by James Mace
It took the allied Zulus half an hour to dig the graves. Meanwhile, the Commanding Officer of No. 4 Column remained completely oblivious to the ongoing battle which continued to rage all along the Hlobane heights. Privately, a number of the soldiers and staff wondered if he’d taken all leave of his senses.
After the bodies were carefully lowered down into the shallow grave, they were covered with rocks. Evelyn Wood then read a short eulogy from his prayer book. The makeshift, if bizarrely-timed, memorial service was complete. It was time to see how the rest of the mounted column was faring. The day had already proven far more harrowing and costlier than anticipated. The reconnaissance of Hlobane Mountain was quickly turning into an all-out battle; a battle which the British were in grave danger of losing.
Chapter XXXVI: Nothing Remains but to Die
Hlobane Summit
9.30 a.m.
The chaos during the descent near what would become known as ‘Devil’s Pass’, from The Illustrated London News
Neither the trouble Colonel Wood had found himself in, nor the death of Captain Campbell, was known to any within Russell’s or Buller’s forces. While pockets of resistance were being driven off, the collection of cattle continued unabated. Cecil Russell had remained on Ntendeka, leaving Lieutenant Browne in independent command of the Imperial Mounted Infantry. While his soldiers continued to engage the abaQulusi, Browne decided to see if the concave krantz to the south was traversable by men and horses. Given the stiff resistance they had faced, neither he nor Buller were keen on travelling back along the narrow paths they had come up.
“Best see if we can find a more suitable egress off this mountain,” he said to himself. “Otherwise, it will be dark before we get all these cattle down!”
The lieutenant galloped his horse down the southern edge of the large plateau until he came to the large concave krantz. From a distance, it did not appear to be too steep or imposing; but upon closer examination, Edward noticed that the ground was strewn with boulders, and the slope was lined with a series of sheer cliffs.
“A man might make his way down that, but not a horse,” he muttered. He looked towards the vast open plain below and saw what looked like the shadow of a large cloud formation. He glanced upwards and realised there were no clouds in the sky that morning. Horrified, he turned his horse about and rode as fast as he was able back towards the path which led down from Hlobane onto Ntendeka Nek. He spied Lieutenant Colonel Russell talking with one of his staff officers while indigenous warriors guided their captured cattle down the perilous trail.
“Colonel!” Browne shouted, waving frantically while holding his helmet aloft. “The Zulus approach from the south!”
Russell turned his horse about and rode to the southern edge of Ntendeka. Scanning with his field glasses he could see the Zulu impi’s organised columns of march. He guessed they were still about six or seven miles from the mountain.
“I think it is time for us to leave, Mister Browne” he called up, maintaining an outward sense of calm.
Lieutenant Browne rode back to his troop and ordered the sergeants to have their men mount their horses and make ready to withdraw.
“What’s happening, sir?” a confused Sergeant Naughton asked.
“The Zulus have decided to spoil our little party,” Browne replied, his voice calm though his jaw was clenched with tension.
The IMI soldiers withdrew in good order, with sections providing covering fire for their mates as they clambered into their saddles. Remarkably, none of the mounted redcoats had suffered serious injury during the morning’s fighting. It took nearly half-an-hour to reach the Ntendeka Nek where Lieutenant Colonel Russell was anxiously awaiting them.
“All present and correct, sir,” Lieutenant Browne report.
“Thank you, Mister Browne.” Russell then watched the Zulus for a few moments through his field glasses before adding, “They appear to be heading west. Mister Browne, summon one of your fastest riders.”
A minute later, the lieutenant returned with Private Thomas Westwood. Russell handed him a short message, then ordered him to ride to Khambula, ‘with all possible speed’. Though not in possession of field glasses, even from a great distance, the young soldier could guess what the large black formations were to the south. He nodded and hastily saluted before riding back towards the western face of Ntendeka Nek, towards the lower Zungwini Mountain.
