Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  ‘Swindle!’ Will pretended outrage. ‘I’ll have you know –’

  ‘That you are a pillar of society,’ Dallas finished the denial for him with a chuckle. ‘Of course you are, Will. I was merely making an observation.’

  Will grunted and the two fell silent again.

  They reached the western slope of Hlobane a little after nine-thirty. The rain had almost stopped. ‘We’ll leave our coats with the horses,’ Dallas whispered. ‘In fact, Will, I suggest we go native.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  It made sense. Their clothes and boots were waterlogged, more likely to be a hindrance than anything else. Barefooted and wearing only under-breeches, they would be more mobile and less likely to make a noise.

  Swiftly, the two of them shed superfluous clothing, stuffing it into their saddlebags. The horses they tethered in the bush. Camouflage was easy: mud, rubbed liberally over themselves.

  ‘Rifles?’ Will asked.

  Leave no calling card Buller had said. Weapons were security, also an encumbrance. ‘Knives,’ Dallas decided. The abaQulusi had rifles but, with luck, would not be expecting visitors. With exceptional luck they’d be huddled around fires in shelters to escape the rain.

  The western path, a steep rocky salient impossible for horses to negotiate, was almost as difficult for humans. Dallas and Will knew the Zulus would have sentries posted but there was no way to conceal themselves during the ascent. The lookouts would probably be positioned on the plateau, some eight hundred and fifty feet above. Depending on where, how alert they were, and how silently Dallas and Will could climb, lay the difference between success and failure. That aside, Lieutenant-Colonel Russell and his men could never hope to advance quietly. Even at night, the abaQulusi would hear them and casualties were likely to be heavy.

  The two men had reached a projecting rock ridge, well aware that one wrong step would see them over the side. Their way forward became steeper until they were forced to proceed on hands and knees. The wet rock was slippery. Small stones dislodged by their passing skittered and rattled back down the slope.

  It was pitch dark. The rain had stopped completely, yet no moon or stars showed in the sky. Fortunately the Zulus’ love of conversation and a habit of speaking loudly, alerted Dallas and Will that the plateau was just above. Lying full-length on the unyielding ground they listened, trying to pinpoint a direction.

  ‘Dead ahead,’ Will mouthed in Dallas’s ear.

  Nodding agreement, Dallas felt around for a suitable stone. ‘Ready,’ he whispered, hurling it as far as he could away from where they had to go over the top.

  The voices above became excited and the sentries moved off to investigate.

  ‘Go.’ Dallas rose and scrambled over the lip, Will right beside him. They could see and hear the men now, six of them illuminated in the light of a flaming branch.

  ‘Mbili,’ one suggested, referring to the rock-dwelling rabbit-like creature, or dassie, which somehow managed to thrive in the harsh terrain.

  Another disagreed. ‘No. It is the rain. See here.’ With his foot he pushed a large rock which obligingly came free and went crashing over the edge.

  Dallas and Will melted into darkness, noting the makeshift shelters, each with a small fire burning at the entrance. To their surprise there were only three, apparently with two sentries in each.

  Devil’s Pass lay ahead. A seventy-yard, steep climb, strewn with boulders that formed a rough series of steps. The last leg to the top was narrow, dark and dangerous. Not surprisingly, there were no lookouts posted on this inhospitable ascent. What did amaze them was the absence of any security at the top.

  ‘They’re certainly not expecting an attack from the west,’ Dallas observed.

  ‘Why would they? Who in their right mind would try to bring soldiers up this way? Russell and his men will never get their horses up the ridge, let alone this far. Without mounts, they’ll be cut to bits.’

  ‘They’re a diversion,’ Dallas reminded him. ‘Buller has the tough job.’

  They set off across the plateau. Will estimated it to be about four miles long by one wide. It was here that the abaQulusi had their kraals. In the dark, Dallas and Will used their sense of smell to avoid them. Lingering wood smoke and the inevitable odour of cattle enclosed for the night made the task relatively easy. Once, however, they almost stumbled over a Kaffir dog with puppies. The female gave a startled yelp, leapt to her feet and loped away.

  ‘So much for a mothering instinct,’ Dallas muttered.

