by James Mace
“Bayade!” the izinduna shouted in unison, hailing their inkosi and the king, before returning to their companies.
The vast impi numbered nearly 20,000 warriors. The king had ordered several smaller regiments of older men, who were usually exempt from royal service, to join the army to make up for the losses suffered at Isandlwana and Rorke’s Drift. There was also a second impi, numbering around 11,000 warriors, detached to make its way towards Eshowe. King Cetshwayo had ordered them to delay the force of white soldiers massing at Lower Drift, near the mouth of the Thukela River. He rightly suspected they were preparing to launch an expedition to relieve the besieged garrison at Eshowe.
“Once you destroy our enemies in the north and lay claim to the disputed territories, there may be one last enemy for us to fight,” Cetshwayo told Mnyamana and Ntshingwayo. His hope was that, once the northern British impi was destroyed, Chelmsford might at last be compelled to negotiate for peace. Given the firm rebuke of the king’s previous overtures, Cetshwayo was prepared to slaughter every last imperial redcoat within Zululand. So long as he could face them one at a time and not allow them to mass their numbers and firepower, his regiments held the advantage. He had also made it abundantly clear that they were not to attack any fortified British camps. His adversaries were better armed and equipped, yet from what King Cetshwayo could surmise, the Zulus held every other possible advantage. He now placed his trust in the amakhosi and their regiments.
Mnyamana ordered the impi to form into a series of four large columns for the march from Ulundi to Khambula. The chief minister had stated that a fifth column of abaQulusi warriors would join them, once they reached Hlobane Mountain. Despite the knowledge that the coming campaign would be both painful and bloody, an aura of confidence enveloped the warriors of the amabutho. They had destroyed the English soldiers once, and they were ready to do so again.
It was overcast and drizzly when the Border Horse and Boer Burghers rode out from Khambula. The air felt heavy. Piet Uys deployed a contingent of ten riders to scout ahead of the column.
As gusts of wind occasionally whipped the spray of raindrops into their faces, young Rupert Weatherly pointed towards the patches of blue sky in the east.
“Might make for a fine afternoon,” he remarked to his father. He then grabbed at his sweat-stained tunic. “Though I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to this heat.”
“Be glad we’re not in India, son,” Frederick replied. “Fourteen years I spent there, and never did I get used to the mugginess and heat.”
“A pity I have no memories of India,” the younger Weatherly said.
“Well, you were scarcely three when we returned home. And you handled the months-long voyage by sea better than I did. But not to worry, son. Once this matter with the Zulus is settled, we’ll return home. I daresay we’ll be back in Brighton by Christmas!”
There was hope in Frederick Weatherly’s words, but also much strain. His fortunes had plummeted, both financially and politically, since his departure for Southern Africa. His wife had proven faithless and compelled him to publicly demand a divorce, and he was now cut off from her family’s immense wealth. What made the elder Weatherly even more bitter was what the disgrace had done to his son. Rupert was utterly heartbroken at his mother’s betrayal and had refused to see her since the scandal broke. Whatever troubles they may have had, Frederick would never forgive his former wife for the pain she’d caused their son.
His one hope was to win acclaim during this campaign against the Zulus, thereby securing his standing with Prince Arthur, the Earl of Sussex. It was he who had first given him his posting with the Volunteer Sussex Artillery. Such patronage would all but guarantee his son a place at Sandhurst and an eventual commission with the Dragoon Guards. Regardless of his personal misfortunes, Frederick Weatherly was determined his son would be afforded the best opportunities for an honourable and vibrant future.
Around 10.00 in the morning the two forces diverged. Piet Uys and the burghers heading north, towards Zungwini Mountain, while Weatherly and the Border Horse would sweep eastward, keeping south of the vast mountain plateau. As Weatherly’s patrol swept south of the Hlobane and Zungwini Mountains, one of his scouts came riding back at a fast canter. The Border Horse numbered just a few dozen men, yet all were experienced riders and excellent shots. During their short time at Khambula, they had proven their worth as scouts, nearly equalling the Boers.
