![WietsJBuys's tweet photo. THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER: 16 December 1838
From the historical epic: 1838: Blood, Freedom, and the Boer Identity / 1838: Bloed, Vryheid en die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2025). 1838: Blood, freedom, and the Boer identity. Wiets J. Buys. p.269-275
[Sunday, 16 December 1838]
The darkness stretched endlessly before them as the Boers, even before the first hint of dawn on December 16th, heard the Zulu army approaching to attack. Outside the laager, the darkness seemed alive, shifting and rustling.
The Zulu forces advanced from the east, across the plain beyond the Ncome River.
Inside the laager, the Boers held their positions in tense silence, rifles ready, eyes straining to pierce the night.
The first glimmer of daybreak spreading across the horizon revealed the Zulu army. The White Shield regiments positioned themselves on the far side of the river, while the Black and Red Shields crossed the Ncome at the fords, encircling the laager.
A collective gasp rippled through the Boer ranks.
Thousands. Tens of thousands. Their dark bodies gleamed with war medicine, their shields moving like a tide across the landscape. Their spears caught the light of the rising sun, creating a thousand glittering reflections.
One Boer, awestruck by the formidable spectacle unfolding before him, whispered, "What a sight!"
No one laughed. Every man in the laager knew what was coming.
Hans de Lange, his rifle held firmly, and three other muskets neatly laid beside him, knelt low beside a wagon. His breath was shallow, his heart hammered in his chest, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Then came the sound: a soft, deep, rumbling murmur. The murmur grew to a growl, the growl to a chant, and the chant to a deafening thunder of war cries.
The Red and Black Shields, under Nzobo kaSobadli, known as Dambuza, launched their first massed assaults on the laager from the northwest and the north, regiment after regiment.
Yet, the Boers did not fire. Not yet.
The warriors closed the distance. Five hundred meters. Their assegais flashed in the sunlight.
Three hundred meters. Their war cries intensified, deafening, bloodcurdling.
Two hundred meters. The ground trembled beneath their pounding feet.
One hundred meters. Some Boers gritted their teeth, others closed their eyes for a moment.
Fifty meters.
"Fire!" Pretorius's voice roared like thunder.
The laager erupted in a blinding storm of fire and smoke. The first line of Zulus collapsed as the volley tore through them. But their attack did not stop.
A second volley thundered. More warriors fell, but the momentum of the assault carried them forward.
A third volley. Some Zulus reached within ten meters of the wagons. The Boers could see their eyes, wild and bloodthirsty.
Then the cannons roared.
Grietjie, the Boers' faithful small cannon, spewed a devastating storm of fire and iron. The shot ripped gaps in the Zulu ranks, bodies flew into the air, and the ground became soaked with blood. Yet the warriors, undaunted, surged forward.
The second assault crashed against the laager like a thunderstorm. The Red and Black Shields pushed forward with desperate force, trying to breach the wagon wall. Some Zulu warriors, their bodies smeared with blood, climbed over their fallen comrades to reach the Boer defenses.
Pieter Jacobs struck down a warrior who had grabbed the edge of a wagon. Another Boer swung the butt of his rifle into the face of an attacker trying to pull himself up.
The battle raged for two hours. The Boers repelled three major assaults, but the Zulus' relentless tactics began to take their toll. Ammunition was being consumed at an alarming rate.
Through the choking smoke and gunpowder haze, Pretorius saw in the distance that Ndlela Ntuli was holding back his White Shield regiments. The Zulu plan was now clear: exhaust the Boers, break their resilience, and then send in the final wave to crush them.
"We can't continue like this," Pretorius thought aloud.
Pretorius realized he would have to change the course of the battle, because if it continued in this manner, the Boers would run out of ammunition.
The time for defense was over.
"Hans, get your men ready! We're riding out!" Pretorius's voice cracked like a whip across the laager.
Hans needed no further command. He snapped into action, his shouts rallying the men. In a blur of motion, they were mounted, every man tense with anticipation.
"Open the gate!" Pretorius bellowed. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, leading a thundering commando directly into the fray, straight for the heart of the White Shields.
The attack stunned the Zulu commanders.
When the veteran White Shield regiments were drawn into the battle prematurely, the Zulu generals' battle plan collapsed.
Then, from the western bank of the river, another commando under Bart Pretorius attacked the Zulus' exposed flank.
The deadly fire from the Boers caused confusion among the dense masses of Zulu soldiers.
Suddenly, the mighty Zulu army faltered. The unwavering formations dissolved into chaos, and warriors turned and fled in disarray.
Those who desperately tried to escape across the river were cut down by the dozens.
Many Zulus who fled into the donga crowded together so tightly that they could barely move or climb out, and there the Boers' close-range rifle fire inflicted heavy losses.
The Boers pursued the fleeing Zulus in mounted groups, decisively turning the tide of the battle in their favor.