  Avoiding the umuzis was not difficult, though there was nothing they could do about their own odours. Dogs and cattle would pick up the faintest alien smell and react. Dallas cursed his stupidity for the wash he had had earlier. Soap, toothpaste and shaving cream all left a lingering scent which, in the now cooler and still air, would be easily detected. Sure enough, a dog barked suddenly. They both froze. A sleepy voice called out to silence the animal, which promptly obeyed. Then another voice, older and more authoritative, added, ‘Go see what disturbs that dog.’

  Will grabbed Dallas and the two sank down. Someone was approaching, grumbling quietly. He passed quite close, stopping only to relieve himself. He wasn’t away long, and returned still complaining about being woken, disappearing back into the umuzi. After waiting a good five minutes they cautiously rose and left as quickly as silence would allow.

  Despite stopping to rub themselves down with cow dung, their presence was later detected by another dog. Unfortunately, this one decided to investigate. Barking half-heartedly, a sound to which no-one in the umuzi paid the slightest attention, it whimpered once as Will cut its throat.

  ‘They seem pretty relaxed,’ Dallas whispered. ‘Still, we’d better lose that body. The rain should wash away the blood.’

  ‘The land drops away about half a mile from here,’ Will said. ‘That should be far enough. It’s a straight drop down. We can get rid of the dog there.’ They walked in silence for ten minutes, moving further from the kraals. ‘This is grazing land,’ Will told Dallas. ‘There’ll be no-one around at this hour. He suddenly stopped. ‘Careful. We’re right on the edge.’ He threw the dog over the side.

  The noise seemed unnaturally loud as its dead weight made contact with the ground below and started rocks sliding on the steep slope. It seemed an age before silence returned. They waited several minutes before moving on.

  Both men realised it was not as dark as before. Clouds had started to clear, the moon, in its first quarter, about to appear from behind them. If the clouds rolled away completely, out here with nothing to diffuse its brightness, it would provide too much light.

  Crossing the plateau, they were able to establish an approximate number of people living there. Buller had said around four thousand warriors. Will and Dallas agreed with his estimate. The kraals were close to each other and they saw few with less than thirty beehive-shaped huts. In addition, they had to skirt a kind of military barracks that would easily house at least a thousand. The abaQulusi, it would seem, had called their clansmen together and constituted a formidable force.

  They reached the plateau’s eastern access. It was likely to be well guarded, since it was from this side that the abaQulusi would expect any attack. Surprisingly, the rim remained clear. Will found the well-worn path that ran down through sheer cliffs on either side. He knew that at the bottom lay a jumble of huge rocks, fallen there over the centuries, forming cave-like crevices and gaps. This had to be the Zulus’ first line of defence. Hopefully, any sentries posted would be watching the way up, not down.

  As they descended rain began to fall again. It quickly became obvious that the downpour might wash off their covering of mud. Praying that any sentries had taken cover, Dallas and Will inched their way down. They could hear muffled coughs, men clearing their throats and others speaking in undertones. From the caves, low firelight danced and flickered. The abaQulusi were not exactly disciplined in defence, but on this side of their mountain they were taking fewer chances. Dallas
estimated there to be at least a hundred men hidden in the cave system. He counted around fifty tiny fires, so small they couldn’t be seen from below.

  Down on their bellies, Will and Dallas made excruciatingly slow progress past the caves. All it would take would be for one man to step outside his shelter, his eyes adjust to the dark, and they’d likely be discovered. The rain and the flickering fires helped to conceal them. Dallas looked both sides of the track, re-counting the telltale flames. Getting the numbers right on this track was crucial for Buller.

  Will tapped his arm. Time to press on. Below them lay more steep slopes. The rain stopped as abruptly as it had started. The moon still threatened an appearance. As they moved forward, Will’s foot slipped and stones clattered off into the darkness.

  ‘Who is there?’ demanded a rough voice.

  ‘A man’s got to piss,’ Will responded in perfect Zulu.

  Others laughed as he did exactly that. They reached the bottom with no more mishap.

  ‘We’ll have to get a move on,’ Dallas warned. ‘It’s a good six miles round Hlobane and back to the horses.’

  The two men set off in a loping run.

  ‘They’re on this side all right. What would you say, Will? A hundred at least in the caves?’ They’d proceeded in silence for the last twenty minutes and were well away from the eastern path.

