There is a wealth of literature on every aspect of the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879 and it need not be fought again here as a military documentary. Instead let the combatants describe the war through their own experiences.
The ultimatum that had been served on the Zulu king allowed thirty days for the disbanding of the army, thirty days during which there would be no British punitive action. In fact, thirty days grace during which Lord Chelmsford would be at liberty to deploy his troops along the Zulu border unmolested, ready to strike the moment the ultimatum expired.
The actual ultimatum had been handed to Dunn who kept it in his possession in the belief that it was pointless sending a written message to Cetshwayo; rather he rehearsed one of his trusted men to remember and then to relate its contents verbally. On the verbal receipt of the terms of the ultimatum, several days later, Cetshwayo immediately protested to Dunn at the limited time allotted for the fulfilment of its conditions. Dunn responded with a letter to the Natal Government to which the Secretary for Native Affairs replied:
Sir,
I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 18th instant, which the Lieutenant-Governor has laid before his Excellency the High Commissioner for his information. I am directed to express the satisfaction of the High Commissioner at the receipt of your letter, and to inform you that the Word of the Government, as already given, cannot be altered.
26. On the expiry of the ultimatum, the British juggernaut of men, weapons, wagons and supplies, entered Zululand.
Unless the prisoners and cattle are given up within the time specified Her Majesty’s troops will advance, but, in consideration of the disposition expressed in your letter, to comply with the demands of the Government, the troops will be halted at convenient posts within the Zulu border, and will await the expiration of the term of thirty days, without in the meantime taking any hostile action, unless it is provoked by the Zulus.
The die was cast and as the thirty days hastened by British forces continued to deploy while the warriors of the Zulu army, an army that would total 40,000 men, began to assemble at their barracks close to the royal residence at Ondini.
After some minor shuffling of his columns, Lord Chelmsford invaded the kingdom in a three-pronged attack, each column more or less of equal strength and size: one, commanded by Colonel Charles Pearson, entering Zululand by way of the lower Tugela Drift; one to the north, commanded by Colonel Henry Evelyn Wood, crossing the border by wading the Buffalo River; and a central column, commanded by Colonel Richard Glyn, crossing the Buffalo at Rorke’s Drift. Chelmsford and his staff accompanied Glyn’s column with John Dunn joining Pearson’s column after some persuasive words from Chelmsford. When Cetshwayo had received the terms of the ultimatum from Dunn’s messenger, he realised at once that if it came to fighting, his white friend would be in an impossible position, torn by loyalty to both sides, so Cetshwayo graciously gave Dunn the opportunity to bow out and remain neutral, telling him to ‘stand on one side’. Lord Chelmsford was less sympathetic, however. Realising what a useful fellow Dunn would be, Chelmsford, who had requested Dunn’s presence only a few days after the ultimatum had been delivered, asked Dunn what course he intended to take. Dunn replied that he had no quarrel with the Zulus and intended to remain neutral but went on to ‘beg’ Chelmsford’s advice which, when given, was for Dunn to vacate Zululand with all his followers. Chelmsford continued with the threat: ‘You must either take one side or the other – Join us, or take the consequences.’ Not only did Dunn hasten across the Tugela with all his followers and cattle, but within weeks had formed a highly efficient combat unit which he named ‘Dunn’s Fighting Scouts’ thus deserting Cetshwayo, his once friend and benefactor.
27. Colonel Evelyn Wood, the most successful of the British column commanders, was knighted and promoted to brigadier general for his services in Zululand. (John Young Collection)
28. A regiment of the Natal Native Contingent (NNC) line up for inspection. Only one man in ten was said to be issued with a firearm. In this picture the weapons are clearly Martini-Henry rifles, the same as issued to British troops. (Campbell Collection, Durban)
Chelmsford’s force was a mixture of imperial troops; colonial volunteers and police, – the latter two units usually making up the cavalry element – and conscripted blacks from Natal who were, of course, of Zulu descent and who bore the title of ‘The Natal Native Contingent’ (NNC). As an example of Britain’s premeditated intent to take over the Zulu kingdom, each of the white colonial volunteers had been offered the incentive of a free farm in Zululand on conclusion of hostilities.
