Defeat at Isandlwana led to a terrible retribution
ON JANUARY 22, 1879, near a hill in Zululand known as Isandlwana, 20 000 Zulu soldiers, with stabbing spears, cowskin shields and a few obsolete guns, took on a wellarmed regiment of the strongest army on earth, and routed them.
In the late 1800s, Britain had already developed an appetite for empire-building which, by the first two decades of the 20th century, would see it taking control of a quarter of the Earth’s land surface and holding sway over almost 460 million people around the world.
One reason for its success was its army. Well-trained, disciplined and well-fed soldiers had the most modern weaponry available. And yet, something went badly wrong for the British at Isandlwana.
Perhaps it was overconfidence or sheer arrogance that prompted Sir Bartle Frere, the British High Commissioner, to issue an ultimatum to Zulu King Cetshwayo that he knew he would never accede to. The most problematical condition was disbanding of the Zulu army.
And so, a reluctant Cetshwayo was pushed into war.
The build-up to battle was slow, with troops under Baron Chelmsford having great difficulty in locating the Zulu troops. But when a British patrol, giving chase after spotting a herd of cattle being driven by a small party of Zulu scouts, ran straight into the Zulu army, it was the signal for the Zulu attack. The British defended grimly but they were quickly overrun.
In describing the battle, the Reader’s Digest Illustrated History of South Africa – the Real Story, quoted Kumbeka Gwabe of the uMcijo regiment: “I… only killed one man,” he said. “He was firing from right to left, and I came beside him and stuck my assegai under his right arm, and pushed it through his body until it came out between his ribs on his left side.”
A British army sergeant said he “could not help crying to see so many of our dead comrades lying on the ground”.
The defeat of the Redcoats sent shockwaves throughout the British Isles – and over the next few weeks retribution was uppermost in the minds of the colonial power.
Paying tribute to both sides, Bishop John Colenso said: “We ourselves have lost very many precious lives. But are there no griefs – no relatives who mourn their dead – in Zululand? Have we not heard how the wail has gone up… for those who have bravely… and nobly died in repelling the invader and fighting for the king and fatherland? And shall we kill 10 000 more to avenge that dreadful day.” But his words fell on deaf ears.
For the Zulu people and Cetshwayo, the triumph at Isandlwana proved to be a pyrrhic victory. After the British had exacted their revenge at Khambule, Gingindlovu and Ulundi, Cetshwayo was sent into exile, from where he heard his kingdom had been dismembered.
After Isandlwana, jingoism reigned supreme, with the Cape Times joining in. On February 20, 1879, it published a few lines of verse from an unknown poet.
“For in that little fortress five score at most held out; While twice two thousand Zulus raised high their battle shout; ’Twas but a hundred heroes – Leonidas had three; Yet have they made of that stockade a new Thermopylae!”
About 100 years later the group Juluka gave a Zulu perspective to the battle in a song called Impi: “They came to the side of the mountain; Scouts rode out to spy the land; Even as the realm’s soldiers lay resting; Mageba’s forces were soon at hand; And by the evening the vultures were wheeling; Above the ruins where the fallen lay.”