Never has such a disaster happened to the English Army.
Trooper Richard Stevens, Natal Mounted Police (1)
By the time Lord Chelmsford embarked upon his invasion of Zululand, the Zulus had yet to secure their enduring reputation for tactical skill and ferocious bravery. Their record against white men was undistinguished; their only previous encounter was in 1836, when they suffered defeat at the hands of a relatively small party of Boer trekkers at the Battle of Blood River, a defeat highly exaggerated by Boer history.
As early as July 1878 Chelmsford had written, ‘I shall strive to be in a position to show them [the Zulus] how hopelessly inferior they are to us in fighting power’. (2) Indeed, Chelmsford's overriding concern was that the Zulus would not fight. ‘I am inclined to think’, he wrote, ‘that the first experience of the power of the Martini-Henrys will be such a surprise to the Zulus that they will not be formidable after the first effort’. (3) Even as late as 8 January 1879, Chelmsford demonstrated this concern when he wrote,‘All the reports which reach me tend to show that the Zulus intend, if possible, to make raids into Natal when the several columns move forward’.
Unexpectedly, Chelmsford was faced with the threat of mutiny by his previously loyal colonial troops. He had unthinkingly given command of the Natal Mounted Police and all the Natal volunteer units to Brevet Major John Russell of the Mounted Infantry, ignoring their own commandant, Major Dartnell. Chelmsford had previously decreed that all commanders were to be Imperial officers and had given an instruction to this effect in para. 144 of his ‘Regulations for Field Forces in South Africa’. The effect of this regulation was to debar any colonial officer, regardless of his rank, from having command over Imperial troops. The severely disgruntled colonials paraded at Helpmekaar and took a vote on the matter; they unanimously decided that they would not enter Zululand under the command of an unknown British officer, especially when they respected Major Dartnell's proven experience in native warfare. Chelmsford was forced to compromise, and promoted Dartnell to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel and appointed him to his own staff, which gave him authority over Russell. The decision was grudgingly accepted by the colonials, who then obeyed their orders and moved down to Rorke's Drift.
The British force invaded Zululand on 11 January 1879. The centre (3rd Column) crossed the Buffalo at Rorke's Drift into Zululand, the troops making their way over at different points. Lieutenant Harford kept a meticulous diary of events and he wrote on that day:
The Artillery and the 24th Regiment went over by degrees in the pontoon, a little above the main Drift, known as Rorke's Drift after the Dutchman Jim Rorke, whose house and farm buildings were occupied by us as a Fort, after being entrenched. I was ordered to find a crossing for the 2nd/3rd Natal Native Contingent, higher up the river. The fog was so dense one could barely see anything a yard in front, but at last, after hugging the bank very closely for about half a mile or more, we came to a spot that looked worth a trial. So I put my pony at it and got across all right, the bed of the river being nice and hard; but the water came up to the saddle flaps, and there was a nasty bank to scramble up on the opposite side. However, that did not matter, it was good enough.
Then followed a truly unforgettable scene, first of the Natives crossing over and then of the impressive ceremony when the Regiment had formed up again on the other side and were addressed by old Ingabangi, the witch doctor. In order to scare away any crocodiles that might be lurking in the vicinity, the leading Company formed a double chain right across the River, leaving a pathway between for the remainder to pass through. The men forming the chain clasped hands, and the moment they entered the water they started to hum a kind of war-chant, which was taken up by every Company as they passed over. The sound that this produced was like a gigantic swarm of bees buzzing about us, and sufficient to scare crocodiles or anything else, away. Altogether, it was both a curious and grand sight. (4)
The mounted troops cautiously rode their horses through the swirling waters, using the submerged flat rocks of the original traders' crossing point. Once across, they spread out in a wide semicircle in anticipation of a Zulu attack. All they saw were three startled Zulu boys tending their cattle. The mounted troopers held their defensive position while the infantry were slowly ferried across the river. The native forces had been assembled downstream of the main crossing point and were cajoled by their officers into the fast-flowing, muddy river. They began the crossing in their customary style by linking arms and entering the water in a ‘V’ formation, those in the point of the ‘V’ being pushed across by those in the rear. When the front ranks reached the far bank, they then pulled their colleagues over; the native contingent lost several men in the crossing but, as their officers did not know how many natives they commanded, little concern was shown.
Once across, the force spread out in a defensive formation until the mounted patrols confirmed the absence of Zulu defenders. A few hundred yards from the crossing point a new campsite was prepared, and by noon the slow process of bringing stores and waggons across from Rorke's Drift was well under way. It is unlikely that during the crossing any of the troops would have noticed the prominent rocky outcrop of Isandlwana that dominated the skyline some eight miles away. It is equally unlikely that they would have known its name, but it was a name their relatives would shortly become familiar with; the Zulus called it Isdandula.