Three thousand Zulu warriors lay dead around the laager, in the donga, and along the river. The Ncome River, once calm, now flowed red with blood - Blood River...
Andries Pretorius, still on horseback, surveyed the devastated battlefield. Gunpowder smoke drifted across the land. The sun shone brightly. The Vow had been fulfilled.
Hans drew his horse alongside Pretorius.
“They never wanted to stop attacking," he said hoarsely, his voice raw from the commands he had shouted throughout the battle.
Pretorius nodded grimly. "They were fearless. But not invincible."
"They believed they would win," Pretorius said as he dismounted. "Just like us."
He walked towards Cilliers, who was gathering the exhausted Boers. The time had come to give thanks, to honor the Almighty.
Under the open sky, amidst the remnants of the battle, the Boers knelt.
Sarel Cilliers stood before them, his voice clear and steady. "We vowed to the Almighty that if He delivered us, we would commemorate this day forever."
"A day of thanksgiving. A Sabbath of remembrance."
All the men agreed unanimously. They held their hats respectfully in their hands, their eyes fixed on the blood-stained ground.
Cilliers raised his hands. "And so we give thanks."
"Not for the lives that were lost, but for the lives that were spared. For the freedom we have received today through God's grace."
He bowed his head in prayer, and the Boers prayed gratefully with him.
The wind carried their prayers across the battlefield, past the fallen Zulu warriors, over the blood-reddened Ncome River, and up to the vast African sky.
The Battle of Blood River was over.
The Vow, a testament to faith and sacrifice, would live on forever in the hearts of generations.
NOTE:
Get the documented factual history of the THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER - from the lead-up and the battle itself to the aftermath from:
The Creation of the Boer Identity / Die Skepping van die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2024). The Creation of the Boer identity: The Truth about the Boer Heritage. Wiets J. Buys. p.226-236](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/G8P1GtBa4AMBvp1.jpg)
![WietsJBuys's tweet photo. THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER: 16 December 1838
From the historical epic: 1838: Blood, Freedom, and the Boer Identity / 1838: Bloed, Vryheid en die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2025). 1838: Blood, freedom, and the Boer identity. Wiets J. Buys. p.269-275
[Sunday, 16 December 1838]
The darkness stretched endlessly before them as the Boers, even before the first hint of dawn on December 16th, heard the Zulu army approaching to attack. Outside the laager, the darkness seemed alive, shifting and rustling.
The Zulu forces advanced from the east, across the plain beyond the Ncome River.
Inside the laager, the Boers held their positions in tense silence, rifles ready, eyes straining to pierce the night.
The first glimmer of daybreak spreading across the horizon revealed the Zulu army. The White Shield regiments positioned themselves on the far side of the river, while the Black and Red Shields crossed the Ncome at the fords, encircling the laager.
A collective gasp rippled through the Boer ranks.
Thousands. Tens of thousands. Their dark bodies gleamed with war medicine, their shields moving like a tide across the landscape. Their spears caught the light of the rising sun, creating a thousand glittering reflections.
One Boer, awestruck by the formidable spectacle unfolding before him, whispered, "What a sight!"
No one laughed. Every man in the laager knew what was coming.
Hans de Lange, his rifle held firmly, and three other muskets neatly laid beside him, knelt low beside a wagon. His breath was shallow, his heart hammered in his chest, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Then came the sound: a soft, deep, rumbling murmur. The murmur grew to a growl, the growl to a chant, and the chant to a deafening thunder of war cries.
The Red and Black Shields, under Nzobo kaSobadli, known as Dambuza, launched their first massed assaults on the laager from the northwest and the north, regiment after regiment.
Yet, the Boers did not fire. Not yet.
The warriors closed the distance. Five hundred meters. Their assegais flashed in the sunlight.
Three hundred meters. Their war cries intensified, deafening, bloodcurdling.
Two hundred meters. The ground trembled beneath their pounding feet.
One hundred meters. Some Boers gritted their teeth, others closed their eyes for a moment.
Fifty meters.
"Fire!" Pretorius's voice roared like thunder.
The laager erupted in a blinding storm of fire and smoke. The first line of Zulus collapsed as the volley tore through them. But their attack did not stop.
A second volley thundered. More warriors fell, but the momentum of the assault carried them forward.
A third volley. Some Zulus reached within ten meters of the wagons. The Boers could see their eyes, wild and bloodthirsty.
Then the cannons roared.
Grietjie, the Boers' faithful small cannon, spewed a devastating storm of fire and iron. The shot ripped gaps in the Zulu ranks, bodies flew into the air, and the ground became soaked with blood. Yet the warriors, undaunted, surged forward.
The second assault crashed against the laager like a thunderstorm. The Red and Black Shields pushed forward with desperate force, trying to breach the wagon wall. Some Zulu warriors, their bodies smeared with blood, climbed over their fallen comrades to reach the Boer defenses.
