History of South Africa podcast

There is something magical about mountain passes, weaving through majesty, each corner beckoning a driver like a formidable and compelling saga, muffled in mist or bright in the sunshine. Imaginations are fired and children go quiet as the ravines plunge beside the vehicle, timeless in their elegance, conquered only by the blast of dynamite or the steady chipping of picks. There is an old Chinese saying, Yào xiàng fù, xiān xiū lù” If you want to get rich, first build a road.” British engineers in the second half of the 19th Century recognized that they possessed an expertise that was in short supply elsewhere, and were prepared to travel abroard in large numbers in order to provide it. So it is with great fanfare and the blasting of many a bugle to announce that South Africa’s greatest road engineer was born in Graaff-Reinet. The dramatic saga of how roads were built in South Africa is a forgotten story of plunging horses, wagons somersaulting, with dreamers armed with theodolites or sometimes, only their amazing capacity to estimate lines across tilted Cape Sandstones with their naked eyes. Thomas Charles John Bain was one, who bequeathed the country with an impressive list of mountain passes and roads — and he made the single biggest contribution to these arteries which wind their way across the landscape. Son of Andrew Geddes Bain, another born builder of roads, Thomas only took one month’s leave during 46 years of service at the Public Works Department. He married Johanna Hermina de Smidt in 1854. They had 13 children and enjoyed a long and happy marriage - apparently absence does make the heart grow fonderl. Just for the record, Johanna was the ninth child of Willem de Smidt, who was the Secretary of the Central Road Board. Keeping it in the family so to speak. Hidden beneath Thomas’ stout hat and moustache, was an excellent judge of character, selecting foremen and overseers, to manage the mainly convict labour, motivating all to toil away for years inching along the side of cliffs and ledges. Bain owned a Cape cart, a two-wheeled local invention, and he travelled between road, pass, bridge and drift construction sites that were hundreds of kilometers apart. Somehow, despite the time he spent away, he was a family man who’s favourite trick to stop a flood of youthful tears was by cutting a slice of watermelon. Thomas and his father Andrew built 30 mountain passes and roads between them and perhaps the place where imagination leaps most is down through the tangled forest of Bloukrans Pass south of Plettenberg Bay. You can stand on the old Bain causeway, and look up at the vast marvel which is the Bloukrans Bridge famous these days for being the site of the world's highest commercial bridge bungee jump at 216 meters. Some say Thomas Bain was a traveller who painted all those pictures, but that is a different Thomas Bain who was a gifted artist. Just to further confuse matters, Thomas Bain the road builder was also a prodigious artist. Perhaps that confusion is one reason why the engineer who was known by colleagues as the man with the theodolite eye, was to be almost forgotten for half a century. While his father Andrew was the giant of early infrastructure, Thomas went on to build 24 mountain passes, three major roads, and dozens of smaller routes. He did all of this without modern explosives, he had no crushing or screening plants, no power drills, front-end loaders, bulldozers, graders, water tankers or cement mixes, no quarrying equipment, pile drivers and streamlined tarmac procedures. Then of course, neither did the men who did the real work. What he had were the straining arms and muscles of convict and black labour — the other forgotten heroes of roadbuilding in the 19th Century. They have been pushed to the back of the heroes of history queue. The convict labour system formalized by John Montagu in 1844.