“Colonel, sir. We spotted a large herd of cattle not two miles from here.”
“What of the Zulus?” Frederick asked.
“There appears to be only one attendant,” the trooper replied. “Strange, given that the herd is quite large, perhaps 2,000 beasts in all.”
“Deploy into skirmishing order, wedge formation!” Weatherly ordered his troopers.
His men fanned out into a large wedge, the commandant placing himself just behind the men at the very apex. Carbines were unslung and the horsemen kicked their mounts into a full gallop. As they crested a short rise, Weatherly saw the ominous mountain looming over the wide open plain. He also saw the large herd his scouts had informed him about. There, indeed, appeared to be only one herdsman with the beasts. This was bizarre. Frederick was concerned about a possible ambush; however, the grazing field was completely flat and the grasses only about knee height. There simply wasn’t any place for the Zulus to spring an ambush.
As the horsemen crested the hill and sprinted towards their quarry, the lone herdsman spotted them. He began shouting and smacking his walking stick against the various cattle, attempting in vain to drive them back towards the mountain. When the Border Horse were within a hundred yards, the man gave up and started to run. Several troopers halted and opened fire.
“Wait, we want him alive!” Weatherly protested.
It was too late. The poor herdsman jolted as a bullet struck him through the middle of his back, sending him sprawling onto his stomach.
Frederick sighed and shook his head. “Start rounding up the cattle!”
He then galloped his horse over to the fallen Zulu; his son and two of his officers accompanying him. The herdsman was quite elderly; his sparse hair mostly grey, with a body that was old and withered. The left side of his face was just visible in the grass. It was deeply creased with wrinkles, the eyes clouding over as his body spasmed violently. He had been struck in the centre of his upper back, as well as the back of one of his legs. The first bullet had gone clean through his heart, gouts of dark crimson flowing from the hideous wound, covering his back and soaking the ground beneath.
“That man could have given us some valuable intelligence,” Weatherly said scornfully to his accompanying officers.
“Yes, sir,” one of the officers, Captain George Dennison, replied. He then nodded back towards their men, who were rounding up scores of cattle. “Still, it’s not a complete loss.”
An NCO rode up to join the officers. It was Weatherly’s orderly sergeant, Francis Brissenden. His face was red with embarrassment.
“Apologies, colonel,” he said, hanging his head for a moment. “It was my men who opened fire. I failed to stop them and the fault is mine.”
Weatherly gave a short nod in acknowledgment. “Make certain your troopers are thoroughly briefed before we ride out again,” he stressed. “They are not to fire without permission, unless they or their fellow troopers are in immediate danger.”
“Yes, sir. And I daresay one fleeing herdsman hardly counts as ‘immediate danger’.”
“See to it, sergeant.”
The two men then exchanged salutes and Brissenden rode back to his men. Weatherly had to force down a grin of amusement as he could overhear the sergeant severely berating his troopers, his language laced with colourful profanity.
“I’d say that will sort out any further lapses in discipline,” Captain Dennison observed.
Sergeant Francis Brissenden
Weatherly’s Border Lances
It took some time to round up cattle. Given that
they terrified animals had scattered at the sound of gunfire, Weatherly’s troopers were able to secure around 500 total beasts. While this was scarcely a quarter of the total herd, it was still a fine prize; one which would see a bonus in pay for every man within the Border Horse.
“And no signs of the enemy,” Captain Dennison observed. “Strange that they just let us run off with their prized cattle.”
“Yes,” Weatherly said quietly. “Strange indeed.”
En route back to the fort, they came across Piet Uys and the burghers. He confirmed that there had been no enemy activity near Zungwini Mountain.
“And I suspect they will keep their cattle atop the mountain,” the Boer added, acknowledging Weatherly’s haul with a touch of envy.
The remainder of the patrol went without incident. The Border Horse and Boer Burghers returned to Khambula just before supper. The captured cattle were herded into the large stone kraal east of the laager, near the southern base of the high redoubt.