The following day, 12 January, British troops commenced actual hostilities against a small Zulu clan living just two miles inside the Zululand border under the chieftaincy of Sihayo ka Xongo. The area was virtually deserted as most of Sihayo's warriors were already at Ulundi preparing for war. The few Zulu warriors left at the homestead fired some inaccurate shots at the approaching British then fled, which reinforced the troops' perception that their enemy would not fight. This minor skirmish, and the torture of captured Zulus for information, were to have disastrous consequences for the few survivors of Isandlwana. The captured Zulus kept secret the fact that a great force of 25,000 warriors, accompanied by another 10,000 reserves and camp followers, was closing with the unsuspecting British. During the skirmish Harford distinguished himself by fearlessly leading his men across a rocky hillside in pursuit of fleeing Zulus. His bravery was witnessed by Chelmsford, who afterwards complimented Harford and informed him he would be ‘rewarded’ for his action. Ever the gentleman, Harford replied that it was unnecessary; Chelmsford accepted Harford's polite response, but the fact that no decoration was forthcoming seriously rankled with Harford for the rest of his life. He kept a diary during his service in Zululand, and his account of the attack on Sihayo's homestead gives a strong indication of why Chelmsford thought any battle with the Zulus would be an easy victory for his forces:
Reveille sounded very early, about 3 a.m. the next morning, and we marched to attack Sihayo's kraal, up the Bashee valley, through thick bush. It was most unpleasant going, for above us, on our right, were hills with the usual cavernous rocks encircling them a little below their crests. It was evident that the warriors we had heard singing their war-chant the day before were ensconced in these caves, for the instant the troops got within range a continuous popping went on from these places. The crack, crack, crack of their guns and rifles echoed and re-echoed among the hills in the still morning air and made it impossible to detect exactly where the shots were coming from. Now and again a Zulu was seen in the open, and on one such occasion I saw the man taking deliberate aim at Colonel Glyn who was standing in an open patch above me. Shouting as loud as I could, I told him to get out of the way before the shot was fired.
Colonel Glyn was in command of the troops, and Lord Chelmsford took up a position with his staff on the opposite side of the valley, to watch operations. Colonel Degacher commanded the 2/24th Regiment, and Major Black our Contingent, as Lonsdale was still in hospital. We started skirmishing through the bush, Major Black leading the 1st Battalion N.N.C. under Commandant Hamilton-Browne, and I following in support with the 2nd Battalion under Commandant Cooper. Before many minutes, bullets were whizzing about in all directions, and one of our Natives, who was close by my side, got a bullet in the thigh, breaking the bone. A short distance further on, seeing two NCOs sheltering behind a rock instead of leading their men, I went to drive them on; and had just got them away when ‘ping’ came a bullet and cut away a branch just at the spot where my head was a second before. This was luck!
As we got further into the bush all sorts of obstacles, such as rocky ground, ravines, and especially thick masses of creepers, prevented any sort of formation being properly kept, in consequence of which the firing line and supports soon got mingled together. Nevertheless, the men were kept well in hand. Before very long I could hear Major Black's shrill voice in broad Scotch urging his men on, and, making my way up to him with supports, I found that he and Commandant Hamilton-Browne were in a hot corner close to some caves, with hand-to-hand fighting going on. When I was within about twenty or thirty yards of the place, one of their men fell almost at my feet with a terrible assegai wound, which had nearly cut him in half, right down the back. The poor fellow was not dead, and although I could see it was only a matter of minutes my feelings almost led me to try to put him out of his misery with my revolver. But I abstained. I went on to the ridge of the spur of the hill in front of me as fast as I could, with some men, to see what was on the other side and to assist on Major Black's flank.
Eventually, on reaching the foot of a ledge of rocks, where they curved in a horseshoe bend overhanging a deep valley, a somewhat grim sight presented itself. Confronting me across the bend was a large, open-mouthed cave, apparently capable of holding a good number of men, and hanging below it were several dead Zulus, caught in the monkey-rope creepers and bits of bush. They had evidently been shot and had either fallen out, or been thrown out, by their comrades when killed. Later on, I learned that a Company of the 24th Regiment had been firing at this particular cave for some time, and had been ordered to cease firing on it when our men came up. It was an uncommonly awkward place to get at, as it meant climbing over nothing but huge rocks and in many places having to work one's way like a crab, besides which a loss of foothold might have landed one in the valley below. However, there was not much time to think, and I determined to make an attempt, so, sending some men to work round below; I took a European NCO who was close at hand, and told him to follow me. Clambering at once over a big piece of rock, I got rather a rude shock on finding a Zulu sitting in a squatting position behind another rock, almost at my elbow. His head showed above the rock, and his wide-open eyes glared at me; but I soon discovered that he was dead.