Cornelius Vijn had made a few bad decisions in his life as we all do at some point. Born in Holland in 1856, he made his way to Natal in 1874 where he rapidly learned both English and isiZulu. That wasn’t necessarily a bad decision. During his childhood, however, he’d suffered an accident, he was run over by a wagon — the wheel shattered his leg, it healed badly and from then on he walked with a limp. He had lived in Natal for over 4 years before setting out from New Guelderland with six Zulu drivers and assistants, sixteen oxen, and a wagon loaded with woollen, baize and cotton blankets, picks, knives, saddles bridles and beads. Just to put his location into perspective, New Guelderland is a few kilometers north of KwaDukuza aka Stanger. Cornelius Vijn’s destination — Zululand. This was a miscalculation because his journey began October 1879 on the eve of the Anglo-Zulu war. Tension had been rising for months, and most whites had fled the territory. Vijn was determined to go the other way. He sensed he could make some extra money without any competition from the other Natal Traders. Vijn was 23 years and six months old. After being held up by rainy weather and a border check to make sure he wasn’t carrying guns, he crossed the Thukela on November 1st. We know all of this because Cornelius’ journal was published by Bishop Colenso in 1880 — and you can find a copy online at the University of Cape Town archives. It’s called Cetshwayo’s Dutchman, and what a fascinating read it is. His plan was to travel to meet King Cetshwayo kaMpande and sell him all the goods in the wagon in exchange for cattle. The king had good reason to treat Vijn well, he needed someone who could function as a translator and letter writer because Cetshwayo would spend most of the coming months repeatedly sending emissaries to Lord Chelmsford, asking for negotiations. In May, word arrived that the Boers were at Cetshwayo’s home, they were working together to defeat the English. Later Cetshwayo was to tell Cornelius that “No doubt the Boers are better than the English, for Mpande was setup as king by the Boers and died as King, whereas I, Cetshwayo, was crowned by the English and now my country is taken from me…” Following the British disaster at Isandlwana and the agonizingly slow progress of the second invasion of Zululand, the British government lost confidence in Lord Chelmsford’s strategic capabilities. In May 1879, Sir Garnet Wolseley was appointed as Supreme Commander in South Africa, effectively superseding Chelmsford.When word reached him deep in Zululand his reaction was one of desperate urgency rather than resignation. Knowing his reputation was on the line, Chelmsford took several decisive actions including what you may call a race for Ondini.

As the British tried to wrap up their war against the Zulu in South Africa, further afield the happy sound of a baby being born could be heard in Germany. Not just any baby. Albert Einstein was born at 11.30 in the morning on March 14, 1879 in Ulm. His birth was not without drama; his family initially worried about his development because the back of his head was unusually large, and his grandmother feared he would have delayed development based on the sound of his cry. His mother Pauline was deeply concerned when Albert didn't start talking until he was three. Then when he started speaking, he had a habit of repeating sentences to himself, which led the family maid to nickname him "Der Depperte" (the dopey one). When Albert was five and sick in bed, his father Hermann gave him a magnetic compass. This invisible force fascinated Albert and is often cited as the spark for his lifelong obsession with physics. A compass is what the British surveyors carried, so too did some Boers of the Wakkerstroom District. The area wasn’t as stable as British Army Lieutenant Colonel Evelyn Wood had supposed. Sure, the hyena of Phongola chief Mbilini — had been killed but the abaQulusi still lurked about their mountains undefeated. While the British had gone about their war against the Zulu with some zeal in 1879, the Boers of the Transvaal were seething about their territory being summarily annexed by the Empire only two years earlier. The Boers of Wakkerstroom, east of Volksrus, lived on a frontier and a ledge. The escarpment along this north eastern line intersects with places like Luneburg, Paulpietersburg, Bilanyoni with Swazi territory further towards the rising sun. June mornings are cold — as cold as the relations between the Boers of Wakkerstroom and local Englishmen. Luneburg was a Lutheran mission station and on the 4th June, the pastor’s son Heinrich Filter was killed there along with six black border policemen. Large groups of Qulisi warriors swept back into the northern Zululand region, scooping up hundreds of cattle and other livestock. So it was with fury that commander Chelmsford and Wood heard what was going on between the Boers and the Zulu along the Mkhondo River. The two nations were in league against their common imperial enemy. Zulu deputations had visited the bughers and some Boers had even travelled to go and see king Cetshwayo kaMpande. By June reports circulated the there were even more Boers than usual wintering along the border, below the icy escarpment amongst the Zulu imizi of the Phongola. The fact that they were safe confirmed all suspicions that there was Zulu-Boer collusion. Suspicions were further confirmed when the British found out that the Boers were even acting as guides leading the Zulu impis in their June raids that had been so destructive. Chelmsford had been putting together a potent column for his return to Zululand after he had relieved Eshowe, and in May he began a slow moving march to Ondini. Ranging in front of his force as it gathered close to Rorke’s Drift for the second major invasion, were his reconnaissance units, scouts and observers. And one of these observers was the enthusiastic but reckless twenty three year-old Prince Imperial of France, Louis Napoleon. The last hope of the Bonapartist dynasty, serving on Chelmsford’s staff. He was the only son of Emperor Napoleon the Third, great-nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte. In his first 14 years he had lived the pampered life of a monarch-in-waiting, but that changed in 1870 when his father was deposed after a string of defeats in the Franco-Prussian war. Louis fled to England with his mother Empress Eugenie. Queen Victoria gave them a warm welcome — in 1871 his father was released by the Prussians and joined Eugenie and Louis at a rented mansion in Chislehurst in Kent. A failed attempt to remove a gallstone killed the Emperor n 1873, and Louis ended up in the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich.