“I see the colonel is returning, as well,” Weatherly noted as he spied the column of mounted troops approaching from the north. “I hope they had more luck dealing with Mbilini than we did.”
Despite his great fatigue brought on by weeks of sleep deprivation and an incessant cold that refused to leave him, Evelyn Wood was feeling both aggressive and ambitious upon his return from Myer’s Drift. Though gravely disappointed at their failure to lure Mbilini and the abaQulusi into a fight, the report from Commandant Weatherly and Piet Uys made his thoughts turn to the unconquered stronghold of Hlobane.
He retired to compose a despatch to Lord Chelmsford, detailing what he had seen at the Ntombe crossing. And as he was none-too-pleased at having Lieutenant Colonel Cecil Russell back with the column, he failed to resist the urge to pass on to his lordship a piece of gossip which he’d heard from Buller’s second-in-command of the Frontier Light Horse, Captain Robert Barton.
Please don’t quote me, for it sounds ludicrous, but Captain Barton thinks Lt Col Russell would jump at the Remount Depot in Pietermaritzburg! He is very homesick! I also believe he will go to any lengths to avoid being placed under Lt Col Buller’s command. Fortunately for him, though perhaps not for the army, he holds seniority over Buller, and therefore cannot be made his subordinate. For being a cavalry officer, I also find his tactical and strategic logic to be lacking. I’ve had to personally direct him as to where he should place his vedettes! He has been completely helpless on patrol, and his apathy has had a crippling effect on the men of the IMI.
Though it was both unprofessional and vindictive for the column commander to speak so poorly about one of his subordinates to the GOC, Evelyn had come to feel exacerbated in the very presence of the IMI’s commanding officer. Had his words been known to Lieutenant Colonel Russell, there was the real possibility he would have resigned in protest, bringing disarray to the Imperial Mounted Infantry and Natal Native Horse, both of whom had a very high opinion of him. As it was, Colonel Wood’s disdain and mistrust of Russell meant that his troopers would be placed in a secondary role. The bulk of missions involving mounted troops would be given to Redvers Buller’s command.
As he finished penning his letter, his thoughts turned once more to the vast mountain plateau of Hlobane. Both Redvers Buller and Piet Uys had spoken favourably of an assault, especially since the latest patrols in the vicinity had gone virtually unopposed. After all, if a massive impi was in the area, would they have let the Border Horse abscond with several hundred cattle without a fight? His mind was soon to be made up when Captain Campbell came into his tent. Despite the warmth in the air, the colonel sat shivering with a blanket over his shoulders.
“Message from his lordship, sir,” his staff officer said, handing the folded single page to his column commander. Noting his discomfort, he then asked, “Are you alright, sir?”
Evelyn did not respond right away, but instead took a moment to read the GOC’s despatch. “Never better,” he replied with a grin of malice as he handed the message to Campbell.
Colonel,
As you know, I am about to cross into Zululand to relieve Colonel Pearson’s besieged troops at Eshowe. Your previous despatch, regarding the large mountain of Hlobane was intriguing. If there is a large herd of cattle, with only a minimal enemy presence, it may be a fine prize with which to compel your recently discharged horsemen to re-join the ranks.
With my focus occupied by the advance to Eshowe, you are free to do anything you like with your column, and if you wish to attack Hlobane, pray do so. Please inform me of any such advance by the 27th, that it might reach me at Eshowe by the end of the month.
Chelmsford
Evelyn Wood now knew Lord Chelmsford’s flying column of reinforcements was at last en route to relieve the garrison at Eshowe, and his lordship’s last orders were to create a decisive diversion to draw pressure off both the relief column and those forces still holding Rorke’s Drift. This latest message, along with the patrol from the Border Horse and Burghers, made the temptation all too great.
“Summon the column staff and battalion commanders,” he ordered Lieutenant Lysons.
As he waited for the officers to arrive, Evelyn pondered how he would take the ‘Painted Mountain’, as locals referred to it. An assault by infantry would be cumbersome, with the narrow footpaths only wide enough for men to walk single-file. Wood viewed such attempts by his redcoats to take the heights as suicidal.
