The British invaded Zululand in three columns. I rode out with my twenty riflemen to watch what the British called the No 3 or Central Column. It was the 11th January 1879, early in the morning, with mist and rain drenching us as the British crossed the Buffalo River.
“My river,” I said, watching the British set up a battery of artillery to cover the crossing. They sent over a troop of mounted NNC first, with the current sweeping half-a-dozen away, so their drowned bodies bobbed and tossed downstream. Nobody made any attempt to save them.
“All the less for us to kill,” one of my men said.
When the NNC horsemen rode on patrols on our side of the Buffalo, a red-coated British infantry regiment crossed on flat-bottomed punts. I watched them, recognising the 24th Foot, veterans of the war a
