by James Mace
The young lieutenant saluted and kicked his horse into a canter. Russell then directed Sergeant Naughton and four of his men, including Wassall and Westwood, to follow him. The path up onto Ntendeka was extremely narrow and rocky. It would have been tricky for a man walking, let alone riding a horse. Once they reached the summit, Russell and the small contingent searched in vain for any signs of the enemy. He then had Lieutenant Browne sent to him, ordering him to take the IMI and see if they could make their way up the steep pass onto Hlobane.
“Find Colonel Buller and coordinate with him,” he directed.
Browne saluted before ordering his NCOs to have their men follow him. Russell then tasked Lieutenant Williams with taking all of their indigenous warriors and start driving cattle off the mountain.
The engagement between Buller’s forces and Mbilini’s skirmishers had ended well before, so Lieutenant Colonel Russell’s column still did not know that their companions had been engaged and already sustained casualties.
To the east, Redvers Buller’s column reached the summit without further opposition. However, as his troops deployed into their assigned formations, he was horrified at the sight of just how large the upper plateau of Hlobane was. While he’d heard reports about its vastness, he’d thought these to be exaggerated. As his intent was to descend Hlobane by the same route which they’d come up, he ordered a troop from the Frontier Light Horse to take up defensive positions nearest the path to ensure the enemy did not cut off their avenue of escape. He also left a company of warriors from Wood’s Irregulars in reserve. The rest of his column formed into skirmishing lines and began to engage small groups of abaQulusi warriors, now making their presence known from amongst the various rock outcroppings and small defilades of cover. There were also a number of homesteads and kraals dotting the southern end of the plateau.
Buller quickly assessed the situation before calling his commanding officers to him. “Captain Barton,” he said to the officer who’d assumed overall command of the Frontier Light Horse in addition to his troop. “Press the attack north with Mister Uys and the Burghers in support. Major Knox-Leet, have your men take the kraals along the southern face; Mister Wilson and Baker’s Horse will cover you.”
“And where will we find you, sir?” Major Knox-Leet asked.
“I am going to see what is keeping Colonel Russell from joining us.”
Accompanied by his staff officer, Captain Gardner, and Commandant Raaff of the Transvaal Rangers, Buller began the long ride across the vastness of Hlobane’s uppermost plateau, keeping close to the southern edge. It took him just over twenty minutes to ride the seven-mile stretch. He, at first, panicked at the sight of hundreds of warriors swarming the southern and northern stretches near the west end, only to recognise the red and yellow rags tied to their heads denoting them as allies. He assumed Russell had dispatched them to start gathering up cattle.
As he reached the western edge of the mountain, he came across Lieutenant Cecil Williams, who had just sent word to Lieutenant Colonel Russell that Buller’s forces were in command of the summit. Shots rang out from off to Buller’s right, causing warriors to drop to the ground.
“Colonel, sir,” Williams said, snapping off a sharp salute.
“Mister Williams, glad to see you here,” Buller replied. “But where is Colonel Russell and the Imperial Mounted Infantry?”
“Colonel Russell is holding fast near the west end of Ntendeka,” the young officer explained. “He sent me and our natives to start rounding up cattle. Lieutenant Browne and the IMI should be up here before long. Mind you, sir, it is a steep and treacherous climb!”
Buller rode to the edge to survey the situation. The slope leading down towards Ntendeka was practically a sheer cliff, lined with massive boulders. There was only the narrowest of rocky paths that was traversable, and it was along this that Lieutenant Browne and the 80 soldiers from the Imperial Mounted Infantry were gingerly making their way up.
Once they reached the heights, Browne quickly scanned the ground to the north and east before ordering his men to dismount and form into skirmishing order. Within moments, a series of controlled shots rang out from the redcoats, joined by the African troopers from the Natal Native Horse. These indigenous troopers, who had all fought at Isandlwana, wore similar slouch hats, jackets, and riding trousers as the Frontier Light Horse. Aside from their skin colour, the only other noticeable difference was that many had elected to remain barefoot.
