The amaHlubi were one of the many clans and tribes that Shaka had scattered in the formation of the Zulu kingdom. They were an ancient people speaking their own dialect and with a hairstyle quite unlike that of the Zulu but similar to that of the Masai of East Africa. Their original home had been the cattle country surrounding the headwaters of the White and Black Mfolozi Rivers but, under their young chief, Langalibalele, they had been gradually driven south-west into the foothills of the Drakensberg Mountains where, tucked away amongst the cliffs and valleys, they hoped to find sanctuary. This location of the tribe also suited the Natal government: the white settlers closest to the mountains were subject to frequent Bushmen cattle raids made in retaliation of the white man’s hunting of the eland, the provider of all the Bushman’s needs from food to an object of worship. The government therefore saw the amaHlubi as a convenient barrier between the settlers and the raiders.
The Hlubi slowly prospered despite growing demands made by the government for taxes: first an annual tax for every standing hut; then a tax of so much per head of cattle, but due to the fear of an armed confrontation the proposal was dropped. Next the government, in the person of Sir Theophilus Shepstone, announced a tax on every new marriage which not only caused a wave of resentment but also a stampede to the altar before the law came into effect. Inevitably, the young men, angry at the continual demands on their tribe, and their own pockets, caused them to seek employment that would give them the highest remuneration, which usually meant the Kimberley diamond mines where a firearm would also form part of their wages.
Despite several other confrontations over the years such as the occasion when Langalibalele refused permission for members of the tribe to take up employment with a Ladysmith farmer, and numerous incidents of late payment of taxes, the Hlubi and the government had not come to blows. Nevertheless, there had always been a hint of violence close to the surface in all the tribe’s dealings with authority. By the early 1870s the Hlubi numbered 10,000 and, by encroaching on state-owned land, they had extended their area of occupation by many square miles. There was, therefore, a growing feeling of apprehension amongst the whites that with Langalibalele and his associated clans to the south, and the Zulu kingdom to the north, they were in a precarious position.
There was a particular animosity between Langalibalele and the Estcourt magistrate, John MacFarlane, who, in 1873, having been instructed to evoke an existing law that required all natives to licence their firearms, decided to apply the regulation only to the Hlubi tribe. The ensuing instruction, which was delivered to Langalibalele, was a difficult one to implement: not only was it most unlikely that Langalibalele would have known who amongst his followers did or did not possess a gun, it was even more unlikely that those who did would ever consent to their weapons being handed over to a white magistrate – the belief being that if they were, they would never get them back.
Langalibalele journeyed to Estcourt to discuss the problem with MacFarlane but found him absent; instead his assistant interviewed Langalibalele and ended up by abusing him. Eventually the chief returned home to await the outcome of his unfortunate visit; and a summons to Pietermaritzburg, the seat of Shepstone’s authority, was not long in coming: a far more serious matter for the Hlubi who believed it meant death. On two occasions over the last decades, chiefs of other clans, who had been summoned to Pietermaritzburg in person – the ultimate indignity – had then suffered the dispersal of their clan by government armed forces. Likewise, it was remembered when, years earlier, Langalibalele’s elder brother had been summoned to Dingane’s presence and he, like so many others, had ended up on the Hill of Execution. Consequently, any summons to appear before an overlord, black or white, was regarded with distrust and fear. Thus the issue of appearing in person before Shepstone, and Langalibalele’s refusal to do so, became more a bone of contention than the registration of the Hlubi firearms.
In July, to further aggravate the situation, it was reported that red soldiers had arrived at Estcourt. The Hlubi immediately assumed their purpose was to arrest Langalibalele and attack the tribe. But their fears were unfounded; the men were the colonial blue-coated cousins of the red soldiers, most likely training for the part they were about to play as Shepstone’s escort to Cetshwayo’s coronation which, as we have seen earlier, was imminent.
By now Langalibalele, at close on sixty, could be considered very much an elder – certainly not ‘fine-looking’ as he had been described thirty years previously. No longer attired in the barbaric splendour of tribal regalia but in cast-off European clothing, he appeared as a rather ugly and scruffy old man with little to recommend his physical appearance.
