Colonel Rowland’s number five column had been sent to guard the roads and garrison the Boer towns in the north eastern Transvaal — part to police the Zulu across the border, but also to overawe the more volatile Boers who wanted to take advantage of the war in Zululand by rebelling against British rule.

The German village of Luneberg was vulnerable, within striking distance of Mbilini, who was Cetshwayo’s loose canon along the Phongola River, and Manyanyoba who hailed from the Ntombe Valley. Although Manyonyoba had seemed prepared to open negotiations with the British, he was overborne by his chief induna who wanted to intensify the raiding. Once convinced he should support king Cetshwayo’s call for war, Manyonyoba led a powerful force to join Mbilini and Qulusi induna Tola kaDilikana who had made his way east from Hlobane.

Their target was the 1500 or so Christianised black workers, the amakholwa of the Ntombe Valley. They killed 41 amakholwa, burned their homes down and drove off hundreds of cattle.
In retaliation, British troops were sent to garrison Luneberg and four companies of the 80th Regiment were dispatched there under Major Charles Tucker. Redverse Buller joined them from Khambula further west, leading a force of 54 mounted men and 517 black auxiliaries against Manyonyoba’s caves. 34 Zulu were killed, five imizi were burned down and 375 head of cattle, 254 goats and 8 sheep captured for the loss of two black auxiliaries - but Manyonyoba remained at large, his main force unaffected.
Late in February a convoy of 18 wagons loaded with ammunition, flour and mealies left Lydenburg to resupply the garrison. At first things went well, but when they arrived at the border with Transvaal, their route was less secure — particularly as they approached the Ntombe River because Mbilini was operating close by.

Tucker sent a company of the 80th to escort the wagon train from Derby — but heavy rainfall swelled the rivers and softened the ground. By March 8th the convoy was still 16 kilometres out from Luneberg. Fearing an attack, Tucker sent a message to the company commander to get into Luneberg that night ‘at any cost’ — but the officer took the message literally and abandoned his wagons.
The British were riding their luck, and that lady was about to run out. The Zulu were monitoring all this movement and Mbilini realised his relatively large amabutho was powerful enough to smash this small company of British soldiers. Cetshwayo knew that important rule - keep your friends close but your enemies closer — at the outbreak of war he had ordered Hamu to oNdini where he could be kept under close scrutiny. But Hamu communicated with his chief izinduna Ngwegwana and Nymubana back in his district who exchanged secret messages with Colonel Wood in turn.

We’re touring the sub-continent today, choose your mode of transport — Cape Cart, ox-wagon, horse, mule, on foot? Before the arrival of steam locomotion, roads in South Africa were little more than rutted tracks created by repeated passage of wagons and animal teams rather than purpose-built carriageways. There was no formal road network in the early 19th century: routes developed organically where ox-wagons, horse-drawn carts, and pack animals repeatedly traversed the landscape, linking farms, military posts, and markets. These tracks followed natural contours and river fords, often taking months to traverse over rugged terrain.

The primary transport machines on land before railways were ox-wagons and horse-drawn vehicles. The ox-wagon was the backbone of overland transport. It carried heavy goods — from wool bales and foodstuffs to mining equipment — over long distances and difficult terrain. Transport riders, both European and African, led these wagons into the interior, resting at outspans before continuing. Their significance was such that even towns and trails were defined by their routes. Before the age of railways, South African towns grew up along the overland routes forged by ox-wagons, horses and people on foot, and the rhythms of travel on those routes had a profound influence on where settlements were established and how they were spaced. In an era when roads were not engineered highways but repeated trails across the veld, the limits of what an ox-wagon team or a horse-mounted traveller could cover in a day shaped the practical distances between reliable stopping places, watering spots and supply points — and ultimately played a role in the birth and growth of towns.
The first public railway service in South Africa marked a dramatic shift in land transport. The Natal Railway Companyopened a small line in June 1860, linking Point (Durban) to Market Square using steam traction — this was the earliest operational stretch of railway in the country. Its first locomotive, “The Natal,” carried goods and passengers, representing a novel machine in the South African transport system and signaling a move away from animal-powered haulage.
So after that sojourn through the wonderful world of 1879, we return to Zululand.