Pieter Jacobs struck down a warrior who had grabbed the edge of a wagon. Another Boer swung the butt of his rifle into the face of an attacker trying to pull himself up.
The battle raged for two hours. The Boers repelled three major assaults, but the Zulus' relentless tactics began to take their toll. Ammunition was being consumed at an alarming rate.
Through the choking smoke and gunpowder haze, Pretorius saw in the distance that Ndlela Ntuli was holding back his White Shield regiments. The Zulu plan was now clear: exhaust the Boers, break their resilience, and then send in the final wave to crush them.
"We can't continue like this," Pretorius thought aloud.
Pretorius realized he would have to change the course of the battle, because if it continued in this manner, the Boers would run out of ammunition.
The time for defense was over.
"Hans, get your men ready! We're riding out!" Pretorius's voice cracked like a whip across the laager.
Hans needed no further command. He snapped into action, his shouts rallying the men. In a blur of motion, they were mounted, every man tense with anticipation.
"Open the gate!" Pretorius bellowed. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, leading a thundering commando directly into the fray, straight for the heart of the White Shields.
The attack stunned the Zulu commanders.
When the veteran White Shield regiments were drawn into the battle prematurely, the Zulu generals' battle plan collapsed.
Then, from the western bank of the river, another commando under Bart Pretorius attacked the Zulus' exposed flank.
The deadly fire from the Boers caused confusion among the dense masses of Zulu soldiers.
Suddenly, the mighty Zulu army faltered. The unwavering formations dissolved into chaos, and warriors turned and fled in disarray.
Those who desperately tried to escape across the river were cut down by the dozens.
Many Zulus who fled into the donga crowded together so tightly that they could barely move or climb out, and there the Boers' close-range rifle fire inflicted heavy losses.
The Boers pursued the fleeing Zulus in mounted groups, decisively turning the tide of the battle in their favor.
Three thousand Zulu warriors lay dead around the laager, in the donga, and along the river. The Ncome River, once calm, now flowed red with blood - Blood River...
Andries Pretorius, still on horseback, surveyed the devastated battlefield. Gunpowder smoke drifted across the land. The sun shone brightly. The Vow had been fulfilled.
Hans drew his horse alongside Pretorius.
“They never wanted to stop attacking," he said hoarsely, his voice raw from the commands he had shouted throughout the battle.
Pretorius nodded grimly. "They were fearless. But not invincible."
"They believed they would win," Pretorius said as he dismounted. "Just like us."
He walked towards Cilliers, who was gathering the exhausted Boers. The time had come to give thanks, to honor the Almighty.
Under the open sky, amidst the remnants of the battle, the Boers knelt.
Sarel Cilliers stood before them, his voice clear and steady. "We vowed to the Almighty that if He delivered us, we would commemorate this day forever."
"A day of thanksgiving. A Sabbath of remembrance."
All the men agreed unanimously. They held their hats respectfully in their hands, their eyes fixed on the blood-stained ground.
Cilliers raised his hands. "And so we give thanks."
"Not for the lives that were lost, but for the lives that were spared. For the freedom we have received today through God's grace."
He bowed his head in prayer, and the Boers prayed gratefully with him.
The wind carried their prayers across the battlefield, past the fallen Zulu warriors, over the blood-reddened Ncome River, and up to the vast African sky.
The Battle of Blood River was over.
The Vow, a testament to faith and sacrifice, would live on forever in the hearts of generations.
NOTE:
Get the documented factual history of the THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER - from the lead-up and the battle itself to the aftermath from:
The Creation of the Boer Identity / Die Skepping van die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2024). The Creation of the Boer identity: The Truth about the Boer Heritage. Wiets J. Buys. p.226-236](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/G8P1EekaAAAuAdk.jpg)
![WietsJBuys's tweet photo. THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER: 16 December 1838
From the historical epic: 1838: Blood, Freedom, and the Boer Identity / 1838: Bloed, Vryheid en die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2025). 1838: Blood, freedom, and the Boer identity. Wiets J. Buys. p.269-275
[Sunday, 16 December 1838]
The darkness stretched endlessly before them as the Boers, even before the first hint of dawn on December 16th, heard the Zulu army approaching to attack. Outside the laager, the darkness seemed alive, shifting and rustling.
The Zulu forces advanced from the east, across the plain beyond the Ncome River.
Inside the laager, the Boers held their positions in tense silence, rifles ready, eyes straining to pierce the night.
The first glimmer of daybreak spreading across the horizon revealed the Zulu army. The White Shield regiments positioned themselves on the far side of the river, while the Black and Red Shields crossed the Ncome at the fords, encircling the laager.
A collective gasp rippled through the Boer ranks.
Thousands. Tens of thousands. Their dark bodies gleamed with war medicine, their shields moving like a tide across the landscape. Their spears caught the light of the rising sun, creating a thousand glittering reflections.