Due to an old knee injury, a handicap that both MacFarlane and Shepstone were aware of, he most likely tottered along with the aid of a stick. The upshot was his elders advised against the journey to Pietermaritzburg and, to placate the government, Langalibalele began to impose his own taxes in preparation for the stiff fine that would undoubtedly be imposed. But Shepstone, having returned at last from the Zulu king’s enthronement, would not have it: Langalibalele must appear before him as ordered. Once again a summons was sent to the Hlubi chief and it was also made clear that it was not a matter that could be settled by the payment of a fine no matter how impressive and solicitous. To ensure Langalibalele understood the seriousness of his position should he resist further, an ultimatum was dispatched. The messenger selected to deliver the communication, one Mahoija, was on Sir Benjamin Pine’s staff and as such was seen by Shepstone not only as a direct representative of the Lieutenant-Governor but also of Queen Victoria herself. However, Mahoija’s status was ignored and he was ridiculed, threatened and finally, so he maintained, stripped naked and sent packing.
21. Fort Durnford, near Estcourt, was designed by Major Durnford and constructed prior to the Langalibalele incident. Subsequently, it became the headquarters of the Natal Mounted Police. It is now a museum. (KZN Archives, Pietermaritzburg)
There were other black marks to add to Langalibalele’s insubordinate score board: that he and his tribe were poised to quit Natal, taking all their cattle with them into Basutoland, thus escaping the government’s retribution, was one. Much more seriously, rumours held him to be in collusion with King Cetshwayo in evoking all the clans and tribes in a general uprising. The white settlers, outnumbered eighteen to one, were understandably highly nervous. There was little in the way of military strength to back up Sir Benjamin’s threats. The only imperial troops were a company of the 75th (Stirlingshire) Regiment, a section of artillery with two 6-pounder guns which, in view of the terrain in which they would have to operate, would have been best left back at the barracks. For the rest they were all settler volunteer units: the Richmond Rifles, the Weenen Yeomanry, two troops of the Carbineers – those of Karkloof and Pietermaritzburg (referred hereafter as the Natal Carbineers) under the command of Captain Charles Barter – and hastily raised levies of – it was hoped – loyal natives. Whatever the odds, Langalibalele must be brought back and pay the consequences for – as Shepstone and Governor Pine saw it – rebellion.
So the drums began to roll and a plan contrived to catch the fleeing tribe in a pincer movement that would close, blocking its escape, at the top of the Bushmen’s River Pass at a height of 9,500 feet. But the colonial authorities had no idea whatsoever of the character of the country, its extent or the terrain. The width of the pincer, within which the troops would be expected to deploy, was fifty miles as the crow flies. It would also be found that terrain advised as being a flat plateau would be little short of alpine, and the pass to the summit, up which the right arm of the pincer had been order to advance, did not exist at all.
22. The Karkloof Troop of the Natal Carbineers. Capt. Barter, with the white beard, is seated centre middle row. (KZN Archives, Pietermaritzburg)
While the outlying farmers and their families hastened to either the semi-safety of Estcourt or Pietermaritzburg, the military forces made for Fort Nottingham, where there was a genial atmosphere of military camaraderie, with both Sir Benjamin Pine and Sir Theophilus Shepstone in campaign attire, ready to assume overall command from Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Milles, of the 75th Regiment, the senior imperial officer present.
Spies had brought intelligence that the amaHlubi were already on the move up Bushman’s River Pass into Basutoland where, technically, Sir Benjamin Pine’s pursuit could not be followed without the approval of the British governor-general in Cape Town. Speed then was of the essence.
The Carbineers, with the rest of the troops, had marched out of Pietermaritzburg with bands playing but by the time the cavalry men had ridden the thirty miles to Fort Nottingham in inclement weather, had drawn rations and forty rounds of ammunition, they were ready for bed. Yet, just as the troopers (several of whom had recently formed part of Shepstone’s escort to Cetshwayo’s coronation) were pulling off their boots, the bugle sounded the order ‘Saddle up’ and the men all fell in and were marched off to their horses.
By leaving Fort Nottingham at 8.30 p.m. it was anticipated that by 8.30 a.m. the following morning, and with the assistance of the right pincer, they would be in a position at the top of Bushman’s River Pass to hold the amaHlubi at bay and force them back down the pass into the arms of the Natal authorities.
However, to consider such a feat possible was optimistic ignorance: a night march in complete darkness over wholly unknown country, treacherous terrain, with intermittent rain, to find a pass of which none knew the location, was a recipe for the disaster that would surely come about.
Hardly had the Carbineers, seventy-eight in number, got settled in their saddles then command of their column was taken over by an aloof imperial redcoat officer by the name of Major Anthony Durnford of the Royal Engineers, newly arrived in the colony. Why Milles should have taken the command away from Barter at the last moment is a mystery. Perhaps Durnford persuaded him to do so for although Durnford had been in the army for twenty-five years, he was yet to have seen action, and perhaps he saw this as an opportunity to hear shots fired in anger. Not understandably Barter, who was a man of importance in the Colony, he having at various times been a newspaper editor, a member of the legislative assembly, author, magistrate and, of course, commanding officer of the Natal Carbineers, would have been indignant, to say the least. Both men, Durnford and Barter, in appearance, could only be described as distinguished for even in that age of grossly long and luxuriant facial hair being fashionable, they would have drawn attention: Durnford by a moustache that reached his shoulders and Barter by a snow-white Santa Claus beard.
