Zulu Hart (30 page)

‘Yes, my Lord. The four companies of the Second Twenty- Fourth that you ordered up during the skirmish are carrying out the task as we speak.’

‘Good. Crealock, see that Harford’s wounded Zulu is taken to the hospital at Rorke’s Drift. We can’t have it getting about that we’ve maltreated prisoners.’ Chelmsford turned back to George. ‘And, Hart, given your concern for noncombatants, I thought you might like to accompany the troops to Sihayo’s kraal. That way you can assure any Zulus you meet that no harm will come to those who surrender.’

‘I’ll do that, my Lord. Thank you.’

George retrieved Emperor from Major Gossett’s keeping and, ignoring the possibility that stray Zulus might be hiding in the undergrowth, rode hard up the familiar steep track that led to Sihayo’s kraal. As he neared the entrance, the first of the huts burst into flame.

‘Where’s the officer in charge?’ he demanded of the nearest redcoat, who was busy filling his haversack with onions from the vegetable patch.

‘That’s Lieutenant Pope, sir. He’s burning the bigger huts at the top of the hill.’

All around, huts were catching fire as soldiers touched lighted torches to their dry thatch. George dug in his spurs, but the intense heat, and the crackle and hiss, were too much for the frightened gelding and he refused to budge. George realized he would have to leave his horse. He dismounted and set off on foot.

At the top of the hill he found a monocled officer he recognized as Lieutenant Charles Pope of G Company, 2nd/24th. ‘Yes, Second Lieutenant,’ drawled Pope. ‘How may I be of service?’

‘Lord Chelmsford sent me to ensure that no civilians are harmed.’

‘Did he, indeed? Well, you can report to the general that the kraal is deserted.’

‘Have the men searched all the huts, sir?’ asked George.

‘They have, and not a soul to be seen. As for booty, apart from a few shields and spears, there isn’t any. What a country. I can’t wait till this bloody war’s over and we can all get back to civilization.’

‘Would you mind, sir, if I double-checked the great wife’s hut?’

‘Which one’s that?’

‘The big one over there.’

‘Be my guest. It’s got nothing in it worth
having,
I can assure you of that.’

George reached the hut as a tall redcoat was about to set light to its thatch. ‘Hold on, Private, I’d like to take another look.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the soldier, staying his hand.

George ducked inside. It was as he remembered, with the back of the hut wreathed in shadows. ‘Anyone here?’ he shouted in Zulu as he looked behind the few sticks of furniture. ‘It’s your last chance to show yourself before we burn the place.’

No response. George repeated the warning, but nothing. He was about to leave when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a piece of the dirt floor begin to move sideways until a large hole was revealed. It was the cleverly concealed entrance to a grain pit, and out of it climbed three old women and a small girl. All were shaking with fear.

‘You’re safe now. Follow me.’

Lieutenant Pope saw them emerging from the hut and ran over. ‘I’ll be damned. Lucky for them you happened by, Hart, but I’ll take over now.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be less trouble with me, sir. I speak their language.’

‘Do you?
Excellent.
You can ask them a few questions.’

‘Can’t it wait, sir? They’re obviously frightened out of their wits.’

‘
All the
better. That way they’re more likely to tell the truth. Ask them who they are.’

George did so and was answered briefly by one of the women, a toothless old crone in a knee-length skirt. ‘She says they’re all relations of Sihayo’s, even the child.’

‘Well, that makes sense,’ said Pope. ‘Do they know where Sihayo and the rest of his men are?’

George translated the woman’s response. ‘She says they left yesterday for the king’s kraal at Ulundi.’

‘Just as we suspected: it’s going to be a long war. All right, Hart, take them away.’

As George led the women down the hill from the kraal, the girl clinging grimly to Emperor’s saddle, the crone piped up, ‘I remember you. You tried to save that faithless bitch Nandi.’

George stopped to face the crone. ‘You’re right, I did. Are you saying she deserved to die?’

The crone had a look of pure scorn.
‘Of course.
Marriage is sacred to Zulus. She broke that trust.’

