Next morning Florian—as he was detailed for duty to the front with the Mounted Infantry, paid a farewell visit to Captain Hammersley, whom he found reposing among some straw in a kind of tilt cart, and rather feverish from the effects of his wound, and who had been desired to remain behind in the laager for a little time, though he could with difficulty be prevailed upon to do so.
Preceding the march of the column, the Mounted Infantry under Barrow filed forth at an easy pace in search of the enemy.
It was scarcely a new experience to Florian now, or to any man with the army in Zululand, that of putting a savage to death. Every rifle slew them by scores, when a hundred rounds of ammunition per man were poured into the naked hordes in less than an hour's time.
Lord Chelmsford left some of the Kentish Buffs, the Lanarkshire, and the Naval Brigade to garrison the laager at Ginghilovo, and marched for Etschowe with the 57th, the 60th Rifles, and Argyleshire Highlanders, escorting a long train of Scottish carts, laden with food and stores, preceded by the Mounted Infantry scouting far in advance.
The whole column wore the white helmet, but the dark green of the Rifles and the green tartan trews of the Highlanders varied the colour of the scarlet mass that marched up the right bank of the Inyezene river, with drums beating and bayonets flashing in the April sunshine.
Along the whole line of march were seen shields, rifles, assegais, furs, and feathers strewed about in thousands, cast away by the fugitives who had fled from Ginghilovo, and here and there the Kaffir vultures, hovering in mid air above a donga, or swooping down into it with a fierce croak, indicated where some dead men were lying.
Briskly the troops pushed on to rescue Colonel Pearson and his isolated garrison, which, during a blockade that had now extended to ten weeks, had been in daily expectation of experiencing the fate of those who perished at Isandhlwana; and surmounting all the natural difficulties of a rugged country, intersected by watercourses which recent rains had swollen, by sunset the mounted men under Barrow were close to the fort, and heard the hearty British cheers of a hungry garrison mingling with a merry chorus which they were singing.
Under Colonel Pemberton, the Rifles pushed on ahead with Lord Chelmsford, just as an officer on a grey charger came dashing round the base of the hill surmounted by the fort.
'Here is Pearson, gentlemen,' cried the Commander-in-Chief.
'How are you, my friend?'