The invaders’ morale was high and Lord Chelmsford expressed his satisfaction with the Martini-Henry .450-calibre breech-loading rifle, with which most of his white troops and every tenth man of his native force were armed: ‘I am inclined to think that the first experience of the power of the Martini-Henry will be such a surprise to the Zulus that they will not be formidable after the first effort.’ Then, on further reflection, he wrote: ‘I shall strive to be in a position to show the Zulu how inferior they are to us in fighting power. We may possibly induce the Zulu King to attack us which will save us a great deal of trouble.’ Equally confident, one of his young officers wrote home to his mother: ‘The number of troops that have gone into Zululand is thirteen thousand – a sufficient number to beat the Zulus ten times over.’ Even the private soldiers believed that they were in for some high jinks and an easy time. Private Owen Ellis, from Wales, wrote: ‘We are about to capture all the cattle belonging to the Zulus and also burn all their kraals’, while his mate, Private Goatham, expressed the opinion that ‘Zulu warriors, though big and strong, do not have the martial spirit of an Englishman’.
But first the column had to cross the Buffalo River, which meant wading chest-deep for the NNC, who were harangued and encouraged all the way by their regimental witch doctor. The crossing was described by Henry Charles Harford, a young white officer attached to the Contingent: ‘In order to scare away any crocodiles that might be lurking in the vicinity, the leading company formed a double chain right across the river, leaving a pathway between for the remainder to pass through. The men forming the chain clasped hands and the moment they entered the water they started to hum a kind of war chant, which was taken up by every company as they passed over. The sound this produced was like a gigantic swarm of bees buzzing about us, and sufficient to scare crocodiles or anything else, away. Altogether, it was both a curious and grand sight.’
Having successfully crossed into Zululand on 11 January 1879, the centre column was less than five miles distant from the stronghold of none other than Chief Sihayo whose sons had killed his adulterous wives, thus partly giving rise to the British ultimatum. Sihayo’s kraal would be the first of Chelmsford’s targets. However, Sihayo and most of his warriors had already gone to report the king. Nevertheless, the defenders that remained put up a fight, taking full advantage of the labyrinth of caves that Sihayo’s clan inhabited. Their resistance did not last for long, however, and an elated Lord Chelmsford speculated: ‘I am in great hopes that the news of the storming of Sihayo’s stronghold and the capture of so many of his cattle may have a salutary effect in Zululand and either bring down a large force to attack us or else produce a revolution in the country.’ But the redcoat invaders were not to be so lucky and marched on to pitch camp in the shadow of a sphinx-shaped hill called Isandlwana.
Eleven days after crossing the Buffalo River Lord Chelmsford was lured by Zulu stealth and cunning into believing that the Zulu army, spoiling for a fight, had assembled ten miles north of Isandlwana, so he embarked on a wild goose chase taking with him over half the column’s strength while the Zulus descended on the weakened camp.
The Zulu strategy, as the silhouettes of thousands of warriors began to appear against the skyline, was to bewilder and deceive – a game plan that was eminently successful. There were about 1,700 British troops in camp (that was later described as having been as defenceless as an English village) including 900 blacks of the NNC. The redcoats and colonials were, in the main, armed with the Martini-Henry rifle that, in the hands of a trained soldier, was capable of firing twelve aimed shots a minute. The infantry were also supported by two 7-pounder field guns. The NNC, however, were poorly armed with little more than muskets and spears.
Yet, despite the superior British weapons, the camp was taken in a bloody hand-to-hand uproar that lasted little more than an hour. One warrior, late in arriving, remembered:
When I got in sight of Isandlwana the whole place was a twisting mass of soldiers and Zulus, the Mkankempemvu and uMbomambi were all killing and then we attacked. I heard the ‘Bye-and-bye’ [the Zulu word for artillery] firing . . . I carried no gun, only two throwing spears, shield and stabbing assegai . . . I prepared to stab a white man, he was holding on to an assegai held by a friend of mine with both hands . . . and I stabbed the white man in the back . . . I saw a line of soldiers, shoulder-to-shoulder and I was afraid to attack them . . . They were standing like a fence with bayonets . . . They were killed by the same two regiments . . . Some white men who had climbed on to the top of Isandlwana Hill were followed and thrown off the top of the rock . . .
