Zulu Hart (27 page)

‘Trooper George Hart of the Carbineers, back from patrol.’

‘Password?’

‘Aldershot.’

‘Pass, friend.’

George rode on, nodding to the bedraggled redcoat sentry as he passed the outer picket. The Carbineer lines were at the far end of the camp, and to reach them he had to pass the tents and wagons of the various corps that made up the invasion force: two incomplete battalions of imperial infantry, the 1st and 2nd/ 24th, in red tunics with green facings;
N/5
Battery of the Royal Artillery in blue with red piping; a squadron each of Imperial

Mounted Infantry and Natal Mounted Police in red and black respectively; a small detachment of the Army Hospital Corps in dark blue with lighter blue velvet collars and cuffs; a company of NNC Pioneers in redcoats and white trousers, the uniform Durnford had intended for the rest of the contingent; two battalions of Lonsdale’s 3rd Natal Native Contingent in traditional costume; and, lastly, the Natal Carbineers in blue. It was a veritable kaleidoscope of colour. Staff officers and civilian wagon-drivers - most of
whom
were of Dutch descent and spoke Afrikaans - brought the total to more than 4,700 men, with Africans making up more than half the total.

As George walked Emperor between the immaculately spaced bell-tents of the 2nd/24th Regiment, a Welsh voice cried out, ‘George! Can it be you?’

George turned and could just make out an officer in the red tunic and dark forage cap of the 24th. What gave him away was his toothy grin.

‘Jake!’ said George, leaping from his horse and engulfing the shorter and lighter man in a hearty bear hug. ‘My God, I didn’t expect to see you here. I was told your company was being held in reserve at Helpmekaar.’

‘It was, but we finally got the order to march here yesterday and only arrived an hour ago. I didn’t think I’d see you either. I imagined you in Kimberley, awash with diamonds and surrounded by lovelies. And yet here you are,’ said Jake, gesturing towards George’s dark blue uniform and standing back to look at him, ‘a lowly trooper with the mounted volunteers. Couldn’t keep away, eh?’

‘Something
like
that. I’ll fill you in over a drink, but first let me tether Emperor and make my report.’

Two hours and half a bottle of whisky later, George was nearing the end of his extraordinary tale. ‘And so here I am: an Irish Zulu of unknown paternity about to fight against his grandmother’s people in a war that’s been cynically engineered by our superiors. I knew what they were up to, but thanks to that rogue Crealock, there was nothing I could do about it.’

‘I need another drink,’ said Jake, reaching for his cup of whisky and almost knocking over the flickering candle in the process. They were sitting on campbeds in the tent that Jake shared with his fellow subalterns, both of whom were still carousing in the nearby mess-tent. ‘I can’t believe you’re still sane after all you’ve been through. First Harris, now Crealock. You don’t have a lot of luck in your dealings with superior officers, do you? But I still think you did the right thing by joining the Carbineers. I’m not convinced you’d have made a success of diamond prospecting, whereas you and I both know you’re a natural at soldiering.’

‘Maybe so, but it doesn’t lessen the unease I feel about taking part in
this
war. The Zulus are far from innocent, and as a people they’d undoubtedly be better off without Cetshwayo, but what right do we have to make that decision for them? Because one thing’s for certain: Frere and the others did not plan this war for the benefit of the Zulus.’

‘No, but you have to see the wider picture, George. We now have - for good or ill - the greatest empire the world has known, and yet most of it was acquired not by design but by accident or, to quote a well-known historian, “in a fit of absence of mind”. Every year hundreds of British soldiers like us lay down their lives to win or defend some godforsaken, disease-ridden territory. Why do we do it? Not for money, not for ten shillings a day. We do it for our mates, our country and our queen. And who benefits from our sacrifice? Not many. Oh, I won’t deny there’s a profit to be turned by a few trading companies, arms manufacturers and, occasionally, in the case of India, the British exchequer. But let’s not fool ourselves. Most colonies are expensive to run and maintain, which is why our government doesn’t want any more. No, the real beneficiaries of empire are the poor benighted natives who, in return for a little kow-towing, get all the benefits of our civilization: better roads and railways, improved trade and education, and law and order. And Zululand won’t be any different.’

