by James Mace
“Colonel Rowlands is not only a fellow VC recipient, but he is my senior by eleven years,” Wood confided to Captain Campbell that evening.
His staff officer then noted, “And yet, the general has placed you in command of the northern column, essentially giving you the ability to take whatever reinforcements are necessary from Rowlands’ column.”
“To be fair, it was already decided that the 13th should join our force. I also cannot order Colonel Rowlands to hand over more troops. That would not only be a severe breach of protocol, but also an undermining of his own directive of garrisoning Natal. As much as I would like to have the 80th Staffordshire join us, it would be unwise to leave northern Natal and the Transvaal unprotected.”
Complicating matters, the companies from 1/13th were scattered throughout the region. These troops had a much longer journey to Utrecht, and he did not anticipate their arrival for at least a couple of weeks. They had been in South Africa for nearly four years and taken part in some of the fiercest fighting during the recent war against the Xhosa, as well as the Pedi insurrection. Evelyn knew they were in rough shape, understrength, and rather haggard in appearance after months of fighting in the bush. However, he reminded himself that they were soldiers of the Crown and among the most experienced veterans in Southern Africa. He was well acquainted with their commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Philip Gilbert, who was bringing three companies with him. The other four were making their treks from their various bivouacs. One company would remain on garrison duty, cutting their fighting strength even further. Still, Evelyn Wood was confident that their discipline and tactical prowess would stand in sharp contrast to their slovenly appearance and lack of numbers.
As he reviewed the organisational figures sent to him by the GOC’s secretary, Lieutenant Colonel John Crealock, it became readily apparent that imperial redcoats would make up scarcely half of Wood’s forces, who were given the designation, No. 4 Column. In addition to his Regular Army infantrymen, he had one battery of artillery consisting of six 7-pounder Rifled Muzzle-Loader (RML) cannon and four rocket troughs. There were also roughly six troops of a hundred horsemen each, albeit these were not professional troopers but locally recruited volunteers. For reasons even the GOC could not explain, there was a complete absence of imperial cavalry in the Cape.
“What I wouldn’t give for just one squadron of lancers!” General Thesiger was heard to say on many occasions.
Not only were British cavalry highly trained shock troops, they were experts at reconnaissance. The settler volunteers who made up the ranks of the Frontier Light Horse (FLH) and other mounted units were initially lacking in this regard. However, their experiences fighting the Xhosa had made up for what they lacked in formal training. Their other saving grace, in Wood’s mind, was that they were led by a Regular Army officer, Lieutenant Colonel Redvers Buller. Originally from the 60th Rifles, his years abroad made him an expert on mounted warfare. The only trouble was, Buller was currently assigned to Colonel Rowlands’ No. 5 Column, though he often found himself acting as a liaison to both Rowlands and Wood. Orders directly from the GOC had despatched Buller to linking up with No. 4 Column at Utrecht, and Wood rightly assumed his reassignment to his command was inevitable.
Lieutenant Colonel Redvers Henry Buller, 60th Rifles
While the infantrymen from the 90th went about their evening meal and establishing of night-time sentries, Lieutenant Colonel Buller arrived, joining Wood at his headquarters tent. Instead of his regimental green jacket or blue officer’s patrol jacket, he wore the corded riding breaches, a greyish jacket, and the same battered slouch hat commonly worn by colonial troops. His face covered in a thick beard, and one would surmise he was a settler volunteer rather than a professional soldier who’d held the Queen’s Commission for twenty years. He’d previously seen action in China, Canada, and West Africa, as well as being appointed a Companion of the Bath (CB) by Her Majesty before taking a leave-of-absence from his regiment to join General Thesiger as a special services officer in Natal.
“Ah, Redvers, good to see you, sir,” Wood said as he stood from his camp chair and extended his hand, which Buller readily clasped.
“And you, sir,” the cavalry officer replied.
Colonel Wood then dismissed Campbell and the other staff officers, that he might speak with Buller alone.