  ‘I’ve seen that place in daylight. I’d double your estimate, but those rocks could hide ten times that number. If the Zulus see us coming you can bet they’ll hide as many men as possible there. We could be cut to ribbons.’

  ‘Shooting downhill is less accurate,’ Dallas replied, not willing to speculate on the prospect of hand-to-hand combat. ‘The horses would take the brunt of it.’

  ‘Shit!’ Will stubbed his toe, stumbled, and then regained his stride. ‘My bloody feet are killing me.’

  ‘Mine too.’

  A loud warning hiss directly ahead stopped them in their tracks. ‘What was that?’ Dallas asked.

  ‘I’ve only heard that sound once before,’ Will told him. ‘Under my bed. It’s a fucking puff adder.’

  Both men dived sideways off the track and gave it a wide berth for several minutes.

  ‘They say it’s a two-step death,’ Will said unnecessarily, once they had returned to the softer sand of the track. ‘Two steps and you’re dead.’

  ‘At least it warned us,’ Dallas commented. ‘Nice of it.’

  The horses were as they had left them. Dallas and Will wasted no time in returning to camp.

  The British troops left Kambula Hill at dawn. Colonel Wood, relying on the intelligence gathered by Dallas and Will, decided there was no point in trying for an element of surprise. The abaQulusi were obviously anticipating an attack and he could not hope to move so many men without being detected. Making no attempt to conceal themselves, Russell, Wood and their men bivouacked three miles from the western ascent. Buller took up position five miles south-east of the other access route. Those watching on both sides of the mountain had more than enough time to warn the impi. By nightfall, warrior numbers on the western edge of the plateau had swollen to several hundred. In the rock caves, more than two thousand hid and waited.

  Unbeknown even to his two most senior-ranking officers, Wood had sent a message to Lord Chelmsford that he was preparing to attack Hlobane and create the diversion his military commander asked of him. In it, he confessed, ‘I am not very sanguine of success.’

  Out on the plain looking through field glasses at the western escarpment which Russell and his men had to scale, Wood was even more doubtful. He kept such thoughts to himself.

  Buller remained pragmatic about the outcome. He and his men had to reach the plateau. The Zulus, by now, knew they were coming. There would be casualties. But reach the summit he intended to do.

  Dallas and Will were with Buller. They took the enforced wait as a chance to catch up on some much-needed sleep, as they’d had no chance to rest once they’d reached Kambula Hill. After a quick breakfast, they were heading back towards Hlobane.

  At ten that evening Buller ordered that the fires be built up. Anyone observing them from Hlobane would hopefully believe that the enemy was still five miles away. As luck would have it, the ever-fickle weather played an ace of spades. A severe thunderstorm struck, delaying the troopers for hours. Undaunted, Buller advanced to the foot of Hlobane. It wasn’t until three-thirty in the morning that they were ready to lead their horses up the trail. The storm still raged on around them, lightning giving away their positions. From the caves above, the Zulus opened fire.

  Cursing the weather, Zulus, the mountain and horses in that order, the troopers doggedly pressed on. The abaQulusi had positioned themselves on either side of the path. The higher Buller and his men went, the more accurate Zulu crossfire became. Dallas felt a bullet pluck at his trousers and a stinging sensation followed. Around him, horses whinnied in fright and protest. Thunder crashed and rolled away, men shouted, guns roared, lightning flashed. It was the horses that suffered most. A larger target, and a Zulu tendency to fire in the general direction of whatever they wanted to hit, meant many were killed or wounded that night. Tosca was used to the sound but seemed to know that, this time, she was a likely victim. Dallas held her reins tightly and the horse, reluctantly, followed him up the rock-strewn path.

  The storm raged for three hours. By the time troops reached the caves, the abaQulusi had abandoned that position and they were able to make the summit drawing only sporadic sniping fire. It seemed to Dallas that the Zulus were waiting for something. He felt a stirring of unease.

  ‘What are they up to?’ Piet Uys roared, equally as suspicious. ‘Why are they just sitting out there?’

  Those who still could had remounted. Buller galloped past, shouting orders. By now it was fully light. One troop of the Frontier Light Horse remained to keep the abaQulusi at bay and protect the rear. Native infantry were rounding up cattle ready to herd them towards the west.

  ‘You won’t get many down that way,’ Dallas yelled at the British officer’s retreating form. If Buller heard, he gave no sign.