The last quarter of the 19th Century was in some ways, like the first quarter of the 21st Century - full of tone-deaf business barons gambling building vast riches — financing politicians and in accelerating the planet towards world wars. There are ripples in the timeverse, all the way to now, because the latest empire has started a war that it cannot end. The infinite rule of war is do not start a war you cannot finish — British back in 1879 set off a whole host of pain for itself by invading Zululand because the Boers of the Transvaal were flexing. First, however, was the small matter of trying to Crush the Zulu empire. Not only had the British suffered sharp reverses at Hlobane and, most dramatically, at Isandlwana, but Lieutenant-Colonel Pearson’s column had now been shut up in Eshowe for nearly two months. At first the invasion had been greeted in Britain with confidence and patriotic support, yet that mood began to shift as the scale of the setbacks became clear and questions were asked about Lord Chelmsford’s conduct of the campaign. Confidence gave way to unease as news filtered home that the war was proving far more difficult than anyone had expected. So it is to Eshowe we go. At the end of March 1879 Zulu warriors were spotted hiking down the hills near the Eshowe garrison, heading towards Nyezane near Gingindlovu on the coastal flats. They were led by Somopho of the emaNgweni ikhanda, Cetshwayo’s chief armourer — and the army he led towards the Thukela was an interesting bunch. They included 3000 Tsonga from St Lucia Bay, along with 1500 from the kwaGingindlovu ikhanda, joined by Dabulamanzi, Cetshwayo’s headstrong son who lived at eNtumeni near Eshowe and who commandedd 1000 men. There were 3000 men of the iNgobamakhosi, uNokhenke, the uMbonambi and uMcijo, joined by 1500 of the iNdluyengwe. Chief Sigcwelegcwele led these amabutho, along with Phalane kaMdinwa of the Mphukunyoni — Phalane was of royal blood and set an imposing figure amongst his troops. He wore brass ornaments on his ankles and neck, and had grown his fingernails five centimeters long, they were apparently as white as ivory and gave him a dangerous cat-like appearance, he was tall, a Marvel Superhero of the Zulu. This force of about 11 000 was in Lord Chelmsford’s way, and he was about to cross the Thukela River to relieve Pearson in Eshowe. Cetshwayo’s was aware that the English Zulu chief, had turned his coat, John Dunn who had initially fled Zululand, then tried to remain neutral, had now openly thrown in his lot with Chelmsford’s relief column. He had observed the British response to the defeat at Isandhlwana and realised that the Zulu could not win this war, nor even draw it. Chelmsford’s response was to turn to John Dunn, and with him came something the British had lacked until then — a practical understanding of African warfare. Dunn encouraged constant forward reconnaissance, understood the rhythms and tactics of Zulu fighting, and insisted on the discipline of laagering, measures that addressed many of the army’s earlier weaknesses. He was placed in charge of 244 men and effectively made chief of intelligence — a somewhat unusual appointment. Until then such responsibilities had normally fallen to regular British officers. Dunn, however, was no officer of the Crown. What he brought instead were deep personal ties within the Zulu kingdom, along with a network of scouts and informants. In Chelmsford’s camp he would operate not only as an intelligence gatherer, but also as a crucial intermediary between the British command and the African world beyond their lines.

