Colonial Capers Of Mad King Ruprecht the Fish.
Created | Updated Jan 22, 2003
South Africa, 1879.
My military genius and courage in the face of the enemy are already well documented.
So it was with no small measure of surprise to all that I decided to reliquish my commission and turn my hands to other matters of the Empire. As the hero of Little Bighorn and Balaclava I had my pick of the services and so chose the tranquil setting of the South African colonies, trusting that this would provide me with a much needed repose from my exertions. As a final coup de grace I enlisted in the Queens Own Royal Engineers and secured a posting to an idyllic little outpost along the Buffalo River known locally as Rorkes Drift.
So you can imagine my indignant vexation when my holiday was kiboshed by the unheralded appearence of four thousand heavily armed Zulu warriors, fresh from a rampage of bloodlust that had annihilated Durnfords army at Isandhlwana and were now eager to aquaint themselves with anyone else attired in red jacket and pith helmet.
They appeared in a loose skirmish formation and rushed our little redoubt in a vicious tide of shields and spears, all the time chanting and singing in an eerie and unsettling manner. Huddled in my position behind the hastily constructed mealie bag breastworks I kept up a steady rate of fire with my faithful Martini-Henry rifle; the Zulus thronging about our defences in such tremendous numbers that every bullet found its mark.
Somewhere a lone soldier began singing the first bars of 'Men of Harlech' and I was faced with little option but to turn and shoot him through the throat before morale could be damaged any further by tuneless Welsh gibberish. Alas, I paid dearly for this distraction for as I returned to my firing step I was overwhelmed by dozens of wild eyed warriors and felt the full force of a wickedly tipped assegai hurled directly at my heart.
As I was torn from the wall I observed that providence was assuredly on my side, for the keen bladed spear had pierced my Bible: cutting a swathe from Genesis through Revelations and terminating just shy of By Thee Same Author.
Offering up a small prayer to my heavenly benefactor I rose once more to the challenge and took the fight back to the enemy.
Sadly, the following seven hundred throwing spears owed much more to Zulu accuracy than poetic fancy.
My military genius and courage in the face of the enemy are already well documented.
So it was with no small measure of surprise to all that I decided to reliquish my commission and turn my hands to other matters of the Empire. As the hero of Little Bighorn and Balaclava I had my pick of the services and so chose the tranquil setting of the South African colonies, trusting that this would provide me with a much needed repose from my exertions. As a final coup de grace I enlisted in the Queens Own Royal Engineers and secured a posting to an idyllic little outpost along the Buffalo River known locally as Rorkes Drift.
So you can imagine my indignant vexation when my holiday was kiboshed by the unheralded appearence of four thousand heavily armed Zulu warriors, fresh from a rampage of bloodlust that had annihilated Durnfords army at Isandhlwana and were now eager to aquaint themselves with anyone else attired in red jacket and pith helmet.
They appeared in a loose skirmish formation and rushed our little redoubt in a vicious tide of shields and spears, all the time chanting and singing in an eerie and unsettling manner. Huddled in my position behind the hastily constructed mealie bag breastworks I kept up a steady rate of fire with my faithful Martini-Henry rifle; the Zulus thronging about our defences in such tremendous numbers that every bullet found its mark.
Somewhere a lone soldier began singing the first bars of 'Men of Harlech' and I was faced with little option but to turn and shoot him through the throat before morale could be damaged any further by tuneless Welsh gibberish. Alas, I paid dearly for this distraction for as I returned to my firing step I was overwhelmed by dozens of wild eyed warriors and felt the full force of a wickedly tipped assegai hurled directly at my heart.
As I was torn from the wall I observed that providence was assuredly on my side, for the keen bladed spear had pierced my Bible: cutting a swathe from Genesis through Revelations and terminating just shy of By Thee Same Author.
Offering up a small prayer to my heavenly benefactor I rose once more to the challenge and took the fight back to the enemy.
Sadly, the following seven hundred throwing spears owed much more to Zulu accuracy than poetic fancy.
