The most disastrous and cruel war of modern times was the war in Zululand. It was marked by serious blunder and mismanagement; it involved an enormous expenditure of money, it sacrificed a fearful number of valuable lives, and it had for its object the crushing

of a fine race of savages; men capable of displaying tact, valour, humanity, and judgment in common with their civilised conquerors. The most "glorious" engagement in the whole campaign, under the commandership of Lord Chelmsford, was the battle of Ulundi, when 1,000 Zulus were slain as against 10 British. The most inglorious engagement was that of Isandula, where the Zulus totally defeated the British, slaying nearly 1,000 of our officers and men.

We speak of disaster and failure and inglorious warfare only as regards those who made the war and undertook its management. Our brave soldiers acted as bravely as ever men acted in any war; implicitly obeying orders which they knew must end in failure, marching calmly into the jaws of death, enduring hardships innumerable without complaint, and entering into the conflict of battle with genuine enthusiasm, notwithstanding the fact that the sympathies of many were not in the cause.

One episode in that war introduces us to as magnificent a piece of heroism as is to be found in the history of any war. In order to appreciate it fully, the disasters which preceded it must be briefly narrated.

On the morning of the 22nd of January, 1879, Lord Chelmsford, the commander, marched off at dawn from the camp at Isandula, in the enemy's country, in order to reconnoitre the Zulu stronghold in the Nahazukazi mountains, leaving the camp in the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Pulleine with the 1st Battalion of the 24th Regiment, with strict but indefinite instructions to defend the camp. Colonel Durnford, who was at Rorke's Drift, received instructions to join Colonel Pulleine, and at about ten in the

morning he arrived at Isandula with a party of 250 mounted natives and a rocket battery, and assumed the command. The number in camp amounted to about 700 whites and 800 natives.

Early in the morning large bodies of natives had been seen on the tops of distant hills; various reports came in at intervals, and by the time Colonel Durnford arrived it was stated that the enemy were retiring in all directions. Durnford thereupon requested Pulleine to let him have two companies of the 24th, but to this he objected, on the ground that his instructions were "to defend the camp." Durnford left without any detachment of the 24th, and proceeded for about five miles towards the hills, and discovering a Zulu regiment, fired on them. It was not intended by the Zulus to attack until the morrow; the British were not in a position to resist an attack at the time when hostilities were commenced. But the storm was raised, and sweeping down upon Durnford and his men came the enemy in swarms like bees. When Pulleine saw the extreme peril of Durnford he ordered out his infantry and guns. But they were impotent to stay the mighty host of armed men pouring down upon them on all sides. The Zulu force was composed of 20,000 to 25,000 men. Had distinct instructions been given, had Durnford stuck by the camp, had the waggons been properly parked-in short, had there not been a series of terrible misunderstandings throughout, the catastrophe might have been avoided. As it was, the Zulus extended their flanks for three miles on each side, and gradually closed in upon our men, who stood back to back and fired until the guns they held blistered their hands. Some who were near the sprints dipped their rifles into the water to cool them. They had seventy rounds of ammunition each man; as long as this lasted they kept the Zulus at bay. The enemy fell by hundreds at every volley, but still came on like wave succeeding wave, and "dashed against the few white troops as the breaking of the sea against a rock!" Then, when the ammunition was exhausted, came the last order, "Fix bayonets, men, and die like English soldiers." Fearful was that last struggle; gallantly they fought as only British soldiers can fight, and nobly they died. But it was a massacre, the most ghastly that had ever happened; the Zulus bore down upon our men by thousands, and with the assegai completely overwhelmed and slaughtered them where they stood, with the exception of a few mounted men who managed to escape and swim the river. And so perished nearly 1,000 of our brave British soldiers and over 500 of our native allies!

While this massacre was going forward, Lord Chelmsford, who was only about a dozen miles off, had heard firing, and was apparently aware that a serious conflict of some sort was in progress; he had observed that "some of the tents had disappeared," but no suspicion of the terrible disaster that had befallen the troops seems to have crossed his mind. He arranged the next head-quarters camp, and in the afternoon was turning his horse's head towards Isandula, when a solitary horseman was seen approaching. It was Commandant Lonsdale, who in a few brief words told the pitiful story-"The camp in the possession of the enemy, sir." Then came the dreadful details. Commandant Lonsdale had been ill, and was quietly returning to camp, when a bullet whizzed past him. Thinking it was only one of the Native Contingent carelessly firing off his rifle, he took no heed, and advanced towards the camp, where he saw the red coats in large

