of Deyer’s party in the fading twilight, so Colby turned his column towards a small hill called Umbogitwini to his left. Heights meant safety, and up there, he could defend himself until Morrow arrived, and he wouldn’t miss the first signs of the Zulu impi.
At first light, still shivering and trying to bring life back to his cramped and frozen limbs, he stared over the lightening plain. The veldt was changing from violet to apricot and would soon become a mass of blues and greens and duns as the light grew stronger. He could see little patches of monkey thorn and a few trees but no sign of the Zulus. The column of smoke was still rising in the distance, but the plain seemed empty. Then he saw a cloud of birds – guinea fowl, he supposed – rise from the grass, and then a flicker of white like sunshine on a stream. It indicated buck running and he knew it meant the presence of Zulus.
Calling for his horse, he told Ackroyd to collect fifty men and, leaving the camp in the command of Burger, began to head towards the smoke. As they drew nearer, with scouts out in front, behind and on each flank, watching the grass for Zulu war parties, he saw a group of vultures flap awkwardly into the sky. A few more lolloped off out of sight, too gorged to fly.
There were five wagons close to a donga, all charred and burning. Deyer had made an effort to laager, but he had been overwhelmed. There was no sign of the Zulus beyond an abandoned shield and one or two assegais, and Deyer lay on his back alongside one of the wagons. He was naked, his body slit from groin to chest. Another man leaned against an anthill, also naked, his belly ripped open and swarming with ants, a spear through his body under his arm. He was skewered like a joint of meat and Colby thought immediately of Augusta’s dream.
His insides twisted with nausea, he slipped his foot from the stirrup and slid to the ground belly-to in cavalry style. The wagons had been looted and an empty gin bottle lay by one of the wheels. Clothing was scattered about and there were pools of blood everywhere. Deyer’s party seemed to have been massacred without a single survivor.
Collecting the bodies, they dug a hole and tumbled them in. The vultures had been at them and the sun had completed the destruction. It was an unpleasant and difficult job and Colby kept a mounted party well strung out and circling the camp in case the Zulus had not all disappeared.
They were on edge and nervous as they began to move slowly back to Umbogitwini. As they reached the hill, a horseman appeared, trailing a cloud of dust.
‘The column’s coming,’ he yelled. ‘You can see it from up there!’
Morrow’s face was grim as he appeared. Cosgro was with him, white-faced and nervous-looking but clearly a great deal happier with the full strength of the column round him.
‘I’ve just buried Deyer,’ Colby said.
Morrow’s mouth tightened. ‘I think you must have been a little late in reaching him, don’t you?’ he said.
Colby’s jaw set. It was Ashanti all over again, with Morrow trying to shuffle off responsibility by shoving the blame on somebody else.
‘Where are the Zulus now?’ Morrow demanded.
‘They’re on Tshethoslane. Two thousand of them, at least.’
Morrow laughed. ‘There can’t be that many. They couldn’t get that many on top. I’m going to remove them.’
‘The sides of Tshethoslane are almost unscaleable,’ Colby warned.
Morrow gave his narrow little smile. ‘Cosgro reconnoitred the place three days ago,’ he said. ‘Before you arrived. We marked two routes to the top. The eastern end lifts to a plateau where the Zulus keep cattle under a few herdsmen.’
‘I suspect there are more than a few herdsmen,’ Colby said.
Morrow dismissed the warning as if it came from someone nervous and inexperienced. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll make it a two pronged attack. You’ll take your people up by the eastern route after dark and chase them down in the morning as soon as it’s light enough to see. I’ll be waiting at the western end. Cosgro will show you the way.’
He seemed to be assuming a great deal. ‘What about the grassland to the east?’ Colby asked. ‘How do we know there aren’t more Zulus there?’
‘It’s been reconnoitred,’ Morrow said irritably. ‘Cosgro covered it.’
‘Suppose we fail to gain the summit unopposed?’
‘You have weapons. Any more questions?’
Morrow’s icy contempt made Colby boil with fury. The bloody half-wit persisted in treating the business as if it were an afternoon ride from Aldershot.
‘I feel I must protest, sir,’ he growled. ‘It seems to me we shall be in danger of being caught on the hill. I feel it could be a highly dangerous situation.’
‘It’s not the business of a second-in-command to question his superior’s orders.’ Morrow’s eyes glittered. ‘I will note your protest, nevertheless. It will go in my report and we’ll leave Lord Chelmsford to decide who’s right. For the moment, sir, do as you’re told. You’ll take the Boers and one of the rocket tubes, the Natal Horse, the Mixed Irregulars and the Natal Kaffir Irregulars. It should be enough to drive them off. After that, I’ll deal with them.’
As the column camped in the shadow of Umbogitwini, Colby noticed that Morrow failed to place look-outs on the slopes. On his own responsibility, he sent men to the top and, as an extra precaution, placed sentries wide of his encampment. There was no question of informing Morrow of what had been done. He was sulking at the questioning of his orders and was not available.
During the night there was the sort of downpour that changed the dongas from dustpans to swirling rivers and the camp was awake early next morning, dam
p and shivering with cold. As they moved out, Colby separated his command into four troops and they rode in column of half-sections. There were around four hundred men but, apart from his own North Cape Horse, Colby had grave doubts about their ability. Morrow’s column wasn’t the same as Wood’s.
They stopped in the early afternoon to rest the animals and eat and soon afterwards were skirting the slopes of Tshethoselane – known to everybody by this time as Shithouse Lane. Smoke was rising from the top but, though scattered musket fire was directed at them, there was no other sign of life.
A deserted kraal was torn down to make fires to boil their coffee and, distrusting Morrow’s information, Colby allowed his men time to eat, then, as soon as it was dark, ordered the camp to be moved and the fires to be built up and left blazing. Cosgro arrived soon afterwards – with a strong escort, Colby noticed, and in a clear state of funk. He brought Morrow’s final orders.
‘They’ve changed,’ he announced. ‘He’s decided to circle the plain and wait at the bottom, after all, to ambush them as they run from your trap.’
‘A fine time to tell me all this,’ Colby growled. ‘And they won’t wait to be trapped. They don’t use horses. They can get down slopes we can’t get down.’
‘The colonel also suggested we should leave our mounts with horse-holders and go up on foot.’
Colby leaned from the saddle closer to Cosgro. ‘Would you?’ he asked.
Cosgro looked nervous. ‘I’d prefer to have a horse,’ he said.
Colby grinned. ‘After Isandhlwana,’ he said, ‘so would I.’
As the moon vanished they started up the slopes. Cosgro looked unhappy and Colby took a delight in watching him. Morrow had thought up a shocker for them that would hardly be to Cosgro’s fastidious tastes.
As the path grew steeper, they dismounted and began to lead the horses and there was a lot of muttering behind as the animals slipped and struggled, and strings of Afrikaner curses as the route petered out into a narrow trail skirting the edge of a sheer drop, much of it washed away by the previous night’s rainwater streaming from the plateau.