Durnford was accompanied by one of Shepstone’s interpreters, Elijah Kambule and about fifteen Basutu guides of the baTlokwa tribe led by Chief Hlubi who, despite his name, was not of the amaHlubi; all were mounted and armed and, so it would seem, first and foremost gave their loyalty to Durnford. Orders had been given that each man was to carry his own personal rations of boiled beef, biscuits, rum and extra ammunition but these instructions had either been misunderstood or ignored by the Carbineers. Instead the provisions had been loaded onto pack horses led escorted by four troopers.
The dispirited command set off on time as planned, disappearing into the drizzle and darkness, their departure having a mysterious and secretive air about it for none, except Barter, knew the name of their new commander nor their intended destination.
After marching for about three hours it was discovered that the pack horses and escort were missing. A halt was called and the men allowed to lie down for a while whilst the Basutos tracked back only to return some time later unsuccessful: the rations and ammunition were lost and would not be seen again until the column returned to Fort Nottingham. Shortly after midnight the men were ordered to ‘mount up’ and then ‘Ball cartridge load; aim and fire slow’, arousing some excitement. Thus presuming the enemy to be near at hand they once again moved off into the darkness.
Captain Barter recorded his impressions of the ride that followed:
Travelling through the night, we emerged upon the said plateau and for some time rode over a fine grass country. Suddenly, however, turning to the right we found ourselves facing a stupendous mountain, its sides scarred and scoured with water furrows, and discovered that this obstacle lay between us and our destination. All this time our Commanding Officer pressed on, eager to fulfil his instructions . . . After one or two minor inequalities of ground, we came to the edge of an abrupt descent of slippery grass, very steep and long, so trying to the necessarily dismounted men that a considerable number were thoroughly knocked up before they reached the bottom . . . We commenced the ascent of a precipitous hill, which, in any other spot, would be a mountain. Here several of the Natal Carbineers succumbed, of whom three made their way back.
All the following day they rode without interruption, except for brief halts, until the column was into its second night in the saddle, with the moon, despite intermittent cloud cover, bright enough to show the way. With no sign of the pack horses, the Carbineers had not eaten for almost forty-eight hours until Durnford ordered his baTlokwas to share their rations which they had kept tied to their saddles as ordered. Nevertheless, morale was high even when it was realised the 4,ooo-foot wall that towered above them would somehow have to be scaled.
Durnford’s orders had been to reach the summit by way of the Giant’s Castle Pass, but the Batlokwas had mistakenly veered off six miles to the south. They were now leading the column into the entrance of the Hlatimba Pass that soared, impossibly steep, into the sky. Barter described the climb:
The scene before us was savage in the extreme. Down the bare side of the mountain hung ribbons of water, showing the spot to be the very birth place and nursery of the rivers; above, huge krantzes [gorges] crowned, while the masses of unburnt dry grass, hanging like a vast curtain, made a sombre and malignant aspect to the scene. How we slipped and struggled, fell feet up, and struggled again, or lay panting on the ground, despairing of accomplishing the task.
Trooper Henry Bucknall also remembered the climb:
. . . Everyone was too tired to give more than a passing glance at the stupendous masses of projecting rock above us, like a rugged wall, half a mile high; we would scramble up twenty or thirty yards, then sit down, scramble another twenty, and sit down again, leading our horses, which made it much more tiring than it would have been without them . . .
The night would not be without accident: Major Durnford, perhaps leading the way with too much enthusiasm on his little grey horse, Chieftain, took a tumble, man and horse bouncing down the side of the mountain, where a rocky projection stopped their fall into the abyss below. Trooper Robert Erskine was, at a considerable risk to himself, the first to reach Durnford who was badly injured: a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs and head injuries. Chieftain, however, had miraculously escaped unharmed.
It would not be unfair to say that at this point the column had become a shambles: it was almost a day late for its rendezvous with the right pincer, its commander was seriously injured and miles from any medical assistance, its second-in-command, Captain Barter, being considerably older than anyone else, was far behind; it was spread out for over a mile or more and it was more or less lost.
During the course of the night Trooper Erskine climbed down to Durnford on several occasions, taking him rum and blankets and with the assistance of other troopers managed to reset Durnford’s shoulder.
