Zulu Hart (40 page)

He
half expected word of the defeat to have reached Rorke’s Drift already, and that he would find the supply depot at Witt’s Mission a hive of activity, but as he rounded the Oskarberg, nudging his weary horse from a walk into a half-hearted canter, he could see no sign of defensive precautions. The garrison’s tents, situated to the right front of the former mission station, were still standing, and those soldiers not on picket duty were carrying on with their normal routine, cooking rations, making tea and cleaning weapons.

‘Who goes there?’ challenged the sentry at the entrance to the camp.

‘Second Lieutenant Hart,’ replied George wearily. ‘Where’s the officer in charge?’

‘That’s Major Spalding, sir, but he left for Helpmekaar a short while ago. You’d better have a word with our company commander, Lieutenant Bromhead. He’s having a nap,’ said the sentry, pointing to a lone tent at the rear of the camp.

George rode over and called out Bromhead’s name. No response. He dismounted and, inside the tent, found Bromhead lying on his back on his campbed, fully dressed but for his tunic, and snoring gently. He had a pleasant oval face, an aquiline nose and fair curly hair, parted in the centre, with matching moustache and mutton-chop whiskers. George shook him roughly.

‘What the devil!’ muttered Bromhead, trying to
focus.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’

‘I’m Second Lieutenant Hart of Chelmsford’s staff. I’ve just come from the fight at the camp with a message from Colonel Durnford.’

‘Message, you say,’ said Bromhead, sitting up. ‘What is it?’

George took the piece of folded paper from his tunic pocket and handed it over.

Bromhead read it aloud: ‘ “To the officer commanding at Rorke’s Drift. The camp at Isandlwana has been attacked and taken by thousands of Zulus. You are to fortify the post and hold it at all costs.”’ He looked at George, open-mouthed. ‘This can’t be true?’ ‘It is.’

‘My God!
If the camp couldn’t hold out, what chance have we got?’

‘A very good chance if you act now and turn the post into a fortress.
That was what they failed to do at Isandlwana. How many men have you got, Lieutenant?’

‘About a hundred fit for duty, and a further thirty-five sick and wounded in the hospital. We’ve also got a company of NNC under a Captain Stephenson, which amounts to another hundred or so.’

‘Good. The Africans can help build the barricade. Your sentry says the senior officer, Major Spalding, left a short while ago for Helpmekaar. Why?’

‘To hurry up the infantry company that was due here today. We knew a battle was in the offing and Spalding feared an attack here.’

George frowned. ‘If you expected an attack, why didn’t you put the post into a state of defence?’

Bromhead shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. Spalding left Lieutenant Chard of the Engineers in charge. He got his lieutenancy before me.’

‘Where is this Lieutenant Chard?’

‘Down at the drift, supervising the ponts.’

‘Well, you’d better get him over here. If he’s a sapper he’ll know a thing or two about fortification. In the meantime, it might be an idea to strike the tents and make a start on the barricade.’

‘Shouldn’t we wait until Chard arrives?’

‘No, every second is vital, Lieutenant Bromhead. We must act now.’

‘Very well.
Colour Sergeant!’ he called loudly.

By the time Chard and another officer arrived from the ponts ten minutes later, the tents were lying flat on the ground and Bromhead and Stephenson’s men were busy converting the two brick and stone buildings of Witt’s Mission - now used as a hospital and a storehouse - into a fortress. Some soldiers were knocking small loopholes in the walls of the buildings at chest level, through which rifles could be fired, while others built a defensive perimeter from bags of mealie corn, the staple African cereal, two huge pyramids of which stood in front of the former chapel. Witt himself was nowhere to be seen, having an hour or so earlier elected to climb the Oskarberg with the surgeon and the padre to verify reports of a battle at Isandlwana.

