Victoria's Generals Read online

  The new Governor often appeared shy and modest and was certainly prey to self-doubt. Slight in stature, Colley’s receding hairline gave greater prominence to a strong brow, usually taken as a sign of his intellect, though the eyes were said to be soft. For the last three years of his life, he was bearded. His biographer, William Butler, wrote of Colley as having a face ‘beautifully modelled, a strong countenance developed to the utmost and informed with thought’. Musing upon his own career in 1876, Colley remarked that, in his early years, he had ‘worked for ambition’ but, when professor at the Staff College, he had been stimulated by work for its own sake and ‘the influence I felt one could exert upon others by keeping them up to the mark’. Indeed, he still believed work well done gave him greater satisfaction than perceived success. Interestingly, Colley reminded some of the manner of Robert E Lee, and, significantly, Lee was his own ‘greatest military hero’, Colley writing of Lee’s ‘mixture of gentleness and everything that was sweet and tender with the grandest military personal qualities’.22

  In his later years, Colley appears to have been much influenced by his wife, Edith Hamilton, daughter of Major General Henry Meade ‘Tiger’ Hamilton and fifteen years younger than Colley. Edith’s brother, the future Major General Bruce Hamilton, acted as Colley’s aide-de-camp during the Anglo-Transvaal War. The marriage in March 1878, when Colley was 43, had taken many by surprise.23 All recognised Edith’s lively intelligence and Colley was to write from Natal that she ‘seconds me splendidly, and rows or laughs at the people who come to her with long faces or absurd stories’.24 Yet she was also highly ambitious. Evelyn Wood noting in a letter on the very day on which, unknown to him, Colley had been killed, that her ambition for her husband ‘obliterates apparently every thought of the personal danger which he has undergone’. In fact, Edith Colley wrote letters to her husband on both 15 and 24 February 1881 that suggest she did not ‘care a rush for any such rubbish as work or success’ and wished only to see him safe home again.25 Nevertheless, it was widely believed that she had written to Colley after Laing’s Nek and Ingogo to urge him into further action, the letter mysteriously disappearing after his death.26 It was certainly much remarked that when the first train arrived at Pietermaritzburg in October 1880 following completion of the line from Durban – no gold had yet been discovered on the Rand to speed the development of railways in southern Africa – Colley stood on the footplate, but, symbolically, Edith was at the engine’s throttle.27

  Colley was certainly devoted to Edith, writing a touching last letter on 26 February 1881 ‘in case I should not return’. He lamented that he did not believe in an afterlife but concluded, ‘Think of our happiness together, and our love – not a common love I think – and let that be a source of comfort and light to your future life, my own loved one, and think lovingly and sadly, but not too sadly or hopelessly of your affectionate husband.’28 Wolseley, however, subsequently believed that she had married Colley as a matter of convenience rather than love, a conclusion reached in the light of her second marriage, and swift and financially productive separation in 1891.29

  When Colley arrived in South Africa in June 1880, the most pressing problem appeared to be implementing Wolseley’s political settlement of Zululand. Moreover, the Administrator, another Wolseley protégé, Sir Owen Lanyon, misled Colley as to the deteriorating political situation in the Transvaal. British politicians had sought to improve security and commercial integration and progress in southern Africa by correcting the politically fragmented nature of the region through confederation of the white colonies and subjugation of the Zulu kingdom. Wolseley had secured the half-hearted support of the British colonists in Natal for federation in 1875 and a Transvaal bankrupted by a disastrous war with the baPedi had been annexed in April 1877. By assuming protection of the Transvaal, the British had inherited an existing frontier dispute between Boer and Zulu that provided a pretext for the Zulu War. The end of the Zulu threat, however, had not reconciled the Boers to confederation as had been anticipated. Boer resentment had been exacerbated by Lanyon’s strenuous efforts to collect taxes and by the alleged indiscipline of the small British garrisons in the Transvaal. Lanyon simply never realised the extent of Boer dissatisfaction, though the Boers in turn seriously underestimated the willingness of Gladstone’s new Liberal government to make concessions once it took office in April 1880. Indeed, the Cabinet was split between Whigs such as Lords Hartington and Kimberley, determined to retain the Transvaal within the empire, and radicals such as John Bright and Joseph Chamberlain, who wished to be rid of it.30