Trooper Bucknall again describes the proceedings:
. . . Our gallant Major fainted at the bottom of the steep part, and Trooper Erskine stayed behind with him. I will give you my own feelings because I knew what they were, and all were very much alike. I was crawling on about ten yards at a time, with heart palpitating and every nerve in my body, arms and legs aching like rheumatism, bathed in perspiration, and a cutting cold wind blowing . . .
By about 2.30 a.m. on Tuesday, and in bright moonlight, in ones and twos, the Carbineers began to arrive at the top of the Hlatimba Pass. Durnford, who proved himself to be a man of grit and iron will, had himself placed in a blanket and hauled to the top where he fainted from the pain. Barter, with the assistance and encouragement of younger men, also made the summit. All were ravenously hungry but, in the greater need for sleep, hunger was forgotten. As each man reached the summit he threw himself down and, without thought for a sentry to stand guard, tried to sleep; but the bitter cold only permitted the briefest slumber.
The Carbineers had started from Fort Nottingham, numbering fifty-seven all ranks. They now totalled only thirty-five excluding Lieutenant Parkinson and a couple of troopers who had been detailed off to await stragglers and form a rear guard; the mounted Batlokwas had all kept up with the column. After reaching the summit, Durnford had lain unconscious for half an hour then, at about 3 a.m., he raised himself and calling for Elijah Kambule, the interpreter, to bring Chieftain, announced he was ready to proceed. With assistance, and with his arm in a sling, he was lifted into the saddle. Finally the column moved off, riding over boggy ground strewn with stones but good enough for a canter in places, lifting morale.
At 5 a.m. the sun neared the eastern horizon, turning the landscape, 4,000 feet below, into strangely shaped silhouettes resembling a raging sea and, despite their hardships, all were in awe of the magnificence of the scenery it was their privilege to witness.
As the sun rose higher, and having ridden some ten miles south from the Hlatimba Pass, it was possible to see considerable activity in the distance: men and cattle emerging from another pass while mounted men watched nearby. Urging their horses forward over the rugged terrain, the column finally arrived at the head of the pass frightening the herdsmen and the cattle alike. Although a day late – through no fault of their own – the first impression was Langalibalele would soon be their prisoner. Perhaps it was this thought that led to an upsurge in confidence that would have disastrous consequences. Durnford ordered the men to dismount, release the horses to graze, to form a cordon across the pass and to drive both warriors and cattle back down into Natal.
All in the column were still ravenously hungry and here before them was beef on the hoof: it was suggested they should slaughter one of the cattle. It was then that Durnford revealed he had strict orders from the Lieutenant-Governor that on no account must the column fire the first shot and for that reason the beast he proposed to be the victim could not be shot. Furthermore, he said, he would also pay for it so that its killing would not appear to the amaHlubi as an act of aggression, but with no other option, its slaying would have to be done by a spear thrust delivered by one of the baTlokwas. A beast was selected but the killing of it proved to be more difficult than anticipated: it got away bellowing and wounded. So the baTlokwas selected another which proved to be as difficult to kill as the first; and it was not until four or five of the Hlubi cattle had been wounded did they succeed in killing one. It is not difficult to imagine the fury with which the Hlubi warriors watched this fiasco. Worse still, Durnford, who had wanted to pay compensation was, with tragic consequences, dissuaded by Barter from doing so.
While the Carbineers tried to stomach raw meat, the highly-incensed and aggressive young warriors began to push their way through the cordon, jeering, jostling, waving weaponry in the faces of the Carbineers and asking when the real soldiers would arrive.
With orders not to fire, and the Hlubi warriors increasing in number with every moment that passed, the Carbineers were in an impossible position. The baTlokwa were also strictly instructed not to fire in what was becoming an extremely volatile situation; Elijah Kambule cautioned Hlubi, the baTlokwa chief, that should one of his men fire first, he, Kambule, would blow the man’s brains out.
Suddenly it seemed that the tables had been turned: a body of horsemen were observed coming up from the rear and the immediate assumption was they were Captain Allison’s men of the right pincer. But Allison and his levy, after a futile search for the pass that did not exist, had long since returned to camp many miles away. Durnford and Kambule rode forward, supported by the baTlokwas, only to discover the hard truth of their predicament. They were, in fact, mounted amaHlubi, most probably the rearguard of Langalibalele’s escort, and now reinforcements for the warriors still coming up the pass. There ensued a long wrangle between Durnford and the amaHlubi chief, translated by Kambule, that went on for almost an hour during which time Durnford, acknowledging the danger he was in, sent a note back to headquarters at Fort Nottingham, stating he was surrounded and asking for help. This note was subsequently found in the possession of an amaHlubi warrior; presumably the baTlokwa courier had been intercepted and killed.