Lord Chelmsford was in a pickle. He had initially blamed the disaster at Isandlwana on his 2 IC Pulleine, and Durnford but by February, a few weeks after the battle, the general inclination of the Horse Guards back home was to point the finger at Chelmsford instead. In the British parliament, conservative prime minister Disraeli was struggling to spin a way out after the terrible news from South Africa,
“It is a military disaster,” he said in the House of Lords on 13th February “…a terrible military disaster, but I think we may say it is no more…”

We’re touring the sub-continent today, choose your mode of transport — Cape Cart, ox-wagon, horse, mule, on foot? Before the arrival of steam locomotion, roads in South Africa were little more than rutted tracks created by repeated passage of wagons and animal teams rather than purpose-built carriageways. There was no formal road network in the early 19th century: routes developed organically where ox-wagons, horse-drawn carts, and pack animals repeatedly traversed the landscape, linking farms, military posts, and markets. These tracks followed natural contours and river fords, often taking months to traverse over rugged terrain.

The primary transport machines on land before railways were ox-wagons and horse-drawn vehicles. The ox-wagon was the backbone of overland transport. It carried heavy goods — from wool bales and foodstuffs to mining equipment — over long distances and difficult terrain. Transport riders, both European and African, led these wagons into the interior, resting at outspans before continuing. Their significance was such that even towns and trails were defined by their routes. Before the age of railways, South African towns grew up along the overland routes forged by ox-wagons, horses and people on foot, and the rhythms of travel on those routes had a profound influence on where settlements were established and how they were spaced. In an era when roads were not engineered highways but repeated trails across the veld, the limits of what an ox-wagon team or a horse-mounted traveller could cover in a day shaped the practical distances between reliable stopping places, watering spots and supply points — and ultimately played a role in the birth and growth of towns.

Drawn by spans of oxen, often 8–18 animals harnessed in long teams — these wagons carried goods, families and traders across great distances. Their average pace was slow by modern standards, typically around twenty kilometres per day under good conditions, depending on terrain, weather and the condition of the animals. This daily range was often the practical maximum that wagon drivers would plan for, and that distance became a natural unit for planning journeys, locating inns or out-span grazing grounds, and later for settlements that would service trafficked routes.

Because of these constraints, towns tended to appear at intervals that corresponded roughly with a day’s travel by ox-wagon or horse — places where travellers could rest, water animals, resupply or trade. These stopping points, sometimes initially little more than a watering hole or crossing on a drift, acquired markets, services and sometimes a church or administrative function as traffic increased and the surrounding countryside was settled. Over time, these logical halting-places evolved into permanent towns serving an increasingly local and itinerant population.
The first public railway service in South Africa marked a dramatic shift in land transport. The Natal Railway Companyopened a small line in June 1860, linking Point (Durban) to Market Square using steam traction — this was the earliest operational stretch of railway in the country. Its first locomotive, “The Natal,” carried goods and passengers, representing a novel machine in the South African transport system and signaling a move away from animal-powered haulage.

Almost simultaneously, railway construction began in the Cape Colony. In 1858–1862, the Cape Town Railway and Dock Company built the line from Cape Town to Wellington, opening sections to Eerste River and then Stellenbosch by the early 1860s. These early lines employed steam locomotives and rudimentary rolling stock (passenger coaches and goods wagons) — the “iron horse” replacing oxen and horses over these corridors.
In 1931, South African entrepreneur Max Sonnenberg opened his first store in Cape Town chosing the name "Woolworths" specifically because the American F.W. Woolworth brand was already a global symbol of retail success.

It’s the 23rd January 1879, one of the most momentous days in South African history has passed, and the ripple effect will be felt across the world.

For missionary Otto Witt it was a time of particular terror. He had fled his mission station, Rorke’s Drift, and now it was smashed to bits, the house which had doubled up as a hospital burned to the ground, the main warehouse which had been his church, broken, bloody.

Witt had fled the day before and sought out his wife and children who he’d sent on to Msinga once it became apparent the British were going to invade Zululand. Witt had lost his way up the Biggarsberg escarpment on the terrifying night of the 22nd January, and staggered into the Gordon Memorial Mission at Msinga the next morning - but his wife Elin and their 3 young children had already left. He didn’t know this — merely that she wasn’t there.