‘I take your point, Jake. But ask yourself this: if you’d been born and bred a Zulu, would you bow down to men of a different race and colour, whatever the ancillary benefits?’

‘No, I don’t suppose I would.’

‘Quite. And don’t forget I’ve seen Zulus at first hand. They’re a proud, cruel warrior race and won’t change their ways without a fight.’

‘Well then, you can comfort yourself with the thought that war with Natal was bound to happen sooner or later.’

As Jake spoke, George looked for signs that his old friend - his only true friend - had changed, that his brief time in the army and on active service had made him a different person. He certainly appeared older and wearier, his eyes sandwiched between dark smudges and horizontal frown lines, but maybe that was to be expected after three months under canvas in the Perie Bush. He seemed fit and healthy enough, and his bright blue eyes, so unusual for a redhead, had lost none of their sparkle.

‘So how do you think they’ll react to our invasion?’ continued
Jake.
‘The general feeling in our mess is that they’ll harry our slow-moving columns but won’t make a stand. It could take months to flush them out of their forests and mountain strongholds.’

George shook his head and laughed. ‘Jake, I’m surprised at you. Have you forgotten everything they taught us at Sandhurst? Remember the phrase “the Horns of the Buffalo”?’

Jake shook his head. ‘You know I preferred the practical stuff, building fortifications and blowing up bridges. I never paid much attention in the history classes.’

‘Well, a Zulu army, or
impi,
is divided into the three distinct parts of a buffalo: the “chest”, made up of the most experienced warriors, to close with the enemy and hold it fast; two “horns” of the youngest and fittest warriors to encircle the enemy and, having met, to fight their way back to the “chest”; and the “loins”, or reserve, which is placed behind the “chest” and deployed when necessary. It’s almost as if they’ve studied the campaigns of Hannibal and are trying to replicate Cannae. And bear in mind that their weapon of choice is the short stabbing assegai, which can only be used at close quarters. The point is, they can only fight one way: aggressively.’

‘So not like the Kaffirs on the frontier, then?’ said Jake, grinning. ‘We spent months trudging through wild forests, trying to entice them to fight, but it was like chasing shadows.’

‘This war’s going to be very different; and if Lord Chelmsford thinks otherwise, which I suspect he does, he’s in for a shock. The hilltop kraal of my great-uncle Chief Sihayo is just a few miles the other side of the river. If he decides to defend
its we
‘re going to lose a lot of troops. It looks a fiendishly difficult place to assault.’

‘Are you not dreading the prospect of fighting your kin?’

‘A little, but I have much less sympathy for them since they executed Sihayo’s wife. But tell me about your battalion. What are the officers like?’

Jake sucked air through his teeth. ‘They’re not a bad bunch. But apart from the colonel, Degacher, and one or two of the senior officers who’ve served in the Crimea and the Mutiny, hardly any of them have seen action. The Second Battalion
was
only raised in fifty-eight and the war we’ve just fought is its first.’

‘What about your company commander?’

‘He’s a duffer called Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead, a nice fellow but deaf as a post and unconquerably idle. The colonel knows his faults, of course, which is why he’s ordered the company to remain behind here to guard the supply depot at the mission station. I can’t believe we’re going to miss the start of the campaign because of him.’

‘Poor you, but I’m sure you’ll be called into action before too long. Something tells me Chelmsford will need every man he can get.’

‘That’s as may be, but someone has to guard the supply lines and I can’t help feeling that, on account of Gonny’s failings, B Company will be here for some time.’

‘What about the men? Can they be relied on?’

‘Well, many of them are young recruits and pretty green, but their experience on the frontier has toughened them up nicely and they shouldn’t let anyone down. We do have a few old hands in the company and one young soldier of outstanding promise, a Private Owen Thomas from Raglan. I gather you know each other?’