Scarcely had I left this apparition behind than a live Zulu … suddenly jumped up from his hiding place and, putting the muzzle of his rifle within a couple of feet of my face, pulled the trigger. But the cap snapped, whereupon he dropped his rifle and made off over the rocks for the cave, as hard as he could go. Providence had again come to my aid, and away I went after him, emptying my revolver at him as we scrambled up. Out of my six shots only one hit him, but not mortally. I stopped for a second to reload, but finding the wretched thing stuck I threw it down into the valley below, at the same time turning round and shouting to the NCO, who I thought was following me, to let me have his revolver. But he remained behind, where I had left him at the start, and all he did was to call out, as loud as he could, ‘Captain Harford is killed!’ However, I soon put this right by shouting down, ‘No, he is not, he is very much alive!’
All this was a matter of seconds, and after pronouncing my blessings pretty freely on the Corporal, followed up my quarry, who by this time was standing in the mouth of the cave. Speaking to him in Kaffir, I called upon him to surrender, explaining that I had no intention to harm him in any way and would see to it that he was not ill treated by anyone. He then squatted down in submission. Before getting up into the cave myself, not caring to run my head into a noose thoughtlessly, I demanded to know if there was anyone else inside and was assured that there was no one, and as all was quiet, although I must say I had some slight misgivings, I clambered in.
Close to the entrance lay a wounded man with his feet towards me. Although unable to rise, he clutched hold of an assegai that was by his side, but I told him at once to drop it, that I was going to do him no harm, and questioned him as to who was with him in the cave. He stoutly denied that there were any others there. By this time I was getting accustomed to the darkness, and saw several likely-looking boltholes and kept on repeating that I knew there were others somewhere in hiding and that they were telling me lies. At the same time adding, in a tone loud enough to be heard by anyone near the place, that if they would come out I would promise on oath that no harm should be done to them and that I would accompany them myself to the General … who would see that they were well treated.
In a short time this had the desired effect, and presently a head appeared from a hole, and as the object crept out I kept careful watch for any sort of weapon that might emerge with it; another and then another crawled out from the same spot. All were unarmed, and squatted down close to me. I then wanted to know where the others were, but they swore that there was no one else. As this seemed to be the case, I moved off with my four prisoners, leaving the badly wounded man in the cave. We soon made our way down the valley to where the General and his staff were, and I was met by Major Clery, the Adjutant-General, who greeted me with, ‘Well, Harford, I congratulate you on your capture, the General and I have been watching your gallantry for some time.’Then he told me that a section of the 24th Regiment had been firing into the cave half the morning, owing to the sniping that had been going on from it, and when Lonsdale's men were seen to be approaching, orders had been sent to them to cease fire. Having handed over my prisoners and telling the Adjutant-General the promise I had made them, and after seeing the man that I had myself wounded was placed in the ambulance waggon for conveyance to hospital, I went off again.
On getting back to the Contingent, one of the men walked up to me and with the usual salutation of ‘Inkosi’ gravely handed me my sword, spurs and courier bag, all of which had been torn off me in walking through the bush, as well as the discarded revolver. Never was I more thankful than to get these things back, especially the courier bag which had been a parting gift from my Captain, Captain Moir, when I left Chatham and contained my field glasses, knife, fork and spoon, as well as other valuable odds and ends. It would have been almost impossible to have found them again, even if a search party had been sent out, but luckily this Good Samaritan had followed carefully in my tracks and picked up the things as they were dropped. Curious to say, in the excitement of the moment I never felt anything going.
Now that the Cavalry, Mounted Police and 24th Regiment had gone on to Sihayo's kraal, one or two companies of the Contingent were sent off to capture some cattle, and after a short rest and a meal the whole force returned to camp, drenched to the skin in a thunderstorm. After a day's rest to clean arms and dry clothing, camp was moved forward to the Bashee Valley, not far from the scene of our operations two days before, and here we remained for the next four or five days, the 24th and ourselves working hard at making and repairing roads for our advance to Isandlwana on the 20th.
Following the skirmish at Sihayo's homestead, the subject of captured Zulu cattle caused much discontent among column troops who all expected a fair share of the plunder. Evidently, the cattle captured at Sihayo's and in the surrounding area had been sold cheaply to contractors, and word of this spread quickly through the column.