Meanwhile at the pass the situation had worsened: the high ground on either side had been occupied by Hlubi marksmen who called upon those coming up the pass to join them where they would be able to fire down with impunity upon the Carbineers. In addition the young warriors, under the noses of the Carbineers, were sharpening their spears on the rocks and pantomiming what they intended to do with them. Durnford, still attempting to accomplish the orders he had been given, handed his diary, detailing events so far, to Kambule for safekeeping, then rode alone to the lip of the pass where he by gesture, or being lucky enough to find a headman who could speak English, tried to persuade the exodus back into Natal. The reply was only on condition that Durnford and his column went first – which was, of course, completely unacceptable. Furthermore, the headman indicated that Durnford’s presence was inciting the young warriors and feared that he would no longer be able to restrain them.
During Durnford’s absence the Carbineers had become surrounded by two or three hundred amaHlubi, all anxious to fight. Barter later admitted he had been of the opinion that once the Carbineers withdrew, the amaHlubi’s urge for battle would vanish, but he was proven wrong. Elijah Kambule, better able to gauge the temperament and intent of the amaHlubi than anyone, went to Sergeant John Jackson begging him to: ‘Tell our Commander that the rebels would soon attack’, to which Jackson replied that he could not advise Durnford in such a manner whereas Kambule, himself, could. Barter then ordered Jackson to go to Durnford and tell him, from Barter, that: ‘These men want to fight’. Jackson delivered the message and was told by Durnford to go back to his place whilst Durnford, to no avail, pointed his revolver at the warriors and ordered them back down the pass.
By now, presumably on Barter’s orders, the Carbineers had remounted and several had asked Barter to go to Durnford and advise him to retire but, as Barter later wrote: ‘Our Commanding Officer, as gallant and determined a man as ever breathed, would have cheerfully sacrificed not only us, but himself, in the execution of his orders.’ Inevitably there would be an inquiry into the tragedy that was about to follow with much of the blame being attributed to Sergeant William Clark, an imperial army pensioner who as the drill instructor, and due to his age, had not been compelled to accompany the column yet had done so nevertheless. Not been a colonist, he would find himself a scapegoat, it being maintained by Durnford that Clarke largely caused, if not instigated, the panic that ensued. Barter also implicated Clarke in the rout stating that after the Carbineers had stood passive to the mockery of their foes for an hour, some of the older Carbineers had gone to Barter pointing out the column was surrounded and it ought to retire before the excitement of the young warriors reached a climax. And, to quote Barter: ‘These feelings were not calmed by Sergeant Clarke who had loudly shouted we were going to be murdered, etc.’ He continued: ‘I decidedly thought, and think so still, that to match thirty-two men, jaded and sick with hunger, even with the very efficient aid of the Batlokwas, would have been madness.’ Barter again observed that Durnford seemed prepared to sacrifice the lives of the whole column when he shouted, in a last attempt to hold the pass: ‘Will no one stand with me?’
The response was gallant but inadequate: Erskine, who had attended Durnford’s injuries, was first, followed by Troopers Bond and Potterill, but no others. Durnford, sick with pain, frustration and disappointment, later maintained that at about this juncture, Barter reported that many of the Carbineers had said they would all be massacred if they did not move. To which Durnford said he replied: ‘Do you mean to report to me officially that you can no longer depend upon your men?’ Barter makes no mention of this, merely recalling that Durnford eventually yielded to his advice and addressed the column saying: ‘Gentlemen, I am sorry to inform you, your Captain informs me that he cannot place confidence in you.’
In the hubbub that followed, Durnford at last gave the order to retire but the way was now blocked by a mass of warriors who clustered around the Carbineers close enough to give any man or horse a spear thrust. Barter ordered: ‘Fours right’, and the column, well under control and with pistols drawn, moved off four abreast, Sergeant Varty at the front. The column was making its way back to the Hlatimba Pass and, apart from killing one of the Hlubi cattle, no actual harm had been done. But the young warriors were now completely out of hand and had been presented with the backs of the retreating Carbineers who, having encountered a narrowing of the little ridge along which they were riding, were ordered to halt while they formed into half sections, two abreast.