The first man to reach the headquarters tent was Cecil Russell. The two men shared an awkward stare, with Russell simply saying, ‘Colonel’, by way of acknowledgement. Wood said nothing, only nodding in reply. Thankfully, the arrival of the rest of the senior officers was not long coming.
Wood threw off the blanket from his shoulders, struggling to keep from shivering as he addressed his men. “Gentlemen, I believe the time has come for us to conduct a reconnaissance of Hlobane Mountain.”
“Reconnaissance or assault, sir?” Redvers Buller asked.
“First one, then possibly the other,” Wood replied. “As you may have heard, there is a large herd of cattle in the vicinity. Some of these were captured only this day by Commandant Weatherly’s Border Horse. We’ve allowed the abaQulusi sanctuary atop the mountain for too long, and I think it is time we see what their fighting strength is.”
Lieutenant Colonel Russell then asked, “Sir, do we have any intelligence as to what their fighting strength is? If Prince Hamu has already defected, we can assume the northern Zulu Kingdom is in disarray. Hlobane is to the east, and our objective of Ulundi is to the southeast. Are the abaQulusi even a threat to our mission?”
Wood fought back the urge to forcibly rebuke the IMI commanding officer for what he felt was a stupid question. Instead, he replied, “That is why we need to scout the Hlobane plateau, so that we might know their true strength and, if possible, obtain their cattle.”
“Colonel, my men suspect the abaQulusi number no more than 500 men,” Piet Uys remarked. “Such a force should be manageable.”
“Speed and manoeuvre are how we take the Painted Mountain,” the colonel stressed. “Therefore, we will only take mounted troops and our natives. Apologies to Colonel Gilbert and Major Rogers, but your lads will have to wait until another day to get ‘stuck in’ with the Zulus.”
He then laid out a long parchment detailing the makeup of each wing:
Lt Col Buller
Burgher Force – 32 men, Cmdt Uys
Transvaal Rangers – 71 men, Cmdt Raaf
Border Horse – 53 men, Cmdt Weatherly
Baker’s Horse – 79 men, Lt Wilson
Frontier Light Horse – 156 men, Capt Barton
2nd BN, Wood’s Irregulars – 277 men, Maj Knox-Leet
Medical Staff – 16 orderlies
Rocket Section – 10 men, Maj Tremlett
Lt Col Russell
Imperial Mounted Infantry – 80 men, Lt Browne
Natal Native Horse – 70 men, Capt Cochrane
1st BN, Wood’s Irregulars –
240 men, Cmdt White
Hamu’s Warriors – 220 men, Capt Potter
Rocket Section – 10 men, Lt Bigge
Kaffrarian Rifles – 40 men, Cmdt Schermbrucker
In all, Buller had 694 men under his command with another 660 under Russell. And while he loathed the idea of giving Russell half the force, Wood knew he had no choice.
“Have your men draw a double allotment of ammunition and sufficient rations to last three days,” he directed, before addressing each commanding officer in turn. “Colonel Buller, you will deploy your forces to the east of Hlobane. Depart at first light tomorrow and stage in the valley east of the mountain. How you utilise your forces will be at your own discretion. Colonel Russell, you will break camp at 1.00 tomorrow afternoon, thereby giving Colonel Buller time to make his way east and stage his column. You are to approach from the west, towards Zungwini Mountain. Once in position, you will advance on the western nek of Hlobane as far as possible without incurring severe loss. You will hold in reserve, only advancing once Colonel Buller has claimed the summit.”
Russell nodded, though he was concerned as to how he would know Buller had claimed the summit. After all, Hlobane Mountain was enormous. The plateau stretched seven miles from its western to eastern edge and was over a mile at its widest. From what previous patrols had gathered, the routes up the mountain were extremely narrow and surrounded by large rock formations, ideal places to stage ambush sites. The large concave saddle that dominated the centre of the mountain’s southern face had appeared climbable from a distance. Closer inspection, however, had shown it was lined with impassable cliffs and strewn with large boulders.