“There have been grumblings from the settlers to the north, Evelyn,” Buller said, as he removed his hat. He was, perhaps, the only man in the assembling No. 4 Column who was on friendly enough terms to call the commanding officer by his given name, albeit this only happened when the two were alone. “There have always been the issues of raiders striking from the regions around Hlobane Mountain. However, they’ve become more violent in recent months, killing even the women and children before setting fire to the settlements and driving off their cattle.”
“The Zulus?” Wood asked. “They’d be fools to act so aggressively, especially with the high commissioner looking for any excuse to instigate war against them.”
“Not the Zulus,” Buller replied, shaking his head. “According to the natives—most of whom are Swazi—it’s an exiled prince of theirs named Mbilini. Apparently, he was chased out of Swaziland after failing to usurp the throne from one of his brothers about fourteen years ago. And now, he’s established a freebooter state within the disputed territories.”
“And Cetshwayo just lets him roam free?” Evelyn asked incredulously. “Even if it’s not his warriors committing these atrocities, he is guilty of great crimes if he gives this barbarous man sanctuary.”
“Several of my men come from Luneburg,” Buller explained. “They arranged for me to meet with the mayor…your pardon, for I only did so as they deemed the situation urgent. There was insufficient time to send word to you.”
Wood gestured for Buller to continue.
“Prior to the Transvaal coming under British rule, the magistrate
complained directly to Cetshwayo, who gave permission for any white settlers able to administer justice against Mbilini to do so. Of course, the king himself does nothing; claiming that this region is too far removed from the royal kraal for him to dispatch a regiment to sort out the problem.”
“And as the boundary is still in dispute, I doubt he will do anything until it is resolved,” Evelyn speculated. “Should the Boundary Commission rule in his favour, he would have little choice but to bring this renegade to heel, lest he be seen as complicit in hostile acts against Her Majesty’s subjects.”
What he did not tell Buller, and wasn’t entirely certain the other column commanders even knew, was that the high commissioner, Sir Henry Bartle-Frere, was determined to have war with the Zulus regardless of the boundary commission’s decision. And because politics drove military action, he kept himself abreast of government affairs far more than many of his peers. He knew Bartle-Frere wished to confederate all of Southern Africa under British rule. The forcible seizing of the Transvaal from the Boers two years before was part of this grand strategy. And while the Zulus had been trading partners and friends of the British for more than fifty years, the high commissioner could not accept having such a large, independent kingdom with its own fearsome army on the doorstep of the Crown colonies.
While few knew of the pending ultimatum Bartle-Frere was compiling to goad the Zulus into war, or that both the GOC and the Director of Native Policy, Sir Theophilus Shepstone, were complicit in the matter, Colonel Evelyn Wood was no fool. With the enormous logistical costs in both revenue and manpower, there was no reason to despatch five columns of the Queen’s soldiers along the vast border with the Zulu Kingdom if war were not inevitable. Her Majesty’s government, currently led by Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli, had made it clear they wanted a peaceful solution to any conflict with the Zulus. The Empire’s armed forces were already stretched thin, with most resources were committed to the war in Afghanistan. What’s more, the Zulus had been friends and trading partners of the British Crown since the time of King
Shaka in the 1820s.
Were Bartle-Frere to commit Her Majesty’s forces into conflict with the Zulus, he would be doing so of his own volition, accepting full responsibility for whatever results may come. War was on the horizon. After fighting against African tribesmen during the last Ashanti War, Wood knew it would be foolish to underestimate an enemy as numerous and well-organised as the Zulus.
For now, there was much work to do as his column slowly came together. Logistics were proving to be a nightmare. His commissary and transportation officers sought to procure enough wagons and draught oxen which, inexplicably, the army was critically short of within the Cape Colonies. Depots needed to be established at various points along the frontier in order to keep the army supplied and fed. The lack of proper roads meant having to transport rations, ammunition, and various stores up from the port cities hundreds of miles away, and to rely on dirt wagon tracks which were notorious for turning into muddy quagmires during the rainy summer months. Colonel Rowlands’ abortive expedition against Sekhukhune demonstrated the consequence of sending a force into the field ill-equipped and unprepared. Evelyn Wood was determined that his column would not suffer the same consequences.