Meanwhile, Durnford, Kambule and the Batlokwas had veered off taking high ground to the right. Inevitably, one warrior could constrain himself no longer. A shot was fired followed by a volley at close quarters, so close the Hlubi could not miss. Down went three troopers, Erskine, Bond and Potterill, to be pounced upon by the gleeful warriors who immediately set about stripping the bodies. Elijah Kambule shortly suffered the same fate as did several of the baTlokwa, leaving Durnford isolated with warriors on both sides grasping at Chieftain’s reins. Durnford has it that he drew his revolver, and shooting left and right killed two men, with Chieftain carrying him from the fray.
In the blame-game that followed, Durnford becomes little less than frantic in accusing others while indulging in self-vindication. He related to his brother, Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Durnford, how Chieftain had carried him through a barrage of shots and grabbing hands: ‘And then my gallant beast followed the line of retreating heroes, [sarcasm], reins loose on neck, over a fearful country, myself shooting right and left, all the time perfectly regardless of everything except a burning desire to shoot my own cowards [the Carbineers].’
Whatever the conduct of the Carbineers might have been, it could not possibly have justified Durnford’s ‘burning desire’ to shoot them. Rather his concern should have been to see his command safely off the mountain; he also has the whole column galloping away in headlong flight. Not so. Barter recalled:
23. The artist/explorer Thomas Baines was commissioned, by a person unknown, to paint an impression of the skirmish — obviously based on a description by someone who was present. This preliminary sketch depicts (1) in the middle foreground Elijah Kambule stabbing a Hlubi warrior while another Hlubi takes aim at Kambule. (2) To Kambule’s right warriors point their guns and run ‘... to capture the Major.’ (3) Middle left of the picture, warriors shoot the carbineers at point blank range. (4) In the background, warriors have taken possession of the high ground on both sides of the pass and open fire while other warriors attempt to spear the fleeing carbineers. (Natal Museum, Pietermaritzburg)
Just as we rounded the corner nearest the hill, I saw poor Erskine struck, and am certain that he was dead before he reached the ground. He had supported the Major in his wish to continue the occupation of the pass, and had behaved with gallantry which distinguishes all his family.
Sergeant Varty’s horse falling dead, he seized the grey which had carried poor Erskine, to be again unhorsed by a chance shot. This time he must have been lost but for the assistance of Troopers Fannin and Speirs, one of whom caught a lead horse, and the other helped to shift the saddle from the dead steed to the living one.
This was not the action of cowards but rather of Victoria Cross material. Trooper Jackson recalled:
Major Durnford’s spare horse running loose, I went after him, the fire of the rebels still going on, and after catching him I rode towards a group of our men, finding that Varty was again unhorsed. The horse I handed to Trooper Fannin, and he, Trooper Speirs, and Trooper Bucknall, assisted Varty, at great risk to themselves. We were all in the range of rebel fire at the time, and Varty was once more mounted. I rode to the rest of the troop who was standing still, and then saw Major Durnford cantering past us alone, shouting: ‘Carbineers, Carbineers!’ but he did not draw rein at the time. He gave no order. We found later that Elijah Kambule and some Batlokwa were killed. We obeyed his last order to retire by the way we came. He took another way. We did fire a few shots but the men hid behind stones, Speirs dropping one who came out in the open. Sergeant Clark, our Drill Instructor, called on us to ride to a ledge of rock, as we were under the rebels’ fire. We did so and dismounted, but seeing our Commander, with some Batlokwas and four or five men, going towards Giant’s Castle, we mounted and followed at a walk. The horse of Trooper Church was knocked up, and Bucknall put Church on his horse and walked. The horse of Jaffray was also knocked up, and Jaffray abandoned him and walked with us. About noon we reached Giant’s Castle Pass [Hlatimba Pass] and there we found our Commander, also Lieutenant Parkinson, with some twelve others and our pack horses, carrying ammunition and biscuits.
Sergeant Varty, possibly the most experienced frontiersman/soldier amongst those present, having accompanied many expeditions into the High Berg in pursuit of Bushmen raiders, modestly recounted the retirement which starts on page 3 of his manuscript, the first two pages being missing. He was rightly indignant that Durnford should accuse the Carbineers of ‘bolting’:
. . . to my assistance, and these men were, according to the military authority [Durnford] bolting. Trooper Speirs caught me poor Erskine’s horse that was rushing past with saddle turned almost under its belly, and he not only brought me the horse but, dismounted and got me my rifle and its bucket, a work of some little difficulty as the dead horse lay on it. I tried also to get my saddle off, as it was a very good one, but could not. I then ungirthed Erskine’s horse and put on the saddle and rode off to join my comrades. Several stood around me, amongst them Mr. Bucknall, who dismounted and fired. . . . I also saw our Commander close to me with his face to the hill and heard him say something about ‘If we were Englishmen’. Someone replied that it would be madness to stay here, in fact we had lost confidence in our leader. On the fresh horse I rode perhaps a hundred yards when he, previously wounded, received another shot in the flank and pulled up suddenly. Three or four of my companions tried to catch another horse for me. . . . Sergeant Jackson caught me Major Durnford’s spare charger and rode back with it. . . . Mr. Fannin being a better mounted man than Jackson, received the horse and brought it to me. The horse was a fine spirited animal, half wild with the shooting. The grey of Erskine’s was an animal of small girth, the fresh horse was large. Fannin sat on his horse holding mine and I did my best to put the saddle on, but for some time could not do so, as the girths would not meet.
