History of the Zulu war and its origin

by Frances Ellen Colenso

When all we have narrated was known in Natal, the question was asked in the public prints: “Who, in the light of these recently-discovered facts, were the real heroes of that day? Surely the two officers who commanded in that narrow pass at the rear of the camp.... Surely, too, no smaller heroism was that of the fourteen carbineers ... who, mere boys as they were, gave their lives away in order to afford their comrades-in-arms a chance of retreat.... Any one of these men might have had a chance for his life, had he chosen to follow the example set by so many. They remained, however, and they died, and only after four months of doubt, contradiction, and despatch-writing, is it made known to the world who they were who have most deserved the coveted decoration ‘For Valour.’”

“‘The dead shall live, the living die!’ Never was this well-known line of Dryden’s more strikingly illustrated than by the events of the past fortnight,” writes The Natal Witness of June 7th, 1879. “‘The dead shall live,’ the mists of doubt, overclouding many a reputation, have been cleared up by a visit to the now sacred field of Isandhlwana.

“‘The living die:’ the hopes of a large party in an European nation have been extinguished by the assegais of a mere handful of savages.” (Alluding to the death of the Prince Imperial of France.) “The two events stand side by side in startling contrast, and suggest thoughts which even the wisest might with advantage ponder. Turn, for instance, to the story of the field of Isandhlwana, as now told in plain though interrupted and awful characters by the remains found resting near the ‘neck.’ Could it have been guessed that, while human recollection and human intelligence failed so utterly to convey to the world a history of the events of that too memorable day, Nature herself would have taken the matter in hand, and told us such a story as no one who hears it will ever forget? Four months, all but a day, had elapsed since the defenders of the field stood facing the Zulu myriads—four months of rain and sun, of the hovering of slow-sailing birds of prey, and of the predatory visits, as it might well be deemed, of unregarding enemies. Four months! and during all that time, while the world was ringing from one end to the other with the news of a terrible disaster, while reinforcements were crowding on to our shores, and special correspondents were flooding the telegraph-wires with the last new thing, all through those four months the dead slept quietly on, waiting almost consciously, as one might think, for the revelation which was to establish their fame, and, where necessary, relieve their unjustly sullied reputation. For four months was there a sleep of honour slept upon that bitter field—a sleep unbroken by any of the noise of the war that rolled both to southward and to northward. The defeat of Indlobane had been suffered; the victory of Kambula had been gained; the defenders of Rorke’s Drift had been rewarded, at least with a nation’s praise; the imprisoned column had been released from Etshowe; all the roads in Natal had rung to the tread of men and the rolling of waggon-wheels, as the force which was to “wipe out” the disaster of Isandhlwana moved up to the front. Yet still the honoured dead slept in silence. Only the grasses that waved round them in the autumn breeze murmured to them of their coming resurrection; only the stars that looked down on them, when the night wind even had ceased, and the hills loomed black and silent in the morning hours, bade them be patient and wait. There were many and varied fates entwined in that quiet group: there was the trained officer, there was the private soldier, there was the man who had come to find employment in a colonial service, there were the lads from the colony itself; all these were there, waiting till the moment should come when their heroism should be recognised, when the vague slanders of interest or of cowardice should be dispelled, and the wreath of undying fame hung round each name in the historic temple. And the moment, long waited for—long promised, as it might almost seem, by the beneficent hand of Nature herself, who held firmly to some unmistakable tokens of recognition—the moment at last arrived. There could be no mistake about it. Those lying here were those who had often been called by name by those who found them. If one means of recognition was absent, another took its place. If the features were past identification, there was the letter from a sister, the ornament so well known to companions, the marks of rank, the insignia of office. Ghastly tokens, it will be said, making up the foreground of a ghastly scene. Yes, ghastly tokens, but glorious tokens also—tokens enabling many a family to name those that died with a regret no longer mingled with doubt or with pain; tokens that will long be cherished, and which will be shown to children as preserving the memory of lives that are to be imitated. A black cloud has, by these revelations, been lifted from the rocks of Isandhlwana, and many whom we deemed dead are living again—living as examples, never to be defaced, of the honour which tradition has so fondly attached to a British soldier’s name.”

