F.E. Whitton
Britain’s highest medal for military gallantry, the Victoria Cross, was awarded to no less than nine soldiers at Rorke’s Drift, more than for any other single engagement.
The lonely little Swedish mission station, which stood on a rocky terrace on the Natal side of the Buffalo River, hardly knew itself in those early days of January 1879. It had had greatness thrust upon it. About a quarter of a mile away there was a drift, or ford, over the river, by which Zululand could be entered, known to this day as Rorke’s Drift. Four columns acting from the circumference of the country were to penetrate into Zululand and make for the royal Kraal at Ulundi, and, of these columns, that known as Number 3 – with which was the commander-in-chief, Lord Chelmsford, himself – was to cross the Buffalo River and enter the enemy’s country at this drift of which we have just spoken.
The actual ford was supplemented by huge ferry-boats, or ponts, of a size sufficient to carry over a large Cape waggon or a company of infantry at a time; and to protect these and also some stores that were to be collected at the spot, as well as a hospital which was to be formed there, a small garrison was to be dropped when the Centre Column entered Zululand. The little mission station lent itself admirably for the purpose of a hospital and a commissariat store, and had, therefore, been requisitioned when the Column came up from Natal early in January 1879.
A large outhouse, some eighty by twenty feet, which the Swedish missionary, the Rev. Mr Witt, had used as a church, was turned into a store for mealies and boxes of biscuits, as well as for ammunition; while the other building, the house where Mr Witt lived with his wife and three children, was converted into a hospital. The dwelling-house was sixty feet by eighteen in size, and both buildings were constructed of brick and were thatched. Behind the mission station – to the south – were steep and lofty mountains through which ran the rough road to Helpmakaar, in Natal. In front – that is to say, looking in the direction of the river – was a fine orchard, and between this and the houses, which were about thirty yards apart, ran a natural step or ledge of rock three to four feet high, so that the buildings stood that height above the ground in the orchard – or “garden” as it was usually called. Between the garden and this platform there was first the waggon-track – the word “road” is apt to convey a wrong impression – leading to the drift, and then, between this track and the rocky terrace was a strip, some twenty yards wide, of bush, which had not been cut down. On the other, or southern, side of the buildings were a cook-house and two ditches with ovens – running at right angles to each other – the bank of each being two feet high, while beyond that again were the tents of the garrison of the post. The enumeration of these details may be wearisome, but, before the African sun had swiftly set on the 22nd of January 1879, thatch and rock, cook-house and bush, were all to mean life or death to assailant or defender, to white man or to Zulu.
The actual garrison of the post consisted of “B” Company of the 2nd Battalion 24th Regiment* under Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead, and a detachment – about equal to a company – of the Natal Native Contingent under a colonial officer with the temporary rank of captain. Further, in addition to some half-dozen details, there were thirty-three N.C.O.’s and men sick in the hospital. Bromhead and the colonial captain were not, however, the only officers stationed at Rorke’s Drift. A subaltern of sappers – John Chard by name – was there in charge of the ponts. Then there was the medical officer in charge of the hospital, Surgeon Reynolds of the Army Medical Department. There were also three commissariat officers – civilians in those days – and a missionary, the Rev. George Smith, who was acting as chaplain to the troops. Occasionally at the post was the staff officer in charge of this section of the line of communications, Major Spalding of the 104th Regiment, D.A.Q.M.G. As Rorke’s Drift was on the Zulu border, it follows that it was at the moment the most advanced post of this line. To the south the nearest troops were two companies of the 1st Battalion of the 24th Regiment back at Helpmakaar, ten miles away.
It was a glorious day of South African summer, but although the little post was now free from the hustle and worry caused by the passage of the Column across the river some days earlier, there was yet an atmosphere of tension and of strain. At dawn there had ridden in from the Zulu side of the river a young subaltern of the 95th who was in charge of 100 ox-waggons with the Column. He had been sent back at midnight with a message from Lord Chelmsford to hurry up a column of native reinforcements under Colonel Durnford, R.E. He told how the Column had gone into camp under the far side of a hill, nine miles away, called Isandhlwana, and that “a big fight was expected.” It had been a jumpy ride back in inky darkness, along a rough track intersected by steep dongas and through country that was known to be swarming with Zulus – especially for a twenty-year-old subaltern. But this young subaltern had the heart of a lion. His name was Horace Smith-Dorrien.