Elin had been told by refugees streaming away from Isandlwana that Otto had been killed at Rorke’s Drift. So both believed the other dead. The family spent five days believing they were widows and orphans. The confusion was only cleared up when Witt finally tracked Erin’s wagon trail to Pietermaritzburg where the family was reunited, exhausted and traumatized, but physically unharmed.

In Newcastle, Maud Bradstreet had just assisted her friend, Mrs. Hitchcock, in delivering a baby girl named Georgina. Their joy was short-lived, however, as news arrived that the Newcastle Mounted Rifles had been decimated at Isandlwana—both of their husbands were among the dead. The two women set out for the Orange Free State, a grueling week-long journey by horse and cart, surviving on very little including water strained through a mealie bag. This was the raw reality for the survivors - later in the episode we’ll hear from the Zulu.

On the morning of January 23rd, a messenger reached Helpmekaar with a brief note from Lieutenant Chard Rorke’s Drift commander Defying the grim expectations of the men at the camp, they had miraculously held their ground through the night.

Back at Isandlwana, Chelmsford had awoken his men and rode away from the scene of carnage before dawn, one of the men had found the mangled body of Lieutenant Colonel Pulleine, Isandlwana’s commanding officer, then the column passed down Manzimyama Valley. They moved past homesteads that had been abandoned only a day prior, but now the inhabitants were creeping back. Through the doorway of a single hut, they saw an Inyanga tending to amaQungebeni warriors who had likely fought at Isandlwana. The tension snapped; soldiers of the Natal Native Contingent opened fire and killed a man before order could be restored.
A seething anger swirled through the British column, Trooper Fred Jones, one of the survivors of the Newcastle Mounted Rifles was not in a forgiving mood.

“We saw red…” he admitted “
Exhausted and broken, the warriors shuffled forward, dragging their shields in the dust. The uThulwana were stunned—they thought no British soldiers were left alive after Isandlwana. For a long, tense moment, the two forces stared at one another across a distance easily covered by a bullet. Yet, neither side pulled a trigger. It was, as historian Ian Knight notes, a surreal conclusion to an extraordinary 48 hours: two armies, both feeling the weight of defeat, watching each other move silently into the distance.

King Cetshwayo kaMpande did not get an accurate version of events at Rorke’s Drift at first. Back at oNdini, Dabulamanzi reported that he had stormed and successfully taken the house… attacked again then retired…but admitted that he had suffered heavily …”

It was to take another ten days before the warriors returned to oNdini and had been ritually cleansed .. only then did Cetshwayo address them in his huge cattle kraal.
“If you think you have finished with all the white men you are wrong, because they are still coming…” he warned.

Episode 258 Rorke’s Drift part two. It’s important to listen to Episode 257 because that sets everything up for this episode - there’s too much to repeat particularly in the layout of the buildings which were fully described in Episode 257.

There were around 330 British and Natal Native Contingement troops marooned at Rorke’s Drift, about to be attacked by 4000 Zulu warriors. Approaching rapidly, the reserve amabutho of the Zulu army, led by Prince Dabulamanzi - a man who was driven by pride and personal valor — loyal to his king and brave, yet impulsive compared with Cetshwayo kaMpande’s politics of restraint.

Dabulamanzi’s name means the one who conquers waters, and most apt because he had decided to lead the warriors across the Mzinyathi River into Natal. A literal crossing and a metaphorical defiance. Zulu oral tradition refers to this battle as Shiyane by the way, or kwaJimu, Jims land after Jim Rorke who build the trading store.

It was 4pm, January 22nd 1879. The barricades were still going up the drift, the sacks of mielies, the boxes of bully beef and biscuits, when Lieutenant Henderson and Hlubi Molife of the baTlokoa Native contingent rode up with 80 of their men. Lieutenant John Chard of the Royal Engineers who commanded the post realised they’d managed to make their own way across the Mzinyathi pontoon, and he asked the horsemen to reccie up the river beyond Shiyane mountain. If you remember, that was the high point immediately behind Rorke’s Drifts two buildings, the house slash hospital, and the trading store, slash church, slash commissariat. Henderson offered to help defend the supply depot - a hollow offer as you’ll hear shortly.
Chard had been operating blindly since his observers had scurried back down the Shiyane after they realised three groups of Zulu regiments were approaching. Henderson took his mounted unit around the southern flank of the Shiyane where they could observe the territory from higher ground.
Moments later scattered shots were heard, and Henderson and his unit galloped up and he shouted