The Natal Witness correspondent at Rorke's Drift sensed the widespread disquiet among the troops and sent the following report on the subject, published on 22 January:
The captured cattle, than which a finer lot I have rarely seen, a large portion being oxen fit for the butcher, and milk cows with calves, were absolutely sold to the contractor by the prize committee, who consisted (I believe) of two captains in the N.N.C. – though it does not much matter who they were – for the sum of £2 a head, the goats for 2s 6d and the sheep for 6s a head. There will be very considerable discontent among all ranks if the bulk of our prize money goes to enrich contractors.
After destroying Sihayo's homestead, the invasion force made a temporary camp halfway between Rorke's Drift and Isandlwana to enable the Royal Engineers to repair the waggon track that ran through two swampy areas along the invasion route. Lieutenant MacDowell RE had been brought from Rorke's Drift to supervise the repairs, there being no further need for an officer at the ponts (rafts on which to cross the river). The following morning Chelmsford, accompanied by his staff and escorted by fifty mounted infantry, made a reconnaissance along the roadway leading towards Isandlwana. The morning was fine and dry, and until the heat became great – which it very soon did – the ride was a pleasant one. The first part of the ride was over the section of road that had been lately undergoing repairs. The soil was of a dark alluvial nature, and so soft that the wheels of a waggon would stick fast in it. The worst places had to be filled up with stones, and deep trenches had to be cut on each side of the track to permit drainage. Nearby Zulu huts were found to be most useful; they were pulled down and the wattles and supports of which they were composed were spread over the roadway.
The invasion column was ordered to the camp site at Isandlwana, but there were considerable misgivings on the part of officers of experience, including Major Dartnell, with regard to the selection of this site, owing principally to the broken and wooded country in its immediate rear which offered ample cover for a large force of the enemy to concentrate unseen and attack suddenly. To an officer of the Natal Mounted Police who had suggested to one of Chelmsford's staff officers that the British camp might be attacked from the rear, Chelmsford retorted, ‘Tell the police officer my troops will do all the attacking’.(5)
That morning, several natives came into the camp with a warning for Chelmsford that Cetshwayo intended to decoy the British; when they had been lured into the bush, the Zulu army would make for Natal. The same report arrived from Chelmsford's own local adviser, Mr Fanin. Chelmsford dismissed all these warnings; he believed the drifts were adequately covered and resolved to push on deeper into Zululand without delay. The Natal Witness reporter with the Carbineers submitted the following dispatch to his newspaper on 18 January; it was published on 23 January:
We have already had three different patrols into the enemy's quarters. Rumour had it that there were thousands near to us: but, though we hunted up hill and down dale, ‘saw we never none.’ It is impossible to know what to believe. The Zulus must assuredly be somewhere, but wherever we go, we only come across deserted huts. It is evident that a large number of the people have taken to flight, but whether they have done so through fear of us, or of their own ‘noble savage’ defenders, I cannot undertake to say. As a change, however, on the last occasion we came across a Zulu, whom we took prisoner. On questioning him as to why there were so few men about, he said that they were quite scared away at the manner in which we had taken their mountain fortress [Sihayo's] from them – as they had not ever dreamt that we should venture up it. This amount of fear does not look very much like the wonderful prowess of the Zulus, of which we heard so much in Natal. I imagine they are much like other natives – very great at bragging, but easily depressed and panic-stricken by any sudden reverse.
By 21 January most of the British invading force had arrived at Isandlwana. The location was ideal: there was an ample supply of both water and wood for cooking, the position was elevated, with a sheer rock face to its rear, and therefore easy to defend. It looked down and across the open plain towards the Zulu capital at Ulundi, so that any approaching Zulu force would be observed for several miles before it could form up for an attack. The camp consisted of some 750 tents neatly erected according to strict military regulations, company by company, street by street, over an area nearly one mile square. There were troop tents and numerous headquarters and administration tents, together with hospital and messing tents; within hours, the area was transformed into a thriving, bustling tent town. The Bell tents each provided cramped accommodation for sixteen private soldiers sleeping in a circle with their feet towards the single centre-pole. Sergeants and above fared better, mostly enjoying a tent to themselves. Each tent, including the space around it which accommodated the ropes and pegs, occupied 1,440 square feet – thus thirty tents to the acre, more or less.
The regulations for laying out and erection of tents saw the British army at its ritualistic best:
The NCOs in charge of squads will be extended 16 paces from the left by Officers Commanding Companies in prolongation of their arms and turned to the right … The senior Major will dress the NCOs of the first row of tents, along the front of the column, so that they will stand exactly on the line marked out as the front of the camp and the Captain of each Company will, from them, dress the NCOs of his squads who whilst being so dressed will stand to attention. After being dressed, No 7 of each squad will drive a peg in-between the heels of his NCO, who will, after turning about, take 18 paces to the front where another peg will be driven in a similar manner.