Having borrowed eleven rounds of revolver ammunition from “Gonny” Bromhead, young Smith-Dorrien recrossed the river about half-past six and galloped off towards Isandhlwana. Then, after breakfast, Chard obtained leave from Major Spalding to ride out to that place himself and ascertain if there were any fresh orders which would affect the service of the ponts of which he was in charge. Chard returned shortly before noon with the information that large bodies of Zulus had been reported working round the left of the camp at Isandhlwana, and he said that he thought it just possible they might be intending to ignore that camp and to “make a dash at the drift.” This was exciting news, but no one seems to have imagined for a moment that the post could be in any real danger. After all, the Column at Isandhlwana – about 4000 strong, although more than half of these were natives, and very unreliable natives at that – with a battery of six 7-pounders, was only nine miles away from the drift, and Lord Chelmsford would hardly allow the Zulus to move unmolested against his advanced base. And if a battle then developed, who could doubt the result? There seemed, therefore, nothing to worry about, and it is certain that no steps of any kind were taken to place the post in a state of defence. Indeed, the Rev. Mr Witt, the Swedish missionary, who was still there, with the Rev. George Smith and Surgeon Reynolds, went up to the top of a neighbouring hill “to see the fun” on the other side of the river, which, in the extraordinary clearness of the South African atmosphere, was quite feasible even with glasses of moderate power.
At lunch-time, however, it seems to have been decided that a reinforcement of the post might be desirable. A company of the 1st 24th ought to have arrived from Helpmakaar two days before, but for some reason it had not yet reached Rorke’s Drift. Major Spalding, in supreme command of this section of the line of communications, decided to ride back himself and bring the belated company with him to the post. At two o’clock, therefore, he rode off, and before leaving told Lieutenant Chard that, during his – Spalding’s – absence, he would be in command of the post. So far as the two regular subalterns were concerned this was in order, for Chard was senior to Bromhead. But there was also another combatant officer present, of the Natal Native Contingent, with the rank of “Captain.” As, however, both Chard and Bromhead were regular soldiers of more than eleven years’ service apiece, and the captain had obtained his temporary commission merely a short time before, on the raising of the Native Contingent, Major Spalding did not worry himself about any titular claim to command which the colonial officer might have preferred. It was just as well.
After Major Spalding’s departure Chard rode down to the drift, where he busied himself with matters concerning the ponts which were his special charge. All was quiet at the river, but about 3.15 P.M. he was startled to see two mounted white men riding hell-for-leather on the Zulu side, heading towards the drift. In response to their shouts one of the ferry-boats was sent across, and the horsemen proved to be an officer and trooper of a mounted irregular corps belonging to the Column.
The officer, Lieutenant Adendorff, had a terrible tale to relate. The camp at Isandhlwana had been attacked that morning by 10,000 Zulus, and, of the white troops there in camp, only a handful had escaped. It appeared that before dawn Lord Chelmsford had gone out with half the Column to make a reconnaissance in force and to select a new camping ground. There had been left behind at Isandhlwana some 1800 officers and men, including six companies of the 24th Regiment,* and about noon the Zulus, who had been reported earlier in overwhelming strength, advanced upon the camp in the form of an immense semicircle, with the “horns” gradually closing in. The camp was in no way whatever prepared for defence. The tents were all standing. Not a waggon had been laagered; not a sod had been turned; not one stone had been placed upon another to form a breastwork. There had been, however, no question of surprise. The country was open, and for hours the Zulus had been observed by the outposts. But the outposts were too far out and too scattered, and when they were driven in upon the main body the situation became critical. The native contingent immediately broke and fled. The 7-pounders continued gallantly in action, and the companies of the 24th, as the Zulus closed upon them, met the attack with a steady and disciplined fire. Then the terrible thing had happened. The firing slackened, died away, and then ceased altogether. Ammunition had run out. Yet there had been no real lack of ammunition. There was all the reserve supply of the Column – hundreds of boxes of it.† But, when the cry for “More ammunition” was raised, the screw-drivers wherewith to open the boxes could not be found; or, if found, the boxes could not be got at, for many of them were strapped on the backs of mules which were plunging or bolting in terror. The Zulus had suffered enormous losses, but now, encouraged by the cessation of the rifle fire, they had rushed within assegai range, and what followed had been a massacre. Standing in groups, often back to back, the officers and men of the 24th, as well as the few white irregulars, had been killed almost to a man. A few white men, provided with horses, at the last moment dashed after the fleeing natives, but the horns of the Zulu impi had closed. As to what had happened to the detachment which had gone out with Lord Chelmsford it was impossible to say. By half-past one all was over at Isandhlwana. No sign whatever had been seen of Lord Chelmsford or of his force. Meanwhile thousands of Zulus were advancing rapidly towards Rorke’s Drift.