Paul Brickhill, a civilian interpreter and guide, recalled: ‘Men were running everywhere . . . I saw one of the field pieces brought into the camp; the men jumped off and took to their heels. Simultaneously with this, the only body of soldiers still visible rose from firing their last shot and joined in the general flight. Panic was everywhere and no shelter to fall back on.’
Durnford, now a brevet Colonel, arrived with five troops (250 men) of the Natal Native Mounted Contingent, later to become the Natal Native Horse (NNH), just as the battle began. Two of his troop commanders, Captain Shepstone and Lieutenant Raw, had been Carbineers with him during the Langalibalele affair as had Hlubi, then a scout, now a Troop Sergeant-Major. When it was clear beyond any doubt that the battle was lost, Durnford made no effort to save himself nor did he encourage his men to save their own lives. A senior NCO, Jabez Molife, later wrote that he should have had Durnford bound and carried from the battlefield in order to save his life, while Sergeant Simeon Kambule recalled: ‘I looked back and there I could see my chief [Durnford] in the centre of his square with his long moustaches and one good arm in the air. He was shouting and laughing: “Come round me, come round me ...”.’ A trooper of the Natal Mounted Police, who escaped, reported that Durnford had shouted to the troopers: ‘Now, my men, let me see what you can do!’ It would seem that the Carbineers, not wishing to again be accused of cowardice, stayed: the bodies of nineteen of them, all in a heap, were found lying around Durnford’s body, and their horses, on which they could have escaped, lay killed nearby.
A warrior of the uVe Regiment, later told how he had killed a red soldier who was fleeing to the river: ‘As he raised his right arm that held a “volovol” [revolver] and as he was about to fire, I stabbed him in the arm pit. I pushed it in, I did not hear him cry out, I pushed it until he died.’
Sergeant-Major Nyanda, of the Natal Native Mounted Contingent, remembered:
We were then chased into the center of the camp – and saw a large number of soldiers being assegaied . . . Then the Zulus drove in the right wing and the whole of the force, white and black – foot and horse [infantry and cavalry], were mixed together and being assegaied – A rush was made for the Nek and we were met by Zulus on the other side and everyone who could save himself tried to do so.
And when it was all over a Zulu warrior remembered:
We stripped the dead of all their clothes. To my knowledge no one was made prisoner and I saw no dead bodies carried away or mutilated. If the [witch] doctors carried away any dead bodies for the purpose of afterwards doctoring the army, it was done without my knowing of it; nor did I see any prisoner taken and afterwards killed. [It was common practice for the Zulu iziNyanga (witchdoctors and healers) to take parts from the bodies of brave adversaries and to use them in concoctions with which they would ‘doctor’ (anoint) the warriors both before and after battle.] I was, however, one of the men who followed the refugees down the Buffalo River, and only returned to the English camp late in the afternoon . . . The portion of our army which had remained to plunder the camp did so thoroughly, carrying off its maize, the bread stuffs, and stores of all kinds, and drinking such spirits as were in the camp. Many were drunk, and all laden with their booty; and towards sunset the whole force moved back to the encampment of the previous night, hastened by having seen another English force approaching from the south. [Lord Chelmsford and his column returning to camp at dusk having pursued an elusive foe all day.]
29. Quarter-Master William London of the Natal Carbineers, killed at the Battle of Isandlwana. (KZN Archives, Pietermaritzburg)
Those of the defenders who survived the attack on the camp fled with forlorn hope down towards the Buffalo River and Natal, remorselessly pursued by the victorious and maddened warriors who, over the broken terrain, could outrun a horse.
Brickhill, the interpreter, was one who ran the gauntlet and was brave enough to admit that he acted like a coward:
30. Lieutenant J A Roberts of the Natal Native Horse, killed at the Battle of Isandlwana. (Ron Lock Collection)
Our flight I shall never forget. No path, no track. Boulders everywhere – on we went, borne now into some dry torrent bed, now weaving our way amongst trees of stunted growth . . . Our way was already strewn with shields, assegais, hats, clothing of all description, guns, ammunition belts, and I don’t know what not. Our stampede was composed of mules, with and without pack saddles, oxen, horses in all stages of equipment, and fleeing men all strangely intermingled – man and beast all inflicted with the danger which surrounded us. How one’s bosom steels itself to pity at such a time. I came up with poor Band-Sergeant Gamble tottering and tumbling about amongst the stones. He said, ‘For God’s sake give me a lift’. I said, ‘My dear fellow, it’s a case of life and death with me’, and closing my eyes I put spurs to my horse and bounded ahead.