“Colonel Russell’s compliments, sir,” Browne said, saluting Buller. “Have you met much resistance?”
“The damnable weather and slippery rocks were a greater nemesis than the Zulus,” Buller replied. “It would seem Mister Uys was correct; I don’t think the enemy numbers more than a few hundred warriors.”
“And if we can claim all of their cattle, I would call this a successful reconnaissance mission, sir,” Browne added.
Buller nodded curtly and began the ride back to his own command. He was uncertain as to which route Colonel Wood intended to scale the heights. Wood had encamped with Russell’s men the previous night. But as he was not with them, Buller could only assume he meant to approach from the east.
As Buller rode away, the Imperial Mounted Infantry and Natal Native Horse continued to engage various bands of warriors, driving them from their hiding places so they could be more easily killed in the open. Sergeant Naughton and a section of twenty soldiers occupied the extreme right of the formation. He and Corporal McCann continued to call out commands to their men, leading them in short bounds towards every enemy position and directing their fire as needed. This was their first action since Isandlwana, and he was pleased to see how well his men were acquitting themselves. Despite Colonel Wood and Lieutenant Colonel Russell’s doubts regarding their fitness, the Imperial Mounted Infantry were all professional Regular Army soldiers. Each man instinctively remembered his manoeuvre and musketry drills. What’s more, they had a personal vendetta to settle.
Behind their scattered force, Lieutenant Edward Browne remained mounted, scanning for pockets of enemy resistance, keeping apprised of the larger tactical situation. Periodically, he would call out orders to his NCOs on the ground, directing them to various bands of enemy warriors hiding in the rocks. Occasionally he would look towards the east, wishing the Lieutenant Colonel Buller had given him a more thorough apprising of the situation on their extreme right. In the meantime, Lieutenant Williams and the warriors from Wood’s Irregulars were scattered about the western end of the mountain, trying to avoid the abaQulusi, while herding any cattle they came across in the direction of Ntendeka Nek.
To the south, Colonel Evelyn Wood and his staff rode at a canter in search of the eastern path that would lead them up the mountain. He departed from Russell’s column just before dawn, satisfied the instructions he left were sufficient. Now it was time to check on Buller. However, he did not wish to ride across the plateau of Hlobane, should it be infested with enemy warriors. Instead, he and his staff made the rather harrowing trek down Ntendeka, intent on crossing the open plain south of Hlobane. As they rode along the southern face of the mountain, the sounds of musketry echoed from atop the ridge, and Wood spurred his horse into a faster run.
About three miles into his trek, beneath the large concave formation of cliffs in the southern centre of the mountain, he was shocked to come across Frederick Weatherly and the Border Horse.
“Commandant Weatherly, what the devil are you doing here?” the colonel asked in exacerbation. “Do you not hear the sounds of battle coming from the mountain? Why are you not with Colonel Buller?”
“Your pardon, colonel,” Weatherly replied almost nonchalantly. “We became separated from Colonel Buller last night and have been unable to locate him.”
“Well, you certainly won’t find him here,” Wood replied spitefully. “So, explain to me why you are riding west, away from fighting?”
When Weatherly hesitated to answer, his staff officer, Captain George Dennison, spoke up.
“We became lost in the rain last night, sir, and have only just now managed to find bearings. If you would like, we shall accompany you to the top of Hlobane.”
Wood scowled and addressed Weatherly. “Follow the slope of the mountain—east mind you—and I suspect you will find the path that Colonel Buller took.”
Weatherly said nothing. He saluted before turning his horse about and leading his men away, consumed with a deep sense of humiliation. Wood had all but accused him of cowardice in front of his son. He could see Rupert’s face turning red, and he knew the colonel’s harsh words were not lost on the lad.
“Come now, son,” Frederick said. “The severe words of a colonel, misplaced as they are, cannot harm us. It is the enemy’s spears and muskets which we must turn our attention towards.”
“Sir, a word if you will,” Captain Dennison said, guiding his horse over to his commanding officer.
