Cruelty of Fate

by James Mace

  “One can see for miles from here,” Evelyn observed as he scanned the landscape. Rain water continued to stream off his helmet, and he pulled his greatcoat closer around his shoulders.

  “It would be fairly simple to establish a small fort atop that knoll, sir,” Captain Campbell noted. “It’s not very large, yet would make an ideal picquet outpost.”

  “Some of the valleys are full of trees,” Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert noted. “This will make an excellent source of firewood.”

  “There are numerous coal pockets in the region,” Piet Uys recalled. “My scouts will take some of your men to find those closest to where you wish to camp, colonel.”

  On the evening of 31 January, the column began establishing a more permanent camp near a mountain in the area called Nqaba kaHawana. The term ‘permanent’ was relative, as sanitary conditions would compel Wood to move his camp every week or so. Disposing of human and animal waste was practically a full-time job in and of itself, coupled with the daily volume of garbage brought on by empty beef tins, biscuit boxes, and other various forms of refuse. And with it being the South African rainy season, the encircling trench around the camp was prone to filling with water, often lingering for days and quickly becoming stagnant. It was also a breeding ground for flies and ticks.

  On the morning of 1 February, Lieutenant Colonel Buller and a detachment of mounted troops began the first mission of what he hoped would ‘pull Lord Chelmsford out of his difficulties’. The intent was to draw the abaQulusi down from their mountain strongholds by raiding their homesteads, burning crops, and stealing cattle. One of the large kraals in the vicinity of Hlobane was suspected to belong to Mbilini.

  At 4.00 in the morning, as the rest of the camp was rousing itself to the sounds of ‘reveille’, Buller departed with a force of 114 troopers from the Frontier Light Horse along with thirty-three of Piet Uys’ burghers.

  Colonel Wood spoke with both Buller and Uys shortly before their departure. “Exercise both aggression and prudence,” he cautioned. “Should Mbilini decide to fight, see if you can draw him away from his stronghold. Whatever you do, do not allow him to maintain the advantage of fighting from atop the high ground.”

  Four companies from the 90th Regiment were designated as a ready-reserve force, staying in full kit and able to depart from the fort at a moment’s notice. Two of the 7-pounder cannon were limbered up, with an additional fifty troopers from the Frontier Light Horse ordered to keep their mounts saddled.

  For the mounted raiders, the morning was quite pleasant, though the lack of a breeze told Lieutenant Colonel Buller that it would be a stifling day before long. He said as much to Captain Robert Barton, the officer commanding of the troop of horsemen he accompanied.

  “We should keep our horses at a slow trot until the stronghold is in sight,” the captain recommended. “The only water source is a tributary of the Bivane River, which lies between Zungwini and Hlobane.”

  “Meaning we may or may not be able to use it to water our horses, depending on what the enemy decides,” Buller concluded.

  Heeding the troop commander’s advice, Redvers ordered his men to keep a modest pace during the trek. Piet Uys and his burghers formed the vanguard, as they were more familiar with the region. Since he was one of the few who spoke passable English, it was Uys who often rode back to report to Buller.

  There was no enemy activity observed throughout the morning. Buller surmised this was due to the presence of British soldiers so close to the abaQulusi strongholds. Just before 1.00, Uys’ scouts reported seeing the kraal they suspected belonged to Mbilini. Buller ordered Barton to form his troop into two lines and make ready to attack.

  Captain Robert Johnston Barton, Coldstream Guards

  Officer Commanding, A Troop, Frontier Light Horse

  Knowing his kraal just east of Hlobane, called iNdlabeyitubula, was vulnerable, Mbilini only left a hundred men to act as caretakers. The bulk of his army remained hidden in a series of wooded ravines to the south, within a mountain range called Mashongololo. The women, children, and most of the cattle were safely ensconced atop Hlobane during the daytime, or at his primary stronghold fifteen miles north, atop the Tafelberg Mountain just beyond the Phongolo River. However, it was to the ikhanda near Zungwini that Tshwane and the small group of scouts returned, having followed the British from Tinta’s Kop to their current encampment near the White Mfolozi River.

