Now somewhat behind and perhaps half a mile to the right of this hill a long, shallow donga runs across the Isandhlwana plain.  This we gained, and being there reinforced by about fifty of the Natal Carabineers under Captain Bradstreet, held it for a long while, keeping off the Zulus by our terrible fire which cut down scores of them every time they attempted to advance.  At this spot I alone killed from twelve to fifteen of them, for if the big bullet from my Express rifle struck a man, he did not live.  Messengers were sent back to the camp for more ammunition, but none arrived, Heaven knows why.  My own belief is that the reserve cartridges were packed away in boxes and could not be got at.  At last our supply began to run short, so there was nothing to be done except retreat upon the camp which was perhaps half a mile behind us.

Taking advantage of a pause in the Zulu advance which had lain down while waiting for reserves, Colonel Durnford ordered a retirement that was carried out very well.  Up to that time we had lost only quite a few men, for the Zulu fire was wild and high and they had not been able to get at us with the assegai.  As we rode towards the mount I observed that firing was going on in all directions, especially on the nek that connected it with the Nqutu range where Captain Shepstone and his mounted Basutos were wiped out while trying to hold back the Zulu right horn.  The guns, too, were firing heavily and doing great execution.

After this all grew confused.  Colonel Durnford gave orders to certain officers who came up to him, Captain Essex was one and Lieutenant Cochrane another.  Then his force made for their wagons to get more ammunition.  I kept near to the Colonel and a while later found myself with him and a large, mixed body of men a little to the right of the nek which we had crossed in our advance from the river.  Not long afterwards there was a cry of “The Zulus are getting round us!” and looking to the left I saw them pouring in hundreds across the ridge that joins Isandhlwana Mountain to the Nqutu Range.  Also they were advancing straight on to the camp.

Then the rout began.  Already the native auxiliaries were slipping away and now the others followed.  Of course this battle was but a small affair, yet I think that few have been more terrible, at any rate in modern times.  The aspect of those plumed and shielded Zulus as they charged, shouting their war-cries and waving their spears, was awesome.  They were mown down in hundreds by the Martini fire, but still they came on, and I knew that the game was up.  A maddened horde of fugitives, mostly natives, began to flow past us over the nek, making for what was afterwards called Fugitives’ Drift, nine miles away, and with them went white soldiers, some mounted, some on foot.  Mingled with all these people, following them, on either side of them, rushed Zulus, stabbing as they ran.  Other groups of soldiers formed themselves into rough squares, on which the savage warriors broke like water on a rock.  By degrees ammunition ran out; only the bayonet remained.  Still the Zulus could not break those squares.  So they took another counsel.  Withdrawing a few paces beyond the reach of the bayonets, they overwhelmed the soldiers by throwing assegais, then rushed in and finished them.