A week later, a man wearing the garb of a volunteer trooper rode into Utrecht. He found Colonel Wood seated on a camp stool with the quartermaster of the 90th Regiment, reviewing rations and ammunition requests.
“Colonel, sir,” the rider said, dismounting and coming to attention before saluting. “I bring a message from the high commissioner.”
“Indeed.” Wood scrunched his brow in contemplation.
While Sir Henry Bartle-Frere was high commissioner, Wood’s directives came from the GOC, Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Thesiger; a man soon to be better known as Lord Chelmsford. Why Bartle-Frere was sending messages directly to him was perplexing. He took the despatch and read it with great interest.
Colonel,
My office has received numerous complaints from the settlers in and around Luneburg, regarding a series of incursions by kaffir raiders. These have been mostly conducted against Swazi settlers, who nonetheless are still Her Majesty’s subjects. I fear that unless we put an end to these raids, the Boer and German settlers will conduct a mass exodus, likely further into the Transvaal or into Natal, which as you know will cause even greater issues with the farmers and communities already established in these territories.
The General Officer Commanding is of a like mind, that we cannot simply allow the Luneburg community to be continually terrorised by these unruly barbarians. I therefore request that you send a detachment with all haste to Luneburg, in order to reinforce the town and assure all citizens that they still have the full support and protection of the Crown.
Yours faithfully,
Sir Henry Bartle-Frere
High Commissioner, Natal
“Have Major Clery sent to me,” the colonel directed his orderly, Lieutenant Lysons.
Major Francis Clery was one of the most highly experienced officers besides Colonel Wood in No. 4 Column. He had last served as Deputy Assistant Adjutant & Quartermaster-General at Aldershot before he was permitted to volunteer for service in Southern Africa as a special services officer. This meant he could be utilised anywhere, and while Wood had found him useful, his position was redundant. He, therefore, suspected the GOC intended to dispatch Clery to Colonel Richard Glyn’s No. 3 Column, which was beginning to assemble in the vicinity of Rorke’s Drift, approximately sixty-five miles south of Utrecht. Wood was just four days older than Clery, yet he was now a full colonel with aspirations to be appointed brigadier general in the near future. Clery, meanwhile, remained static as a major. It wasn’t that he lacked in talent, it was the simple reality that wealth and patronage was of greater importance than ability when it came to officers seeking promotion. Still, the two enjoyed an amicable rapport, and Wood often found himself seeking the major’s advice.
“You sent for me, colonel?” Clery asked. He stepped into Wood’s tent and removed his patrol cap.
“I did, Francis,” Wood replied, waving for him to take a seat on a camp chair across from his rickety field desk. He handed Clery Bartle-Frere’s message.
The major shook his head. “I’m not sure what the high commissioner intends for us to do. If, as you and I both suspect, the general is planning an invasion of the Zulu Kingdom, we’ll be stretched thin if we also have to garrison Luneburg and the surrounding district.”
“My instincts tell me that our role will be far more complicated than simply advancing through Zululand towards the royal kraal at Ulundi. I also fear that the general’s rather ambitious plan for five columns will be difficult, if not impossible to execute.”
Clery nodded his head in understanding. “The GOC understands logistics and strategic planning; something he learned all-too-well in the Crimea, India, and North Africa. He knows we simply do not have the commissariat resources, specifically wagons and draught animals, to mount such a massive operation.”
Wood continued, “I would wager that the number of columns will have to be reduced, though I foresee I will retain command within the northern theatre. Colonel Rowlands is far senior to me; however, he fell out of the general’s favour after the debacle with Sekhukhune.”
Normally, Wood would not speak ill of a peer in front of a subordinate. However, he was merely stating what Clery already knew, and was giving General Thesiger’s opinion rather than his own.
“Somebody will have to deal with sorting out that troublesome fellow sooner or later,” Francis concurred. “So, with the high commissioner’s missive, how can I be of service?”