Chard dismounted and strode up to George and Bromhead, who, assisted by a commissary officer named Dalton, were directing the construction of the redoubt from the open space between the two buildings. Chard was shorter and stouter than Bromhead, his florid West Country face partially obscured by a large walrus moustache, and, unlike Bromhead, who was now clad in his scarlet officer’s tunic, he was wearing the ubiquitous blue patrol jacket.

‘John, thanks for coming over so promptly,’ said Bromhead. ‘I know it’s hard to believe, but Second Lieutenant Hart here has just brought word that the camp at Isandlwana has fallen to the Zulus. ‘

‘I know.’

‘How do you know?’

‘That officer over there,’ said Chard, pointing to the blue- coated figure still on his horse, ‘is Lieutenant Adendorff of the Natal Contingent. He’s just come from the camp. He says that scarcely anyone escaped, that Lord Chelmsford and the rest of the column have probably shared the same fate, and that part of the Zulu
impi
is on its way here as we speak.’

Bromhead turned to George. ‘Is that true, Hart, the bit about Chelmsford, I mean?’

‘I doubt it. He was a good ten miles away when the battle was taking place, though the loss of the camp means he’s marooned in hostile territory without supplies and will have to fight his way through to safety, which is why it’s imperative we hold this position.’

‘Will the Zulus attack us, do you think, Hart?’ asked Chard.

‘They chased us as far as the Buffalo downstream. They’re bound to come here next.’

Chard rubbed his forehead. ‘We haven’t a hope of holding out here with so few men.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Bromhead.

‘And we need to consider the welfare of the men in hospital. They can’t defend themselves: they’ll be sitting ducks. I propose we evacuate the post to Helpmekaar and make our stand there. What do you think, Gonny?’

‘I agree.’

‘Hart?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t agree. If we abandon this post we’ll be sealing Chelmsford’s fate, because he’ll never get out of Zululand with Rorke’s Drift in enemy hands.’

‘If
he’s still alive,’ said Chard, ‘which Adendorff doesn’t think is likely.’

‘Either way, I don’t think we should leave until we know for sure. I’m certain we can hold out here. We would have held the camp at Isandlwana if we’d been concentrated within a fortified position. And even in the open, while our ammunition lasted, we were able to hold the Zulus at bay and must have inflicted fearful casualties. We can do the same here if we don’t run out of bullets.’

‘I admire your optimism, Hart,’ said Chard, ‘but the realist in me says we can’t possibly hold this post if thousands of Zulus attack; far better to live to fight another day.’

‘If you leave, Lieutenant,’ said George, stony-faced, ‘you’ll be disobeying a direct order.’

‘What order?’

Bromhead handed Chard the note from Durnford. ‘It says we’re to hold on at all costs.’

Chard read the note. ‘So it does,’ he said, crumpling the note in his hands and tossing it away. ‘But Durnford is no longer with us, is he? My responsibility is to the men under my command, and I won’t throw their lives away on the off chance that Lord Chelmsford and the rest of the column are still alive. I’ve made my decision and it’s final. We’ll load up the invalids in the two wagons and withdraw at once to Helpmekaar. Bromhead, give the necessary orders.’

Bromhead saluted and went to speak to his senior NCO, Colour Sergeant Bourne. Within minutes all work on the half- finished defences had ceased and the two wagons were being harnessed with their teams of oxen.

George suspected that Chard was genuinely thinking more of his men than himself, and tried hard to get him to change his mind. But nothing he said made any difference, not even his dire warning that Chelmsford, if he survived, would never forgive him for abandoning his post. He was still arguing with Chard when the short, bearded figure of Assistant Commissary Dalton stepped forward.

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ he addressed Chard, ‘but Second Lieutenant Hart is right to say we should stay
put.
Zulus can move much faster than wagons, and if we leave, we’ll all be overtaken and killed.’

Chard turned to Bromhead, a worried frown creasing his brow. ‘Is he right, do you think, Gonny?’

‘The Zulus are known for rapid marching. It’s said they can cover sixty miles in a single day with barely a halt.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know,’ said Chard, ‘having only been in this godforsaken country a couple of weeks, but I’ll take your word for it. This puts a slightly different complexion on the matter, I must say.’