Chard had been little over an hour in command at Rorke’s Drift. Well might he have been dismayed by this terrible news, and any suspicion that the tidings had been exaggerated was discounted by the receipt of a note from Bromhead to say that a mounted infantryman had just come in with an urgent message, and to beg Chard to come up at once and take command. Chard instantly gave orders to pack up such stores as were at the drift and to bring them up to the post in the waggon. Of the two men who had crossed the river the trooper was sent off with the news to Helpmakaar, while the officer pluckily asked to be allowed to stay and help in the defence of the post.
Chard then galloped up to the post, where he found Bromhead feverishly engaged in loopholing the commissariat store and the hospital, and in connecting the two buildings by walls of mealie-bags supplemented by two waggons that were in the camp. Bromhead gave Chard the note – brought in by the mounted infantryman – in which it was stated that Zulus were advancing in force against Rorke’s Drift and that the post there was to be strengthened and held at all costs. But in all orders it may happen that circumstances may have completely changed since the order was issued. The instructions to strengthen and hold the post at Rorke’s Drift had been given before the force at Isandhlwana was attacked, and when it was even believed that the Zulus might pass by that place in their eagerness – as Chard himself had surmised – “to have a dash at the drift.” It was one thing to hold on to Rorke’s Drift when the whole of Number 3 Column was in being and but a few hours’ march away: it was quite another to try and hold it with a mere handful of men now that half that Column had been massacred and the other half might well have been massacred too. Besides, since the note had been written, the strength of the Zulus had been enormously increased. It was known, at the outbreak of hostilities, that a proportion of them possessed rifles and guns, but now their complete victory at Isandhlwana had yielded them at least fifteen hundred more firearms and a practically unlimited supply of ammunition. In circumstances so startlingly altered prudence might well have recommended a short withdrawal from Rorke’s Drift to some suitable defensive position in rear, where, at any rate, a good field of fire might be obtained, and where union with the company coming up from Helpmakaar might more certainly be effected.
But there was another point to be considered. If the detachment which had gone out under Lord Chelmsford from the camp at Isandhlwana could manage to fight its way back, then it was imperative that the stores at Rorke’s Drift should be preserved. For, by the disaster, all the transport, all the supplies and all the reserve ammunition of the Column had been lost, and at that very moment the detachment might be fighting its way towards the river, short of ammunition and in desperate need of food. To fall back to a defensive position in rear, although it might mean the safety of the garrison, would infallibly mean that the stores would immediately fall into Zulu hands.
At all cost, therefore, even though the circumstances had since morning so dramatically changed, it was imperative to defend the post. Chard held a hurried consultation with Bromhead and with Mr Dalton of the commissariat, who was doing splendid work. It was decided that it was useless to try to hold the drift as well as the post. The two were more than a quarter of a mile apart; and, besides, there were other fords in the vicinity which would certainly be known to the advancing Zulus. Every man, therefore, must be concentrated at, or immediately round, the post itself. Chard accordingly galloped down again to the drift to hurry up the guard there of one sergeant and six men. On his arrival, the sergeant and the ferryman – a civilian – instantly volunteered to moor the ponts in the centre of the river and with a few men to defend the crossing with these improvised monitors. But Chard did not feel warranted in accepting an offer which would have meant a terrible risk to the men concerned, though he was cheered by the spirit in which it was made, and felt that it augured well for the fight which must now be at hand.
