I saw several wounded men during the retreat, all crying out for help, as they knew a terrible fate was in store for them. Smith-Dorrien, a young fellow in the 95th Regiment, I saw dismount and try to help one. His horse was killed in a minute by a shot and he had to run for his life, only escaping by a miracle.3
Lieutenant William Cochrane was also in the camp when it was overrun by the Zulus; he echoed the desperate attempts to escape when he wrote to his family:
I made in the direction which I had seen taken by the mounted men, guns and Royal Artillery, and natives on foot. I was cut off by the enemy, who had now reached the line of retreat; but with a good horse, hard riding, and good luck, I managed to reach the Buffalo River. The Zulus seemed perfectly fearless;they followed alongside, having desperate fighting with those retreating, mostly our natives on foot. On several occasions they were quite close to me, but I was fortunate enough to escape, while others dropped at my side. They fired at us the whole way from the camp to the river, but having mounted the bank on the opposite side we were safe.4
Private Barker survived the day and his account reveals the horror and terror of his escape:
Up to this time I had never thought of disaster, but only that we were retiring on a point to rally;but the defeat was only too palpable, and we had to spur and hurry on our jaded horses over the most awful country I had ever ridden. Riderless and wounded horses were galloping past and tumbling down precipices and gullies. Here I heard for the first and only time the awful scream of a terrified or mad horse. He was a black horse with the saddle turned round, and as he passed us and went crash against a mounted man in front of us, rolling over the krantz, this awful scream was heard. Zulus seemed to be behind, before, and on each side of us, and as we hurried on we had to leave poor fugitives crying and begging us not to leave them. Many were shot as we rode past them, but we met no Carbineers or volunteers whom we knew until we neared Fugitives’Drift, when we caught up C. Raw, and well it was for us two, as his men, mounted Basutos, were already on the Natal side of the river, and had it not been for these Basutos I doubt if a single white man would have escaped by Fugitives’Drift, as they kept the Zulus in check while the few escaped. As we ascended the hill on the Natal side the firing of the Zulus was very good, and I saw a contingent native drop just in front of us and shortly after we passed another who had been shot. The Zulus would then be about nine hundred yards off.5
As the fleeing NNC reached the riverbank the pursuing Zulus caught them. Because the river was in flood, and few blacks could swim, they tried to make a stand against the Zulus but were quickly overwhelmed and killed. It was through the midst of this slaughter and chaos that the last of the escapers, including Coghill, Melvill and Curling, were able to reach the river. An unknown number of other fugitives were killed in the river under the hail of Zulu gunfire and spears.
For those who made it to the opposite bank, there was yet more danger to overcome. As mentioned earlier, following the initial British attack on Sihayo’s homestead, a number of surviving Zulus were detained for questioning, invariably a rough and brutal process. These captives were released during the following day or so and a number of them took refuge with relatives living in the vicinity of Fugitives’ Drift on the Natal bank of the Buffalo river, then known as Sotondose’s Drift. These natives, resentful of the British action and grieving for their chief’s son and friends killed in the attack, were not necessarily well disposed towards the British. As the few British survivors from Isandlwana crossed the river, these very same natives observed them; the time for revenge had arrived. Local Zulu folklore holds that Coghill and Melvill were both killed by these previously friendly local natives and not by Cetshwayo’s Zulus. One member of Chelmsford’s staff actually wrote that ‘some of them [survivors] got right down to the river six miles off and were killed by a lot of scoundrels whom the General had taken prisoner a few days before’. This fact was kept secret at the time, although it was well known to Chelmsford’s staff.
Having crossed the river, Curling and the other European survivors made their way to the deserted camp at Helpmekaar where they arrived during the early evening. Another survivor, Captain Essex, had the presence of mind to send a note to the garrison at Rorke’s Drift warning them of the defeat at Isandlwana.