All this time the kaffirs were firing at us, and as we were about 150 yards in the rear, we formed rather a large mark and drew their principal fire. But strange to say, though so close they failed to hit either us or our horses, though one or two shots threw up soil in my face, and one or two whistled unpleasantly close. Trooper Speirs dismounted close to us, but moved off a little to the side as he thought we were too large a target. Yet, [as Durnford would have it] these men were bolting! Fannin, myself and others fired a few shots and we retired to join the bulk of our men, whom I caught up, perhaps a half mile in advance, riding slowly, Major Durnford being with them. I apologised to him for taking his horse and his reply was that I was perfectly welcome and the only condition required was that if the horse that he was riding failed, he must ride behind me. One of our men, Walter Jaffray, had his horse shot through the kneecap and at a distance of about four miles from the Bushman’s River Pass the horse gave up. He therefore shouldered his rifle, walked on, and got to the Giant’s Castle Pass at least five minutes before anybody else so that if he bolted, he did it very deliberately and in rather slow time.
Trooper Bucknall also has a say:
Coming into the line the others had gone round, some heavy ground turned my horse out of it, for he was labouring hard. Others had gone through, and one horse was floundering, its rider, a Batlokwa pitched over his head, jumped up, and trying to get him out, kaffirs rushed in, stabling and floundering together; bullets whistling and fizzing around, as our bad bullets do, but the shooting was horrible, that is, they did not hit as they ought to have done at the distances, which was from forty to a hundred yards. Most of them went over our heads.
Later Bucknall recalls that he was close to Varty and the others at the time they attempting to catch Varty a new horse when, just at that moment, Durnford ‘passed me with his revolver in his hand, shouting, “Halt! Whatever are they running for?”’ Bucknall replied that he had heard that someone behind had been brought down to which Durnford replied: ‘What a shame to leave a companion.’
24. Whoever commissioned the painting must have disapproved of the preliminary sketch as it bears little resemblance to the final product in which Barter, on the white horse, Durnford in the centre, and Kambule, wearing a sort of sombrero, sit resolute at the head of the pass facing the oncoming amaHlubi, while in the background, the carbineers, in line, stand firm. Unfortunately the final painting has disappeared without trace.
Finally the retreating column, still followed by a few aggressive amaHlubi, reached the Hlatimba Pass where they found Lieutenant Parkinson and the stragglers with ammunition and biscuits. But Durnford would have no pause, ordering the men to proceed immediately down the pass. He fainted part of the way down and was revived with sips of watered gin administered by Trooper Button. Parkinson and several others had got ahead and were well down the pass where Parkinson had given orders to halt and ‘off-saddle’. When Durnford caught up it seems he flew into a rage and although they were all now at the bottom of the pass he would not hear of giving the horses a break as he perceived the column to be in danger still.
Now let us hear how Durnford, as related by his brother, Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Durnford, attempted not only to blame the Carbineers for the fiasco but to make himself an African legend at the same time.
He [Durnford] was afterwards told that his cheeks had been required by the natives for the composition of some important medicine, and that a great fighting man has that pleasing notoriety thrust upon him. His conduct on this occasion certainly made a great impression upon the natives for the story was reported amongst them thirty miles away, on the afternoon of the same day, that the troops had run away, leaving their chief behind, and that he was the only man there, and had but one arm. In the excitement of the moment, he was quite unconscious of the severe wound which he had received in the left arm, and was only made aware of the fact by finding his hand full of warm blood, which had run down inside the sleeve of his patrol jacket. That patrol jacket was found afterwards to be pierced by assegais in so many places, that it seemed as though he must have borne a charmed life to have escaped as he did.