“Looks like the Zulus are coming to say ‘hello’ to us again, Sam!” he shouted to his friend, Samuel Wassall, as he rode past his mates from the Imperial Mounted Infantry.
The climb down to Zungwini Mountain, and finally onto the open plain below had taken Private Westwood nearly thirty minutes, with another hour at a quick gallop to reach the Khambula fort. His horse was completely spent, frothing at the mouth, and near collapse as he climbed up the southern slope leading into the main camp. Practically leaping from his mount, Westwood did not bother tethering his horse as he rushed to the command tent. He found Captain Woodgate, the lone staff officer not to accompany Colonel Wood on the Hlobane expedition. Upon hearing the fearful news, the captain sought out Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert of the 13th Regiment, the senior officer at Khambula. As the officers entered the tent, the young private snapped to attention.
“Stand easy, private,” Gilbert directed. “Now, what news?”
“The Zulu army is on the march, sir,” Westwood reported, fighting to maintain his composure.
“When you say ‘Zulu army’ are you referring to their main impi?” the colonel asked.
Thomas nodded. “Yes, sir…a vast force numbering in the tens-of-thousands. They covered the plain beneath the mountain like a great shadow. Colonel Russell spotted them from atop the Ntendeka Nek. They appeared to be moving west. He sent me to warn you.”
Gilbert nodded and ordered a bugler to sound ‘stand-to’. He then placed his hand to his chin in contemplation. He was quickly joined by Major Rogers of the 90th Regiment, along with his staff officers and company commanders.
“The Zulu impi is near Hlobane Mountain,” Gilbert quickly explained. “We need to improve our defences and prepare for battle.” He turned to Captain Woodgate, as his subordinate officers set about disseminating the order to their soldiers. “I fear Colonel Wood and our mounted troops currently face an even greater danger than us.”
“I agree, sir,” the staff officer replied. “And sadly, we are powerless to come to their aid. God help them if the Zulus discover their presence on the mountain.”
Improving the Defences, from The Graphic
The order to improve the defences was quickly disseminated down to the infantry companies, with buglers sounding the order for patrols outside the fort to retire. Sergeant Lewis Walker’s section had just been relieved from picquet duty and were seeing to their breakfast. Soldiers coming off this twenty-four-hour posting were normally given a day of rest; however, as the buglers sounded the orders to ‘fall in’, both Walker and Corporal Harry Davies knew there would be no reprieve for them or their men.
“Right, lads, you heard the order,” Harry said, pulling on his boots and tunic. “Look alive, now!”
As the corporal oversaw the section’s donning of their uniforms and kit, Lewis made his way to their officer commanding’s tent, where Colour Sergeant Fricker was gathering the section leaders together. Captain Thurlow and Lieutenant Pardoe soon returned from Lieutenant Colonel Gilbert’s headquarters and relayed the situation and orders to their NCOs.
“Well, there’s a lovely bit of news,” Sergeant Walker said, as he re-joined his section. “Seems the Zulus have come to play a match against us rather than his lordship. They are about five or so miles south of Hlobane and are said to be heading this way.”
“And as fast as those black devils can run, they could be here at any moment,” Private Grosvenor mused nervously.
“That is if they don’t decide to surround Colonel Wood and the mounted troops first,” Private George Hill added.
“The message ca
me from Colonel Russell,” Walker remarked. “So, we can only hope Colonel Wood is apprised of the situation and acts accordingly. Meanwhile, we need to see about the defences here.”
“Where does the captain need us?” Harry asked.
Sergeant Walker smiled grimly and pointed towards the cattle kraal just east of the main camp, along the southern base of the redoubt’s hillock. “Over there, in the smaller kraal beyond where the cattle are penned up. For now, Sergeant Ring’s section is providing overwatch while the rest of the company sees to improving the main laager. Once the Zulus turn up, that is where we will be fighting from.”