One Boer, awestruck by the formidable spectacle unfolding before him, whispered, "What a sight!"
No one laughed. Every man in the laager knew what was coming.
Hans de Lange, his rifle held firmly, and three other muskets neatly laid beside him, knelt low beside a wagon. His breath was shallow, his heart hammered in his chest, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Then came the sound: a soft, deep, rumbling murmur. The murmur grew to a growl, the growl to a chant, and the chant to a deafening thunder of war cries.
The Red and Black Shields, under Nzobo kaSobadli, known as Dambuza, launched their first massed assaults on the laager from the northwest and the north, regiment after regiment.
Yet, the Boers did not fire. Not yet.
The warriors closed the distance. Five hundred meters. Their assegais flashed in the sunlight.
Three hundred meters. Their war cries intensified, deafening, bloodcurdling.
Two hundred meters. The ground trembled beneath their pounding feet.
One hundred meters. Some Boers gritted their teeth, others closed their eyes for a moment.
Fifty meters.
"Fire!" Pretorius's voice roared like thunder.
The laager erupted in a blinding storm of fire and smoke. The first line of Zulus collapsed as the volley tore through them. But their attack did not stop.
A second volley thundered. More warriors fell, but the momentum of the assault carried them forward.
A third volley. Some Zulus reached within ten meters of the wagons. The Boers could see their eyes, wild and bloodthirsty.
Then the cannons roared.
Grietjie, the Boers' faithful small cannon, spewed a devastating storm of fire and iron. The shot ripped gaps in the Zulu ranks, bodies flew into the air, and the ground became soaked with blood. Yet the warriors, undaunted, surged forward.
The second assault crashed against the laager like a thunderstorm. The Red and Black Shields pushed forward with desperate force, trying to breach the wagon wall. Some Zulu warriors, their bodies smeared with blood, climbed over their fallen comrades to reach the Boer defenses.
Pieter Jacobs struck down a warrior who had grabbed the edge of a wagon. Another Boer swung the butt of his rifle into the face of an attacker trying to pull himself up.
The battle raged for two hours. The Boers repelled three major assaults, but the Zulus' relentless tactics began to take their toll. Ammunition was being consumed at an alarming rate.
Through the choking smoke and gunpowder haze, Pretorius saw in the distance that Ndlela Ntuli was holding back his White Shield regiments. The Zulu plan was now clear: exhaust the Boers, break their resilience, and then send in the final wave to crush them.
"We can't continue like this," Pretorius thought aloud.
Pretorius realized he would have to change the course of the battle, because if it continued in this manner, the Boers would run out of ammunition.
The time for defense was over.
"Hans, get your men ready! We're riding out!" Pretorius's voice cracked like a whip across the laager.
Hans needed no further command. He snapped into action, his shouts rallying the men. In a blur of motion, they were mounted, every man tense with anticipation.
"Open the gate!" Pretorius bellowed. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, leading a thundering commando directly into the fray, straight for the heart of the White Shields.
The attack stunned the Zulu commanders.
When the veteran White Shield regiments were drawn into the battle prematurely, the Zulu generals' battle plan collapsed.
Then, from the western bank of the river, another commando under Bart Pretorius attacked the Zulus' exposed flank.
The deadly fire from the Boers caused confusion among the dense masses of Zulu soldiers.
Suddenly, the mighty Zulu army faltered. The unwavering formations dissolved into chaos, and warriors turned and fled in disarray.
Those who desperately tried to escape across the river were cut down by the dozens.
Many Zulus who fled into the donga crowded together so tightly that they could barely move or climb out, and there the Boers' close-range rifle fire inflicted heavy losses.
The Boers pursued the fleeing Zulus in mounted groups, decisively turning the tide of the battle in their favor.
Three thousand Zulu warriors lay dead around the laager, in the donga, and along the river. The Ncome River, once calm, now flowed red with blood - Blood River...
Andries Pretorius, still on horseback, surveyed the devastated battlefield. Gunpowder smoke drifted across the land. The sun shone brightly. The Vow had been fulfilled.
Hans drew his horse alongside Pretorius.
“They never wanted to stop attacking," he said hoarsely, his voice raw from the commands he had shouted throughout the battle.
Pretorius nodded grimly. "They were fearless. But not invincible."
"They believed they would win," Pretorius said as he dismounted. "Just like us."
He walked towards Cilliers, who was gathering the exhausted Boers. The time had come to give thanks, to honor the Almighty.
Under the open sky, amidst the remnants of the battle, the Boers knelt.
Sarel Cilliers stood before them, his voice clear and steady. "We vowed to the Almighty that if He delivered us, we would commemorate this day forever."
"A day of thanksgiving. A Sabbath of remembrance."
All the men agreed unanimously. They held their hats respectfully in their hands, their eyes fixed on the blood-stained ground.
Cilliers raised his hands. "And so we give thanks."