Back again to the post galloped Chard. He was not letting the grass grow under his feet, for little more than a quarter of an hour had elapsed since he had seen the two horsemen galloping to the drift with the news of the terrible disaster at Isandhlwana. It was now exactly half-past three, and shortly afterwards what seemed to be a welcome reinforcement arrived. This was an officer with about a hundred native horsemen of Durnford’s force who had escaped from the massacre. The officer asked Chard for orders, and was requested to send a detachment to observe the drifts and ponts, to throw out outposts in the direction of the enemy and to check his advance as much as possible; when forced to retire, the natives were to fall back on the post and to assist in its defence. Meanwhile the work of putting the place in a state of defence was proceeding with great activity. The tents had already been struck. The windows and doors of the hospital were blocked up with mattresses and tables, and loopholes were constructed in the walls of both this building and the storehouse. The wall of mealie-bags was raised to a height of four feet, and continued so that a large rectangle was formed of which the ends were filled by the hospital and store respectively. Of the sick in hospital many were able to turn out to play their part in the defence; an attempt was made to remove the serious cases to some place of safety, but when the two ox-waggons were brought up news had come in that the Zulus had been sighted. So the two waggons were incorporated in the southern wall of mealies joining the hospital and the store. The water-cart in the meantime had been hastily filled and brought within the enclosure.
Every man was ordered to his post, and events now moved quickly. The Swedish missionary and his companions returned with the news that large numbers of Zulus had crossed the river by a drift about a mile away and were moving so as to take the post in reverse. In five minutes they would probably be close at hand. Mr Witt then rode off to try to reach his wife and family, who had been sent back to a farm when the mission station had been taken over by the military.
About a quarter past four the sound of firing was heard behind the hills to the south, and just then the officer of Durnford’s horsemen galloped in reporting the enemy close at hand, but reporting also that his men would not stand and were making off towards Helpmakaar. Chard looked in the direction in which the officer pointed, and there they were, about a hundred of them, galloping from the field. The sight was too much for the detachment of the Natal Native Contingent at the post. They, too, made off, and their officer, mounting his horse, galloped away likewise. By this defection the total number within the post was now reduced to, all told, 8 officers and 131 other ranks, of which latter number 33 were hospital patients. Of the figure 131 other ranks the 24th Regiment accounted for 110. Save for four or five natives in the hospital the defence of the post was now entirely in the keeping of white men.
Although possibly Chard and Bromhead were well rid of the fainthearts, it was now only too clear that the line of defence was too extended for the small number of men who remained. Chard, however, was equal to the emergency. There were wooden boxes full of biscuit in the store, and with these a retrenchment was at once begun connecting the two parallel walls of mealie-bags at the storehouse end of the enclosure, so that what was virtually an inner work might be thus provided. Feverishly every man that could be spared worked at the task, but, before the wall was two boxes high, a murmur of “Here they come,” from the southern wall of mealie-bags, sent every man hurrying to his allotted post.
Pouring over the right shoulder of the hill behind the mission station there appeared a dense mass of five to six hundred Zulus. On they came at the run, deploying as they advanced, making straight for the southern wall of mealie-bags which filled the gap between the storehouse and the hospital. The attack was met with a steady and well-sustained fire; but although the old 577 Martini-Henry was a real man-stopper, and although Zulu after Zulu was knocked over, the survivors with rare courage got to within fifty yards of the wall. Here, however, they came under a terrible cross fire from the wall of mealie-bags and the loopholes of the storehouse, and the onrush was definitely stayed. Some of the Zulus at once took cover behind the cookhouse and in the trenches where the field ovens were situated, and from this cover kept up a harassing fire. The bulk, however, swerved to their left, and, passing round the hospital, made a desperate attempt to rush the mealie-bags at the north-west corner of the enclosure. But the attempt was repulsed, and the baffled Zulus, now edging eastwards, found cover in the piece of bush and below the rocky terrace on which the northern breastwork of mealie-bags had been erected.