The morning of 22 January began frustratingly for Chelmsford’s force; after the long march from camp his four companies of the 2/24th found themselves chasing elusive groups of Zulus around the hills beyond Mangeni. As the morning wore on disquieting messages began to reach Chelmsford’s staff officers that there might be a problem at Isandlwana camp. As early as 9.30 a.m. a message was received from Pulleine that the Zulus were advancing towards the camp. A junior staff officer, Lieutenant Berkley Milne RN, was dispatched to a nearby hilltop with his telescope; he saw nothing untoward. Chelmsford then set off to scout the area between Magogo hill and the Mangeni waterfall. Accompanied only by a small escort, he did not think it prudent to inform his staff officers of his whereabouts and when subsequent messages arrived from Isandlwana, Chelmsford could not be found until 12.30 p.m. Distant firing could now be heard from the direction of Isandlwana. Chelmsford and his staff rode to the top of a nearby hill and observed the camp through field glasses. Nothing untoward could be seen, partly because of the thick heat haze and partly because the battle at the camp was taking place in a long valley. Chelmsford assumed that any Zulus there had long been rebuffed but he nevertheless decided to ride back towards the camp, leaving Glyn to concentrate the force and organize the new campsite near Mangeni, a location considered by Chelmsford to be ideal as a bivouac site for the night.
Colonel Arthur Harness RA was with the guns that accompanied Chelmsford’s force and, during the morning, he heard gunfire from the camp and realized the probability that Isandlwana was under a serious attack. He spontaneously ordered those under his command to march back to the camp. His force had only travelled a mile and a half when a message from Chelmsford ordered Harness to ‘about turn’ to the new campsite. Meanwhile Lieutenant Colonel Russell, who had been leading a party of mounted troops, arrived on the scene and informed Chelmsford that Durnford was also engaging the Zulus. An uneasy Chelmsford and his staff set off towards the camp to ascertain the situation. After a few miles they came across Commandant George Hamilton-Browne’s battalion observing the camp, and Chelmsford reordered Hamilton-Browne to advance just as Commandant Rupert Lonsdale arrived to report that the camp had been taken. Lonsdale had ridden back to the camp having suffered from a fall and sunstroke; as he approached the camp in a dazed state he suddenly realized the camp had been taken. Only 200 yards from the camp he turned and, riding for his life, escaped back across the plain towards Chelmsford’s force. The Zulus would not have bothered with Lonsdale, having already begun their retreat from the battlefield; having got their victory, there was a very strong imperative for them to leave the scene as soon as possible, as they needed to perform the rites of purification after shedding blood. This reason why the Zulus would retreat without further resistance after a battle was never understood by the British, who nevertheless turned it to their advantage to rout and attack retreating Zulus in the aftermath of subsequent battles.
It took Chelmsford until 6.30 p.m. to muster his remaining force just 3 miles from Isandlwana. The sun had set and under the cover of darkness the cautious troops advanced towards the silent camp; the artillery fired several rounds of shrapnel to dislodge any remaining Zulus before the exhausted column reoccupied the body-strewn position at about 9 p.m. The Zulus had long since departed and there was no sign of life from the 1,350 men left there that morning although, it being dark, no one looked. In fact, several survivors of the NNC feigned death through the night lest they should be found by the soldiers and taken for Zulus, as the soldiers had earlier been seen to bayonet some drunken Zulus who had taken refuge under a wagon.
As Chelmsford struggled to come to terms with the situation his attention was drawn to the distant fire that lit
the sky over the British camp 10 miles distant at Rorke’s Drift, and other fires could be seen towards the Helpmekaar hills.6 Chelmsford’s weary force was too exhausted to march any further and was ordered to settle down in a position of all-round defence and to expect an attack at any moment. As dawn broke, Chelmsford’s force silently marched away from Isandlwana towards Rorke’s Drift where B Company 2/24th was stationed. The Zulus at Rorke’s Drift had probably intended to make one last attack on the outpost at dawn but, in sheer disbelief, saw Chelmsford’s column advancing out of the mist. This caused them much confusion, as they believed the whole of Chelmsford’s force had been destroyed.