“It’s nearly fifty miles from here to Luneburg,” Evelyn recalled. “I need a competent officer to take two companies from the 90th and have them establish a fort there. Hopefully, the mere presence of professional soldiers will be enough to make the unruly natives think twice about harassing the Queen’s subjects. Thankfully, the region has been in drought for the past few years and the roads should be dry. My intent is to eventually request some of Colonel Rowlands’ troops garrison the town. However, as he is my senior, I cannot order him to dispatch soldiers to Luneburg. I can only hope that circumstances will compel the GOC to reinforce our column with at least one of his excess troops.”
Major Clery stood from his seat. “As you are Colonel of the 90th, sir, please inform me which companies you want dispatched to Luneburg, and we will make there with all speed.”
“Thank you, Francis,” Wood said, extending his hand. “I expect this will be one of the last tasks you perform for me. With the largest concentration of troops assembling at Rorke’s Drift, Colonel Glyn will likely need a capable staff officer to help him keep his redcoats, volunteers, and natives sorted.”
Over the coming months, war with the Zulus went from a possibility to inevitable. On the 11th of December, Sir Henry Bartle-Frere issued his impossible ultimatum to King Cetshwayo, demanding he disband his regiments and abandon further raising of the amabutho. Adding insult to this decree, it was presented almost as an afterthought to the Zulu delegation who met at Lower Drift along the Thukela River to hear the decision of the Boundary Commission. Surprisingly, the commission ruled in favour of the Zulus, awarding them the disputed territories from the Boers. However, Bartle-Frere had taken it upon himself to make this conditional upon the terms of his ultimatum, and the award was therefore rendered meaningless.
Among the other demands was the handing over of Mbilini to British authorities, that he might be tried for his crimes of theft and murder. King Cetshwayo could never consent to disbanding his regiments, and this mandate was rendered moot. Instead, it goaded the exiled Swazi prince into becoming a leader in the resistance against the pending British invasion. This further compelled the abaQulusi and Khubeka to actively oppose the whites, with many of their warriors joining Mbilini.
It was not long after the hateful ultimatum reached the king at Ulundi than a messenger from the royal court was dispatched to Hlobane with direct orde
rs for Mehlokazulu. It was a day the young warrior longed for; he despised having to live in hiding for performing what he knew to be his duty to his father and family.
“I bring word from the great elephant, the branch of leaves which extinguished the fire, for the induna, Mehlokazulu kaSihayo,” the messenger said, using some of the praise names for King Cetshwayo. He stood tall and spoke loudly. “You are to return at once to Ulundi. The great elephant is summoning his regiments, and as an induna with the iNgobamakhosi, it is time for you to lead your warriors in defence of the kingdom.”
“Then I shall return with you and place my services in the hands of our sovereign,” Mehlokazulu replied. He had brought very little in the way of personal possessions. It took him only minutes to gather his things and say a hasty farewell to Mbilini. “I leave my brother in your care, high prince and rightful king of the Swazis.” He then gave a bow of respect. “May he serve you well.”
Mbilini placed a hand on his shoulder. “If Tshwane serves me as well as you do your king and my benefactor, then both of us shall see great victories against the white soldiers before we meet again.”
The Christmas holiday and New Year approached, and the small force of redcoats sent to garrison Luneburg would not remain for long. The two companies from the 90th Regiment were recalled to Utrecht to be replaced by elements of the 80th Staffordshire Regiment, still under Colonel Rowlands’ No. 5 Column. Knowing that an invasion of Zululand was inevitable, Colonel Wood resolved to abandon Utrecht soon after the first of the year and make his way southeast to Balte’s Spruit, near the Ncome River. This upset many of the locals, who greatly feared an attack from the Zulus as well as the abaQulusi. With macabre humour, Wood told the citizens, ‘I can promise you nothing except a fine burial, should the worst come’. Few saw the levity in these remarks, yet Evelyn knew he could not leave sufficient troops to garrison every town along the disputed territories.