  ‘Bloody fool,’ Will commented loudly.

  That he certainly heard. Buller started to check his horse, decided against it and carried on.

  ‘You’ll be on the mat for that,’ Dallas warned.

  ‘Ah!’ Will was disgusted. ‘What’s the point? The man refuses to listen.’

  The Zulus’ lack of response was disturbing Dallas. Why would they sit back and allow their cattle to be taken? ‘There’s something wrong,’ he said to Piet Uys.

  ‘Ja, man. I feel it too.’

  Three hours after reaching the plateau, Buller had his first look at the hazardous descent down Devil’s Pass and ordered they turn back for the eastern trail. At that moment, from his vantage point, he looked out and saw five columns of impi coming across the plain from the south-east. His jaw dropped. Moving steadily, and in absolute silence, they were advancing like a plague of locusts. ‘Too late,’ he bellowed. ‘We’ll have to take Devil’s Pass.’

  ‘This is what those black bastards were waiting for.’ Uys was red-faced with anger. ‘They knew the impi were coming.’

  The abaQulusi had indeed been holding back to await reinforcements. At the appearance of twenty thousand men coming to their aid, they started using their rifles in earnest against the soldiers. On hearing increased gunfire, the advancing impi flowed effortlessly into their chest and horns battle formation and picked up the already punishing pace. They wanted to be waiting when the British made it to the plain.

  Buller reacted immediately, realising that not only the men with him were at risk. Those left at the severely depleted garrison on Kambula Hill could very well find themselves facing another Isandlwana defeat. ‘We have no choice,’ he bellowed. ‘It’s Devil’s Pass or nothing.’

  Captured cattle and native infantry began the dangerous descent. Panic set in and spread. Urgency became a disorderly scramble for survival. Many animals an
d even a few men slipped and fell to their deaths. On the plateau there was no time to think of anything, other than the need to defend their position until everyone could start the descent. Dallas operated on pure instinct. In many ways, for him it was not unlike being in the middle of the elephants when Logan was killed.

  ‘Here they come,’ someone yelled as the abaQulusi made a determined rush. ‘Thicker than grass and blacker than hell.’

  ‘Fall back, men,’ Buller urged. ‘They’re trying to delay us until the impi can cut us off. We must get down before they do.’ The men seemed to be everywhere.

  Piet Uys looked wildly around. He could see only three of his sons.

  ‘Get going,’ ordered Buller.

  ‘My son!’ the Afrikaner cried, ignoring him.

  ‘Over you go,’ Buller shouted at him.

  ‘Son!’ Contemptuously Uys turned his back and ran to where he had spotted his eldest boy. Dropping beside him, he cradled the injured lad in his arms.

  Dallas spared a last look at the Boer commander before urging Tosca over the rim. He never saw Piet Uys again.

  So many horses had been shot or fallen on Devil’s Pass that, on reaching the bottom, the men had to double up. Will’s horse had gone down to a stray bullet and he swung up behind Dallas on Tosca. Despite the arduous climb and frenzied descent, the animal seemed to know the worst was over. Miraculously, she had escaped injury, losing nothing more than two shoes in the mad scramble for safety. Will was also unscathed, though Dallas’s thigh had begun to throb severely. He hadn’t had time to examine the wound but it would need medical attention if infection were to be avoided.

  As the last British troops straggled back to Kambula, the extent of their defeat became devastatingly clear. Fifteen officers and seventy-nine regular soldiers had been killed. The volunteers had lost Piet Uys and one of his sons. More than one hundred of the native infantry were dead. Those Africans who survived resented the dangerous retreat down Devil’s Pass and the lack of covering fire they’d been given. What was left of the 2nd Battalion, a Zulu regiment, deserted. The Border Horse – mainly English settlers from the Transvaal – had somehow become separated from Buller. They met up with the descending troop of Frontier Light Horse who, having carried out Buller’s orders to keep the abaQulusi at bay while the cattle were being herded down the mountain, were making their own way to the bottom. Together, because neither knew of the advancing impi, they rode south to assist any stragglers. This took them straight into the Zulus’ right horn. Both detachments were driven back towards the mountain and massacred. Boer burghers, without a leader, returned to their homes. Mounted troops had been seriously weakened by the terrible loss of horses.