Captain D'Arcy, of Irregular Horse, thus briefly and forcibly sums up his experience of Zlobane:—"Now to give you a short account. Three hundred and fifty of the mounted men had to take a very strong position, a hill called the Zlobane. We got up there, driving the natives back at every point, although they fought very well. Williams was killed as we charged up the hill, the baron on the top when he was in command of his troop; a Zulu spotted him from a hole, right through his head. Barton was sent down a hill with some of C Troop, and just as we got down we saw about 20,000 Zulus below us, trying to get between us and the camp. We at once crossed the hill to come down a most fearfully steep place; the Dutchmen got to the place, rushed down, and bolted as hard as they could go. My troop was leading, and Blaine, myself, and Hutton got them to go quietly down the hill, which was really a fearful place. I had, of course, to stop on the top of the hill, as we were retreating; the Zulus all this time were giving us awful pepper from Martini rifles. I saw, I thought, all our men down, and then considered I had to think of myself. I got half-way down, when a stone about the size of a small piano came bounding down. I heard a shout above, 'Look out below,' and down the beastly thing came right on my horse's leg, cutting it right off. I at the same time got knocked down the hill by another horse, and was nearly squeezed to death. I had taken the bridle off, and was about to take the saddle (I mean I was going up the hill to take it off my horse), when I heard a scream; I looked up, and saw the Zulus right in among the white men, stabbing horses and men. I made a jump for it, and got down somehow or other, and ran as hard as I could with seventy rounds of ball cartridge, a carbine, revolver, field-glass, and heavy boots. I went some 300 yards, when a fellow called Francis got a horse for me, but no saddle or bridle—a rein did for both; when one of the Frontier Light Horse got wounded through the leg, and I had to jump off, put him on my horse, and run again. Colonel Buller saved my life by taking me up behind him on his horse; then Blaine, who had been keeping the natives off in the rear, saw me (as after I got my breath I got off the colonel's horse), and he nearly cried when he met me, all the fellows thinking I had been killed on the top of the hill. He behaved as he always does, and stuck to me, and pulled me through the second time. The third time a major in the artillery, Tremlett by name, took me up behind. Our men and officers all behaved well, but the other volunteers were what Major Robinson would call a big rabble. We lost ninety-three white men and a number of natives. The Frontier Light Horse lost three officers and twenty-four non-commissioned officers and men, and sixty-six horses. Each of our men arrived in camp with another man behind him."