“Here they come, as black as hell and as thick as grass…”

Henderson and another rider, Bob Hall, lingered for some moments beyond the orchard in front of Rorke’s Drift, firing a few shots to the north, then turned and galloped away. They had survived Isandlwana and could not stomach further action.
Chard was going to bump into these two later during the Anglo-Zulu war and they would apologize for fleeing and leaving the small group of defenders to fend for themselves.
Watching from within the wall of boxes and bags were the Natal Native Contingent, and their commanders. Stevenson’s men flung down the sacks they were using to construct the walls, and bolted through the barricades, following Henderson. Their white officers ran away as well, along with their NCOs, including Corporal Anderson.

He was a Scandinavian who spoke very little English, and the sight of the men of the NNC he commanded running away, along with their supposed officers, panicked him and he ran off. Soldiers of Bravo Company left behind were enraged, several opened fire on the cowards fleeing the scene. Corporal Anderson was shot through the back of the head - killed instantly.

It was another irony of South African history right there. The first man on the British side to die at Rorke’s Drift was shot by his own side.

Rorke’s Drift was a battle that Cetshwayo kaMpande did not want, because it took place on the western bank of the Mzinyathi or Buffalo River — inside Natal.

The British had been routed at Isandlwana by the main Zulu army, regiments who’s names are still venerated by oral historians today, the uKhandempemvu, uNokhenke, uDududu, iMbube, iSanqu, the uMbonambi, iNgobamakhosi. The men of the uThulwana, iNdlondlo, iNluyengwe, uDloko amabitho had headed northwest during the battle to cut off Chelmsford’s escape route while the main army went to work evicerating Durnford’s men.

The commanders of the main army, Ntswingwayo kaMahole and Mavumengwana kaNdlela turned back to oNdini - realising that they had both good and bad news. The good news - Chelmsford’s central column had been crushed at Isandlwana, the bad news - it had cost the Zulu main army dearly perhaps as many as 2000 warriors - along with number of his most venerated indunas and isinkhosi.

But things were not over in this corner of the British empire, because the reserve amabutho were itching to wash their spears. They had chased Isandlwana fugitives to the Mzinyathi, spearing them and shooting them down, and now the uTHulwana, iNdlondlo, iNdluyengwe and uDloko were going to ignore Cetshwayo’s orders and cross the river into Natal.

The Zulu king had spelled out his orders and stipulated in no uncertain terms that his men were to stay on the Zululand side of the border. He believed that when it came to negotiate peace, the fact that his men had not crossed the border would be in the Zulu’s favour. The Natal settlers and British bureaucrats had instigated this war out of fear of Zulu power. Cetshwayo understood that if he could demonstrate the Zulu Empire posed no real threat to British interests or colonial settlements, he might yet avoid total destruction. He grasped what many generals forget: war is fundamentally a political instrument. By confining all combat to Zulu territory—never crossing into British-held land—he could preserve the moral high ground. When the inevitable negotiations came, this restraint would be his strongest card, proof that the Zulus sought only to defend their sovereignty, not to conquer.
It was this reserve force of between 3000 and 4000 men who were to throw a spanner in the works. They were on the move in three separate contingents, with the younger men from the iNdluyengwe in the lead, marching in open order in advance of the others. They pursued the fugitives across Sothondose’s Drift, now renamed Fugitive’s drift. The other two contingents began a few pre-battle moves, first dividing, then wheeling about, then reforming, an impressive display of commander control.Cetshwayo’s aggressive half-brother Prince Dabulamanzi was in command of these reserve units. This was a break from decorum, because Dabulamanzi was not actually a general in Cetshwayo’s army appointed by the king, but his royal status meant he dominated proceedings. The other offices of the reserve deferred decision-making to him, despite their disquiet which would grow to alarm later in our story today.