There was a similar ritual in the striking of camp, and in the events which were to follow at Isandlwana such time-consuming drill must be remembered:
On the order being given to strike tents, all ropes except the corner ones, will be quickly undone and hanked up close to the flies; walls will be unlaced and packed into bags.
The corner ropes will then be loosened and the tents dropped on the bugle sound ‘G’, Nos 1, 2, 3, 4, 9 and 10 will remove poles, bank corner ropes, fold up flies and lace them carefully up in the holdalls, while Nos 5, 6, 7 and 8 take out pegs, count them, and pack them in the peg bag.
Each unit's waggons were parked behind their own tents; those required for resupply were left in the adjacent waggon park ready to return to Rorke's Drift. Foot patrols were posted to the front of the camp, while mounted patrols were detailed to the surrounding hills.
During the afternoon of 21 January, Chelmsford dispatched Major John Dartnell, with a sizeable reconnaissance force consisting of sixteen companies of the Natal Native Contingent (NNC) together with most of the Natal Mounted Police and half the Natal Mounted Volunteers, into the distant hills near Isipezi, the site of the next British camp. Unconfirmed reports were indicating that large numbers of Zulus were approaching from the direction of the Zulu capital at Ulundi, fifty miles away. It was to be a precautionary patrol, and Dartnell had strict orders to reconnoitre the area and return later that day. Major Clery later wrote in a note to Colonel Harman on 17 February:
He (Chelmsford) gave orders to their commandant of the natives to take his two battalions out at daybreak the following morning to work through some ravines ten miles off, and he also gave orders to the commandant of the volunteers to go in the same direction and cooperate. The orders to both these commandants were given personally by the general himself, and this was absolutely necessary in this case as neither Colonel Glyn nor myself knew in the least where they were being sent to, or what they were being sent for. (6)
Authors and researchers have persistently accepted earlier beliefs that Dartnell's column spent the day in the vicinity of the Magogo Valley, ten miles to the south-east of Isandlwana camp. The fact is, the Magogo Valley is not on the route between Ulundi and Isandlwana, and there is no evidence from the participants to confirm that this was where they were. It was at Isipezi hill, twelve miles due east, on the direct route from which the Zulu army was expected, that Dartnell's column fruitlessly sought the deliberately elusive Zulus. There is one utterly reliable report that confirms Isipezi as the area where Dartnell's column was engaged; the account is from Lieutenant Charles Harford, who at about midday called a halt for a meal and some rest. He wrote:
Most of us, and especially the Europeans who were on foot, were very nearly dead beat. At the head of the valley the two Battalions got together again, somewhere between 4 and 5 p.m. and went on to the Isipezi hill, Lonsdale riding off to see Major Dartnell, who was with the Mounted Police a mile or so to our left.
The sun was full setting as we reached the top of the Isipezi, and as we got to the ridge the natives, with their sharp eyes, at once spotted a lot of Zulus on the opposite hill, across a very steep and rugged valley about 800 or 900 yards off in a straight line. The men were ordered to keep well out of sight below the hill, and from behind some rocks Hamilton-Browne, Cooper and I watched the Zulus stealthily moving about, their outline being well defined against the clear evening sky. Before long Major Dartnell joined us with his mounted men; they also had seen the enemy and had found them to be occupying a very strong position, and as it was still daylight he called for volunteers to go over and try to draw the Zulus out in order to see what sort of force confronted us.
Instantly a number of men jumped on their horses and were off, with orders on no account to engage the enemy but simply draw him out and then gallop back. The manoeuvre was most successful; scarcely had our men crossed the valley and got up to within some 800 yards of their position than a regular swarm of Zulus, which we estimated to be over 1,000 men, swept down upon them in their horn formation and tried to surround them. Our men got back as hard as they could; no shots were fired and the Zulus returned back over their hill again. A council of war was now held, and Major Dartnell decided that the troops should bivouac on the spot, a message being sent to the General at once by Lieutenant Walsh (Somerset Light Infantry), with his three mounted infantrymen to explain our position and asking for reinforcements and food. It was very evident that we were opposite a very large impi, if not the whole Zulu army. (7)
The journalist Charles Norris-Newman later reported that, ‘Lieutenant Harford again distinguished himself by going in alone under a nasty crevice, shooting two men and capturing another.’ (8)
One of Dartnell's commanders, Hamilton-Browne, interrogated under torture two young Zulus who were caught making their way home. They both confirmed that the Zulu army was approaching the nearby Isipezi Hill. No Zulu army could be seen, so two companies were returned to Isandlwana with captured Zulu cattle and delivered the report extracted from the Zulu youths. Later in the day Dartnell saw large groups of Zulus, amounting to several hundreds of warriors, moving from the direction of Isipezi; Dartnell declined to give chase, but in the excitement a young soldier, Trooper Parsons, accidentally fired his revolver. It was a costly mistake on the part of the young man, since Dartnell immediately sent him back to Isandlwana, where he was killed in the battle the following day. By dusk, Dartnell had been unable to determine what the Zulus were doing and decided to spend the night out in the hills to await events the following day.