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numbers sitting about by the tents. One of them he saw was a Zulu in European garments, and with a bloody assegai in his hand. His suspicions were aroused, and gazing intently he saw that black men, and black men only, were the wearers of the red coats. Then the horrible truth flashed across his mind, and his eyes looked on the melancholy confirmation of his fears, for there lay the dead in masses. Without for an instant losing his presence of mind, he leisurely turned his pony round, and then galloped off at full speed and escaped, though a hundred and fifty shots were fired at him. Ill as he was he urged on his pony until he came up to the General, and thus by warning him in time saved his life and the lives of all with him; for had it not been for Commandant Lonsdale's timely warning they would have gone back to the camp and have been slaughtered to a man. Lord Chelmsford then called his men together, told them of the fearful disaster, and that they had nothing to do but to cut their way through the enemy. Then when reinforcements had arrived the General placed his men in battle order, and marched towards the fated camp. But the enemy had withdrawn, and the men lay down for the night in the midst of one of the most ghastly scenes the eye of mortal had ever gazed upon-an army dead, mutilated!

Next morning Lord Chelmsford pushed on at daybreak to Rorke's Drift. What had been happening there was a glorious contrast to the events which had culminated in the most terrible disaster that had ever befallen the British arms.

On the 22nd of January, that day of destruction, Lieutenant Chard, of the Royal Engineers, was left in charge of the commissariat camp at Rorke's Drift. On that same day he was called upon to give proof that he possessed in a remarkable degree those qualities which characterise a distinguished soldier, and to display heroic valour such as has never been excelled.

Rorke's Drift was between Isandula and Natal, and remote from the possibility of succour. A handful of British soldiers were here, established in two undefended houses, one of which served as a hospital. There was no thought of quickly impending danger; no surmise of the disaster which had happened to the main body beyond the flowing river.

Lieutenant Chard was watching at the "ponts" on the stream, the sole guard for which consisted of six or eight men, when suddenly two men shouted excitedly across the river. They were at once ferried across, and soon they told the startling story of the fate of Durnford and Pulleine, and the destruction of their men. Nor was this all-the intelligence was added that the Zulus in tremendous force were close upon them on their way, flushed with victory, to the destruction of Natal.

The news had also reached Lieutenant Bromhead, who was at the commissariat stores, and thither Chard repaired, and found that Bromhead, prompt and ready for the occasion as himself, had already begun to loophole the houses and construct barricades with mealiebags. Calmly but resolutely all the men set to work; the immature fortification was completed; a wall of biscuit-boxes two high served as an entrenchment; every man was instructed in the particular post he was to occupy; and at the end of a couple of hours swarms of Zulus, their hands red with the blood of their conquered enemies, pushed forward from the south, and dashed towards that apparently weak little company in overwhelming numbers.

But their onslaught was arrested by a heavy and well-directed fire. Again and again they rushed forward, and again they had to fall back. Then some took to cover, while others swept round to the rear; but from every point they occupied, after desperate struggles, they were repulsed. Maddened at this failure after their recent victory, they banded together in vast numbers and moved up so closely as to touch the muzzles of the guns of the besieged. Then came a hand-to-hand encounter-bayonet and assegai-such

LIEUTENANT CHARD.

as had never before been known in that land. For a time the gallant defenders were forced to retire behind their biscuit-boxes: then the hospital was set on fire by the foe, and the critical moment of the struggle came. But all were equal to it; room after room was defended-the sick who were able to stand took part in the des perate defence, and in the midst of the deadly strife a redoubt made of mealie-bags was constructed, giving a second line of fire all round.

All through that evening and all through that night the gallant little band of 139 men kept at bay 3,000 Zulus, and at four in the morning the foe gave up the contest, having lost more than three times the number of the besieged. When they were strengthening their position ready to resist further conflict, Lord Chelmsford arrived upon the scene, and learned the story of the most gallant defence in our military annals.

Although he only gave scant meed of praise in the commonplace words, "Thank you all very much for your very gallant defence," when the news reached England the voice of the whole nation rang out their nobly-earned praise, and it was felt that the war was not unmingled disaster and disgrace with this one luminous episode in it.

The official report of Lieutenant Chard is a model of what a report should be, and stands out in striking contrast to reports of those higher in authority than he. At the risk of repeating some of the incidents already narrated, we give the report almost in its entirety, as it shows the man's nobility of character, and in little touches and graphic phrases sets before the reader a picture of the whole scene. Moreover, it is