A few days after the battle, it was discovered that two mounted officers of the 24th Regiment, Lieutenants Coghill and Melvill, had not only escaped from the camp but had reached Natal on horseback before being killed. Contrary to mythological explanations, nothing is known concerning their escape from Isandlwana camp while their regiment’s soldiers were still fighting for their lives, and the matter was to become the subject of much speculation, debate and harsh criticism from Chelmsford’s successor, Sir Garnet Wolseley. Only three Victoria Crosses were awarded for the battle of Isandlwana; curiously, each recipient had fled the battlefield. Private Samuel Wassall’s VC for his bravery at the Buffalo river was presented to him in 1879; Lieutenants Coghill and Melvill were honoured posthumously, nearly thirty years later. The eminent British historian of the time, Sir Reginald Coupland, wrote of Coghill and Melvill that these two officers
had charged themselves with saving the colours of the 24th and then, after their six-mile flight on horseback across impossibly rocky terrain, they reached the river together and plunged straight into it.7
It is highly probable that Coupland had studied and then relied on the original report written by Lieutenant Colonel Glyn, now isolated at Rorke’s Drift, in his capacity as the officer commanding the No. 3 Column. (Coupland even copied Glyn’s incorrect spelling of Melvill’s name as ‘Melville’.) This highly emotive but fascinating report, the earliest record relating to the fate of these two officers, was written by Glyn after the enquiry into the disaster of Isandlwana and, no doubt, after much anguish and personal reflection on his part. At the time of the Zulu attack at Isandlwana, Glyn was 12 miles away with Chelmsford at Mangeni; his report therefore is based on a combination of his imagination, speculation and hearsay. It is Glyn’s personal and emotional attempt at vindication of his officers’ actions at Isandlwana; the official history of the 24th Regiment, similarly based on hearsay and possibly Glyn’s report, records the event with soothing Victorian eloquence:
On the fateful 22nd January 1879, when it was evident that all was lost in Isandhlwana camp, Lieutenant and Adjutant Melvill, 1st battalion 24th, received special orders from Lieutenant Colonel Pulleine, to endeavour to save the colour. ‘You, as senior subaltern’, that officer is reported to have said, ‘will take the colour, and make your way from here’. Accompanied by Lt. A. J. A. Coghill, 1st Battalion 24th, who was orderly officer to Colonel Glyn, but had remained in camp on account of a severe injury to his knee, Melvill rode off with the colour, taking the same direction as the other fugitives. Both officers reached the Buffalo [river] although, owing to the badness of the track, the Zulus kept up with them and continued throwing their spears at them. The river was in flood, and at any other time would have been considered impassable.
They plunged their horses in, but whilst Coghill got across and reached the opposite bank, Melvill, encumbered by the colour, got separated from his horse and was washed against a large rock in mid-stream, to which Lieutenant Higginson, of the Native Contingent, who afterwards escaped, was clinging. Melvill called to him to lay hold of the colour, which Higginson did, but so strong was the current that both men were washed away. Coghill, still on his horse and in comparative safety, at once rode back into the stream to their aid. The Zulus by this time had gathered thick on the bank of the river and opened fire, making a special target of Melvill, who wore his red patrol jacket. Coghill’s horse was killed and his rider cast adrift in the stream. Notwithstanding the exertions made to save it, the colour had to be abandoned, and the two officers themselves only succeeded in reaching the opposite bank with great difficulty, and in a most exhausted state. Those only who know the precipitous character of the Natal side at the spot, can fully realise how great must have been the sufferings of both in climbing it, especially of Coghill with his wounded knee. They appear to have kept together, and to have got to within twenty yards of the summit when they were overtaken by their foes and fell. On 3rd February, a search party found the bodies of Melvill and Coghill covered with assegai wounds and with several dead Zulus around them. Next day the flood, having subsided, the Colour, on its pole, was recovered further downstream. For their gallantry in the saving of the Colour, Lieutenants Melvill and Coghill were later each awarded a posthumous Victoria Cross.8
Higginson wrote in his statement that he had left Coghill and Melvill after the three of them had safely reached the Natal bank; he went on to relate how he, being the fittest, then left the two exhausted British officers in order to find some horses and, on reaching a vantage point, he looked back and saw the bodies of Coghill and Melvill surrounded by Zulus. Unable to help them, he then rode off to Helpmekaar. However, the reality of Higginson’s escape was very different; two troopers, Barker and Tarboton, under covering fire by Lieutenants Raw and Henderson from the Natal bank, had managed to swim with their horses across the flooded Buffalo river to safety. The officers then rode up the steep Natal side of the river gorge closely followed by Troopers Barker and Tarboton; on looking back towards the river the two troopers saw a distant figure scrambling on foot towards them. Tarboton rode on to join Raw’s group while Barker rode back down the hill to assist the scrambling escapee; this fugitive turned out to be none other than Higginson. Barker gallantly surrendered his mount to the exhausted officer but implored him to wait at the top of the hill. With Zulus closing in around them, Higginson rode away leaving Barker to struggle alone to the summit only to find that Higginson had galloped off. The exhausted Barker was forced to run for his life; he was pursued for another 2 miles before the pursuing group gave up the chase.