"Not for the lives that were lost, but for the lives that were spared. For the freedom we have received today through God's grace."
He bowed his head in prayer, and the Boers prayed gratefully with him.
The wind carried their prayers across the battlefield, past the fallen Zulu warriors, over the blood-reddened Ncome River, and up to the vast African sky.
The Battle of Blood River was over.
The Vow, a testament to faith and sacrifice, would live on forever in the hearts of generations.
NOTE:
Get the documented factual history of the THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER - from the lead-up and the battle itself to the aftermath from:
The Creation of the Boer Identity / Die Skepping van die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2024). The Creation of the Boer identity: The Truth about the Boer Heritage. Wiets J. Buys. p.226-236](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/G8P03IAa4AIEOuH.jpg)
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SOUTH AFRICA HOMlClDE RATE:
National rate: 45 per 100k
Police officers: 60 per 100k
White farmers: 109 per 100k
The media calls it a "conspiracy theory"
"We could kill everyone on the White right. One by one or in a group."
“Why did it take more than 10 minutes for Australian police to stop a couple jihadis with bolt action rifles and shotguns?”
Australian cops:
🚨🇧🇬BREAKING:
The Pro-EU Government of Bulgaria just RESIGNED after 6.5 Million Bulgarians Protested for 2 days straight.
Bulgaria was Set to Join the Eurozone on January 1, 2026.
Europeans are taking back their Nations!
Who to follow
AnxietyLST
@AnxietyLST
Monarch | SA Esports & Lifestyle 
@MonarchRealm
South Africa’s esports & lifestyle brand ���🇦
CS2 • FN • COD • RL
AGC Champions - RL ‘25 • FN ‘26
Cape Town • ft. @Slayerdrink ⚜️
#ForTheRealm
Micah🦕
@Tunes_TMz
#1 Wattson/Horizon 🇿🇦
probably live throwing rn
https://t.co/HaGNQyodcZ
The reason for the run & gun tactics used by the Bondi Beach shooters is simple.
Australia is a gun-free zone.
You don't have to shoot from concealed positions or at a distance when you're a wolf surrounded by sheep, unable to stop you.
They were so relaxed, in fact, that they didn't even see a civilian creep up on them to disarm them with his bare hands.
This shooting continued for over 20 minutes.
Frankly, I'm surprised there are only 16 casualties.
Armed civilians could have stopped this after the first shot was fired. Many of them filmed this at close range because cameras were all they had to point back, thanks to a nanny state.
THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER: 16 December 1838
From the historical epic: 1838: Blood, Freedom, and the Boer Identity / 1838: Bloed, Vryheid en die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2025). 1838: Blood, freedom, and the Boer identity. Wiets J. Buys. p.269-275
[Sunday, 16 December 1838]
The darkness stretched endlessly before them as the Boers, even before the first hint of dawn on December 16th, heard the Zulu army approaching to attack. Outside the laager, the darkness seemed alive, shifting and rustling.
The Zulu forces advanced from the east, across the plain beyond the Ncome River.
Inside the laager, the Boers held their positions in tense silence, rifles ready, eyes straining to pierce the night.
The first glimmer of daybreak spreading across the horizon revealed the Zulu army. The White Shield regiments positioned themselves on the far side of the river, while the Black and Red Shields crossed the Ncome at the fords, encircling the laager.
A collective gasp rippled through the Boer ranks.
Thousands. Tens of thousands. Their dark bodies gleamed with war medicine, their shields moving like a tide across the landscape. Their spears caught the light of the rising sun, creating a thousand glittering reflections.
One Boer, awestruck by the formidable spectacle unfolding before him, whispered, "What a sight!"
No one laughed. Every man in the laager knew what was coming.
Hans de Lange, his rifle held firmly, and three other muskets neatly laid beside him, knelt low beside a wagon. His breath was shallow, his heart hammered in his chest, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Then came the sound: a soft, deep, rumbling murmur. The murmur grew to a growl, the growl to a chant, and the chant to a deafening thunder of war cries.
The Red and Black Shields, under Nzobo kaSobadli, known as Dambuza, launched their first massed assaults on the laager from the northwest and the north, regiment after regiment.
Yet, the Boers did not fire. Not yet.
The warriors closed the distance. Five hundred meters. Their assegais flashed in the sunlight.
Three hundred meters. Their war cries intensified, deafening, bloodcurdling.
Two hundred meters. The ground trembled beneath their pounding feet.
One hundred meters. Some Boers gritted their teeth, others closed their eyes for a moment.
Fifty meters.
"Fire!" Pretorius's voice roared like thunder.
The laager erupted in a blinding storm of fire and smoke. The first line of Zulus collapsed as the volley tore through them. But their attack did not stop.
A second volley thundered. More warriors fell, but the momentum of the assault carried them forward.
