Chelmsford and his staff were shocked by the sight that greeted them. Hundreds of bodies lay around the mission station and the hospital building was still smouldering. After the tragedy of Isandlwana, he was relieved to see that the garrison had survived, and now made it his business to find out what had happened. A few defenders who had displayed exceptional bravery were interviewed by Chelmsford himself. Private Hook was still making tea when he was called forward by Lieutenant Bromhead, to which he replied, ‘Wait till I get a coat on.’ ‘Come as you are’ was the retort, so Hook ‘went into the midst of the officers and Lord Chelmsford asked me all about the defence of the hospital as I was the last to leave the building. An officer took down all our names and wrote down what we had done.’ Chelmsford then addressed the assembled defenders and thanked them for their endeavours. Gunner Howard recalled Chelmsford’s words in a letter home: ‘The general said we were a brave little garrison, and this showed what a few men could do if they only had pluck.’18
With Chelmsford’s men swelling its numbers, the garrison at Rorke’s Drift had now increased to over 700 men. The arrivals included the surviving companies of the 2/24th and sixteen companies of the NNC. The mounted troops and the Royal Artillery horses under the command of Colonel Harness were ordered to ride on to Helpmekaar where the air was believed to be healthier for the horses; the Royal Artillery guns and men remained at Rorke’s Drift as part of the garrison.19
While the officers supervised the tasks of clearing and protecting the area the Commissariat officers checked their stores so that hot food and tea could be prepared for the ravenous column. A makeshift barrier was erected along the front of the outpost from blocks of stone that were prised from the burnt-out hospital and from the nearby garden wall that had afforded such protection to the Zulus during the fighting.
As Chelmsford and his staff rode out of Rorke’s Drift he left behind a very subdued Colonel Glyn of the 24th Regiment in command. Chelmsford now knew he faced reporting to his government and the world that he had lost not only the battle of Isandlwana but also most of a famous British regiment. At this point it is unlikely that Chelmsford had realized his good fortune in splitting his force; had he not done so, it is probable that the Zulus would have attacked the sleeping Isandlwana camp either before dawn on 22 January or when it was strung out on the move to Mangeni. It would be a few more days before he realized that his decision had saved half the Centre Column and he had a magnificent victory to report at Rorke’s Drift; he was able to write:
The defeat of the Zulus at this post, and the very heavy loss suffered by them, has, to a great extent, neutralised the effect of the disaster at Isandhlwana, and no doubt saved Natal from a serious invasion.20
Even when news of Isandlwana and Rorke’s Drift reached King Cetshwayo, he was not initially apprised of the situation with any accuracy. Prince Dabulamanzi claimed that his attack on the mission station had been a success although he had sustained casualties. Cetshwayo had to wait for some two weeks before he learned the full extent of Zulu losses. He gave two orders: firstly for the two artillery guns to be brought to Ulundi along with any rifles and ammunition that could be recovered from Isandlwana; secondly that the Zulu army should reassemble at Ulundi. When Cetshwayo realized the extent of Zulu losses, he stated:
They say that we suffered this heavy loss from a small force, the [British army] is still there and we are not able to cope with it.21
CHAPTER 10
Post-battle: A Deep Sigh of Relief
It was indeed God’s mercy that saved us.1
CAPTAIN TONGUE, 24TH REGIMENT
The surviving Rorke’s Drift defenders were utterly exhausted; all they wanted was some water to drink, and to sleep. Their red jackets were now unrecognizable through being used to bind red-hot Martini-Henry rifles during the heavy fighting and no replacement uniforms were to be found in the piles of stores. Sleep was not yet possible; the wounded needed caring for, the mission station was in chaos and the Zulus might return. Once they had been supplied with hot tea and some biscuits, the soldiers set about trying to get warm; there was no alternative but to begin making rough jackets from the heavy and abundant mealie sacks that had served them so well in the defence; they simply cut holes in the sacks for their heads and arms. With no money and no new uniforms available they continued to wear such makeshift clothing for many weeks. It took a question in Parliament before one flannel shirt and a pair of trousers, but not jackets, could be issued to the defenders ‘cost free’ as compensation for uniforms damaged during the fighting. The Referee, an English newspaper, published an amusing ditty to publicize the soldiers’ plight and to embarrass the government, after which a replacement uniform was authorized (see Appendix C).
