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In the autumn of 1878 Sir Bartle Frere； the High missioner for South Africa； had arrived in Natal； and towards the end of the year — I think it was in November — he issued his famous ultimatum to the Zulus。
Respecting Sir Bartle as I do； and agreeing with him generally as I do； and sympathising with him from the bottom of my heart as to the shameless treatment which he received from the British party politicians after his policy seemed to have failed and the British arms had suffered defeat； I still think； perhaps erroneously； that this ultimatum was a mistake。 Although the argument is all on his side； I incline to the view that it would have been wiser to remonstrate with the Zulus and trust to the doctrine of chances — for this reason： neither Cetewayo nor his people wished to fight the English； had Cetewayo wished it he would have swept Natal from end to end after our defeat at Isandhlwana。 But what I heard he said at the time was to this effect： “The English are attacking me in my country； and I will defend myself in my country。 I will not send my impis to kill them in Natal； because I and those who went before me have always been good friends with the English。” So it came about that he forbade his generals to cross the boundary of Natal。
Whichever view may be right； the fact remains that the ultimatum was issued and from that moment war became inevitable。 Our generals and soldiers entered on it with the lightest hearts； notwithstanding the difficulties and scarcity of transport they even took with them their cricketing outfit into Zululand。 This I know； since I was missioned to bring home a wicket that was found on the field of Isandhlwana； and return it to the headquarters of the regiment to which it belonged； to be kept as a relic。 The disaster at Isandhlwana I for one expected。 Indeed I remember writing to friends prophesying that it would occur； and their great astonishment when on the same day that they received the letter the telegraph brought the news of that great destruction。 This far…sightedness； however； was not due to my own perspicacity； but to the training that I had received under those who knew the Zulus better than any other men in the world。
One of these； Mr。 Osborn； who afterwards was appointed Resident in Zululand； was so disturbed by what he knew was ing that； after a good deal of reflection he wrote a solemn warning of what would occur to the troops if their plan of advance was persisted in； which warning he sent to Lord Chelmsford through the officer manding at Pretoria。 It was never even acknowledged。 I think that I saw this letter； or； if I did not not； Osborn told me all about it。
The disaster at Isandhlwana occurred on January 22； 1879。 A night or two before it happened a lady whom I knew in Pretoria dreamed a dream which she detailed to me on the following day。 I am sorry to say that I cannot remember all this dream。 What I recall of it is to the effect that she saw a great plain in Zululand on which English troops were camped。 Snow began to fall on the plain； snow that was blood…red； till it buried it and the troops。 Then the snow melted into rivers of blood。
The lady whom it visited was convinced that this dream portended some frightful massacre； but of course it may have sprung from the excited and fearful feeling in the air which naturally affected all who had relatives or friends at the front。
A stranger and more inexplicable occurrence happened to myself。 On the morning of the 23rd of January； which was the day after the slaughter； I saw the Hottentot vrouw who washed our clothes in the garden of “The Palatial” and went out to speak to her。 The fat old woman was in a great state of perturbation； and when I asked her what was the matter； she told me that terrible things had happened in Zululand； that the “rooibatjes；” that is； redcoats； lay upon the plain “like leaves under the trees in winter；” killed by Cetewayo。 I inquired when the event had occurred； and she replied； on the previous day。 I told her that she was speaking falsehoods； since even if it were so no horse could have brought the news over two hundred miles of veld in the course of a single night。 She stuck to her story but refused to tell me how it had been learned by her； and we parted。
The old woman’s manner impressed me so much that I ordered a horse to be saddled and； riding down to the Government offices； repeated what I had heard to Mr。 Osborn and others。 They too said that it was not possible for the tidings to have e to Pretoria in the time。 Still they were uneasy； thinking that something might have happened at an earlier date； and made inquiries without results。 I believe it was twenty hours later that a man on an exhausted horse galloped into Pretoria with the evil news。
How did the old Hottentot woman learn the truth？ It could not have been called from mountain…top to mountain…top after the Kaffir fashion； since the intervening country was high veld where there are no mountains。 I have no explanation to offer； except that the natives have； or had； some almost telegraphic method of conveying news of important events of which the nature is quite unknown to us white men。
The consternation at Pretoria was very great； especially as the news reached us in a much…exaggerated form。 No wonder that we were perturbed； since there were few who had not lost some that were dear to them。 Thus one of Sir Theophilus’s sons was killed； and for a while he thought that three had gone。 Afterwards his skeleton was recognised by some peculiarity connected with his teeth。 Osborn had lost a son…inlaw； and so on。 Personally I knew many of the officers of the 24th who fell； but the one I mourned most was the gallant Coghill； with whom I had bee very friendly when he was at Pretoria as aide…decamp to Sir Arthur Cunynghame。 He was a peculiarly light…hearted young man full of good stories； some of which I remember to this day。