  As late as 11 December 1880 Lanyon’s assessment was that the Boers were ‘incapable of any united action’ and such ‘mortal cowards’ that ‘anything they may do will be but a spark in the pan’.31 Two days later, a Boer meeting at Paardekraal resolved to re-establish an independent republic, though the proclamation could not be printed for several days. On 16 December shots were fired at British troops in Potchefstroom and, on the following day, Lanyon received a copy of the proclamation: he declared a state of rebellion on 18 December. On 20 December, the Boers ambushed a column of the 94th Foot at Bronkhorstspruit when it was moving towards Pretoria as part of a consolidation there. Of 273 men in the column, 57 were killed, over 100 wounded and all survivors captured. Colley, therefore, found himself faced with a rebellion by over 7,000 armed Boers. Since the British military presence in South Africa had been rapidly reduced after the end of the Zulu War, Colley had only 1,772 men available in Natal. Some 2,839 men from 3 different battalions and a cavalry regiment had been divided between 9 different garrison posts in the Transvaal in August 1880 before Colley initiated a consolidation, abandoning 3 posts and withdrawing 5 companies to Natal prior to the outbreak of hostilities. The six remaining garrisons at Pretoria, Standerton, Lydenburg, Rustenburg, Marabastad and Wakkerstroom were all now besieged by the Boers, together with a small detachment at Potchefstroom.32

  Colley’s dilemma was whether to wait for reinforcements, or to try to relieve the garrisons with the resources he already had available. This in itself might enable him to secure a victory sufficiently decisive to deter the Orange Free State from joining in common cause with the Transvaalers, and also to discourage any native disturbances while British forces were distracted since there was continuing unrest among the Basutos (baSotho) at the time. As Colley wrote to Wolseley on 17 January 1881, ‘I would much like to know whether you at home are blaming my slowness in not moving forward earlier & with a smaller force, or think me rash in attempting to move with so small a one & without waiting for the reinforcements now coming out.’33 In particular, Colley was concerned by the weakness of the British position at Potchefstroom, which he believed could not hold out beyond mid-February.34 Accordingly, he decided to act before the arrival of reinforcements despite wet summer weather that made all movement difficult. As it happened, the 200 or so defenders of Potchefstroom held out for 95 days until forced to surrender through starvation on 21 March. This in itself was a result of deceit on the part of the local Boer commander in not communicating the terms of the armistice following Colley’s death, concluded on 6 March, which provided for re-supply of the besieged garrisons.35

  Though Roberts had a high opinion of Colley’s abilities, he did suggest after Majuba that Colley was ‘one of those men who believes that one Englishman is equal to 3 of any country’. Colley had also once remarked that ‘a British regiment, 1,000 strong, armed with Martini-Henry rifles, ought to be able to march at will through the length and breadth of Afghanistan, when once clear of the Khyber and Kurram Passes’ and there is no doubt that Colley underestimated the Boers’ military capacity.36 Consequently, he believed that his improvised field force of twelve infantry companies drawn from four different battalions and a handful of seamen landed from HMS Boadicea – no more than six companies were engaged in any of the subsequent actions – would be sufficient. A small mounted force was improvised by mounting some of the infantry and drawing upon the Natal Mounted Polic
e since, despite the lack of mounted troops, Colley declined to employ any volunteers against the Boers in the belief that to do so would lead to an unacceptable escalation of the conflict. Certainly, from his Indian experience he was well attuned to political considerations. Thus, he had counselled Roberts strongly against imposing severe reprisals for Louis Cavagnari’s murder once Kabul was reoccupied in October 1879, his judgement that Roberts had no ‘political head’ being entirely justified by the controversial executions Roberts had instituted. Similarly, Colley urged his troops to recognise that the Boers were ‘actuated by feelings that are entitled to our respect’.37