Within a matter of hours of the engagement an inventory of the remaining ammunition revealed that only seventy rounds per man remained. Author Donald Morris stated that the 104 British combatants had fired 20,000 rounds of Martini-Henry ammunition in the space of twelve hours.2 This roughly equates with twenty rounds per man per combat hour – yet the 300 Zulu casualties indicate that it took roughly sixty rounds to kill one Zulu in a close-range battle. Were the British poor marksmen, was the figure of 20,000 rounds correct or were there other factors? This question becomes even more interesting in view of the lack of archaeological evidence concerning the few finds of empty ammunition cases or of fired rounds ever found on the battlefield.3 Commandant Hamilton-Browne, commander of the Natal Native Contingent, clearly believed that the British bayonet had been more effective than the Martini-Henry rifle. He wrote, ‘The dead Zulus lay in piles, in some places as high as the top of the parapet. Some killed by bullets and the wounds, at that short range, were ghastly but very many were killed by the bayonet.’ 4
No one knows whether the figure of 20,000 rounds for B Company serving in a reserve capacity is correct. It was certainly the allocation of ammunition to each infantry company. It is possible the defenders were short of ammunition before the battle began, resulting in their having to rely on their bayonets to drive the Zulus from the defensive positions. No examination was conducted to establish the individual causes of death among the Zulu attackers so the reason for the apparent ineffectiveness of the Martini-Henry rifle at Rorke’s Drift remains unclear. While some of the fighting took place in darkness, defenders’ reports confirm that the burning hospital illuminated the attacking Zulus.
Commandant Hamilton-Browne, the commander of the NNC who had accompanied Chelmsford during the previous two days, was ordered to remain at Rorke’s Drift with his black troops. He later recalled some of the events that then occurred when he wrote:
Well we went into the laager. No one seemed to know what to do and certainly no one tried to do anything. I spoke to several of the seniors and suggested that the thatch should be taken off the store and more loopholes made, also that the stacks of forage should be removed, but until I came to Colonel Harness, R. A., no one would pay the least attention. He at once saw things in the same light as I did and said, ‘I will send my gunners to remove the thatch if you will get the forage away.’ This we did and in a short time the place was secure from fire.
No sooner had I seen my part of this work done than I began to feel as if I was rather hollow and I rejoined Lonsdale and Harford. Rations had been served out and we had bully beef, biscuit, tea and sugar in plenty but no cups, plates, knives, forks or spoons – not even a pot or kettle to boil water in. However we made shift to eat the bully and biscuits with our fingers, then boiled water in the empty bully tins, added tea and sugar and drank it with gusto.
Well Lonsdale and myself went round to the front and there saw what a tremendous effort must have been made by both sides.
The attack must have been well pushed home and both sides deserve the greatest credit. The hospital was still smouldering and the stench from the burning flesh of the dead inside was very bad; it was much worse however when we came to clear the debris away two days afterwards. Some of our sick and wounded
had been burned inside of the hospital and a number of Zulus had been also killed inside of the building itself.
In front of the hospital lay a large number of Zulus also a few of our men, who had been patients, and who when the hospital had been set on fire had, in trying to escape, rushed out among the enemy and had been killed, their bodies being also ripped and much mutilated.
A few dead horses lay about, either killed by the assegai or by the bullets of the defenders, and I wondered why they had not been driven away before the fighting began.
One thing I noticed and that was the extraordinary way in which the majority of the Zulus lay. I had been over a good many battlefields and seen very many men who had been killed in action but I had never seen men lie in this position. They seemed to have dropped on their elbows and knees and remained like that with their knees drawn up to their chins.