  The day after their return, the young Zulu took a walk away from the kraal to practice with his weapons in solitude. He did not possess a shield, and instead learned how to fight with an iklwa in one hand and a knobkerrie in the other. While this sacrificed the protection offered by a shield, it allowed greater mobility. Mbilini had taught him numerous techniques, stressing that he focus on speed rather than brute force. Like his brother, Mehlokazulu, Tshwane was of average height and lean build. And like the slight-in-stature Mbilini, the aspiring Zulu warrior would consider his smaller size a weapon rather than a hindrance.

  Within a small grove of trees, Tshwane found the perfect place to practice the skills Mbilini taught him. He kept his feet just outside his hips, staying on the balls of his feet. He wielded his knobkerrie in his left hand, swinging it in short arcs. His iklwa was kept close to his side in his right hand. The idea was to use the club to keep one’s opponent off-balance, as well as bashing away shields and possibly breaking bones with blows to the head or limbs. The iklwa was foremost a stabbing weapon used with great speed and precision. Mbilini taught Tshwane to stay limber and loose on his feet, moving quickly and not allowing any adversary, be they British redcoat or traitorous kinsman, to land a killing strike. Once an enemy was knocked off-balance, he would lunge in and stab the man through the heart or stomach. And like the British instructors in bayonet drill, Mbilini stressed that one should avoid stabbing through the ribs if at all possible. The risk of one’s spear getting stuck was great, leaving him vulnerable to counter-thrusts from his stricken foe’s companions.

  The weapons felt good in Tshwane’s hands; they were well-crafted and balanced. Envisioning a large, slender tree as a potential opponent, the Zulu danced about, constantly changing the position of his feet, as well as his elevation as he feinted high and low. Occasionally, he would swing his knobkerrie in a series of blows at head, body, and knee levels in rapid succession. He would then follow with a quick thrust from his spear. While pleased with his quickness and how fast he’d learned, Tshwane was wise enough to know that it was completely different when fighting an armed opponent who was not keen to have his brains bashed in or his guts skewered. He knew he would need to be especially quick on his feet, should he ever come face-to-face with a red-jacketed soldier. Just getting close enough to engage in melee was a harrowing ordeal. Their rifles were known to possess terrifying range and accuracy. And when one did face a redcoat in close combat, their rifles with long-spiked bayonets possessed a far greater reach than any weapons wielded by the Zulus. They were also known to constantly drill and practice, with every soldier being a skilled bayonet fighter.

  “Which is why I suppose Mbilini prefers to fight them from the shadows,” Tshwane said quietly to himself. He stopped to take a breath, having been attacking his wooden foe for the better part of ten minutes.

  Satisfied with his exercises for the morning, Tshwane drained his water bladder and sought to bathe and refill his drinking water in the nearby stream. He had just stepped from the woods when suddenly the skin on the back of his neck started to crawl. Feelings of dread swept over him. He turned his gaze to the west and saw what appeared to be hundreds of indeterminant shapes approaching at great speed. His eyes grew wide, knowing what they were even before they took on the shape of men and horses. “The white soldiers come!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as he ran for the ikhanda.

  Warriors emerged from their huts, taking up their weapons. They had just formed into a pair of company lines when they, too, saw the mounted troops fast approaching.

  “They are too man
y,” their induna said, shaking his head in frustration. The ikhanda of iNdlabeyitubula was not only a barracks for Mbilini’s warriors, but also held many elevated huts used for storing grain. The induna ordered his men to gather whatever they could and flee to the south, hoping the Swazi prince had a plan to strike hard at the imperial soldiers before all their people’s grain and cattle were lost.

  As the large enemy kraal came into view, Lieutenant Colonel Buller raised up his field glasses, attempting in vain to keep his hand steady while riding his horse. In the jolting glimpses he did manage to see scores of what appeared to be abaQulusi warriors racing for the mountain ranges to the south.

  “Shall I break off a detachment to pursue?” Captain Barton asked, having also spotted the mass of warriors.

  Buller shook his head. “No. We don’t know where their friends are lurking. Stick to the mission and surround the kraal.”