Captain Essex, an Imperial officer, later wrote:
I had, thank God, a very good horse, and a sure-footed one, but I saw many poor fellows roll over, their horses stumbling over the rocky ground. It was now a race for dear life. The Zulus kept up with us on both sides, being able to run down the steep rocky ground quite as fast as a horse could travel.
31. John Bullock, Quarter-Master Sergeant, Natal Carbineers, killed at Isandlwana, a Pietermaritzburg chemist in civilian life. (KZN Archives, Pietermaritzburg)
And another young officer by the name of Smith-Dorrien: ‘I was riding a broken-kneed old crock which did not belong to me and I expected it to go down on its head every minute . . . The enemy were going at a kind of very fast half-walk, half run . . . and kept killing all the way.’
It was an overwhelming Zulu victory, a victory that shook the British Empire. When finally – and still in disbelief that such a disaster could have happened – Lord Chelmsford and his column, in the gathering gloom, arrived at the stricken camp, all that they found was death and destruction: ‘The dead were lying in such numbers that we constantly fell over corpses, but whether European or Zulu it was too dark to see. The gunners of the Royal Artillery had to pull bodies out of the way because the horses would not pass them.’
There were many individual descriptions of the night’s ordeal:
It was a mercy that the surrounding darkness shut off from our view many ghastly sights . . .
We laid down in a square for the night literally amongst our slaughtered comrades . . .
No pen could adequately express the feelings of those who spent the night at that ghastly halting place amongst the debris of the plundered and mutilated bodies of men, horses and cattle . . .
But there were also many Zulu dead, estimated at around 1,000; so many in fact that it was as though, in King Cetshwayo’s words: ‘An assegai had been plunged into the belly into the Zulu nation.’
Just prior to the commencement of hostilities, a young Dutchman by the name of Cornelius Vijn, had been trading in Zululand and had been apprehended just at the time when the Zulu army was ready to depart for Isandlwana:
When the king heard how his people had treated me he was astounded, and said that this had occurred without his order or cognisance. He then agreed with his chief men and brothers that no harm must be done to me, and that all my goods must be collected and brought back to me. . . . That no one must dare to touch me or my property, since I, and all I had, belonged from that moment to the king until the war should be over, when I might return in quiet to Natal again.
32. By 1880 the battlefields of Isandlwana had, to a large extent, been cleaned up. Colonel Bowker and Major Stabb, keen naturalists, take the opportunity to catch butterflies. (KZN Archives, Pietermaritzburg)
When the news of the warrior casualties reached Zululand there was lamenting for many days. Vijn observed:
. . . a troop of people, who came back from their gardens crying and wailing. As they approached, I recognised them as persons belonging to the kraal in which I was staying. When they came into or close to the kraal, they kept wailing in front of the kraals, rolling themselves on the ground and never quietening down; Nay, in the night they wailed so as to cut through the heart of anyone. And this wailing went on, night and day, for a fortnight; the effect of it was very depressing; I wished I could not hear it.
Two other battles were fought on the same day as Isandlwana. Lord Chelmsford had left 100 men to guard the make-shift hospital and commissariat store at Rorke’s Drift on the Natal bank of the Buffalo River. At 4.30 p.m. part of the Zulu army, some 3,000–4,000 strong, that had missed out on the plunder at Isandlwana, descended on the British post that, having been forewarned of the Zulu approach, had just one hour in which to throw together, helter-skelter, a flimsy barricade made of biscuit boxes and sacks of corn. The engagement that followed has become as famous a victory for the British Army as the fight at Isandlwana has become a byword for blunder and defeat. And the Zulu regiments that were eventually vanquished by the redcoats, fighting at odds of more than twenty to one, were ridiculed by their kin – but the redcoats who eventually triumphed, after twelve hours fighting – much of it hand-to-hand combat, had unstinted praise for the courage of their Zulu foe.