One huge fellow who must have been, in life, quite 7 feet high lay on his back with his heels on the top of the parapet and his head nearly touching the ground, the rest of his body supported by a heap of his dead comrades.5
Every member of the replenished Rorke’s Drift garrison was seriously fatigued, either having survived the Rorke’s Drift fighting or being from Chelmsford’s weary column. All were exhausted, hungry and undoubtedly anxious lest the Zulus should return in force. There was little order or control; ammunition reserves were low and a fresh Zulu attack could come at any moment. There was a general atmosphere of fear about the garrison, and since not all troops could fit inside the relative security of the laager, shamefully, the black troops of the NNC were ordered to remain outside. Hamilton-Browne described what happened:
The evening grew on and Lonsdale went into the laager for orders. He returned and told us that the white troops were to hold the laager and that we were to remain outside. This was as absurd as it was shameful;not only were our white officers and non-coms to meet, unprotected by the laager, the first rush of the Zulus, in case of an attack, but we should have been swept away by the fire of our own friends inside it.
We were also to find the outlying pickets and the advanced sentries. Our natives, with the exception of the Zulus, were quite useless for this service. In fact they had all taken refuge in the caves and among the rocks of the mountain, and sternly refused to come out. And now there was a row. Of course the roster was lost and I regret to say that the officers and the non-coms, furious at what they considered their unfair treatment, refused to turn out. Lonsdale, Cooper and myself talked it over with them and at last we said we would take the outlying picket ourselves. Harford at once chipped in, so three commandants and a staff officer formed the most dangerous picket that night.
Quin, my servant, swore that I should not go on picket while he was to the fore and Captains Duncombe, Develin and Hayes volunteered for the other picket. Of course when we were moving off everyone wanted to come and the cuss words and recriminations flew like hail. We quieted them down. We took one picket, Captain Duncombe and three other officers formed the other;there was not much choice between them. In-lying pickets were told off and as soon as it was dark we took our posts, extending the Zulus in a chain between them. The night was very dark but passed off quietly although there was a false alarm at the laager, and most of our white men who had remained there got inside. I don’t blame them. What was the use of staying outside to be shot down by their own friends?6
The command structure under Glyn now failed and strangely nothing more is heard of Chard or Bromhead. The troops’ morale sank proportionately, the sickly smell of burnt bodies hung over the camp and the knowledge that reserves of ammunition were critically low did not help matters. In reality, there was no prospect of fresh supplies as the ammunition for Rorke’s Drift had been buried near Helpmekaar when the officer in charge of the supply wagon heard the news from Isandlwana. Two days later a patrol was sent to recover it but the incessant rain had washed away any traces of the cache; the ammunition was never found. Later that day the British reluctantly set about burying the putrefying Zulu dead. Their own black troops refused to handle the bodies due to umnyama, the belief that the spirits of the dead would attach themselves to anyone touching the bodies. They were persuaded to dig the deep pits while the 24th Regiment collected the Zulu bodies by dragging them with makeshift ropes to the freshly dug graves. The NNC then collected brushwood and trees from the nearby orchards for funeral pyres. When the resulting blazes subsided, the remains were covered with spoil previously dug from the pits; the whole macabre process took several days to complete.