Harry turned his attention towards the cattle kraal. He could see a company from the 90th Regiment building a stone and earthen wall straight up the hill from the northeast corner of the cattle kraal and intersecting with the ramparts atop the redoubt. Not intended to be manned, as any soldiers along the wall would be exposed to enemy musketry from below, it was meant to act as a barrier towards any Zulu approaches from the east.
The smaller kraal which C Company, 1/13th would man when it came time for battle, was approximately 150 yards from the main laager, with the larger kraal and several thousand cattle in between. It was also a crucial position. The valley to the south and southeast was a large blind spot which could only be seen from this position. It was a high-risk assignment, and it seemed the C Company had drawn the shortest lot.
Along the north-eastern stretch of Hlobane Mountain, Manyanyoba and the abaQulusi regiments were now arrayed for battle. Numbering around 4,000 warriors, they posed a far greater threat than any of the white soldiers had imagined. Several hundred of these men carried firearms, with around a hundred being modern breach-loaders taken either from Isandlwana or Ntombe.
“The white soldiers to the west have retreated off the mountain,” a scout reported. “The rest are still attempting to drive our skirmishers from their hiding places while gathering up cattle.”
“Time to put an end to this disgraceful intrusion,” the old chieftain said.
His izinduna then shouted orders to their warriors, who raised their weapons with a loud cry of ‘Bayade!’ Companies formed into battle lines and began to jog towards the sounds of continuing musketry coming from the southern and eastern ends of the mountain.
Though the cattle-seizing was going well, Lieutenant Colonel Buller was concerned by how scattered his forces were. The Boer Burghers and Transvaal Rangers were engaged with pockets of resistance along the northwest side of the mountain, while the few dozen troopers from Baker’s Horse were setting fire to huts and driving out enemy warriors a mile further east.
“Order your C Troop to head back towards the Ntendeka Nek and have them retrieve the body of Lieutenant Williams,” he ordered Captain Barton of the Frontier Light Horse.
Poor Cecil Williams had fallen to a flung enemy assegai while leading his men from Wood’s Irregulars in the rounding up of enemy cattle. Buller had been fond of the young officer, and did not think it right that his body should be left to rot on this cursed mountain. He then sent riders to find Piet Uys and the officers commanding of the various troops, ordering them to prepare for withdrawal.
The mounted troops under Redvers Buller were spread out over several miles. Only thirty minutes after he had sent Barton to retrieve Lieutenant Williams’ body, the precariousness of their situation became apparent.
A nearby trooper from the Frontier Light Horse named Charles Hewitt had a small personal telescope in his saddlebag. Upon being alerted by one of his mates, Hewitt scanned the northeast and was horrified at what he saw. “Colonel, the Zulus are coming!” he shouted.
Buller took his field glasses and swallowed hard, as he saw thousands of enemy warriors arrayed in battle formation. They were approximately two miles away, which did not give him much time to rally his men; however, he was determined that any withdrawal should be done in an orderly fashion. He knew that panic would only make matters worse and embolden the enemy. It was also clear that the route they’d followed up the eastern end of the mountain, from Ityenka Nek, was no longer passable. Their only choice was to head west, hoping to find more than just the narrow path which the Imperial Mounted Infantry had utilised.
“Trooper Hewitt! Ride to Commandant Weatherly and Captain Barton. Inform them that they are to disembark to the right of the mountain. And tell Captain Barton, it is with much regret that I must order him to leave Mister Williams’ body for the time being.”
“Yes, sir,” the trooper replied, glad for any excuse to ride away from the fray.
Unaware of the disaster unfolding atop the mountain plateau, Colonel Wood and his escort had withdrawn down towards the southern face of Hlobane with little difficulty. The indigenous warriors accompanying them were herding a small flock of goats and sheep, while Wood brooded over the loss of his favourite staff officer, Captain Ronald Campbell, as well as his civilian interpreter, Llewelyn Lloyd.
“Your pardon, sir,” Henry Lysons said. “But I find it troubling that we have heard nothing from Colonel Buller’s scouts. He was supposed to have dispatched them south to keep an eye out for enemy reinforcements.”