Let the mocking Zulu critics speak first:
The Uthulwana Regiment was finished up at Jim’s [the Zulu name for Rorke’s Drift named after James Rorke: KwaJimu or Jim’s Place] – shocking cowards they were too. Our people laughed at them. Some said ‘You! You’re not men! You’re just women, seeing you ran away for no reason at all, like the wind!’ Others jeered and said, ‘You marched off!’
The British defenders thought differently. Lieutenant John Chard, the officer commanding Rorke’s Drift, speaking of the first rush of the Zulu attack:
. . . A series of desperate assaults splendidly met by our men and repulsed by the bayonet . . . Those Zulus were an enemy that it was some credit to us to have defeated. Their bravery and courage could not have been excelled, and their military organisation and their discipline might have given a lesson to more civilised nations. Cruel and savage as they were, the Zulus were a gallant enemy. . .
Colour Sergeant Frank Bourne:
. . . They made rush after rush, but we kept them at bay. Still they came on. There was no question of quarter. They asked for none, and they gave none . . .
Sergeant Fred Milne:
They hurled themselves on our people’s defences, to be repulsed by our concentrated fire and by bayonets. Again and again they came on. Assegais clashed against rifle barrels. They shouted their war cries and we gave British cheers. At first I felt nervous, but the savage instinct, the blood thirst came up on top. So close was the conflict that one soldier felled two Zulus with his fists.
Private Frederick Hitch:
They pushed right up to us, and not only got up to the laager but got in with us! But they seemed to have a great dread of the bayonet which stood with us from beginning to end. During the struggle there was a fine big Zulu seeing me shoot his mate down he sprang, dropping his rifle and assegai, gripping hold of the muzzle of my rifle with his left hand and with his right hand got hold of the bayonet, thinking to disarm me, he pulled and tried hard to disarm me and get the rifle from me, but I had a firm grip of my rifle with my left hand. My cartridges were on top of the mealie bags which enabled me to load my rifle with my right hand and shoot the poor wretch.
And so the fight continued into the night until, twelve hours after it had commenced, the Zulu attack finally wavered and the warriors withdrew.
The miraculous British success at Rorke’s Drift together with the award of eleven Victoria Crosses to the defenders, did much to distract both military and public attention from the disaster of Isandlwana. Both engagements, each spectacular in their own way, also distracted attention from the third battle fought on 22 January 1879. The British Coastal Column, under the command of Colonel Charles Pearson, 2,800 strong, engaged and defeated a Zulu army at a crossing of the Nyezane River. Then, marching on to Eshowe and taking possession of Bishop Schreuder’s deserted mission station, Pearson and his men were besieged there and would remain so for the next two months.
The British invasion of Zululand came to a sudden halt. The Colony of Natal had been indeed fortunate that a handful of redcoats had managed to deter and daunt the Zulu army at Rorke’s Drift. Although Prince Dabulamanzi (he who had lost the shooting competition to the boy soldier at Cetshwayo’s coronation) had specific orders not to cross into the colony, he later confessed that had he taken Rorke’s Drift, he would not have restrained his rampaging warriors and believed that as he pressed on into the defenceless countryside, the local natives, to save themselves, would join him, rise up against the whites, and the holocaust that the settlers feared would come to pass.
Yet, as far as the Zulu kingdom was concerned, the threat of invasion remained. Lord Chelmsford would have to make a second attempt and reinforcements began to arrive from around the British Empire. A Captain Montague remembered the tales being told aboard the ship, each story more terrifying than the last:
Men lately returned from Zululand had talked to them freely of the terrors of the place. Defeat was a certainty. Death indeed a mercy; tortures of the most appalling nature, described with a realistic force quite convincing, were with a certain loss of those unfortunate enough to escape death. Isandlwana was an every day occurrence in wars of this kind: the names of officers who had fallen here was quoted as ‘instances of fresh horrors’; their bodies had been recovered all but unrecognizable, owing to their treatment . . . The listeners were young and ready of belief, and the accounts of what they had heard cost nothing in the telling, and were detailed on board as the most cheerful news to be had.