Later a rumour spread around the post that several hundred Zulus, either wounded or in hiding, had been found and killed by British soldiers at two separate but nearby locations, both less than a mile from the outpost. When the British patrols discovered Zulus hiding they killed them with their bayonets or the Zulus’ own spears in order to conserve their depleted ammunition supply. Commandant Hamilton-Browne wrote of one incident that occurred that same day:
During the afternoon it was discovered that a large number of wounded and worn-out Zulus had taken refuge or hidden in the mealie fields near the laager. My two companies of Zulus with some of my non-coms and a few of the 24th quickly drew these fields and killed them with bayonet, butt and assegai. It was beastly but there was nothing else to do. War is war and savage war is the worst of the lot. Moreover our men were worked up to a pitch of fury by the sights they had seen in the morning and the mutilated bodies of the poor fellows laying in front of the burned hospital.7
Lieutenant Smith-Dorrien, who had escaped from Isandlwana to Helpmekaar, later wrote concerning two gallows he had constructed at Rorke’s Drift prior to the battle. These gallows were originally intended to stretch leather riems for the ox wagons but were then put to a more conventional use. Smith-Dorrien wrote:
The next day [23rd January] I rode down to Rorke’s Drift, some twelve miles, to resume charge of my depot. There was the improvised little fort, built up mostly of mealy-sacks and biscuit-boxes and other stores which had so gallantly been defended by Chard, Bromhead, and their men, and Parson Smith, and all around lay dead Zulus, between three and four hundred; and there was my wagon, some 200 yards away, riddled and looted;and there was the riems gallows I had erected the previous morning. Dead animals and cattle everywhere – such a scene of devastation! To my young mind it was impossible that order could ever be restored, but I set to work, and next day, whilst sitting in my wagon, I saw two Zulus hanging on my gallows and was accused by the Brigade Major, Clery (afterwards General Sir Francis Clery) of having given the order. I was exonerated, however, when it was found that it was a case of lynch law performed by incensed men, who were bitter at the loss of their comrades. Other incidents of the same sort occurred in the next few days before law and order were re-established.8
Later that same day Lieutenant Curling RA returned to Rorke’s Drift, and that night he wrote:
The farmhouse at Rorke’s Drift was a sad sight. There were dead bodies of Zulus all round it, in some places so thick that you could hardly walk without treading on them. The roof had been taken off the house as it was liable to be burnt and the wounded were lying out in the open. A spy was hanging on one of the trees in the garden and the whole place was one mass of men. Nothing will now be done until strong reinforcements arrive and we shall have much bloodshed before it is all over.9
Private Ashton of B Company found an uninjured Zulu warrior and took him prisoner. That evening, Bromhead learned that the Zulu had been hanged by mistake after Ashton had asked Bromhead what to do with the prisoner. Bromhead had replied, ‘Get the hell out of here with him.’ Ashton had misinterpreted the oath as an instruction and executed the hapless Zulu.10
The necessity of killing seriously injured Zulus on the field was reciprocated by the Zulus who killed any British soldiers left wounded at Isandlwana; it was a fate well understood by both sides. Regrettably, the British action of killing fleeing Zulus or those who had gone into hiding well away from the post was to be m
ore disturbing, even in the climate of such total warfare. Comment on the Zulus’ fate was deliberately omitted from official reports to prevent such detail being published. Such merciless mopping-up operations were, nevertheless, deemed necessary and were repeated as a matter of military policy after each of the remaining battles of the Zulu War, especially after the British victories at Gingindlovu, Khambula and Ulundi. The total number of Zulu dead from Rorke’s Drift will never be known. The most likely figure of Zulu casualties would tally at about 300 with probably another 300 or more being accounted for during the subsequent securing of the surrounding area. By comparison, British casualties were comparatively light with fifteen men killed and one officer and nine men wounded, two mortally. The indiscriminate and wholesale killing of Zulu survivors in hiding or fleeing from the battlefield was later to cause the military authorities much embarrassment.
During the week following the battle, only five Zulus were taken prisoner and brought back to the post; four were later released unharmed. The fate of the fifth Zulu was sealed when he was brought to Hamilton-Browne’s position for questioning. In his memoirs Hamilton-Browne related what happened:
He [Glyn] ordered me to return to the prisoner, question him and then to report anything I might find out. This I did but of course could get nothing out of him, though he owned up readily he was a spy and that he wore the piece of red stuff round his head as a disguise. I was turning round to return to the O.C. when I struck my shin, which I had badly bruised a few days before, against the boom of the wagon. The pain was atrocious and I had just let go my first blessing when the Sergeant-Major, a huge Irishman, not seeing my accident, asked, ‘What will we do with the spoy, sor?’ ‘Oh, hang the bally spy,’ I tripped out and limped away, rubbing my injured shin and blessing spies, wagons and everything that came in my way. On my reporting to the O.C. that I could get no information, but that the man owned up to being a spy, he ordered the Camp Adjutant to summon a drumhead courts-martial to try him. Paper, pens and ink were found with difficulty; true, there was no drum but a rum keg did as well.
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