The post was, therefore, threatened from both front and rear. But this was not the worst. The Zulus hitherto engaged were but the advanced guard. Thousands more could be made out lining a ledge of rocks and some caves overlooking the post four hundred yards to the southward. This main body for some minutes kept up a brisk fire which seriously inconvenienced the defenders of the post. Mr Dalton, one of the commissariat officers, who had done splendid work in preparing the defences and had been continually moving along the breastwork encouraging the men, was now wounded. Unable to use his rifle any longer – though he continued to direct the fire of the men near him – he handed it to his storekeeper, Byrne, who, however, was almost immediately shot dead.
Meanwhile many of the main body of the Zulus had rushed forward from the rocks and caves behind, and, bearing well to the left, had passed the hospital, where they changed direction to the right, with the result that the northern face of the post was now in great peril. The garden on the farther side of the waggon track was soon occupied by a large body, and, taking advantage of some cover from view there afforded, the Zulus prepared to storm the northern breastwork. With a wild rush they crossed the track and the belt of bush, and, scrambling up the rocky terrace, actually held one side of the breastwork while the men of the 24th held the other. Maddened with desire to kill the white men, the Zulus made several desperate attempts to swarm over the parapet, but every attempt was splendidly met and repulsed with the bayonet. Many Zulus actually grasped the bayonets of the defenders, and in two instances wrenched them from the rifles, but they were instantly shot down. One Zulu standing on the parapet fired at Corporal Schiess, of the Natal Native Contingent, the charge blowing the corporal’s hat off. Schiess instantly jumped on to the parapet, bayoneted the Zulu, regained his place, bayoneted another, and then climbed once more upon the sacks and bayoneted a third. The corporal was nominally a hospital patient, and, in addition, had been seriously wounded in the foot some time earlier in the engagement.
But the steadfast courage of the thin line of heaving, thrusting, sweating soldiers of the 24th who held that northern wall of mealie-bags could but delay the inevitable. A hand-to-hand fight in which the white men were enormously outnumbered could have but one end, and it was only a question of time before the corn-sacks would be torn from the breastwork and a wave of Zulus with their stabbing assegais would surge in among the defenders. Nor was this all. In addition to the hand-to-hand combat in front, the defenders were still being fired upon heavily from the rocks and caves four hundred yards in rear. Although that fire had at first been wild and ill-directed it had now become much more serious, and within a few minutes five of the defenders had been killed by bullets from the rear. The company from Helpmakaar could not be expected for some hours, and it was most unlikely that it could force its way through the thousands of Zulus between it and the drift.
In these circumstances Lieutenant Chard gave the order for all the men who were holding the ramparts of mealie-bags to retire behind the entrenchment of biscuit boxes at the eastern end of the enclosure. But now the grave drawback of the position became at once apparent. The hospital at the other end was isolated. The post now resembled a sailing ship attacked by pirates’ boats, the majority of the crew driven from the waist of the vessel to the poop, leaving the forecastle and its defenders completely cut off. The hospital building was now the forecastle; but the position was really worse than this; for in a forecastle the door would have opened on to the main-deck, whereas from the hospital there was no egress on that side save by a small window high above the ground.
All this time the Zulus had been trying desperately to set fire to the thatched roof of the hospital, and scores of them leaped over the walls of mealie-bags in their eagerness to get to the inner side of the building. Scores of them were mown down by volleys at a few yards’ range from the rampart of biscuit boxes, but others took their place, yelling out their war-cry of Usutu! Usutu! Foiled in their attempt to fire the roof from the enclosure the Zulus redoubled their efforts at the farther end, where at any rate they were not exposed to those terrible volleys from the retrenchment. Soon they succeeded in their work, and, to the horror of the defenders of the eastern end of the post, a cloud of smoke rose from the hospital roof.