  As the Frontier Light Horsemen broke off into a pair of pincer formations, keeping a wide interval as they attempted to encompass the large complex, Piet Uys and his burghers split off and headed north towards a large open field. Soon, the sounds of gunfire were heard coming from that direction. Buller ordered Barton to start sweeping the kraal while he and two of his staff officers rode off to find the Boers.

  Cresting a small rise, Buller spotted the burghers returning, leading over a hundred head of cattle. Piet Uys saw his commanding officer and rode over to him.

  “We found a small band of Zulus out tending to one of the herds,” he explained. “We killed six of them before the rest scattered.”

  “And I see you’ve brought back a fine catch, as well,” Buller noted with approval.

  A few minutes later, Captain Barton met with Buller and reported his troop’s findings. “We only found a handful of weapons, sir,” he said. “But more importantly, those elevated huts near the centre ring are full of grain.”

  “Splendid!” Buller replied with a touch of excessive enthusiasm. “Let us see how long our enemies refrain from engaging us in battle while their people starve.”

  Troopers were sent further afield, many bringing back scores of errant cattle. In the meantime, Lieutenant Colonel Buller ordered the ikhanda burned to the ground. The smouldering coals left over from cooking fires were used to light makeshift torches. It took the better part of two hours to set all of the huts alight, as the roof thatch was extremely damp from the near-constant rains. Buller directed his men to observe the blaze for another hour, making certain that the fires took hold. It was only after the entire complex was engulfed in a hellish inferno, with columns of smoke and fire seen for many miles, that he ordered his detachment to return to camp.

  Frontier Light Horsemen burning kraals and driving off cattle, from The Illustrated London News

  It was well after sunset when the braying of cattle was heard in the distance from the British encampment.

  “Sounds like the cattle rustlers have returned with even more in prizes,” Private Albert Page remarked. He, Private George Hill, and two soldiers from Sergeant Ring’s section were manning the eastern entrance to the camp.

  Hill looked to one of the other soldiers. “One of you lot mind finding Corporal Shepard and asking him to inform the colonel?”

  Evelyn Wood was still fully dressed, anxiously awaiting the return of the mounted expedition from inside his command tent. His batman was clearing away his plate and cup leftover from supper when Wood directed Lieutenant Lysons to find the infantry commanding officers, along with Captains Campbell and Woodgate.

  In addition to the commanding officers and staff was Lieutenant Arthur Bigge, Royal Artillery. Placed in charge of the rocket section for 11/7 Battery, he earned a supplementary income as a correspondent for The Times in London. As such, he was often privy to meetings with the senior officers. Colonel Wood’s batman found him a camp chair near the entrance flap of the tent. Bigge took out his pen and parchment, doing his best to take notes in the pale lamp light as Lieutenant Colonel Buller briefed his commanding officer on the day’s events.

  Lieutenant Arthur Bigge, Royal Artillery

  “We destroyed the kraal, as directed, sir,” Buller began. “There were around 250 huts, including a dozen used for storing mealies. We also brought back around 260 cattle, including fifty large oxen.”

  “Any resistance?” Colonel Wood asked.

  Buller shook his head. “No, sir. We saw maybe a hundred warriors fleeing south. Mister Uys and his burghers brought down six who were tending to the herds.”

  “But no prisoners to interrogate,” Lieutenant Bigge muttered quietly under his breath.

  “Though the enemy eluded us today,” Buller continued, “They will soon have no choice but to fight, lest we plunder and destroy their people’s entire stock of food stores.”

  “Splendid work, colonel,” Wood said, standing up from his chair. He then nodded to Piet. “And to your burghers as well, Mister Uys. We have taken quite the step today in pulling his lordship, and indeed the entire army, out of difficulty.”

  Perhaps the only man present who did not feel the same level of enthusiasm towards the day’s expedition was Lieutenant Bigge. Though he kept his thoughts private, he felt that the Zulus were letting them destroy their kraals and raid cattle. He wondered if the deprivation of their food stores was overplayed. That they had failed to draw their foes into offering battle was nothing short of a disappointment in the officer’s mind. In his notes, which would later find their way into the 5 May edition of The Times, Arthur summarised the events of 1 February as, ‘an unsuccessful attack on Mbilini’s kraal’.

