Although Hook and Williams have escaped injury of any serious nature, the gallant Welshman, Robert Jones, has not been so fortunate. Three assegais have struck him in the body. He and his namesake William, as I have said, have been most busy in the front of the building, and how many Zulus they have put to their account is not known, but the number is large judging from the heaps of dead warriors whose bodies are found in the ruins of the building next day.
In this last stage of the rescue of the wounded William Allen and Frederick Hitch, fellow-soldiers of the 24th Regiment (to which, by the way, the four brave privates above-named belong), make good their claim to glory. Taking up an exposed position on some steps leading to a granary, these two men keep the ground clear between the burning hospital and the barricade, their accurate fire making it certain death for a Zulu to venture near.
By their courageous stand, for which they pay dearly, every one of the rescued twenty is brought into safety. And even when incapacitated by their wounds from taking part in the fighting, the two brave fellows stand by all night to serve out ammunition to their comrades.
At the rampart of biscuit boxes were several vacant places ere the first beams of light showed in the sky. Where Hook knelt three men had previously been shot. But under the cool direction of Chard, Bromhead, and Assistant-Commissary Dalton, another of the garrison, the line of defenders kept up a deadly fire against the Zulus which stayed the rushes time and time again, and drove back the picked warriors of Cetewayo’s army to the shelter of their rocks and ant-heaps. Thirteen hours in all the fight lasted, until the Zulus drew off, baffled, beaten.
Several times they had seemed to be retiring, but after renewed war-dances and that stamping of the earth peculiar to Zulu warriors, accompanied with much shouting and waving of assegais, they came on again with a fierce yell of “Usutu!” which is a far more fearsome cry to hear in battle than the war-whoop of the painted Sioux. At last, just after four a.m., there was a long pause, and then the impis were seen to sullenly roll back out of sight behind the Oscarberg.
The grim, smoke-blackened defenders peered wonderingly after them from behind the barricade, hardly believing that the host was actually in retreat. But such was the case. After some time, those who went out to reconnoitre and look for the wounded saw no signs of the enemy. The Zulus had gone, leaving some 350 dead behind them. On our side the losses were but fifteen, though two of the wounded died afterwards.
With the fear of a renewed attack later on, the weary soldiers laid their rifles aside, and at once began to strengthen the defences where they had been broken down. Lest the store-building itself should be threatened with fire, they set to work to remove the thatch from its roof, and while engaged in doing so the watchers announced that another large body of Zulus were in sight some distance to the south-west. Immediately the men flew to their stations, but the alarm fortunately turned out to be a false one. The enemy, after advancing a little way, swung round and disappeared behind the hills. They had seen the column under Lord Chelmsford marching towards the drift, and had had their stomachful of fighting.
A little later the British force, which had seen the flames of the burning hospital as far off as Isandhlana and had marched from the fatal camp to relieve their comrades at Rorke’s Drift, came round the Oscarberg, to be greeted with wild cheers and waving of helmets.
“Men,” said the General, as he surveyed the group before him and heard the story of their great stand, “I thank you all for your gallant defence.”