Dabulamanzi was another of our interesting characters of South African history. He was notoriously unscrupulous, but quick of mind and flashing of eye, always taking great care in grooming his moustache and pointy beard. Settlers who knew him called him sophisticated, he dressed in fine European clothes, loved a gin and tonic, and was an extremely good shot with a rifle. Had he not been Zulu, you would have called him an excellent example of a well-rounded English rogue of the Victorian era.
Prince Dabulamanzi wanted to give the men a victory - they could hardly return home and become the laughing stock of the nation. Zibhebhu’s incapacitation provided him with a perfect moment. Later it was spun that this smallish group of reserve amabutho were actually on their way to Pietermarizburg and it was only the plucky Rorke’s Drift defenders who stood in their way.

Lord Chelmsford who had scurried off to the east in support of Major Dartnell only made it back to the slopes of Isandlwana at dusk on the day of 22nd January 1879. As the nervous British soldiers advanced, they could see dense masses of the Zulus retiring with herds of cattle and their wagons up on the skyline to their right. About 800 metres from the Isandlwana battle site, they stopped and formed into a line. The guns were in the centre on the road, with three companies of British infantry, a Natal Native Contingent battalion and a portion of cavalry on each flank. The mounted police were in reserve. Chelmsford ordered the guns to fire on the nek of Isandlwana, while Major Wilsone Black advanced up the right to seize a koppie overlooking the battlefield that the British named Black’s Koppie.

IT was about 7pm. Black signalled the main force to advance, and Captain Harford who marched up with the 2/3rd NNC noticed the grass had been trampled flat and smooth by the size of the Zulu army. Soon they began to stumble as they tripped over bodies and Harford admitted later

“… nothing on earth could make those who were armed with rifles to keep their place in the front rank, and all the curses showered on them by their offices could not prevent them from closing in and making up in clumps…”

The darkness spared the soldiers the magnitude of the disaster but not the details … Captain Penn Symons reported later that they constantly stumbled over the

“Naked, gashed and ghastly bodies of our late comrades….”

The Zulu opened up the bowels of the dead to allow the soul to depart, but to the English eye, this was an act of desecration of a body.

“After killing them,” said Kumpega Qwabe, one of the warriors later “we used to split them up the stomach so that their bodies would not swell.”

Zulu traditional belief recognized the frustration of gases produced by a decomposing body as a spirit of the man unable to leave its earthly form. If the killer did not open the stomach, the spirit’s wrath would attach to him and he would suffer all manner of misfortunes, his own body might swell like a corpse, and he would be driven mad.
Chelmsford visited Harford and his NNC during the night, and asked if they thought the Zulus would attack again. Harford said yes, he could not know that the Main Zulu army was exhausted, they had also taken terrible casualties and were in no mood to continue battling the British. As I mentioned last episode, some warriors left immediately, most remained in the area for three days waiting for as many of their wounded as possible to recover sufficiently for the march over 100 kilometers back to their homes.

Chelmsford had made up his mind to abandon the camp before dawn the next morning and later he would be condemned for not staying long enough to buy the dead and salvage what he could from the wrecked camp.

What critics would gloss over was the fact that his army was in a terrible shape. They had no spare ammunition, all had been seized by the Zulu, the main depot was Rorke’s Drift. They had no food, only a few biscuits. Some of his men had not eaten for 48 hours, all had marched more than 40 kilometers in 24 hours, none were in any state for any sort of exertion.
The smell’s of war are always the most visceral, and the most telling. The sights, the sounds are tough to bear, but it’s the smell’s that get you. That night, as his column of 1700 24th Battalion survivors, Natal Native Contingent and colonial mounted troops bivouacked, the odour of death and destruction seeped into their consciousness.
During the night, British and Zulu warriors had come across each other, bumped into each other — some drunken Zulu on one of the wagons had been bayoneted, too motherless to escape. The soldiers from both sides exchanged words — cursing each other in a language neither could understand but the meaning was inescapable.