The twenty thousand strong Zulu army was camped near Nseka Mountain south of the British camp at Khambula hill — north west of modern day Vryheid. After defeating Lieutenant Colonel Evelyn Wood’s Number 4 column at Hlobane, Zulu commanders Ntshingwayo and Mnyamana stopped to rest their men on the banks of the White Mfolozi. about twenty kilometers from the British camp. Wood’s column had retreated to the base at Khambula Garrison — along with the cavalry led by Redverse Buller after the thrashing they’d received at the Battle of Hlobane. You heard about that in episode 262. Perhaps it made sense to wait, the British had already been reinforcing Kambula for weeks and the position that Evelyn held was strong. They had spent weeks digging elongated earthworks, a redoubt on a narrow ridge of tableland on the summit of Khambula. There were two guns here, and it was connected to the main wagon-laager which lay 20 meters below and 280 metres away by the four other guns placed at regular intervals. These were significant weapons. The wheels of the wagons were lashed together, and each wagon-pole or tied tightly to the wagon ahead, sods of earth had been thrown up under the wagons to form ramparts, and bags of provisions run along the outside of the buckrails of the wagons with firing slits every few yards. Below this defensive structure was another smaller laager of wagons, connected by a palisade — into which 2000 cattle were crammed. On the right side of both laagers lay a rocky ravine, no-one would be climbing up this access point and through which the stream of Selandlovu rushed. To the left, the ground sloped away more gently, and provided an excellent field of fire. Wood had 2 086 officers and men, including eight companies of the 90th Light Infantry — and seven companies of the 1/13th Light infantry totaling 1240 troops. The mounted squadron included 99 from the Mounted Infantry, four troops of the Frontier light horse of 165 men, two troops of Raaff’s Transvaal Rangers, almost a hundred of Baker’s Horse, 40 more from the Kaffrarian Rifles, bolstered by a Mounted Basotho group of 74, they’d come all the way from Basotholand, from further south, joined by 16 men of the Border Horse, along with 41 Boers from a local northern Zululand commando. 58 black support troops were also camped at Kambula, along with 11 Royal Engineers, and 110 men of the number 11 Battery, Royal Artillery and their six 7 pounders. This was a well balanced column, but still about ten percent the size of the nearby Zulu army. The British had a major advantage, they were defending a well constructed and armed with the latest weapons of war. Unlike the other battles, the British had measured out range markers and setup stone cairns painted white. The Zulu would not be able to easily charge Khambula over the open ground, nor climb quickly enough in numbers to attack over the steep eastern edge. Dawn broke on the 29th March 1879 and the Zulu commanders gathered their men. The youngsters demanded the army launch a straightforward charge up the slope to smash the English once and for all, but Chiefs Mnyamana and Ntshingwayo were smarter than that. Both had strict orders from Cetshwayo about tactics, and he’d made it clear there would be no more direct full frontal attack on well dug-in British camps. Mnyamana was more of a diplomat than soldier, if you remember it had been Ntshingwayo who led the men in their victory at Isandhlwana, but Mnyamana was technically the senior commander - so it was he who formed the amabutho into their traditional circle. As the sun lifted over the hills, mist coiled along the White Mfolozi, and thousands of Zulu warriors formed in their regiments on the riverbank. They stood shoulder to shoulder while their commanders strode before them, voices rising, calling them to courage and endurance.

The battles are coming thick and fast because this is the end of the seventh decade of the 19th Century - the British have just been defeated at the Battle of Hlobane mountain on the 28th March. There’s been so much skop skiet and Donner it’s time to reflect on matters further south west Before we buzz back to Zululand next episode. n the Transvaal, resistance to British rule was slowly setting, like mortar hardening between stones, the scattered grievances of the Boers beginning to cohere into something firmer, more deliberate. Far to the west, Kimberley glittered with a different intensity - fortunes were rising from the dust, deals were struck in the heat and noise, and the great hole in the earth swallowed men and money alike. Yet beneath the clangour of picks and the shimmer of diamonds, another current was moving. For even as the town prospered, a sequence of personal tragedies was about to cast a longer shadow over Kimberley shaping not only its mood but the hardening temper of one of its most ambitious young men. Cecil John Rhodes would endure a series of personal blows in the years ahead. These losses did not soften him. If anything, they seemed to harden an already melancholic temperament. One by one, the setbacks accumulated, and the young speculator who often appeared distant in manner would, in time, come to embody the ruthless vanity and moral ambiguity that marked the diamond fields and the empire they fed. The string of tragedies began with his brother Herbert. It was he who had come to South Africa first and started the Cotton farm at Richmond near Pietermaritzburg. And It was he who had impulsively upped and off to Kimberley to look for diamonds. Once these had been unearthed and he’d convinced young Cecil to join him — he upped and off once more to the eastern Transvaal, where gold had been discovered. After a while he tired of that life and began gun running from Delagoa Bay to amaPedi people, then roved about into northern Mozambique and what is Malawi today. He hunted the next gold find everywhere he went, a mad Victorian searching for his personal treasure. Cecil John Rhodes watched and took his own notes. He was already thirsting for power, and now he realised there were two routes. From Barney Barnato he learned the value of politics, and from JB Robinson he came to understand the uses of Journalism. Rhodes wanted something much bigger, and that was a seat in the Cape Parliament. He ran for representative of a rural territory, Barklay West which was a mistake. When he appeared at a meeting one of the local boers told him off “In the first place, you are too young, in the second, you look so damnably like an Englishman…” Rhodes, unlike certain modern politicians, listened. First stage of campaign complete, time for second stage. And here it may surprise many listeners, but he turned to black South Africans because at this time in our history, blacks could vote in the Cape. All they had to do was show they had enough cash, the Cape qualified franchise. Every voter had to show either 25 pounds of land or more in value or prove they received at least 50 pounds a year in income. After disbursing black workers with an unknown sum of money, 250 turned up to vote for Rhodes on election day and largely because of this support, he won. It is truly amazing that Cecil John Rhodes won his seat in the Cape Parliament because of black voters, and would go on to hold that seat in periods of triumph, disgrace and depression, until the day he died.