As the reader will remember； he and Melville died back to back in a vain attempt to save the colours of the regiment； which colours were afterwards recovered from the bed of the river。 I would refer any who are interested in this sad history to “The True Story Book；” published by Messrs。 Longmans in 1893； where I have told the tale of Isandhlwana and Rorke’s Drift。 That account may be taken as accurate； for two reasons： first； I was well acquainted with the circumstances at the time and saw many of those concerned in the matter； and； secondly； I sent the proofs to be checked by my friend Colonel Essex； who was one of the three or four officers in the camp who survived the disaster； as subsequently he did those of Laing’s Nek and Ingogo。
I remember that I asked Essex； a man with a charmed life if ever such a gift was granted； what he thought of during that terrible ride from the Place of the Little Hand to the Buffalo River。 He told me that all he could remember was a kind of refrain which came into his mind。 It ran； “Essex； you —— fool； you had a chance of a good billet at home； and now； Essex； you are going to be killed！” The story has a certain grim humour； also it shows how on desperate occasions； as I have noted more than once in life； the stunned intelligence takes refuge in little things。 Everything else is beaten flat； like the sea beneath a tornado； leaving only such bubbles floating in the unnatural calm。
Not very long after this terrible event Sir Theophilus Shepstone was summoned home to confer with the Colonial Office respecting the affairs of the Transvaal； and well do I remember the sorrow with which we parted from him。 I remember also that before this time； when all was going well； in the course of one of those intimate conversations to which he admitted me I congratulated him upon what then appeared to be his great success； and said that he seemed to have everything before him。
“No； my boy；” he answered； shaking his head sadly； “it has e to me too late in life；” and he turned away with a sigh。
As a matter of fact his success proved to be none at all； for he lived to see all his work undone within a year or two and to find himself thrown an offering to the Moloch of our party system； as did his contemporary； Sir Bartle Frere。 And yet after all was it so？ He did what was right； and he did it well。 The exigencies of our home politics； stirred into action by the rebellion of the Boers； appeared to wreck his policy。 At the cost of I know not how many English lives and of how much treasure； that policy was reversed： the country was given back。 What ensued？ A long period of turmoil and difficulties； and then a war which cost us twenty thousand more lives and two hundred and fifty millions more of treasure to bring about what was in practice the same state of affairs that Sir Theophilus Shepstone had established over twenty years before without the firing of a single shot。 A little more wisdom； a little more firmness or foresight； and these events need never have occurred。 They were one of Mr。 Gladstone’s gifts to his country。
But the very fact of their occurrence shows that Shepstone； on whose shoulders everything rested at the time； was right in his premises。 He said in effect that the incorporation of the Transvaal in the Empire was an imperial necessity； and the issue has proved that he did not err。 I say that the course of history has justified Sir Theophilus Shepstone and shown his opponents and detractors to be wrong； as in another case it has justified Charles Gordon and again proved those same opponents and detractors to be wrong。 On their heads be all the wasted lives and wealth。 I am sure that the future will declare that he was right in everything that he did； for if it was not so why is the Transvaal now a Province of the British Empire？ Nothing can explain away the facts； they speak for themselves。
How shocking； how shameless was the treatment meted out to Shepstone personally — I presume for purely political reasons； since I cannot conceive that he had any individual enemies — is well shown by the following letter from him to me which through a pure accident chances to have been discovered by my brother； Sir William Haggard； amongst his own papers。
Pietermaritzburg； Natal：
July 6； 1884。
My dear Haggard； — I am afraid that I cannot take much credit to myself this time for giving you practical proof that I think of you by writing you a letter； for although I do as a matter of fact think of you both； almost as often as old Polly the parrot calls me a “very domde Boer；” an expression which you taught the bird and which it has not forgotten； yet this is essentially a selfish letter written with selfish ends； but let me assure you that it is nevertheless leavened； as strongly as ever； with the same old love。
The fact is that the Treasury at Home have made a fierce and ungenerous attack on my Transvaal accounts； and threaten to surcharge me with all items to the extent of several thousand pounds for which receipts or vouchers of some sort are not forthing。 Among these are two small payments to you： one they call a gratuity of 25 pounds； an acknowledgment of your services to the mission for which you received no pay； and the other 20 pounds as pensation for a horse that died on your journey as missioner to Sikukuni； and I want you to be good enough to send a certificate acknowl