‘And what about my grandmother Ngqumbazi?’ said George, his voice shrill. ‘Was her fate justified?’

‘Your
grandmother
?
So you’re a half-breed. I weep for people like you, a foot in both camps but not truly part of either.’

‘That’s not true,’ said George. ‘I’m British. I know that now. And you haven’t answered my question.’

‘Ngqumbazi survived. In Shaka’s time she would not have been so lucky.’

Central Column’s camp, Zulu bank of Rorke’s Drift, 13 January 1879

George could barely keep his eyes open as the conference in Lord Chelmsford’s headquarters tent entered its second hour. Images of faceless, spear-wielding Zulus had disturbed his night’s rest, and he was finding it hard to concentrate through Glyn’s report of the battle and Fynn’s assessment of the latest intelligence. Now it was Chelmsford’s turn, and as he spoke George could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his back. It had poured with rain the day before, soaking the troops and their prisoners as they retraced their steps from Sihayo’s kraal, but the air was still heavy with moisture and very hot.

‘It’s just possible,’ said Chelmsford, ‘that the storming of Sihayo’s stronghold and the capture of so many of his cattle may have a salutary effect in Zululand, and either bring down a large force to attack us or else spark a revolution to overthrow Cetshwayo and bring the war to an end. After all, Sihayo is one of Cetshwayo’s chief lieutenants and the destruction of his homestead will cause quite a stir. But in the short term we must press ahead with our original plan to advance on Ulundi. To that end a large working party of natives, protected by four companies of the Second Twenty-Fourth, will today begin digging ditches on both sides of the track that passes through the Bashee valley, near Sihayo’s kraal, in the hope of draining enough water to make the track
passable.
That should take a week, by which time we’ll have stockpiled enough supplies at Rorke’s Drift to enable the advance to continue. We need at least a month’s supply there, over and above the fifteen days’ regimental supply with the column.
Crealock, what news from Durnford’s Reserve Column?’

‘None yet, my Lord.
I sent an order four days ago for him to move his two strongest Native Contingent battalions north to Sandspruit to protect the Masinga District from a Zulu counter-invasion. But we still haven’t had confirmation.’

‘Well, let me know as soon as we do. The colonel has a headstrong reputation and it wouldn’t do for him to be taking matters into his own hands. His job is to remain strictly on the defensive unless he hears to the contrary. What news of the other columns?’

‘Wood is still at Bemba’s Kop, as you know, and Pearson is due to begin his advance from the Lower Drift on the eighteenth. He anticipates reaching the Nyezane
river
four days later.’

‘Good.
Anything else?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Crealock. ‘It concerns reinforcements. Given that a sizeable proportion of the column will be busy road- building over the next week, might I suggest we bring forward the company of the Second Twenty-Fourth at Rorke’s Drift and replace it with one from Helpmekaar.’

‘That’s for Colonel Degacher to decide. Well, Colonel?’ said Chelmsford, turning to a grizzled veteran of the Crimea with a salt-and-pepper moustache. ‘Do you want B Company to rejoin your battalion?’

‘Frankly no, sir,’ said Degacher. ‘The original company commander was wounded on the Cape frontier and his successor, Bromhead, is simply not up to the task of leading a company on active service.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying, sir, that he’s a great favourite in the regiment and a capital fellow at everything but soldiering.’

‘Then why’s he in the army?’

‘I don’t imagine he had much choice. His father’s a baronet and a general who fought at Waterloo.’

‘Heaven help us!’ said Chelmsford. ‘But I accept your point. B Company remains at Rorke’s Drift, and one of the companies at Helpmekaar will move up to support the column.’

Outraged that Jake would not see active service because of the incompetence of his company commander, George felt compelled to interrupt. ‘My Lord, might I speak?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘I wonder if Colonel Degacher would consider making an exception of Bromhead’s second-in-command, a young officer called Morgan. I know him from Sandhurst. He’s an active, highly capable fellow and is itching to do something useful.’