By mid-March 1879, Cetshwayo kaMpande made another attempt to open talks with Chelmsford, sending his indunas to negotiate for peace — but the British had no appetite for compromise. On the 22nd March two emissaries arrived at Middle Drift, a central crossing between Natal and Zululand, but Chelmsford had already laid out rules that any Zulu representatives should communicate directly with him. Captain Frank Cherry who was He commanding officer of the 3rd Regiment, Natal Native Contingent (NNC), was stationed at Middle Drift. His job was primarily defensive—guarding that specific crossing point against a potential Zulu counter-invasion of Natal. Alongside him, F.B. Fynney - the Border Agent for the Lower Tugela. Fynney was a crucial figure because he was one of the few British officials who was fluent in Zulu and understood the nuances of Zulu diplomacy. The two messengers used their Christian names, Johannes and Klaas. They brought a message from King Cetshwayo that essentially said: "What have I done? I want peace. Let the fighting stop.” They were frigidly received and sent back with a reminder about the terms of the ultimatum before war began. The British were also fully aware that Cetshwayo had called a general muster of his army at oNdini, and believed the two messengers were actually spies. A day later, on the 23rd March, two other messengers arrived in Eshowe but Lieutenant Colonel Pearson ordered them to be clapped into irons — they were spies he said and could not be accorded the traditional sanctity they enjoyed at royal emissaries. Not to be denied, Cetshwayo, who by now had been joined by his main army and he was pondering where to send them. Unfortunately for Colonel Evelyn Wood, the Zulu King decided they should attack his column. After the largely inconsequential but shocking massacre at the Ntombe River we covered last episode, Colonel Wood was in a bit of a bind. He’d lost over 70 men on the 12th March. Still, he had something positive to report to Lord Chelmsford, Cetshwayo’s eldest brother prince Hamu had decided to switch sides and support the British. Many of the men of his amaButho had fought the British at Isandlwana, and Wood promptly recruited these very same men into his column as irregular troops, despite the fact that their spears had been so recently washed by imperial British blood. It is hard to explain how the military works to most people, but battles are not carried out with the hot headedness of hate. So when a soldier wants to swap sides, usually they are debriefed, given a quick training update, checked to ensure they’re not lunatics, and then given their new uniforms and weapons and signed on. They are very useful when it comes to intelligence gathering. Chelmsford was over the moon about Hamu’s move, and believed what he called the “important event” would ‘spread doubt and distrust in Zululand’. Partly to alleviate the pressure on Pearson in Eshowe, and partly because he hoped to capitalise on Hamu’s arrival, Chelmsford gave Wood carte blanche to make an attack on the Zulu. “If you are in a position to make any forward movement about the 27th March, so that the news may reach the neighbourhood of Eshowe about the 29th, I think it might have a good effect…” A relief column was on it’s way from Natal and would soon cross the lower Thukela on its way to Eshowe. Perhaps some kind of victory to the north where Wood was operating would draw Zulu amabutho away. Wood was nothing if not a quick operator. A few days after receiving the order, on the 28th March, he launched a two-pronged attack on the abaQulusi stronghold of Hlobane Mountain. It was risky, not only did he have no idea of how many Zulu warriors faced him, he also had no idea about what lay in store on the summit.

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.