Lieutenant-Colonel Russell commanded the cavalry that scouted ahead of the NNC. They rode well, as British cavalry always did, with the morning sun burning off Zululand’s morning mist and the men tall in the saddle. The Cape Mounted Rifles were in the centre, with Lord Chelmsford and his gorgeously attired staff officers accompanying the striking force to Sihayo’s kraal but remaining in the rear.
“Don’t hurt any women or children,” Chelmsford ordered. “And don’t shoot unless the Zulus fire first.”
“Yes, sir,” Fraser agreed, winking at Andrew.
“We’re at war with Cetshwayo,” Chelmsford reminded. “Not with the Zulu people.”
The riflemen listened, cast a jaundiced eye over the NNC with their heterogeneous collection of NCOs and wondered how they would fare against Zulu warriors.
Chelmsfor
