Company Of Spears

At once Wainwright faced about, the only man between the Zulu now and his commanding officer. Corporal Dilke circled, Fairbrother turned and jumped down beside his friend, and Sam Kirwan sprang from his nappy little mare to do what he could for the fallen gelding.

‘No good, Hervey. An aneurism. He might recover, but—’

Hervey knew. The Zulu were not a furlong away, loping towards them as if the ground were as flat as a cricket field. He looked at Gilbert, his companion of many an affair. The gelding’s nostrils flared, and his eyes stared crazily. Hervey reached for one of the pistols in the saddle holsters. It was loaded, tamped, ready. He took the other, pushed it into his belt, knelt by Gilbert’s neck, lifted his head in his left arm and put the pistol into the fossa above the right eye.

‘Goodbye, old man,’ he said, softly but quite audibly. Then he pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger.

Before the smoke began to clear, Johnson was holding Hervey’s second horse not ten feet away. ‘Molly, sir.’

Hervey watched the last twitch of Gilbert’s shoulder, then rose and vaulted into the mare’s saddle. The Zulu were now but fifty yards away and the moan had become a deep-throated, menacing roar.

They galloped for their lives.

As they reached the temporary safety of the troop line, Fearnley gave the order to present carbines: if the Zulu did not recognize the danger in five-dozen muzzles, they would soon receive a lesson.

‘Capital, Mr Fearnley,’ gasped Hervey, still winded, but perfectly calm. ‘One volley, and then to the flank. Clear the line of the Rifles’ fire quick as you can.’

Fearnley saluted as Hervey spurred his mare between two dragoons, both of whom looked eager to practise their musketry.

He heard the volley as he galloped on to the Rifles.

‘All ready, Captain Welsh?’ he called as he pulled up beside him.

‘All ready, Colonel,’ replied Welsh, equally composed.

Hervey could not be surprised. It was the baptism of fire for the company as a whole, but enough of the riflemen had seen some sort of action. ‘Capital. They come on in single file, a dozen or so. I hope Fearnley will be able to break them up for you a little.’

‘We’ll do a little of that for ourselves too,’ said Welsh mysteriously.

Hervey looked at him, curious.

‘Did you not see the skirmishers as you galloped past?’

Hervey had not, and even when Welsh pointed them out he had difficulty seeing them. He smiled. ‘I should have known. Exactly as the Ninety-fifth would have done it.’

‘No. Better than would the Ninety-fifth. These are picked men – sharpshooters, snipers. And they have two rifles apiece.’

Hervey nodded approvingly. The black-powder smoke would too soon give away their position, but four well-aimed shots in rapid succession would surely tell. ‘How many?’

‘A dozen.’

They would serve very well. Hervey nodded again but said nothing.

And then came the most decided lump in his throat. Gilbert was not Jessye, but they’d been together a good many years … and now that handsome grey’s carcase would be defiled by a swarm of savages, hacking off that fine mane and flowing tail…

He came to. The troop had gone threes-about and were trotting down the slope towards them. He watched with the keen satisfaction of a man who had drilled his command in the peace of Hounslow Heath and who was now seeing the profit of that exertion. Many a dragoon who had cursed him behind his back would now be seeing the method in those long field days. Not that he should ever concern himself too greatly with what the canteen was saying. All the same…

They broke into a steady canter and began changing direction right. Hervey continued to watch with approval, and not merely for a drill-book evolution smartly executed, for it was not to be found in the drill book: they used a ‘non-pivot’ movement to bring about changes of direction in line faster and with fewer words of command. It had been his doing: the usual wheeling required the left or right flanker to turn slowly on the spot while the rest of the line swung round, like a door on its hinge, each man at a slightly different speed. It was a movement that looked fine when performed well on the parade ground but which was painfully slow and inactive in the face of the enemy. If they tried to wheel here, now, there was every chance the Zulu would fall on the right of the line before the evolution was complete.

What effect had their volley had though? Hervey wished he could have seen for himself, for it would have told him a deal about the way the Zulu would now fight. But he would have obstructed the Rifles’ line of fire had he remained with the troop and then tried to gallop back here.

It was not long – a minute perhaps – before he had his answer; in some part at least. The Zulu broached the crest more or less in line. This was what he had wanted: although Welsh’s snipers would not now be able to pick off the column leaders, the Rifles would have many more targets than if the Zulu had remained in single file.