  Chapter XIII: A Painful Lull

  The Royal Kraal of Ulundi

  6 February 1879

  King Cetshwayo and his wives, from The Graphic

  This distinction is actually an error, as the women depicted are in fact Cetshwayo’s attendants, known as his isigodlo girls

  The rhythmic beating of the night-time summer rains on the roof of his hut was usually soothing for the Zulu king, often lulling him into a deep sleep. And yet, ever since his kingdom unwillingly found itself at war with their former trading partners, the British Empire, sleep had become elusive for Cetshwayo kaMpande. His chief wife, Queen uNdlunkulu, had stayed with him for part of the night, hoping to bring comfort to her deeply troubled husband. With the entire nation in a state of strife, and their people’s very survival in jeopardy, there was no easing the raging torments within the Zulu king. Cetshwayo sent uNdlunkulu back to her own hut well before midnight.

  The king never wanted this war, and a nagging doubt in his heart told him that neither had his ‘white sister’, Queen Victoria. For more than fifty years, since the time of his uncle, the divine Shaka, the two nations enjoyed a prosperous, if sometimes uneasy, relationship. The British claimed the conflict was due to a border dispute, as well as the incursions of Zulu warriors seeking fugitives from the king’s justice. It all felt hollow to Cetshwayo. In the past, his men had crossed into Natal to hunt fleeing criminals with nary a whisper in protest from the British. It seemed the high commissioner of Natal, Sir Henry Bartle-Frere, was determined to have war and seize the lands of the Zulu.

  “So much suffering for one man’s petty ambitions,” the king said quietly. He rolled onto his side and then stood.

  A couple of his sleeping attendants were roused by his movements and quickly made their way over to their sovereign. Cetshwayo waved them off, contenting himself with draping a blanket over his shoulders as he stepped outside into the pouring rain. He closed his eyes and turned his face upward, relishing the pounding deluge upon his face. The rains were a gift from the heavens, filling the rivers with water for his people and their cattle, as well as nourishment to their crops. Equally important, the rains slowed the red-jacketed soldiers, making the ground nearly impassable for their cumbersome wagons and cannon. The king said a quiet prayer of thanks to the heavens for bringing divine intervention to aid his people.

  His regiments had won a resounding victory
over the imperial redcoats near the slopes of the mountain of Isandlwana, yet this brought Cetshwayo little relief and no sense of joy. The death toll suffered by the amabutho was fearsome, leading the king to lament, ‘A spear has been thrust into the belly of our nation. There are not enough tears to mourn the dead.’

  Making matters worse, on the same day as the amabutho’s great victory, his favourite brother, Prince Dabulamanzi, disobeyed his expressed orders not to cross the uMzinyathi River into British Natal. Cetshwayo was determined to fight a purely defensive war, that his people might be seen on the side of right and no threat to their neighbours. Dabulamanzi’s impertinence threatened to undo much of this. What’s more, his attack on the old mission of kwaJimu, known to the British as Rorke’s Drift, was a catastrophic failure. Several hundred warriors, including many from his personal regiment, the uThulwana, were killed during the unsanctioned and unsuccessful foray into Natal.

  On the same day, to the south, a smaller impi under an elderly inkosi named Godide suffered a humiliating defeat when attempting to ambush British forces crossing the Inyezane River. Cetshwayo immediately removed Godide from his command. The southern impi managed to reorganise itself, in no small part, due to the sound leadership of one of the king’s royal induna, a venerable warrior named Phalane. They had since confined the enemy column to the abandoned Christian mission station at Eshowe, which they now held under siege. Cetshwayo subsequently dispatched Dabulamanzi to the region, in part to get him away from the royal kraal and also because the coastal lands in the south were his domain.

  The royal kraal at Ulundi was a massive complex of over a thousand huts, complete with vegetable gardens, pens for cattle and other livestock, as well as the open court where regiments could parade before the king. There was a large open field nearby, where the amabutho would muster during the harvest and during crises such as the current war against the British Empire. Thousands of citizens lived in and around the heart of the Zulu Kingdom.