‘Well, Degacher?’

‘Yes, I’d be more than happy to have Morgan with the rest of the battalion. He did well in the bush and is wasted guarding stores. He can move to Pope’s G Company — it has a vacancy for a subaltern.’

‘That’s settled, then. All right, gentlemen, let’s get to work.’

That evening, as he was about to turn in, George was called to Chelmford’s tent. He arrived at the entrance to find him deep in conversation with Crealock. ‘That bloody man. You warned me it was a mistake to give him an independent command, and once again you were right. How dare he disobey a direct order from me on the basis of a damned
rumour.
If I listened to every rumour that reached this headquarters, we’d never have crossed into Zululand! Well, this is his last chance. One more slip and he’s out.’

The general noticed George hovering at the tent flap. ‘Ah, Hart, do come in. I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I need you to deliver an urgent message. Crealock will explain.’

Crealock handed George a sealed envelope. ‘You’re to deliver this to Colonel Durnford at Kranskop. We’ve just received word from him that, in direct contravention of a previous order, he still hasn’t moved his two strongest NNC battalions to Sandspruit. He gives as his excuse the rumour of a possible Zulu counter-invasion and says he intends to guard against this by moving his entire force down from his camp at Kranskop to the Middle Drift. It’s all nonsense, of course. The river’s too high and, according to Fynn, there’s no sizeable Zulu force in the vicinity. We suspect it’s a ruse by Durnford to prevent the break-up of his command. But it won’t work. Your job is to get to him before he moves and set him straight. It’s a ride of several hours so you’d better get started.’

‘You want me to go tonight?’ asked George.

‘Yes, tonight. I take it you have no objections to riding in the dark?’

George knew he was being taunted and his temper flared anew. He imagined his fist driving into Crealock’s face, and for a brief moment considered that the pleasure it would bring him might be worth the disciplinary consequences. But sanity prevailed. ‘No, Colonel,’ he replied. ‘I have no objections.’

Within a quarter of an hour, George had crossed the drift and was on the road south to Kranskop. Despite being back in the relative safety of Natal, he had heard enough rumours of hostile Zulus on both sides of the border to be kept permanently on edge as he rode by the light of the moon. Only as he neared his destination did he relax and allow his mind to wander. He was thinking back to the good times he had spent with his mother at their cottage in the Wicklow Mountains, to laughter-filled summer picnics and cosy evenings in front of a peat fire, when Emperor shied at something in his path. George at once drew his pistol and strained his eyes to see.

Directly ahead, he could just make out a large dark shadow, bigger than a man but not tall enough to be a horse and rider. He reined in and waited for the shadow to move, and when it did not, he nudged Emperor with his spurs. The horse refused to budge. George was about to dismount and lead Emperor forward when the shadow began to lumber down the track towards him. He could just make out a pair of horns and realized it was a lone bull, separated from its herd and disorientated in the dark. Its huge bulk began to gather pace and George knew, with a thousand pounds of muscle and bone bearing down on him, that he and Emperor were seconds from disaster.

With a yell and a vicious jab of his spurs, he forced Emperor off the track and into the scrub, the bull following close behind. Thorns tore at his legs, but on George rode, praying Emperor would not stumble. The bull seemed to be closing in on them and, in
desperation,
George yanked the reins sharply to the right. As Emperor turned, the bull crashed blindly on over the edge of a steep krans that George had not seen but must have sensed. The bull’s brief roar was followed by a sickening thud. George reined in, his heart hammering and his shirt drenched with sweat. Relieved to be alive, he dismounted and led Emperor back to the track, cursing Crealock all the while and vowing to get the better of him.

It was two in the morning when Durnford’s camp finally came into view on the hill ahead. Finding the camp deserted, George rode on and discovered Durnford’s troops lined up in orderly columns on the edge of the bluff, ready to descend to the drift below. Durnford was on horseback, conferring with his staff officer, Captain George Shepstone, the brother of Offy, when George rode up. ‘Colonel, I have an urgent message from Lord Chelmsford.’