This brought Wood out of his stupor, and while he could not explain why, he found this extremely troubling. Had Buller not sent the scouts at all? Had they gotten lost? Turning to one of the indigenous warriors who spoke passable English, Wood ordered him to run up to the top of the low rise to their left. The man complied and a few minutes later was heard shouting a fearful warning the British struggled to understand through his thick accent.
Accompanied by Lysons, Wood galloped his mount to the top of the small hill, his breath nearly taken from him at the sight of the Zulu columns in the distance. The large mass covered a vast expanse of ground like a great shadow. With his keener sense of hearing, Henry Lysons could even hear their war chants and the buzzing cadence of their weapons beating against their shields. Wood surmised they were roughly five miles to the south of Hlobane and appeared to be moving west, in the direction of Khambula.
It was then the colonel knew his assumptions about where King Cetshwayo would send the main impi were utterly wrong. “Mister Lysons, take down a message.” He dictated a hasty despatch to Lieutenant Colonel Russell.
10.30 a.m. 28/3/79
Colonel Russell,
There is a large army coming this way from the south. Get into position on the Zungwini Nek.
Colonel H.E. Wood, VC
Little did he know, Russell had already seen the Zulu impi and, per his previous orders, had moved his forces off the mountain in preparation for a return to Khambula.
As Wood’s own force consisted of just Lieutenant Lysons, his ten personal guard from the IMI, and the badly injured Trooper Hammond of the Border Horse, he hoped that Buller and the rest of his contingent managed to make their way down the mountain soon. The frantic sounds of musketry echoing from atop the plateau told him Buller was in trouble. What’s more, Colonel Wood knew he was powerless to help him.
With the approach of such a large force of Zulus from the northern face of the plateau, which Buller reckoned numbered anywhere from 3,000 to 5,000 warriors, he knew he had made a grave mistake ordering his column to withdraw en masse. The Border Horse and C Troop of the Frontier Light Horse were completely cut off from him, and he could only hope they were able to find the path down the mountain that he sent them towards. He had seen nothing of Cecil Russell’s troops in over an hour. He could only hope they had seen the threat and made a good start down the western spur towards Zungwini Mountain.
Lieutenant Colonel Buller then looked up briefly, noting that the sun was beating straight down on them. He removed his slouch hat and ran his forearm across his forehead before drawing his scabbarded carbine. The abaQulusi had formed a large semi-circle, cutting off any chance of Buller’s command retreating back the way they came. Troop commanders from both the Frontier Light Horse and Transvaal Rangers ordered their men into line formations, dismounting every 50 to 100 yards in order t
o fire a volley into their pursuers. Buller remained mounted, keeping an eye out for any stragglers, while firing the occasional shot towards the fast-approaching enemy warriors. Each shot sent his horse rearing; a risk he accepted.
As the survivors retreated, it became readily apparent that they were being deliberately driven towards the large concave krantz on the southern face; the very spot where Edward Browne had informed Lieutenant Colonel Russell that it was not passable for men and horses. A large force of enemy warriors had further managed to cut off any chance of reaching the narrow path the IMI had utilised earlier that morning.
As the abaQulusi threatened to swarm them, with only the steep cliffs behind them, the discipline of the entire force soon came undone. Troopers and their mounts suddenly panicked at the sight of the fearful drop they faced. There were only a few places where a man could readily climb down, and these areas became clogged with terrified men and beasts attempting to make the harrowing descent.
“It would take a bloody goat to make it down this!” a trooper shouted in dismay.
“Time to grow some hooves, then,” Captain Cecil D’Arcy replied grimly. The officer commanding of A Troop, Frontier Light Horse, ordered his men to lay down suppressive fire until it was their time to make their way down.
The cries from men and horses that slipped and fell to their shattering deaths echoed up the side of the mountain. The mounted troops were soon joined by Major William Knox-Leet and the remnants of Wood’s Irregulars. Over half the warriors were missing, assumed to have either fled or been killed.