A third volley. Some Zulus reached within ten meters of the wagons. The Boers could see their eyes, wild and bloodthirsty.
Then the cannons roared.
Grietjie, the Boers' faithful small cannon, spewed a devastating storm of fire and iron. The shot ripped gaps in the Zulu ranks, bodies flew into the air, and the ground became soaked with blood. Yet the warriors, undaunted, surged forward.
The second assault crashed against the laager like a thunderstorm. The Red and Black Shields pushed forward with desperate force, trying to breach the wagon wall. Some Zulu warriors, their bodies smeared with blood, climbed over their fallen comrades to reach the Boer defenses.
Pieter Jacobs struck down a warrior who had grabbed the edge of a wagon. Another Boer swung the butt of his rifle into the face of an attacker trying to pull himself up.
The battle raged for two hours. The Boers repelled three major assaults, but the Zulus' relentless tactics began to take their toll. Ammunition was being consumed at an alarming rate.
Through the choking smoke and gunpowder haze, Pretorius saw in the distance that Ndlela Ntuli was holding back his White Shield regiments. The Zulu plan was now clear: exhaust the Boers, break their resilience, and then send in the final wave to crush them.
"We can't continue like this," Pretorius thought aloud.
Pretorius realized he would have to change the course of the battle, because if it continued in this manner, the Boers would run out of ammunition.
The time for defense was over.
"Hans, get your men ready! We're riding out!" Pretorius's voice cracked like a whip across the laager.
Hans needed no further command. He snapped into action, his shouts rallying the men. In a blur of motion, they were mounted, every man tense with anticipation.
"Open the gate!" Pretorius bellowed. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, leading a thundering commando directly into the fray, straight for the heart of the White Shields.
The attack stunned the Zulu commanders.
When the veteran White Shield regiments were drawn into the battle prematurely, the Zulu generals' battle plan collapsed.
Then, from the western bank of the river, another commando under Bart Pretorius attacked the Zulus' exposed flank.
The deadly fire from the Boers caused confusion among the dense masses of Zulu soldiers.
Suddenly, the mighty Zulu army faltered. The unwavering formations dissolved into chaos, and warriors turned and fled in disarray.
Those who desperately tried to escape across the river were cut down by the dozens.
Many Zulus who fled into the donga crowded together so tightly that they could barely move or climb out, and there the Boers' close-range rifle fire inflicted heavy losses.
The Boers pursued the fleeing Zulus in mounted groups, decisively turning the tide of the battle in their favor.
Three thousand Zulu warriors lay dead around the laager, in the donga, and along the river. The Ncome River, once calm, now flowed red with blood - Blood River...
Andries Pretorius, still on horseback, surveyed the devastated battlefield. Gunpowder smoke drifted across the land. The sun shone brightly. The Vow had been fulfilled.
Hans drew his horse alongside Pretorius.
“They never wanted to stop attacking," he said hoarsely, his voice raw from the commands he had shouted throughout the battle.
Pretorius nodded grimly. "They were fearless. But not invincible."
"They believed they would win," Pretorius said as he dismounted. "Just like us."
He walked towards Cilliers, who was gathering the exhausted Boers. The time had come to give thanks, to honor the Almighty.
Under the open sky, amidst the remnants of the battle, the Boers knelt.
Sarel Cilliers stood before them, his voice clear and steady. "We vowed to the Almighty that if He delivered us, we would commemorate this day forever."
"A day of thanksgiving. A Sabbath of remembrance."
All the men agreed unanimously. They held their hats respectfully in their hands, their eyes fixed on the blood-stained ground.
Cilliers raised his hands. "And so we give thanks."
"Not for the lives that were lost, but for the lives that were spared. For the freedom we have received today through God's grace."
He bowed his head in prayer, and the Boers prayed gratefully with him.
The wind carried their prayers across the battlefield, past the fallen Zulu warriors, over the blood-reddened Ncome River, and up to the vast African sky.
The Battle of Blood River was over.
The Vow, a testament to faith and sacrifice, would live on forever in the hearts of generations.
NOTE:
Get the documented factual history of the THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER - from the lead-up and the battle itself to the aftermath from:
The Creation of the Boer Identity / Die Skepping van die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2024). The Creation of the Boer identity: The Truth about the Boer Heritage. Wiets J. Buys. p.226-236
![WietsJBuys's tweet photo. THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER: 16 December 1838
From the historical epic: 1838: Blood, Freedom, and the Boer Identity / 1838: Bloed, Vryheid en die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2025). 1838: Blood, freedom, and the Boer identity. Wiets J. Buys. p.269-275
[Sunday, 16 December 1838]
The darkness stretched endlessly before them as the Boers, even before the first hint of dawn on December 16th, heard the Zulu army approaching to attack. Outside the laager, the darkness seemed alive, shifting and rustling.
The Zulu forces advanced from the east, across the plain beyond the Ncome River.