  The only practical route into the Transvaal was through the pass over the Drakensbergs at Laing’s Nek, which the Boers promptly blocked with 2,000 men. Establishing his forward base at Mount Prospect, Colley attempted to ‘try the Boers mettle’.38 However, a frontal assault on 28 January was repulsed with 197 casualties. In some respects, Colley was unlucky in that the planned advance by his improvised mounted force on the Boers’ left flank was launched prematurely, veered in the wrong direction and was not supported by a second line. The infantry, principally the 58th Foot, was left exposed to Boer fire as it advanced up a steep slope and lost heavily: it was the last occasion on which regimental colours were carried into action. Colley also lost several members of his own staff whom he allowed to lead the troops into action.39 When setting out for Majuba, indeed, Colley was to decline to wake his sleeping brother-in-law, Bruce Hamilton, on the grounds that there was ‘a kind of fatality’ about his staff.40 Writing later to Wolseley, Colley admitted that the assault had been hazardous without an adequate mounted force but that anything was ‘better than standing still’, though he also suggested that, if faced with the same situation, he would conduct the battle in exactly the same way. He felt keenly the loss of ‘good men & personal friends’ and the effect that the delay would have on the besieged garrisons.41

  Characteristically, though perhaps unadvisedly, Colley addressed his force, taking the blame for the losses and suggesting that he would now await reinforcements, one observer remarking that Colley ‘was a great hand at making speeches’.42 On 8 February, however, Colley was compelled to attempt to reopen his line of communications back to Newcastle when the Boers placed a force across it at Ingogo (Schuinshoogte). Colley found himself surrounded on a small plateau by a more mobile Boer force and suffered another 150 casualties before withdrawing under cover of a violent thunderstorm. It was a chastening experience with more of his staff killed, Colley writing to his sister that, ‘I have to look cheerful and I dare say am thought callous, and to-day am presiding at some races and sports, but sometimes it is hard not to break down.’43

  Evelyn Wood, who had agreed to serve as Colley’s second in command, though senior in rank, disembarked at Durban on 12 February and arrived at Newcastle with a small column five days later. Colley, who rode back to meet Wood, made it clear that he wanted to take the Nek himself, but promised to wait until Wood brought up further troops. It was a decision he also conveyed to the Duke of Cambridge, indicating he felt no decisive success could now be obtained without cavalry.44 Apparently believing that he must restore British prestige, however, Colley resolved upon seizing Majuba, a commanding height comprising a plateau some 2,000ft above Laing’s Nek that seemed to dominate the Boer positions, though actually so high as not to threaten them directly.

  Gladstone’s government had begun negotiations with the Boers secretly and without informing Colley even before the action at Laing’s Nek. The reverse there and at Ingogo strengthened the hands of the radicals, who favoured continuing negotiations even from a position of weakness, whereas the Whigs within the Cabinet would have preferred attempting to achieve further leverage through success. On 16 February, therefore, Colley was instructed to offer an armistice and an inquiry by a Royal Commission into Boer grievances, but given discretion to act as he felt fit, with the proviso that ‘we are anxious for your making arrangements to avoid effusion of blood’.45 Understandably, Colley enquired whether he was intended to leave Laing’s Nek in the possession of the Boers and to abandon his garrisons, to which the government replied that the garrisons should be enabled to provision themselves but Colley should not march to their relief or occupy Laing’s Nek. On 21 February Colley indicated to the Boers that hostilities would be suspended if they were prepared to accept an armistice and a Royal Commission, adding in effect a 48-hour ultimatum to the terms being offered on his own initiative. No reply was received as President Kruger was travelling within the Transvaal without having delegated authority to anyone else to act on his behalf: he was only to receive Colley’s offer on 28 February. With no reply received, Colley felt free to initiate the decisive move that he believed would end the war with a minimum of bloodshed by seizing Majuba as a legitimate means of improving British leverage. Moreover, as he wrote to Wolseley, he wanted to reverse the ‘deep & permanent injury’ to British prestige stemming from Laing’s Nek before the government could end the campaign.46

  Majuba, 1881

  Colley’s interest in Majuba was first noticed on 26 February by Thomas Carter, the war correspondent of the Natal Times, who saw him and his new Chief of Staff, Herbert Stewart, observing it intently through their field glasses. It might be noted in passing that, compared to some other commanders, Colley had a relaxed view of the presence of the press in the field.47 In fact, Colley had undertaken a mounted reconnaissance with Stewart two days earlier, in which they had rode well to the west into the Transvaal to observe the other side of the mountain. The Boers were further entrenching at Laing’s Nek but Majuba was as yet unoccupied save for a picquet during the day that was withdrawn each evening.