‘We do indeed. We met on the voyage over. He struck me as a clever, self-confident fellow, if a little lacking in judgement. You heard about his flogging?’ Jake nodded. ‘A bad business all round,’ continued George. ‘But I’m glad to hear he’s over it and doing well.’

‘He is. He’s already been appointed the company clerk, and when we were in the bush he displayed real gallantry by rescuing a wounded corporal under fire. He was commended by the colonel and is sure to receive early promotion.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said George, glancing at his pocket- watch. ‘It’s getting late and we’ve got an early start. I’d better turn in.’

Jake rose to his feet and embraced his friend. ‘It’s great to see you again, old fellow. And don’t worry too much about Colonel Crealock. The advantage of being an irregular is that you can keep well away from the staff at headquarters.’

‘I’m not sure I want to keep well away. What’s that old saying by Sun Tzu? “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” It certainly applies to Crealock. I know all about his money-making scheme with Fynn, and, to be honest, I’d feel much better if I was in a position to do something about it.’

Central Column’s camp, Natal bank of Rorke’s Drift, 11 January 1879

‘Wake up, damn you!’

George opened his eyes. He could feel an arm tugging on his shoulder and quickly twisted round to see Major Gossett holding a lantern.

‘At last!
Now get dressed, George.
The general wants to see you immediately.’

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

‘The general will explain.’

George threw on his uniform, grabbed his helmet and holster belt, and joined Gossett outside the tent. It was still pitch-black and the camp was still. As they walked, the lantern threw ghostly shadows on the rows of tents. At last they came to the huge marquee, divided into compartments, which served as Lord Chelmsford’s headquarters. Gossett paused at the entrance. ‘Just remember, George, that what you hear inside is not to be repeated.’ George nodded his assent.

They entered and found Chelmsford leaning over a trestle table, studying a map of Zululand with Colonel Crealock and a civilian George did not recognize but suspected was Fynn. He was clad in an ill-fitting bush jacket and corduroy breeches and, with his huge shaggy beard, looked every inch the frontiersman.

Chelmsford looked up. ‘Ah, Hart, we meet again. Crealock said you’d seen sense and joined the Carbineers. The reason

I’ve woken you a little early is because I need a personal galloper I can rely on and you fit the bill. I’m told you’re a good rider, speak Zulu like a native and, as a former officer, you’ll be able to use your initiative if the occasion demands it. It will be dangerous work, of course, but that shouldn’t deter you. And as an added inducement you’ll be promoted to the local rank of second lieutenant. It’s only a temporary commission, of course, but if you carry out your duties to my satisfaction, I’ll see it’s made permanent. What do you say?’

Surprised by the offer, George took a moment to consider the pros and cons. As Chelsmford’s galloper he would carry his orders and be privy to all his decisions, and as such would be in a better position to influence the course of the campaign and ensure that as little harm as possible came to any Zulu women and children. He would also be ideally placed to keep an eye on the hated Crealock and, with luck, foil his and Fynn’s plan to steal and sell Chief Matshana’s cattle. The promotion was welcome, too, in that it put his military career back on course and made his father’s legacy just that little bit more attainable. The only downside was that he would have to leave his friends in the Carbineers and become a regular soldier again, with rates of pay that even for a junior officer did not quite compare. With this in mind he decided to negotiate.

‘I’d be delighted to serve as your galloper, my Lord,’ said George. ‘But may I continue to draw my pay as a Carbineer? The reason I ask is because I’m a little strapped for cash at the moment and, as you may be aware, a Carbineer on active service receives slightly more than even a British Army second lieutenant.’

Chelmsford turned to Crealock. ‘Is that true?’

‘It is, my Lord. The daily rate for a Carbineer is six shillings, that of a junior subaltern slightly less. But 1 really
don’t
see why we should make an exception in Hart’s case.’

‘Well, I do. You’ve got yourself a deal, Hart. And as you’ll continue to be paid by the Carbineers, there’s no need for you to replace your tunic. Just get the regimental tailor to add some braid.’