Edward Durnford continued his brother’s story as his brother reached the top of Hlatimba Pass:
Lieutenant Parkinson, with the pack horses and about a dozen stragglers, was met at the head of the pass, and here again, had it been possible, Major Durnford would have made a stand until he could be reinforced. But the demoralisation of the force was so complete that this could not be done. The men went helter-skelter down the pass, their rear still being covered by the Batlokwas. When at last he gave up in vain his attempt to rally his white command, for his strength, severely tried by all he had gone through, was failing fast, and his voice was gone through shouting, he turned his horse, and rode back alone through the Batlokwas towards the pass, resolved at all events to sell his own life dearly amongst the foe. The Batlokwas at first, as one of them afterwards said:
‘We thought he might have dropped something, and wanted to find it’ – their own natural hardihood making his return in that case seem nothing surprising to them. But, when they saw that he was riding back straight to the pass alone, they became alarmed and some of them who followed galloped up beside him and although he made no reply to their questions, they knew by the expression of his face that he was going back to die.
Faithful and obedient followers as they had hitherto prove themselves, they now took the law into their own hands and, seizing his horse’s bridle, they brought him back.
Durnford then admitted to being led to the bottom of the pass where the column was met by a messenger bringing news that a contingent of redcoat infantry was on its way, but as Edward Durnford related:
Thinking it probable that, encouraged by the flight of the white man, the whole tribe would pursue, and being familiar with the ground, they would endeavour to cut his party off in some of the deep valleys, Major Durnford altered the line of retreat from that of the advance of the previous night, and would permit no halt until dusk. They upsaddled in an hour’s time and reached the camp utterly exhausted, men and horses, at 1am.
As one can imagine, there was uproar in Natal: three young Carbineers had been killed and their bodies cut open; Potterill’s body (he being the youngest at twenty-two) had had the left hand cut off from which to make medicine; the rebel, Langalibalele, had got clear away with all his tribe and cattle; and rumours were rife that in collusion with King Cetshwayo, Natal was to be invaded at any moment.
The colony turned not only on the government, blaming it for the fiasco, but on Durnford also, blaming him for the death of its sons; and because Durnford’s hands had been tied by the order not to fire first, his reputation was tarnished with the nickname ‘Don’t fire Durnford’. Yet in the weeks that followed, Durnford despite his injuries, neither reported sick or gave up the chase, leading an expedition to the top of Bushman’s Pass only two weeks after the skirmish.
25. George Shepstone, a son of Theophilus Shepstone, was a corporal during the encounter at Bushman’s Pass. Five years later, as Durnford’s staff officer, he held the rank of lieutenant in the Natal Native Horse. It was he who, at Isandlwana, brought news of the Zulu army’s advance on the British camp. (KZN Archives, Pietermaritzburg )
Although Langalibalele had retreated deep into the barren heights of Basutoland, the pincers at last began to close. Captain Allison, with 1,500 native levies and a large force of mounted Basutos were hot on his trail while redcoat soldiers of the 75th Regiment, also supported by local levies, waited at the bottom of the Natal passes.
On 17 November Langalibalele, leaving behind a trail made by 7,000 cattle that could not be missed, was overhauled by Allison. He and his sons were brought into Pietermaritzburg a month later, Allison having paid the levies and Basutos with most of the cattle and horses for services rendered. The colonists were clamouring for retribution and the savage sentence on the amaHlubi went some way to placating the white population. Langalibalele was sentenced to exile on Robben Island while Lieutenant-Governor Pine set in action a program to disperse not only the amaHlubi but also their neighbours, the amaPutini, who had not been involved other than looking after some of the Hlubi cattle.
Now it was the turn of the Natal levies to plunder. Villages were burnt to the ground, cattle stolen, unarmed men, women and children were hunted down and killed in cold blood. The Natal Colonist commented that Pine, who had issued the order not to fire, the first shot, was now indifferent to ‘. . . the horrid butchery that was going on’. Durnford at the time was engaged in dynamiting the passes and saw little of the actual ravaging of the amaHlubi but would shortly write to Bishop Colenso, a champion of the native people, a pathetic letter: ‘There have been sad sights – women and children butchered by our black allies (too often, unhappily, by the permission and encouragement of the white leaders . . .), old men too . . . The burnt villages – dead women – it was all horrible. And the destitution of the women and children left is fearful. The women are all made slaves! What will England say?’
England’s reply was not long in coming: Lieutenant-Governor Pine was recalled in disgrace to be replaced by Major-General Sir Garnet Wolseley. But, perhaps of more importance, what would Cetshwayo, the next-door neighbour, think? It had only been a few weeks since Shepstone, much to blame for the whole bloody affair, had lectured the Zulu King on the theme ‘Thou shalt not kill’.
Cetshwayo, through his spy system, would be aware of all the shameful details and would have much to ponder on: could, in fact, his neighbours be contemplating the conquest of his own kingdom? It would not be long before he knew.