Meanwhile, Higginson had come across Lieutenants Raw and Henderson who, together with some Basuto scouts and Tarboton, had waited on the Helpmekaar track for Barker to rejoin them. Tarboton immediately recognized Barker’s horse, which Higginson insisted he had found at the Buffalo river; under duress, Higginson relinquished the horse in exchange for a spare Basuto pony. Higginson was sent off alone towards Helpmekaar to make his report while Raw’s group backtracked towards the escarpment overlooking the river until they came upon the exhausted Barker still running for his life. Within a few days, the truth of Higginson’s escape from the scene became well known and, now with a black eye, he quietly disappeared into obscurity. Higginson received no recognition for his endeavours to save either the two officers or the Colour; he was a Colonial officer, his story was not corroborated and there was the unmentionable matter of the horse stolen from Barker.
Higginson’s embellished report soon reached Glyn at Rorke’s Drift. Basing his impressions on the report, Glyn realized that Melvill had reached the river with the Colour, lost it midstream and then, having been saved by Coghill, lost his own life trying to save Coghill. There is little doubt that Melvill could have escaped on foot with Higginson but chose instead to assist Coghill. Glyn dispatched a search party to the river where the bodies of Coghill and Melvill were found the following day and their bodies were buried where they had fallen. It later occurred to Glyn that the Colour could still be in the vicinity of the bodies and on 3 February he dispatched a party to search the river bank. Lieutenant Harford and Captain Harber soon discovered the Colour case and further down the river found the Colour pole protruding out of the water. Captain Harber waded into the river and pulled the pole, still attached to the Colour, out of the water. As he recovered the Colour, the gold-embr
oidered centre scroll fell back into the water and was lost. In a moving ceremony back at Rorke’s Drift, the Colour was restored to Colonel Glyn, the officer to whom it had originally been presented in June 1866.
Chelmsford was understandably cautious before making any official comment concerning the circumstances and deaths of Coghill and Melvill. He was already aware that an unacceptable number of officers had escaped from both Rorke’s Drift and Isandlwana, including Lieutenants Avery and Holcroft who were part of Major Dartnell’s force sent to scout ahead at Isandlwana and Lieutenant Adendorff who departed from Isandlwana where he was on picket duty.9 On 14 May 1879 Lord Chelmsford wrote to the War Office:
It is most probable that Melvill lost his life endeavouring to save Coghill rather than vice versa. He [Coghill] could hardly walk and any exertion such as walking or riding would have been likely to render him almost helpless. He could not have assisted, therefore, in saving the colours of the 1st 24th, and as I have already said I fear he was a drag on poor Melvill. As regards the latter [Melvill] I am again puzzled how to reply to your question. I feel sure that Melvill left camp with the colours under orders received. He was too good a soldier to have left without. In being ordered to leave, however, he no doubt was given the best chance of saving his life which must have been lost had he remained in camp. His ride was not more daring than that of those who escaped. The question, therefore, remains had he succeeded in saving the colours and his own life, would he have been considered to deserve the Victoria Cross?10
Crossing the Buffalo Page 14