Frederick nodded and the two veered away from the commandant’s son. “What is it, captain? Surely you’re not bothered by the colonel’s ill-chosen words.”
“I don’t care what Colonel Wood may have to say about you or any of the Border Horse,” Dennison replied. “It’s what we spotted last night. Do you recall when we ended up heading south by accident, because we could not see due to the blackness and rain? What was it you told me you thought you saw on the low horizon?”
“Stars,” Frederick recalled. “What of it?”
“I don’t think those were stars, sir. I think they were campfires. And from what I’ve been able to discern, we were facing south, not north.”
Weatherly’s face turned pale. Feelings of fear crept up his back. The very reason he had assumed those were stars he’d seen was because of their sheer numbers.
“Dear God,” he whispered. Turning his horse, he quickly rode back to where Colonel Wood and his escort were following, about a mile further behind. “Colonel!”
“What is it, commandant?” Wood asked tiredly.
Weatherly explained what Captain Dennison had told him. “I don’t think it was stars at all, sir, but campfires from the Zulu impi.”
The colonel’s head was still throbbing from the headache which had pestered him since the previous evening, and he was in no mood for what he viewed as paranoid ramblings. Frederick Weatherly may have been a retired lieutenant colonel and decorated veteran of both the Crimean War and Indian Mutiny, yet Evelyn could not help but wonder if the man had lost his senses, as well as his courage.
“I’ll have you know that I ordered Colonel Buller to send scouts south to see about any Zulu army coming this way. I can assure you, as none have reported seeing so much as a single warrior, the impi is likely headed south to engage his lordship’s relief column at Eshowe. Now return to your troop and get them up this blasted hill!”
As soon as Weatherly had ridden out of earshot, Wood felt compelled to address his staff officers and orderly. “I feel I should apologise, gentlemen,” he said. “I should not have spoken so harshly to Commandant Weatherly. He was a fine cavalry officer in his day.”
“Nothing that offering him a shared snort of brandy won’t sort out, sir,” Captain Ronald Campbell replied diplomatically. “Once you lift the prohibition, of course. And from the sounds of it, Buller and Russell may very well be sorting out the abaQulusi problem once and for all.”
“Yes,” Wood replied with cautious optimism. “Well, if that does not take care of this beastly headache, I don’t know what will.”
The band of abaQulusi warriors under Mbilini were now occupying a short hillock. This gave their marksmen better fields of fire from which to engage the white soldiers and their African allies. Neither Mbilini nor Tshwane could see their enemies who were engaging their warriors along the western side of the plateau, but the echoes of rifle fire told them Manyanyoba’s warriors were being hard-pressed.
“Find Manyanyoba,” the prince ordered one of his warriors. “Let him know I am taking a band of 200 men and will attempt to cut off our enemy’s route of escape.”
The warrior nodded and sprinted away. Mbilini then looked to Tshwane and his followers. “It is time for us to leave the white soldiers with only one way down the mountain.”
Leading his men away from the ongoing fray, the prince came across a large expanse of piled rocks and a network of shallow caves. To the south was a large kraal with scores of penned up cattle not yet taken by the British.
“We’ll wait for them here,” Mbilini ordered.
He and those with rifles took up firing positions within the caves, while the remainder of his men took shelter behind the large rock formations. After a short time, they saw another group of imperial troops approaching from the southeast. There were approximately a hundred men, mostly white soldiers with a few African warriors accompanying them. Had Mbilini known who Colonel Wood was, or what he looked like, he would have sent for every warrior within ten miles to converge on the kraal. As it was, he only knew that this was too rich of a target to let pass by.
Chapter XXXV: Chaos Atop the Painted Mountain
Ten Miles South of Hlobane
6.00 a.m.
Soldiers of the Imperial Mounted Infantry skirmishing near Ntendeka Nek, from The Illustrated London News
The Zulu impi had clearly seen the signal fires from atop Hlobane and the nearby hills. This troubled Ntshingwayo. He could only assume it meant the English were attempting to capture the mountain. As their warriors broke camp, the old inkosi stood atop a small rise looking towards the mountain in the distance. He was joined by Prince Zibhebhu, whose iNgobamakhosi Regiment was forming into a large column on their extreme right.