Meanwhile, Isandlwana camp was not prepared for a Zulu attack, depite Colonel Glyn's proposal to form a defensive position or laager in the traditional Boer manner. Laagering, entrenching, the spreading of broken glass and other routine defensive measures were not considered necessary by Chelmsford, even though experienced Boers had personally warned him to laager each camp. Just prior to the invasion, Chelmsford had given his commanders specific orders requiring British positions in Zululand to be laagered or entrenched at night. Chelmsford's total belief in his force, together with his disdain for any native adversary, probably caused him to overrule his own written orders to entrench or fortify the camp. Certainly, the ground was rocky and hard; digging would have been impossible, but a solid defensive embankment of rocks could have been constructed within a few hours. Chelmsford was probably swayed by the knowledge that some of his transport waggons had yet to arrive at the camp and further supplies remained to be collected from the supply depot at Rorke's Drift. Chelmsford was also impatient to move the force to the next campsite at Isipezi Hill, only twelve miles away across the plain. After all, Isandlwana was merely a staging post, and in the hazy distance Isipezi Hill appeared tantalisingly close. Four days earlier, Lieutenant Colonel John Russell and his Mounted Infantry had reconnoitred the site and no Zulus had been seen. Chelmsford was certainly complacent about defending the camp, and his experienced junior officers demurred at their peril.
The Dunbar and Mansell incidents
On 14 January Major William Dunbar of the 2/24th was detailed to take his company and some native troops to the Ibashe Valley, between Rorke's Drift and Isandlwana. Dunbar's men were to repair the old waggon road and make a depot for firewood. He was ordered to pitch his tents beneath a rock outcrop close to Sihayo's homestead and among heavy thorn bushes with no field of fire. Dunbar did his best to clear the ground but was obliged to mount strong guards every night, recruited from men who had been working hard all day. On the 16th, Lord Chelmsford, Colonel Glyn, their respective staff officers and an escort rode up to inspect the work. Dunbar made his fears known to Chelmsford and asked for permission to move his camp to the other side of the stream. In the discussion that followed, Chelmsford's senior staff officer, Lieutenant Colonel John Crealock, seems to have lost his temper and remarked impatiently, ‘If Major Dunbar is afraid to stay there, we could send someone who was not.’ (9)
Dunbar, a big and imposing man, walked off in a rage and resigned his commission; it was several hours before Chelmsford could persuade him to withdraw the resignation. Until his promotion in 1874, Dunbar had been the senior captain of the 1/24th and possessed the most distinguished war record of any officer in the two battalions. The embarrassment caused to both Chelmsford and Glyn (whose mutual relationship was already difficult) and to all the officers of the 24th should not be underestimated.
At Isandlwana camp on the 21st, according to the Historical Records of the 24th Regiment, ‘A field officer of the 2/24th being on duty with the pickets expressed strong misgivings to the staff officer who was showing him the line to occupy, pointing out that the broken ground was no protection and that there was no picket in the rear’. ‘Well Sir’ was the reply, ‘if you are nervous we will put a picket of the pioneers there’. The field officer was evidently Dunbar. On the same day, Lieutenant Teignmouth Melvill remarked to this same field officer, ‘I know what you are thinking by your face, Sir, you are abusing this camp and you are quite right’! (10)
On the very same day, Inspector George Mansell of the Natal Mounted Police had placed lookouts along the ridge of the Nqutu Plateau, one mile from and overlooking Isandlwana. They were placed to give the British maximum warning of any Zulus approaching the camp across the broad plateau. Major Clery, a professor of tactics and the senior staff officer of the 1/24th, later withdrew the lookouts on the grounds that they served no useful purpose. He also mocked Mansell for his prudence, and Mansell grudgingly accepted Clery's judgement. There can be little doubt that following Mansell's and Dunbar's humiliating experiences and Melvill's cautious expression of doubts, other battle-experienced junior officers would have been reluctant to challenge or query any order from their General or his staff. In fact, Mansell's assessment of the likely location of the Zulu army was correct; they would hide in the nearby valleys on the Nqutu Plateau, not in the Ngwebeni Valley.