Inside the laager, the Boers held their positions in tense silence, rifles ready, eyes straining to pierce the night.
The first glimmer of daybreak spreading across the horizon revealed the Zulu army. The White Shield regiments positioned themselves on the far side of the river, while the Black and Red Shields crossed the Ncome at the fords, encircling the laager.
A collective gasp rippled through the Boer ranks.
Thousands. Tens of thousands. Their dark bodies gleamed with war medicine, their shields moving like a tide across the landscape. Their spears caught the light of the rising sun, creating a thousand glittering reflections.
One Boer, awestruck by the formidable spectacle unfolding before him, whispered, "What a sight!"
No one laughed. Every man in the laager knew what was coming.
Hans de Lange, his rifle held firmly, and three other muskets neatly laid beside him, knelt low beside a wagon. His breath was shallow, his heart hammered in his chest, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Then came the sound: a soft, deep, rumbling murmur. The murmur grew to a growl, the growl to a chant, and the chant to a deafening thunder of war cries.
The Red and Black Shields, under Nzobo kaSobadli, known as Dambuza, launched their first massed assaults on the laager from the northwest and the north, regiment after regiment.
Yet, the Boers did not fire. Not yet.
The warriors closed the distance. Five hundred meters. Their assegais flashed in the sunlight.
Three hundred meters. Their war cries intensified, deafening, bloodcurdling.
Two hundred meters. The ground trembled beneath their pounding feet.
One hundred meters. Some Boers gritted their teeth, others closed their eyes for a moment.
Fifty meters.
"Fire!" Pretorius's voice roared like thunder.
The laager erupted in a blinding storm of fire and smoke. The first line of Zulus collapsed as the volley tore through them. But their attack did not stop.
A second volley thundered. More warriors fell, but the momentum of the assault carried them forward.
A third volley. Some Zulus reached within ten meters of the wagons. The Boers could see their eyes, wild and bloodthirsty.
Then the cannons roared.
Grietjie, the Boers' faithful small cannon, spewed a devastating storm of fire and iron. The shot ripped gaps in the Zulu ranks, bodies flew into the air, and the ground became soaked with blood. Yet the warriors, undaunted, surged forward.
The second assault crashed against the laager like a thunderstorm. The Red and Black Shields pushed forward with desperate force, trying to breach the wagon wall. Some Zulu warriors, their bodies smeared with blood, climbed over their fallen comrades to reach the Boer defenses.
Pieter Jacobs struck down a warrior who had grabbed the edge of a wagon. Another Boer swung the butt of his rifle into the face of an attacker trying to pull himself up.
The battle raged for two hours. The Boers repelled three major assaults, but the Zulus' relentless tactics began to take their toll. Ammunition was being consumed at an alarming rate.
Through the choking smoke and gunpowder haze, Pretorius saw in the distance that Ndlela Ntuli was holding back his White Shield regiments. The Zulu plan was now clear: exhaust the Boers, break their resilience, and then send in the final wave to crush them.
"We can't continue like this," Pretorius thought aloud.
Pretorius realized he would have to change the course of the battle, because if it continued in this manner, the Boers would run out of ammunition.
The time for defense was over.
"Hans, get your men ready! We're riding out!" Pretorius's voice cracked like a whip across the laager.
Hans needed no further command. He snapped into action, his shouts rallying the men. In a blur of motion, they were mounted, every man tense with anticipation.
"Open the gate!" Pretorius bellowed. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, leading a thundering commando directly into the fray, straight for the heart of the White Shields.
The attack stunned the Zulu commanders.
When the veteran White Shield regiments were drawn into the battle prematurely, the Zulu generals' battle plan collapsed.
Then, from the western bank of the river, another commando under Bart Pretorius attacked the Zulus' exposed flank.
The deadly fire from the Boers caused confusion among the dense masses of Zulu soldiers.
Suddenly, the mighty Zulu army faltered. The unwavering formations dissolved into chaos, and warriors turned and fled in disarray.
Those who desperately tried to escape across the river were cut down by the dozens.
Many Zulus who fled into the donga crowded together so tightly that they could barely move or climb out, and there the Boers' close-range rifle fire inflicted heavy losses.
The Boers pursued the fleeing Zulus in mounted groups, decisively turning the tide of the battle in their favor.
Three thousand Zulu warriors lay dead around the laager, in the donga, and along the river. The Ncome River, once calm, now flowed red with blood - Blood River...
Andries Pretorius, still on horseback, surveyed the devastated battlefield. Gunpowder smoke drifted across the land. The sun shone brightly. The Vow had been fulfilled.
Hans drew his horse alongside Pretorius.
“They never wanted to stop attacking," he said hoarsely, his voice raw from the commands he had shouted throughout the battle.
Pretorius nodded grimly. "They were fearless. But not invincible."
"They believed they would win," Pretorius said as he dismounted. "Just like us."