“We saw their signal fires,” Ntshingwayo stressed. “Therefore, we must first make for the mountain and hope the white soldiers did not capture it yesterday.”
“If they had, we would know about it,” Zibhebhu replied.
“All the same, we will make for Hlobane,” Mnyamana ordered as he joined the men. As the king’s chief minister and overall commanding general of the amabutho, he was in essence the voice of Cetshwayo, and his word carried the authority of the king.
“As you will, inkosi,” the prince said with a short bow.
“If Manyanyoba has successfully driven the white soldiers from the heights, then the abaQulusi will join the impi,” Mnyamana continued. “And we will continue on to Khambula, as planned.”
It was just after sunrise when the regiments formed into their columns of march. And like during the Isandlwana campaign, Ntshingwayo elected to make the trek on foot rather than horseback. Mnyamana was ostensibly in overall command of the army; however, the king’s chief minister had once again deferred the tactical and strategic decisions to the man who’d previously triumphed over the red-jacketed soldiers.
At the encampment of the iNgobamakhosi, Mehlokazulu had risen about an hour before dawn. Like Ntshingwayo, he too was concerned about the signal fires they had seen the previous day. No messengers had arrived from Manyanyoba, and it was likely that the abaQulusi were unaware of how close the impi was to Hlobane Mountain.
Warriors were rolling up their sleeping mats and taking a moment to relieve themselves before the day’s journey began. It was ten miles from their bivouac to Hlobane. Though as far as Mehlokazulu and his men knew, this was not their objective. Their commanding general’s intent was to reach the Khambula Ridge, which lay another ten miles to the west of the mountain. Unless events instigated by the redcoats decided otherwise, the induna reckoned they would first join with the abaQulusi regiments, and then make camp somewhere between Zungwini Mountain and Khambula; most likely near the White Mfolozi River. The twenty-five-mile journey alone told him this would be a long day.
“And once we reach Khambula, we need to decide whether to destroy the red soldiers’ camp, or let them live another day,” his friend, Bongani, mused aloud.
Mehlokazulu smiled at this thought. Since the summoning of the amabutho to return to war, he had hoped to finally put to rest the demonic forces which plagued
his subconscious. The deaths of so many of his friends and childhood companions at Isandlwana continued to haunt him, as if they were demanding justice. Perhaps by destroying the English forces in the north, those trapped in the south at Eshowe would soon capitulate and Lord Chelmsford would accept King Cetshwayo’s overtures of peace. Only then, with the invaders expelled and the Zulu Kingdom free, could his fallen brothers rest in peace.
Along the eastern Ityenka slope, the Border Horse continued to advance slowly up what they thought was the same path taken by Lieutenant Colonel Buller earlier that morning. Though paling in size to Hlobane itself, this expanse of mountain was both large and very steep, with the path being narrow and extremely treacherous.
Captain Dennison, now acting as a liaison between Colonel Wood and Commandant Weatherly following their earlier spat, rode back to the column commander. “Sir, we’re going to dismount here and continue on foot. The ground is steep and Commandant Weatherly does not think it wise to continue mounted.”
“Dash it all, Colonel Buller managed to make the climb,” Wood retorted. “Inform Commandant Weatherly that he is to mount his troop at once.”
The captain snapped off a quick salute before returning to his commanding officer. The sounds of musketry could still be heard, though as faint as they were, most of the contingent assumed they were coming from the western edge of the plateau, and that Buller’s force most likely had things in order on the eastern side. With his impeded hearing, Colonel Wood was not even aware of any sounds of fighting. For all he knew, Buller and Russell had taken the Hlobane heights without a fight.
As they reached the top of Ityenka, with the expanse of Hlobane opening up to the west and southwest, the Border Horse continued on its way northward. At that moment, Colonel Wood spied a sizeable kraal with numerous cattle.