CHAPTER XX.
THE PRINCE IMPERIAL.

Early in April the South African community was greatly impressed and interested by the arrival of the young Prince Imperial, who came out to Natal to take his share in the fortunes of war, and to see something of active service against the Zulus. The colonists were not a little gratified by the fact of this young hope of an illustrious house having come to fight for and with them against their dreaded foes; yet amongst them all there was hardly one, great or small, gentle or simple, whose second thought was not one of sincere regret that he, who, besides being of such importance in the future of Europe, was also his widowed mother’s only son and sole comfort, should be allowed to risk his life in a savage warfare. Many a thought of kindly sympathy was directed from Natal towards that royal mother for whom English men and women have always had so sincere a feeling, whether in prosperity or adversity; and many a warm-hearted woman’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of the gallant youth, and at the very thought of what his loss would be to her who remained to pray for him at home, the home which she had found amongst our countrymen in England. On every side anxious hopes were expressed that the Prince would be carefully guarded from danger, and not allowed needlessly to throw away his precious young life; all these hopes and anxieties were redoubled when he arrived, and, by his winning ways and gallant bearing, won the hearts of all who came in contact with him. Had Natal been asked, he would have been sent straight home again instead of across the borders, and yet it would have been hard to resist and thwart the eager wish to be of use, to work, and to see service which characterised him throughout his short campaign, and which, combined with gentleness and humanity as it was, proved him to be a true soldier to the heart’s core.

Since he had come to Natal he could not, of course, be kept away from the front, and the day he left ’Maritzburg good wishes from all classes attended him along the road. It was thought, indeed, that in all human probability he was safe, except in the event of some such battle as would make the chances equal for all, from general to drummer-boy. “At all events,” it was said, “Lord Chelmsford will keep him by his side.” Others, again, opined that the General would find it no easy task to restrain the eager young spirit that scorned to be treated with more care than others of his age. But this doubt was answered by one who knew the Prince, and who said that he was too good a soldier ever to disobey an order. Throw himself in the way of difficulty and danger he might wherever possible, but any distinct order would be promptly and fully obeyed.

For some little time the Prince acted as extra aide-de-camp to Lord Chelmsford, and accompanied him in that capacity to Colonel Wood’s camp at Kambula, and back to Utrecht. Colonel Harrison, R.E., was also of the party, and during the journey very friendly relations were established between him and the Prince, which lasted to the end, and were drawn closer by the former’s careful attendance during an indisposition which befell the latter.

Whilst at Kambula the General reconnoitred the Indhlobane Mountain on May 4th, and on return to camp was joined by the Prince Imperial, when, to show him the defence of a laager, the alarm was sounded. In three minutes every man was at his allotted post, and an inspection of the camp, with its double tier of rifles ready for work, was made by the General and staff. Next day the camp was broken up, and the column moved to about a mile from the White Umvolosi, near the Zinguin range—Lord Chelmsford and staff, with the Prince, proceeding to Utrecht.

On May 8th, the General, having appointed Colonel Harrison, R.E., Assistant-Quartermaster-General of the army, and Lieutenant Carey, 98th Regiment, Deputy-Assistant-Quartermaster-General, requested the former “to give some work to the Prince Imperial, as he was anxious for it, and did not find enough to do in the duties of an extra aide-de-camp.” This request was a verbal one, and the words used may not be letter for letter, but of the purport there is no doubt; and such a request from the Commander-in-Chief was, of course, an order which was immediately carried out. The Prince was directed to collect and record information respecting the distribution of troops, location of depôts, and the like, and he worked hard at this for some days. Lord Chelmsford shortly afterwards left for Newcastle, but before his departure Colonel Harrison suggested that it would be advisable, during his lordship’s absence, to make a reconnaissance into Zululand, on the borders of which they had been hovering so long, so as to determine the exact line of route which the columns ought to take in the impending invasion.