By the end of March Lord Chelmsford was ready. However, the Zulu army had not been idle and Chelmsford would have to ride the shockwaves of two further disasters before the fortunes of war swung in his favour. First a redcoat convoy, carrying amongst other things 90,000 rounds of ammunition, was ambushed in a dawn attack, suffering sixty casualties, either dead or missing, and the loss of the entire load of ammunition. This incident caused The Graphic to protest: ‘British soldiers (officers and men alike) will persist in underrating the enemy, especially if he wears a black skin.’
The second calamity was the defeat and near-annihilation of over 200 crack colonial horsemen who were attacking the Zulu stronghold of Hlobane Mountain. But the following day, fortune finally favoured the British invaders. Following up their victory over the colonials, a Zulu army, 20,000 strong, now at the zenith of its power and success, rashly descended on the fortified encampment of No. 4 Column, commanded by Colonel Evelyn Wood, at Kambula Hill. Every precaution, over a number of weeks, had been taken against such an attack. The wagons had been converted into temporary two-tier firing platforms; shelter trenches had been dug; ammunition boxes opened; guns had been entrenched; range-markers had been positioned as far out as a thousand yards in every direction and every man knew his exact position and duty.
After the debacle of Rorke’s Drift, Cetshwayo had instructed his generals that on no account must an attack be made on an entrenched enemy – the king contemptuously comparing the British to bushpigs who also burrowed in the ground. However, the headstrong young warriors, exultant and eager to re-enact the glory of Isandlwana, calling out to the redcoats as they advanced: ‘Don’t run away, Johnny; we want to speak to you’, charged the British defences, squandering their lives, and in one futile assault sealed the fate of the Zulu kingdom. Although there was yet a final battle to be fought, Kambula was the decisive engagement of the war; a correspondent of the Cape Argus reported on the first phase of the battle: ‘We were able to see dense masses of the enemy advancing in perfect order in four columns; their end seemed never to come and no doubt many in the camp were doubtful that they would resist the rush of such masses.’
33. The surprise dawn attack on the 80th Regiment’s convoy was another Zulu victory that filled the young British troops with apprehension.
And then they charged, into a killing ground of rifle volleys and shellfire:
. . . But still they came on, with the ferocity of tigers, never halting, never wavering, never flinching or hesitating for a moment.
. . . A line of Zulus swept around the corner wagon at full speed and raced along our line, seeking an opportunity to enter. As they passed each wagon a sheet of flame and smoke from the Martini-Henry rifles welcomed them. They tumbled and fell, but it made not the slightest difference; they did not shear away from the wagons or abate their speed, and they still came on – an endless stream. Finding no opening, the Zulus turned and charged the whole line. Crash! – As the shields struck the wagons, and the whole line shook.
That was the recollection of young George Mossop, a seventeen-year-old volunteer of the Frontier Light Horse. Captain George Dennison of Wetherley’s Border Horse had similar memories: ‘Loud and continuous was the din of battle interluded with a deep base and weird battle cry added to the rattling of many thousands of shields by the Zulus as they made successive charges on one or other side of the camp.’ Mehlokazulu, Sihayo’s son, remembered the engagement from the Zulu side: ‘. . . So many were killed that the few not killed were lying between dead bodies so thick were the dead . . . Our regiment was so anxious to distinguish itself that we disobeyed the King’s orders . . . Had we waited properly for supports we should have attacked the camp on both sides at once and we should have taken it . . . ’ The battle over, the Zulu dead were so numerous that it took three days to bury them. Commandant Schermbrucker of the Kaffrarian Rifles described the scene: ‘It was a ghastly ditch, 200 ft long, some 200 ft broad and 10 ft deep which received wagon load after wagon load of dead bodies of the bravest warriors of a brave people. Full military honours were accorded, as batch after batch, closely packed, they were deposited in a soldier’s grave.’