When we ended last episode a mounted patrol had stumbled on the main Zulu army of twenty thousand men which had which had hunkered down in the Ngwebeni Valley north east of Isandlwana. The British had been conducting patrols both north and south of the sphinx shaped mountain, and had been following a group of Zulu who were foraging mielies and cattle for the huge army. Looking down on this huge force, the shocked British patrol had opened fire on the warriors from their vantage point and galloped away to warn Lieutenant Colonel Pulleine back at Isandlwana about the impending threat.
The effect of the fusillade on the Zulu warriors was instantaneous. Their discipline, shattered. Huddled in silence for hours they had been informed that the day of the attack would come on Thursday 23rd January, because the 22nd was the first day of the new moon - the day of the dead moon — the unmyuama or blackness when dark spiritual forces lurked close to the fragile membrane which separated the living and the dead.
None of the warriors had been prepared for battle through the customary rituals, they had not been drawn up on a circle and sprinkled with medicines to ward off the unmyama, nor had they been addressed by their commanders. Thus no orders were given to attack on the 22nd — and despite the fear of unmyama, Ntshingwayo kaMahole Khoza’s men responded to a perfect moment.
The uMcijo regiment broke ranks, joined by the uNokhenke, uDududu, iSanqu and imbibe who stood up and moved off at a rapid pace towards the Nyoni Heights, along with the umBonambi, iNgobamakosi and uVe. Their commanders, Ntshingwayo and Mavumengwana kaNdlela Ntuli tried to intercept these warriors, but they failed. Other regiments like the uTHulwana, iNdluyengwe, iNdlondlo and uDloko which had bivouacked further downstream in the Ngwebeni valley on the Zulu left remained seated. But the moment was too much for one of the more fiery induna’s of the uThulwana, Qethuka kaManqondo — the son of the Magwaza chief — he also broke away, sprinting after the uMcijo.
The Zulu commanders worked quickly to settle the rest of the army - and pulled the remaining warriors into battle order, then marched off well behind those who had broken ranks. They used a depression behind the Nyoni heights to obscure their movements from the British down at Isandlwana. Remarkably, the Zulu left had now become the Zulu right, the Right were now in the centre, and the centre had been pushed to the left.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Durnford’s mounted reconnaissance patrol were beating a hasty retreat to Isandlwana. His sortie had always been ill-considered. If you recall last episode, Lord Chelmsford had ordered him to shore up the Isandlwana defenses, instead, he’d arrived on the morning of the 22nd and taken off in pursuit of some glory determined to throw himself and his men into the thick of fighting.
Back at the British camp, Lieutenant Colonel Pulleine was informed just after midday that the Zulu army was on it’s way, Theophilus Shepstone junior relayed the information. Even today, there are acoustic peculiarities of the countryside around iSandlwana which can possibly be explained by the sharp hills and the rolling broken countryside. Sounds appear to bounce off the hills, echoing oddly, seemingly arriving in unexpected directions. During many re-enactments of the battle there, rifle volleys snap back and forth, providing almost no clue about the direction of fire. The sounds of these initial skirmishes merely confused those at Isandlwana. Reports were being fed back from the vedettes, the mounted scouts on the hills, including those high up on Isandlwana itself.
“The enemy are in three columns” was one … another “The enemy are in force behind the hills on the left..” And then “the enemy are retiring in every direction…” It was one just before midday that was spot on .. but by then the flood of half accurate reports drowned it out.