When interviewed after the war by the British, and describing the position the Zulus would occupy the night before the attack, King Cetshwayo stated unequivocally that they were at Nqutu. The account of the interview records the king's statement as follows:
During the same night that followed upon the day on which my troops took up their encampment at the Ingudu [Nqutu] Hill. (11)
This statement is supported by Lieutenant Anstey's base map ‘Country Around Isandlwana’, which shows a range of hills rising from the Nqutu Plateau. Anstey marked this range as the Nqutu Range. The Ngwebeni Valley cannot be defined as part of the Nqutu range as it is a further two miles east of the last hill in the range. King Cetshwayo's statement and Anstey's map explain the location of the Zulu army prior to its attack on Isandlwana. In any event, the Zulu army was now within striking distance of the unsuspecting British camp.
The Zulu trap is sprung
Back at Isandlwana camp, 21 January had developed into a frustrating day for Lord Chelmsford. It was made worse by a local Zulu chief, Gamdana, arriving at the camp. Gamdana had considered defecting to the British but was still wavering. As a sop to Chelmsford, Gamdana correctly reported that the Zulu army was approaching Isipezi Hill, but he and his information were dismissed. Rebuffed by Chelmsford, Gamdana was able to assess the strength and layout of the British camp, an accusation that would later be levelled against Chelmsford by some of his own staff officers. That afternoon, Dartnell's report having reached Chelmsford, Dartnell was sent orders to attack the Zulus the following day, and supplies of food were sent out from the camp to sustain the NNC.
Later that afternoon, Chelmsford decided to accompany a reconnaissance party to the top of the Nqutu Plateau. One of the officers leading the patrol, Lieutenant Milne RN, later wrote:
On reaching the summit of the highest hill I counted fourteen Zulu horsemen watching us at a distance of about four miles; they ultimately disappeared over a slight rise. There were two vedettes at the spot from where I saw these horsemen; they said they had seen these men several times during the day, and had reported the fact. From this point the ground was nearly level; there were slight rises, however, every now and again, which would prevent our seeing any men who did not wish it. (12)
Neither Chelmsford nor his accompanying officers realised the significance of so many mounted Zulus; only senior Zulu chiefs rode horses. From their vantage point high on the Nqutu Plateau, these chiefs were reconnoitering the British position around Isandlwana. Throughout that night the Zulu army consolidated its position on the Nqutu Plateau and their scouts were sent to observe the British; on one occasion they came so close that they conversed with an NNC picquet on Magaga hill, less than two miles from the main camp. The Hon. Standish Vereker later confirmed this. (13)
Later that evening, Chelmsford received a message that indicated Dartnell, commanding the reconnaissance force now bivouacked on and around the Isipezi hills, was still awaiting orders for the following day. In particular, he wanted to know whether or not he could attack the advancing Zulus. Chelmsford replied that Dartnell was to use his discretion and was at liberty to attack. After dark, hundreds of campfires could be seen in the surrounding hills which alarmed the NNC. Naturally Dartnell presumed he had found, or been found by, the Zulu army, and his mainly native force were growing restless with fear. An incident then occurred that led to their disbandment at Rorke's Drift a few days later. Many accounts discuss the growing unreliability of the NNC from this night onwards. The true reason conflicts with the published account of Norris-Newman, whose incorrect version of events was based on hearsay, since he had abandoned the NNC position at the sound of a shot. This irritated Harford, who wrote of Norris Newman's account:
Rubbish! This is what happened. It was now getting dark, and a rare business it was. The Natives showed unmistakable signs of being in a mortal funk, and all wanted to clump together in one spot. At last, however, we strung them out like a thread of beads, each man squatting and touching his neighbour, and behind each section a European NCO and a superior native were ordered to keep up a continual patrol to see that they kept awake and didn't stir from their position. The captains and other company officers then exercised further control over their own men. In this manner more than a mile of outposts were strung out, almost encircling the bivouac. By this time the Zulus had lighted fires all along their position and kept them going throughout the night, and from this fact we felt pretty certain that we would be attacked in the morning. There was very little fear of a real attack during the night, as night fighting was not the Zulu method.
Having satisfied myself that the outposts were working, and after taking special note of different features, such as bushes, rocks, etc. to guide me on my visits during the night, I got back to the bivouac. Then, hitching my pony on to the others, went to report to Lonsdale whom I found sitting chatting with some of the officers and Newman Noggs [Norris-Newman].
