Company Of Spears

‘That hillock yonder’s bigger than you think. I thought as much from the length of the shadow at first light. And then the vultures started taking a look this way, as if they’d seen something. That’s when I saw them, running like monkeys on all fours, so flat as to be hid by the grass.’

Hervey rattled through his options. They were few. He could throw out a flank – two flanks – but that would avail him nothing if the Zulu were behind him … ‘How many do you suppose there are?’

Fairbrother shook his head. ‘No way of knowing. But it would make sense for Matiwane to send a column round each flank: a couple of hundred or more to each, I mean.’

Hervey was astounded. ‘You mean there might be five hundred Zulu, unseen?’

‘I do.’

That settled it. His force was too weak to deal with an encirclement in such strength. And the rest of the impi would no doubt be readying to hurl itself in a frontal attack. ‘Hammer on anvil,’ he said ruefully.

Lieutenant Fearnley and Captain Welsh were soon come up. Hervey was emphatic: ‘We retire at the trot, Rifles leading!’

Colonel Somerset was waiting at the ford of the Ox River as they approached. Hervey had led with the Rifles since he judged it too risky to dismount for rearguard action, the sabre handier therefore than the firearm. Once they had put a mile of veld behind them, the furthest distance he calculated a Zulu could have advanced unseen, he threw out skirmishers in a wide arc behind, sent Cornet Beauchamp back to the river to inform Somerset, and continued the retirement at the walk. From time to time a dragoon took a shot with his carbine and sent back word of a Zulu – or else some wild animal – in the long grass, but besides the advancing vultures there was no definite sign that Matiwane was following in strength.

Half a mile from the river Hervey ordered Lieutenant Fearnley to post a picket line and to mark his routes of withdrawal to the ford, and told the Rifles to prepare to cross to the far bank. Then he galloped for the ford to speak in person with the commander of the Kaffraria Field Force.

‘Mounted detachment returned to your disposal, Colonel,’ he reported, saluting with due ceremony.

Somerset touched the peak of his forage cap. ‘Where are the Zulu?’

Hervey did not like the peremptory tone. ‘By my best estimate, the main force is half a league off, but their scouts may be a good deal nearer. The troop is in picket line yonder’ (he indicated the distant trees beyond the scrub of the flood plain) ‘with orders to send patrols forward if there is no sign of the Zulu within the hour.’

Somerset was indignant. ‘But my orders were for you to see in the Zulu. You appear to have let them bustle you in.’

Hervey was even more indignant. ‘Don’t be an ass! We’ll see them in all right. But I won’t lose men when there’s no need. These Zulu are damned clever; they know how to use ground. We need to take careful measure of them.’

‘I seem to recall some great captain of your arm saying that a cavalryman, properly mounted, ought never to be taken captive.’

Hervey was determined not to anger further; Somerset had marched all night, as he had. ‘Colonel, you will do me the honour of allowing me to know my business, and judging me on the results. So far, I have delayed the advance of the Zulu sufficiently for you to be able to take a stand here, where at least the chances of being outflanked are so much the less. There’s not another river in ten miles.’

Somerset made no reply. There was truth in what Hervey said, and very evidently his intention was to be of support.

‘Shall you give me orders?’ asked Hervey quietly. ‘How is the force disposed? Where are the Xhosa?’

Somerset nodded, as if resolving on amity. Then he told him the plan of defence. The Xhosa were clearing the cover on each bank – not nearly as thick here, mercifully, as on the Fish – the artillery were posted on the rising ground fifty yards back from the river, able to command both the ford and its approaches, and the 55th Regiment would take post covering the ford itself. The burghers were to range up-stream and down, and the Rifles, dismounted, would skirmish on the eastern bank before crossing and reinforcing the Fifty-fifth.

Hervey could not disapprove; it was a sound plan. Except, perhaps, in one detail. ‘I should say, with respect, that the Rifles – and the troop – are very tired. They have had no sleep to speak of in three days. They’ll need more time to get back than supposed. Although the cover is good for their purpose this side, the field of fire, as you perceive, is not great.’

Somerset looked irritated again.

Hervey knew the look well enough. He had seen it many a time in his twenty years’ service: the look of the officer who is apprised of some piece of information which interferes with his otherwise perfectly laid plans, and whose instinct is to dismiss the intelligence by dismissing its bearer.

‘Do you say your dragoons and these half-baked riflemen have no more stomach for the fight?’