On 2 April, 100 miles away, Lord Chelmsford also fought a battle, but against a smaller and less resolute Zulu army. He was victorious and went on to relieve Eshowe where, it will be remembered, men of the Coastal Column had been under siege for a number of weeks. Now the way was clear for an advance on the Zulu capital. But it would take another three months for the now victorious British to get there; and on the way another catastrophe that would shake the world befell the unfortunate Lord Chelmsford. Attached to his staff was a non-combatant observer, none other than Louis, Prince Imperial of France, son of Napoleon III and great-nephew of the Napoleon Bonaparte. He was an adventurous and headstrong young man who took himself off on a reconnaissance patrol, deep into Zulu territory, and was ambushed and killed. His death caused an international sensation that did nothing to enhance Chelmsford’s reputation and which caused Benjamin Disraeli, (who was by then Lord Beaconsfield) the British Prime Minister, to remark: ‘A very remarkable people, the Zulus: they defeat our generals; they convert our bishops and they have settled the fate of a great European dynasty.’
34. The Frontier Light Horse was originally raised in the Eastern Cape from the rough, tough drifters of the frontier. It followed the fortunes of Chelmsford’s army but was immediately disbanded after the Battle of Ulundi.
The Zulu taunt ‘fight us in the open’ – in other words, outside an entrenched position – had rankled with Lord Chelmsford, as indeed it had with the whole of the army, and Chelmsford had determined that the final battle would be won in a manner that he and his men could be proud of. After much hardship on the march, during which they plundered and laid waste in an orgy of vengeful destruction everything in their paths, the redcoats and colonials arrived at the Umfolozi River, four miles from the Zulu capital of Ulundi. Here, the column performed a remarkable military manoeuvre. Having waded the Umfolozi, the whole force of 5,000 men formed a square, the size of a polo ground, and in that formation marched on Ulundi and, in the open, awaited the Zulu onslaught. They did not have to wait for long. ‘They [the Zulus] advanced in beautiful order, covered by skirmishers, apparently in one continuous line about four deep, with intervals between the regiments . . . it is evidently their object to surround us, with their largest force in the rear to cut off our retreat; it was a grand sight.’
35. A further disaster for Lord Chelmsford: Louis Napoleon, Prince Imperial of France, is brutally killed by Zulu warriors whilst on a reconnaissance. Major Stabb stands by his handiwork of erecting a memorial while Zulu labourers give the royal salute.
36. Zulus who had left the kingdom to live in Natal were conscripted into regiments led by white officers and NCOs, many of whom lacked the necessary qualities of leadership. (Local History Museum, Durban)
But, although the British were outnumbered four to one, they had 5,000 breech-loading rifles, twelve field guns and two Gatling guns while, by contrast, the Zulus had less than 1,000 captured breech-loaders, spears, shields and muzzle-loading muskets. A comparison of casualties tells the story: on the British side, thirteen killed and sixty wounded whereas the Zulu casualties were estimated at 1,200. Fire power had ensured that the Zulus never closed with the British square.
37. Ernest Grandier, a Frenchman serving in Weatherley’s Border Horse, was the only white man to be taken prisoner by the Zulus. A few weeks later he escaped relatively unharmed.
38. At the battle of Ulundi the seven and nine pounder guns of the Royal Artillery, devastated the packed ranks of the Zulu army. Total British casualties, killed and wounded, eighty two. The Zulu killed were estimated at 1,500.
Captain Montague again:
No prisoners were taken. Hours after the battle the popping of the Basuto’s [NNH] carbines told of the horrible kind of warfare we were engaged in. Merciless savages are these Basutos, so brave soldiers, and not a few of them Christians. But ‘War to the death’ is their motto, one and all. One of them happened to hit a wretched Zulu in the legs as he was running away, and captured him. Sitting down besides his prize, he pulled out some meat and a bit of biscuit and took his lunch, conversing all the while in a pleasant, friendly way with the Zulu, prompting him by asking all sorts of questions, and talking of old times when they might have met. Lunch over and the questions disposed of, the Basuto tightened his girth, put the bit into his pony’s mouth, and nodding to his poor captive, said he must be off, as time pressed – and without more ado took up his carbine and shot him dead.
It was a British triumph. For all practical purposes the war was over. Chelmsford had not only beaten the Zulus, he had also beaten Sir Garnet Wolseley, the new commander-in-chief, who had been riding furiously in an effort to take command and direct the final battle. As it happened, he arrived a day too late and an elated Chelmsford greeted him with not only the news of his victory but also of his resignation. He would leave Wolseley to sort out the mess and to have the renown of capturing the Zulu king.