Intending to make a round of the outposts again in about an hour's time, I plumped myself down to snatch a rest and a short sleep, but had scarcely closed my eyes when bang went a shot from somewhere in the outpost line, and in a second the whole square rose up. Hearing the noise the men were making, rattling their shields and fumbling about for their things, I rushed up and speaking to them in their own language ordered them to keep quiet and lie down. Their own company officers, too, did all they could to establish calm, but it was of no avail. The whole lot made a clean bolt of it and came bounding over us like frightened animals, making their way down the hillside behind us. In this terrific stampede of some 4,000 men the wretched ponies were swept along in a solid mass, kicking and struggling, with several Europeans hanging on to try and stop them. As these passed me, on looking round I caught a glimpse of both Lonsdale and Noggs turning a somersault as a lot of natives bounded over them. Poor Noggs, who highly resented such treatment, spent the rest of the night with the Mounted Police, having, as he afterwards told me, “had enough of the Contingent”.
Amid all this confusion, someone managed to get my pony free and brought him to me, for which I was more than thankful as the situation was serious and I was now able to go in pursuit of the runaways who, at the pace they were going and the rate at which Kaffirs can travel, might soon be out of reach. Luckily, however, I found them almost at the foot of the hill, squatting in various-sized clumps, and addressing them in anything but Parliamentary language, hounded them back to the bivouac.
Further on, I was more successful and found Lt Thompson with his company intact, and as we met I asked him what on earth had happened at the outpost, and told him all that had taken place at the bivouac. He solved the problem by telling me that an NCO of one of his sections, who should have been patrolling in company with a Native, had sat down and fallen asleep, then suddenly waking up and seeing, as he thought, a Zulu coming towards him, fired at him. He said,“It's no use your going any further, as directly the shot was fired the remainder of the outpost went. There is no one now on my front.”
However, I thought it best to go and see for myself, but only found that he was quite right. Everyone but his company had vanished. A nice state of things, had we been really attacked! (14)
It took Harford and his colleagues the rest of the night to restore order. Later the same night at about 1.30 am, Chelmsford received a further message from Major Dartnell requesting the immediate support of two or three companies of regular infantry. The urgent message contained the awaited news that a strong Zulu force had been seen a few hours earlier that day and, more importantly, that captured Zulus confirmed the imminent arrival of the Zulu army. On the strength of Dartnell's report, Chelmsford presumed the main Zulu army of some 25,000 warriors had been located. After a brief consultation with his staff officers he decide to split his invasion force, and at about 3 am he set out with Colonel Glyn and a force of 2,500 men, including the 2/24th Regiment and four of the six guns of the Royal Artillery; Chelmsford left only two guns ‘in case the enemy should have the temerity to attack the camp during his absence’ (as Lieutenant Curling put it in a letter to his mother).
As‘G’ Company of the 2/24th had been employed on night guard-duty, they remained at Isandlwana to rest and then help with the camp move.
Chelmsford was aware that Colonel Durnford RE and his mainly mounted column were still camped only six miles away at Rorke's Drift. As a precaution, he instructed Major Clery, his staff officer attached to the 24th Regiment, to order Durnford to move up from Rorke's Drift – but to where? Clery later stated that his order to Durnford was very specific; he claimed he ordered Durnford to ‘take command of it’, referring to the Isandlwana camp. The actual order was ambiguous and proved Clery was not telling the truth:
22nd, Wednesday, 2 am
You are to march to this camp at once with all the force you have with you of No.2 Column. Major Bengough's battalion is to move to Rorke's Drift as ordered yesterday. 2/24th, Artillery and mounted men with the General and Colonel Glyn move off at once to attack a Zulu force about 10 miles distant.
J.N.C.
If Bengough's battalion has crossed the River at Eland's Kraal it is to move up here. (15)
It is not surprising that the officer left in command of Isandlwana camp, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Pulleine of the 1/24th Regiment, should have felt secure. His camp was manned by 1,700 men armed with two 7-pound artillery guns and reserves of nearly one million rounds of Martini-Henry rifle ammunition. Nevertheless, the soldiers were uneasy. The reports arriving at the camp during the day were well known to the troops: the Zulu army was approaching. Pulleine was clearly confident; at forty-one years old, he had been in the army for over twenty years but had never seen action. Furthermore, he had only rejoined his regiment five days earlier, after holding various administrative positions in Durban and Pietermaritzburg. His orders for the day were straightforward – to defend and prepare the camp for departure. If he knew of the intelligence reports' significance, he ignored it.