  Colley chose 2 companies of the 58th, 3 companies of the 3rd/60th Rifles, 2 companies of the 92nd and a naval contingent, the whole including staff totalling 30 officers and 568 men.48 En route to the summit, Colley detached 2 companies of the 3/60th and 1 of the 92nd to guard his line of communication, reaching the top with 19 officers and 383 men. No artillery or machine-guns were taken due to the precipitous nature of the terrain and it is doubtful if rocket tubes would have proved any more useful. Presumably, Colley took a mixed force in order to allow all to share in the expected victory, though some suggested that it was also intended to give as much prominence to the short-service recruits of the 58th as to the long-service veterans of the 92nd, who had been landed in South Africa while on their way back home from India, where they had served for thirteen years. Lieutenant Ian Hamilton of the 92nd certainly thought so: ‘Well then, let the tiny force be so thoroughly well shuffled and mixed up that the Devil himself would be unable to say what these victorious troops were – long-service or short-service, soldiers or sailors.’49 Certainly, the impact of short service, introduced as part of the Cardwell reforms between 1868 and 1872, was still hotly contested between conservative elements such as Cambridge and reformers like Wolseley. The composition of the force meant, however, that it lacked cohesion.

  After an 8-hour climb to the summit on the night of 26 February 1881, Colley felt his men too tired to entrench and, although the extent of their fatigue was questioned subsequently, in any case, he and Herbert Stewart believed the position impregnable. Colley is said to have remarked, ‘We could stay here for ever.’ Carter of the Natal Times asked one man why he was merely piling a few stones on top of each other, to be told, ‘Oh, it’s all right sir, it’s good enough for what we shall want up here.’50 As the light improved about 0500, several Highlanders stood on the edge, gesturing at the Boers below, and a few shots were fired to Colley’s annoyance. Some Boers began to break camp but at about 0700 some 200 other Boers began to scale the heights. Eventually, some 450 Boers were involved in storming the British position, while 150 others rode round the bottom of Majuba to cut off the force on the summit, making skilful use of a considerable amount of dead ground.

  Plan of the battle of Majuba, 27 February 1881.

  Plan of the battles of Laing’s Ne
k, Schuinshoogte and Majuba, 1881.

  Herbert Stewart was still unconcerned when sending a signal at 0930 to the effect that the Boers were wasting ammunition and Colley showed little interest when Ian Hamilton reported to him that the Boers were working their way up the hill, pinning down defenders who showed themselves with accurate musketry. Subsequently, Colley, Stewart and Commander Romilly of the Naval Detachment did go to look down the hill at about 1100, at which point Romilly was mortally wounded but, when Hamilton again went to report to Colley at about 1300, the latter was taking a short nap and could not be disturbed. By 1330, however, the Boers were reaching the edge of the rim of the plateau and, when Hamilton requested permission to charge, Colley responded that he would wait until the Boers were advancing before ordering a volley and charge. In reality, whether or not a charge would have worked, the moment had been lost and, with no defensive line prepared, some of the defenders began to fall back to the centre of the plateau. According to Carter, there was a ‘sudden piercing cry of terror’ and the British line broke.51

  Colley was seen moving forward and firing his revolver while shouting encouragement to his men. There were some later suggestions that Colley committed suicide, was shot in the back while running or killed while waving a white handkerchief in surrender. The most reliable account suggests he was shot at close range above the right eye while still advancing on the Boers.52 Evelyn Wood subsequently obtained Colley’s helmet and wrote to Edith Colley that it showed clearly that Colley had been shot while facing the enemy, to which she replied tersely that the position of her late husband’s head when he was shot was of no interest to her as she had ‘never heard him charged with any fault in regard of personal courage except having it in excess’.53 In all, Colley’s force suffered 275 casualties, including 92 officers and men killed, 131 wounded, an additional 50 men captured and 2 missing; the Boers reputedly lost only 2 dead and 4 wounded. The prisoners from the 92nd included another future general, the then Lieutenant Hector MacDonald.