There were gallant deeds done at Rorke’s Drift that day. But for courage and devotion to duty nothing can exceed the conduct of the half-dozen privates of the 24th Regiment left as the garrison of the doomed building. No officer, no noncommissioned officer, was there to command and encourage them. The roof of the building was in flames; the place was filled with smoke; within it were at least a dozen patients too ill or too seriously incapacitated to take their place in the fight; the building with its separate and improvised wards was most unsuited for defence. In one of the farther rooms two privates and a couple of patients held the door for more than an hour until their ammunition was expended, and then continued to guard the portal with their bayonets. With a fierce rush a band of Zulus at length forced an entrance, and Private Joseph Williams was seized by them, dragged outside and butchered before the eyes of his three companions. The surviving private and the two patients were now cut off in the farthest room of the hospital, but, while the Zulus were busy dispatching their victim, the white men succeeded in making a hole in the partition with an axe and escaping into another room. Here they were joined by another private of the 24th, Henry Hooke by name; and he and John Williams, one keeping off the Zulus with a bayonet and the other smashing holes into the adjoining room, relieved each other every few minutes. One patient ventured through one of the openings thus cut, but was immediately seized by Zulus and dragged away; the others, however, managed to scramble through the little window overlooking the enclosure, and, running the gauntlet of the enemy’s fire, most of them got safely within the retrenchment.
In another ward two privates of the 24th defended their post until six out of seven of the patients had been removed. The seventh was a sergeant who was ill with fever and delirious. One of the privates went back to try to carry him out, but the room was now full of Zulus and the sergeant had been killed. The last patients to escape were the more serious cases, and these had great difficulty in climbing up to the little window. Once through, they had to fall to the ground, and, being unable to walk, had to crawl to the retrenchment under the Zulu fire. A few patients dashed out upon the verandah on the north side of the hospital and endeavoured to cross the whole length of the enclosure to gain the retrenchment, but two or three were assegaied in the attempt.
From behind their low rampart of biscuit boxes but thirty yards away the defenders of the retrenchment had witnessed with heartfelt sorrow the tragedy enacted under their eyes. But their own position was also one of the utmost peril. Flushed with their success at the hospital end, the Zulus were straining every nerve to fire the thatch of the storehouse roof. Chard’s inventive mind was again equal to the emergency. There were in the retrenchment two large piles of mealie sacks, and by his orders these were hurriedly formed, under heavy fire, into an oblong and lofty redoubt from which a second and elevated tier of fire was obtained, and within which the wounded were dragged for safety. So long as daylight lasted the redoubt immensely strengthened the defence; but in South Africa darkness comes swiftly, and soon the retrenchment and storehouse were completely surrounded. Several times the Zulus attempted to rush the position, and although every attempt was most gallantly repulsed, the defenders were forced back into the kraal at the eastern end of the retrenchment.
The Zulus were now to pay for their successful effort of firing the hospital roof. The burning thatch flared up, illuminating the scene for hundreds of yards around, and the light thus given was of priceless service to the defenders. At about 10 P.M., however, the fire had burnt itself out, and in the darkness that ensued the Zulu attacks were again renewed. But the indomitable and steadfast courage of the 24th never failed. The men behaved with the greatest coolness. Not a single shot was wasted, and there was always the bayonet to do the work when the Zulus tried to force their way over the low perimeter of the kraal.
It was not until midnight that the rushes and heavy fire of the Zulus began to slacken. But there was little rest for the defenders, now exhausted by eight hours’ ceaseless fighting; for until nearly dawn a desultory fire was kept up from the caves and rocky ledge in rear, and from the bush and garden in front. At last, however, some respite came, and about 4 A.M., for the first time in twelve hours, the firing died away.
Shortly afterwards the first streak of dawn appeared and the little garrison was heartened by the sight of dead Zulus piled up in heaps round the walls of mealie-bags and especially in front of the hospital; and cheered still more by the sight of the enemy retiring round the shoulder of the hill from which they had approached on the previous afternoon. Chard and Bromhead decided to send out some patrols to search the immediate vicinity of the post. These soon returned with about one hundred rifles and guns and some four hundred assegais left by the enemy on the field.