The morning of January 22, 1879, dawned with a deceptive, stillness across Zululand masking the fact that over 45,000 men were in motion across a 200 kilometer front, each group operating in a vacuum of information that would, by sunset, shatter the British Victorian ego.
At the coast, Colonel Charles Pearson’s Column No. 1 represented the textbook invasion. His force was a heavy, industrial machine led by the 3rd Foot regiment, the Buffs, along with the 99th Regiment, and the Naval Brigade dragging their heavy Gatling guns and artillery. By 5:00 AM, the 5000 strong column was already a dusty serpent stretching more than 8 kilometers back toward the Tugela River.
Pearson’s scouts were a mix of the Natal Native Contingent and European volunteers who pushed through the tall grass toward the Nyezane River. They were being observed on Wombane mountain by the uDududu, iMbube, and isigQu regiments - 6,000 warriors under the command of Godide kaNdlela. Wombande mountain lay on the wagon trail between Gingingdlovu on the coastal flats, and Eshowe where Pearson was hoping to setup a main base at the abandoned Norwegian mission station before pushing on to ONdini and Cetshwayo’s HQ.
The Zulu plan was traditional, await in complete stillness on the high-ground then sweep in for a surprise ambush. Pearson’s advance guard crossed the Nyezane River and crossed over at 7.30am. Thick bush grew all around, the cavalry was reconnoitering and saw nothing. Vedettes, or mounted guards, were placed to keep an eye out for the Zulu army. Pearson’s main party reached the knoll selected for the first stop at around 8am, and the men began to outspan their oxen for a late breakfast. As the laager was being formed up, a party of the Natal Native Contingent who scouted ahead attracted fire from Zulu snipers.
The latest Zulu tactic which would also be repeated at Isandlwana, Rorke’s Drift, and as Evelyn Wood would report later from Hlobane mountain - a combination of heavy fire from high ground in support of a surging attack by warriors on foot. The road was a now completely commanded by Godide, along with the all important high ground and as his snipers fired non-stop, the Zulu horns swept towards the exposed British column.
Naval officer Midshipman Lewis Coker had the honor of commanding the first Gatling gun to be used in combat by British troops. Pearson recognized the value of this machine gun and he ordered Coker to take up a position opposite the advancing Zulu. Coker fired off 300 rounds, and the Zulu attack shuddered and halted — then the sound of the rockets fiendishly shrieking led to a general withdrawal. Hart continued advancing on the retreating Zulu when one of the older warriors, his oiled head ring glistening in the morning sun, stopped and turned, fell to one knee in a classic rifleman’s position, took careful aim and fired — but missed. Then he bolted away. Hart noted the conventional approach this older warrior had taken. He’d been trained in the finer arts of fire and movement.
200 kilometers to the north of Pearson near the modern town of Vryheid, Colonel Evelyn Wood who led the left column of the British triple column invasion, was preparing for his morning assault atop the Zungwini Mountain. Wood was by far the most experienced and therefore pragmatic of the British commanders. He had the good fortune of commanding "Flying Column," the vast majority of his men were mounted. The force was centered on the 13th and 90th Light Infantry and the formidable Frontier Light Horse under Redvers Buller.
It was in the centre of the three pronged British attack where the day of skop, skiet and donner would change history. This was at the foot of the Sphinx-like crag of Isandlwana where Chelmsford’s Second Column hunkered down.

Episode 253 - The order of Battle for Isandlwana and Nyezane as ‘ukuni’ Wood Heads North

Three separate British columns are inside Zululand and things are hotting up — and not just because of the steamy summer temperatures.

In the last few episodes I’ve concentrated on General Chelmsford’ and Colonel Glynn’s operations in the centre, second Column, as they made their way over the Mzinyathi River across from Rorke’s Drift - the centre of the British Invasion of Zululand. This episode we’ll wrap up what was going on in other sectors, further south near the coast, and further north near the Ncome - Blood River, and along the high ground there towards the Phongola River.

The First column under Colonel Charles Pearson had entered Zululand across the lower Thukela on the 12th January and was lumbering towards Eshowe, en route to meet up with Chelmsford’s Column Two near Ondini prior to the final assault on King Cetshwayo kaMpande’s headquarters.

When the main Zulu army had set off from the ritual jumping off point of kwaNodwengu near Ondini on the afternoon of Friday 17th January 1879 destination, Rorkes Drift, a smaller Zulu force marched off simultaneously. They went in the opposite direction, south west — heading to intercept Colonel Pearson. The uMxhapho ibutho, who were young and motivated, along with the older men of the uDlambedlu and izinGulubu regiments. During the march south towards the Thukela they would meet up with reinforcements. These were small local groups, the iNsukamngeni, the iQwa, uDududu, iNdabkawombe and few other even smaller entities mustered along the coast. The total size of this force was about 6000 led by seventy year-old isikhulu Godide, chief of the Ntuli —and commander of the uDlambedlu regiment. He was also the elder brother of Mavumengwana who as you know, was second in command of the main Zulu army marching towards Chelmsford.
Alongside Godide were high ranking coastal chiefs Mantshiya kaMshandu of the Nzuzu, and the older Mbilwane kaMhlanganiso who was induna of the kwaGingingdlovu ikhanda.
Other important commanders who joined were Masegwane kaSopigwasi — who happened to be an inceku or counsellor of the king. Phalane, a royal induna, was monitoring events in this second army.