He walked towards Cilliers, who was gathering the exhausted Boers. The time had come to give thanks, to honor the Almighty.
Under the open sky, amidst the remnants of the battle, the Boers knelt.
Sarel Cilliers stood before them, his voice clear and steady. "We vowed to the Almighty that if He delivered us, we would commemorate this day forever."
"A day of thanksgiving. A Sabbath of remembrance."
All the men agreed unanimously. They held their hats respectfully in their hands, their eyes fixed on the blood-stained ground.
Cilliers raised his hands. "And so we give thanks."
"Not for the lives that were lost, but for the lives that were spared. For the freedom we have received today through God's grace."
He bowed his head in prayer, and the Boers prayed gratefully with him.
The wind carried their prayers across the battlefield, past the fallen Zulu warriors, over the blood-reddened Ncome River, and up to the vast African sky.
The Battle of Blood River was over.
The Vow, a testament to faith and sacrifice, would live on forever in the hearts of generations.
NOTE:
Get the documented factual history of the THE BATTLE OF BLOODRIVER - from the lead-up and the battle itself to the aftermath from:
The Creation of the Boer Identity / Die Skepping van die Boeridentiteit
Buys, W. J. (2024). The Creation of the Boer identity: The Truth about the Boer Heritage. Wiets J. Buys. p.226-236](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/G8P1NJKbsAECbwx.jpg)
🤡: Civilians with guns don't save lives.
Yeah okay bro...
Like this civilian, who put lead in a bad guy's dome before he could kill anyone else in church that day. No biggy. Betas roaming wild today...
BurntPeanut speaks on being entangled in VTuber drama
“Not my community saying anything bad to Ironmouse..maybe some light comments..guess which community..the community that can’t handle she congratulated us..the 40 year olds cosplaying as anime girls
Literally the UK now days...
WATCH: The Horrific Moment Two Afghan Invaders Kidnap A British Schoolgirl and then Rape Her!
One of the rapists lawyers said the footage was so harrowing it would cause riots!
Get Every Single One Of These Vile Savages Out Of The UK NOW
🚨NEW: The 15-year-old girl raped by two Afghan boat migrants in Warwickshire captured footage on her phone that was so appalling that one of the boy's barristers warned it would lead to rioting if the public were to see it
[@DailyMail]
A witness to the Madlanga Commission has been murdered at his own home.
His crime was evidently his willingness to testify about a possible state cover-up.
This is what state failure looks like.
🚨 10 DEAD, AT LEAST 19 INJURED AFTER CAR RAM ATTACK ON CHRISTMAS MARKET
The incident took place last night in Guadeloupe, France
The suspect has not been confirmed by authorities but was detained at the scene
We all know who does this
🤔
Bad things are happening in SA.
Limpopo really is the centre of the circle in the drain where gangs of heavily armed thugs now think they are SARS.
While ordinary citizens were trying to enjoy life, these debit order agents with rifles decided that everyone needed to contribute to their informal economy.
At least the government has a plan!
Reduce your ability to defend yourself.
Because clearly, when criminals have more guns, the most logical response is to take yours away in order for you to enjoy a fuller experience of ubuntu!
Pretty sure they are drafting some new restrictions as I type this.
Welcome to South Africa
You're welcome.
🇮🇪 Today in Ireland, Christian schoolteacher Enoch Burke was sentenced to LIFE in prison for “refusing to use a transgender student’s pronouns” back in 2022.
He will now spend THE REST OF HIS LIFE behind bars unless a last-ditch legal challenge works.
This is absolutely INSANE.
BREAKING: Judge jails Enoch Burke for Christmas with effective life sentence
This is a dark and shameful day in Ireland. Enoch Burke is an exemplary teacher and a man of integrity. His only “crime” is that he refuses to endorse transgenderism and bow to a satanic ideology.
Judge Brian Cregan announced in court this morning that if any of Enoch Burke’s family members spoke he would eject all family members from the courtroom. The Supreme Court has ruled that such an action would be illegal.
While sitting on the bench today Judge Cregan lied, obfuscated and quizzed Enoch Burke on reports from an Irish Independent newspaper article written by journalist Shane Phelan - while trampling on Enoch Burke’s God-given and constitutional right to profess and practise his religious belief.
Our courts are now a shambles and citizens of this country are suffering as a result - most of all Enoch Burke who will spend this Christmas in a jail cell in Mountjoy.
I am going to keep screaming this until someone hears:
A CHILD DIED IN MODERNA'S OWN CLINICAL TRIAL OF ITS MRNA COVID JAB, AND THE COMPANY HID THE DEATH FROM THE PUBLIC
There is nothing wrong with not wanting to:
- be discriminated against,
- have your property taken, or
- be attacked and murdered,
for being white.
South Africa - the crime capital of the world.
A woman gets raped every 4.3 hours.
A person gets murdered every 2.6 hours.
South Africa is a war zone!
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