‘So you’ll stay?’ asked George.

‘Yes. I think that would be for the best. My priority is to protect the invalids.’

‘Of course,’ said George, aware that the inexperienced Chard would need as much encouragement as possible, not to mention practical assistance, if the post was to hold out. ‘Might I make a further suggestion?’

‘Please do.’

‘Now we no longer need the two wagons for transport, would it not be sensible to incorporate them into the
un
finished south wall, facing the mountain?’

‘Good idea,’ said Chard, nodding. ‘And the mealie-bag walls will need to be at least four feet high to do any good, so we’d better get on with it. All hands to the pump, gentlemen.’

In a race against time, the 200 able-bodied men at the post, white and black, strained every muscle to complete the defences. With a burning African sun overhead, most had removed their tunics and were sweating freely as they struggled in pairs to carry the heavy 200-pound bags of corn from the pyramids in front of the storehouse to the unfinished sections of wall. As they did so, many cast anxious glances towards the river.

Slowly but surely the mini-fortress took shape. The front wall extended from the veranda of the storehouse, the former chapel, to a solid stone kraal, a little to its right front, and from there followed the line of the natural rock ledge that ran along the front of the post, eventually linking up with the left front of Witt’s farmhouse, now the hospital, where George had discussed Chief Sihayo and the Zulus with the reverend all those months ago.

The back wall continued from the right rear of the hospital to the front left of the storehouse, leaving the rear part of each building open to attack. As such, the doors and windows of these vulnerable sections were barricaded with mealie bags. In total, the defensive perimeter extended for almost 800 feet, and contained an area of roughly an acre.

To defend the perimeter Chard had roughly one man every four feet, though half of them were untrained and poorly armed blacks of the Native Contingent. A small additional source of defenders was the steady trickle of pale and breathless fugitives from Isandlwana who rode past the post. Every time one appeared, work on the defences was disrupted as men clustered round the fugitive to hear the news. Each was asked if he would stay and fight, but apart from George and Lieutenant Adendorff, none would agree to do so. A trooper of the Natal Mounted Police stopped briefly to speak to a colleague who was being treated in the hospital for rheumatism. ‘Is it true the camp’s been taken and everyone killed?’ asked the patient.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ replied the glassy-eyed trooper, still on horseback. ‘And if you stay here, you’ll die too.’

Soon afterwards, however, George was helping a straight- talking Geordie corporal called Allen to carry a mealie bag to the back wall, when the baby-faced Lieutenant Henderson and eighty of Durnford’s native horse swept down the track. George hastened over to welcome him.

‘Hart!’ said Henderson, as if he had seen a ghost. ‘You got out, then?’

‘Yes. What happened to you?’

Henderson looked uncomfortable. ‘We found our wagons below the nek, but by the time we’d replenished our ammunition, the Zulus had got between us and the camp. The men refused to run the gauntlet, so Davies and I rode back into the camp alone. Unfortunately we couldn’t find Durnford and were lucky to escape. Davies followed the majority of the fugitives to the right; I carried on along the track and met up with the rest of the men. We waited for a time on a neighbouring rise to provide covering fire for anyone
else
who came that way, but no one did, and after we’d watched the Zulus dragging two captured artillery pieces into the camp, we came here. Did Colonel Durnford get away, do you know?’

George shook his head.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Well, I didn’t see his dead body, if that’s what you mean. But when I left him he was with about thirty Carbineers and police on the Stony Koppie and the Zulus were all around.’

Henderson hung his head for a moment, then turned to his sergeant major and announced that their chief was probably dead. As the news passed down the ranks, a wail of grief rose from the column of black
horsemen
, their nervous hand movements and hollow stares testament to the horrors they had witnessed.

At this very moment Lieutenant Chard reappeared on horseback from the drift where he and the small guard had secured the ponts in midstream to prevent the Zulus from using them.