Colonel Charles Pearson’s Number one column included 4 750 men 384 wagons and 24 carts. Pearson not been in action since the Crimean War ended in 1856, spending time in St George Grenada, then various other postings until he was selected as one of the special service officers in South Africa. Despite his lack of recent combat experience, Pearson had the difficult task of leading the largest column over the greatest distance. He was ordered to cross the lower drift of the Thukela, then establish a base at the evacuated Norwegian mission station in Eshowe 60 kilometers further on.
We’ll come back to what happened to Pearson’s column and the battle of Nyezane in Episode 254 because first we need to swing further north, past Chelmsford and Dartnell and Glynn, and Durnford, and to the Ncome River where the British left column had been very busy. Colonel Evelyn Wood was tasked with an attack on the Zulu in a wide arc from the Ncome or Blood River, all the way along the escarpment to the Phongola River.

Wood was stationed at Utrecht and had dispatched a garrison of two companies of infantry to Luneberg, a German mission and farming community further East, closer to the disputed border with the Zulu Kingdom. It was positioned strategically near the eNtombe River, a key crossing point for supplies.

There the British established Fort Clery first to guard the settlers then to protect the vulnerable line of communication for Colonel Wood's column as it advanced into Zululand. The amaQulusi lived here, and the action provoked the amaQulusini regiment to mobilize and march up to the enormous flat topped Hlobane Mountain.Unlike some of the other commanders, Wood was a veteran of multiple conflicts.

This is episode 252, it is January 19th 1879, and we’re standing alongside Lord Chelmsford at the British camp based at Rorke’s Drift — and nearby is Henry Francis Fynn Junior.

Chelmsford had grown frustrated by the rain which had slowed the crossing of the Mzinyathi at Rorke’s Drift. He had also been frustrated by Henry Francis Fynn Junior who had been negotiating with Zulu chiefs without his permission. Fynn’s father, Henry Francis senior was the first English trader in Natal, and had spent time with King Shaka. The Fynn’s were all fluent in Zulu, and extremely informed when it came to Zulu matters and Fynn junior was working as the magistrate of Msinga region in Natal.

Chelmsford was determined to have Fynn permanently attached to his staff, partly to keep and eye on him, and partly to consult with the experienced colonial seeking to test. his tactics. On the 16th January, Chelmsford had written to Fynn’s boss, Natal’s Lieutenant Governor Sir Henry Bulwer asking that he be reassigned. On reflection, Chelmsford decided he wasn’t going to wait for Bulwer and summarily ordered Fynn to Rorke’s Drift anyway.
Lord Chelmsford was instituting his new plan of action which he’d outlined to Governor Sir Bartle Frere. Instead of leading his column - or to be completely accurate - Lieutenant Colonel Glynn’s column eastwards in a direct route to Isipesi and Cetshwayo kaMpande’s home of ONdini, he was going to concentrate his attention towards the Malakatha and Hlazakazi hills.

These rise between Isandhlwana plain and the Mangeni Valley to the south East. It made sense, because Fynn junior had told him that the Zulu plan was to descend the Mangeni heights and attack Number three column in the rear so he needed to secure his invading columns right, or southern flank. At 9am on the 20th January, and with Fynn at his side, Chelmsford rode east from Rorke’s Drift and paused at ISandhlwana for breakfast. A civilized affair, cold meats, strong hot tea.
He wanted to confront Mantshana kaMondisa, a amaQungebeni chief who had told Fynn he was considering joining the British. Which was strange, because prior to this, Mantshana was one of the chiefs believed to have been strongly in favor of a war against British.

By the time Chelmsford’s men moved forward on the 20th, the Zulu population had largely abandoned the Mzinyathi River valley opposite Rorke’s Drift. So a great swathe of the country around Isandhlwana lay empty, the homesteads of the amaQungebeni deserted and forlorn, with a few bands of Zulu warriors hiding out in the hills, watching and waiting.

Behind the Isipesi Mountain, 24 000 Zulu troops camped on the evening of the 20th January 1879. The warriors had marched at a fairly leisurely pace westwards towards the British, saving up their energy for the actual day of battle, whatever day that was. They did not march alone. Some of the women remained and would be with the column on the day of battle. For every three warriors, there was an udibi boy, a lad in his early teens, loaded down with as much paraphernalia as the haughty warriors could expect him to stagger along with — a cooking pot, sleeping mats, dismantled spare shield, and sometimes, if he was given the honor, carrying the warriors spears.

Usually these boys carried a smaller spear of their own and those who did so were going to have an unexpected opportunity to wash their blades in the blood of the soldiers dressed in red. And in the blood of their kin serving with the British — the Natal Native Contingent.