Meanwhile those left within the post were strengthening the defences of the place. But while the thatch was being removed from the storehouse roof a large body of Zulus suddenly appeared again on the hills to the south-west. The work upon the defences was instantly stopped and every man was ordered to his post. Chard scribbled a hasty note to Major Spalding begging him to bring help without a moment’s delay, and this he sent off by a friendly Kaffir who had taken refuge in the post at dawn. The Zulus came on in the same formation and with the same determination as before, and the garrison steeled itself for another contest against the same desperate odds. Suddenly, however, there was a check in the enemy’s advance. The Zulu line seemed to waver; and then, slowly retiring, it disappeared behind the shoulder of the hill whence it had emerged.
We must go back to the previous morning and transport ourselves to the camp of No. 3 Column at Isandhlwana, nine miles across the river. Before dawn Lord Chelmsford had taken half the Column with him as a reconnaissance in force and to select a further camping ground. Some brisk skirmishing with bodies of Zulus had taken place in the forenoon, and, while thus engaged, Lord Chelmsford had received more than one message to say that the camp at Isandhlwana was in imminent danger of attack by large enemy forces. These messages had been treated as merely alarmist; and when Lord Chelmsford – galloping to a hill-top – had seen with his glasses the tents at Isandhlwana still standing and men in red uniform moving about he had been completely reassured. Finally, however, messages of such grave import had been received that Lord Chelmsford had decided to march his force back to Isandhlwana, and, while en route, the terrible truth had been revealed. An officer was met who had ridden back to Isandhlwana to make some arrangements about rations for his men; while riding unconscious of danger into the camp, with its “men moving about in red coats,” he had been fired on; and almost too late had discovered that the redcoats were Zulus dressed in the tunics of the 24th.*
It was pitch dark when Lord Chelmsford’s force stumbled into the deserted camp. The silence of the tomb reigned everywhere. Patrols moving cautiously about came upon grisly evidence of disaster. Overturned waggons, looted stores and piles of mutilated corpses told their tale. There was nothing that could possibly be done but hold on for the night and make for Rorke’s Drift at dawn. As the dispirited Column wended its way to the river in the early hours of the 23rd a large force of Zulus was seen to the north about a mile away moving in the opposite direction. Each column silently held its course. The Zulus – they were those who had been attacking the drift and had seen the approach of Lord Chelmsford’s force – had learnt that every fight was not to be an Isandhlwana. In Lord Chelmsford’s force the men were exhausted with the marching and fighting of the last twenty-four hours; they were without food; all the reserve ammunition had been lost; and the men had but fifty rounds apiece. And so, right arm to right arm, the two columns, Zulu and British, like ships that pass in the night, held each upon its way.
As the British force topped a rise a pillar of smoke could be seen rising from the drift. Too late! The news was whispered down the Column and the men plodded dejectedly on, their hearts sinking at the thought of another charnel-house they were soon to find. Suddenly there is excitement at the head of the Column, and there is hurried talk among the men that figures have been described on the roof of one of the buildings at the drift, vigorously waving to the Column. A fierce roar of cheering bursts from the throats of those tired, hungry and exhausted men. A section of mounted infantry gallops down to the drift, crosses the river, and in a few moments is among the survivors of as gallant a defence as the annals of the British Army have ever known.
* * *
Of the 139 officers and other ranks engaged, 15 were killed and 12 wounded, two of the latter dying later of their hurts. The attacking Zulu force consisted of two regiments – the Undi and Udkloko – in all a total of nearly four thousand warriors. Of these, 371 lay dead around the little post at Rorke’s Drift.
* Later The South Wales Borderers.
* 5 companies 1st Battalion; 1 company 2nd Battalion.
† 400,000 rounds. It was packed in the regulation wooden boxes, the lid of each box being fastened by nine screws.
* At Isandhlwana were 21 officers and 581 other ranks of the 24th. All the officers and 578 other ranks were killed.