South Africa and the Transvaal War, Vol. 3 (of 8) / From the Battle of Colenso, 15th Dec. 1899, to Lord Roberts's Advance into the Free State, 12th Feb. 1900

by Louis Creswicke

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Lieutenant-Colonel William Henry Dick-Cunyngham, V.C., of the Gordon Highlanders, entered the army in 1872, and first saw service in the Afghan War of 1878-80, and won his Victoria Cross in that campaign. He was present on transport duty in the advance to Candahar and Khelat-Ghilzie under Sir Donald Stewart; with the Thull Chotiali Force under Major-General Biddulph; under Sir Frederick Roberts in the Koorum Valley Field Force in the 92nd Gordon Highlanders, including the engagement at Ali Kheyl; and he took part in the operations round Cabul in December 1879, including the attack on the Sherpur Pass. He was with the Maidan Expedition in 1880 as acting adjutant of a wing of the 92nd Gordon Highlanders, including the engagement at Charasiah on April 25; accompanied Sir Frederick Roberts in the famous march to Candahar, and was present at the reconnaissance of the 31st of August, and at the Battle of Candahar. He was awarded the V.C. “for the conspicuous gallantry and coolness displayed by him on the 13th of December 1879 at the attack on the Sherpur Pass, in Afghanistan, in having exposed himself to the terrible fire of the enemy, and by his example and encouragement rallied the men who, having been beaten back, were at the moment wavering at the top of the hill.” He served in the Boer War of 1881 as Adjutant of the 92nd Gordon Highlanders, and was subsequently D.A.A.G. at Bengal. He went out in the autumn of 1899 to Natal in command of the 2nd Battalion of the Gordon Highlanders, and led them into action at the battle of Elandslaagte. He fell early in the charge, wounded by a bullet in the leg. While lying on the ground he called to his men to go on and leave him, and then calmly took out and lit his pipe, waiting for hours before being removed by the ambulance party. At the end of the year Sir George White reported that Colonel Dick-Cunyngham had completely recovered. He returned to active duty only to be again wounded—this time mortally. He was uncle to Sir William Dick-Cunyngham, the present baronet, and fifth son of the eighth baronet. Born in 1851, he married in 1883 Helen, daughter of Mr. Samuel Wauchope, C.B.

[4] Archibald James Leofric Temple Blackwood, born in 1863, was educated at Eton. He was a member of Methuen’s Horse in Sir Charles Warren’s Bechuanaland Expedition. Then he served with the Carabineers, and afterwards obtained a lieutenancy in the 17th Lancers. He accompanied the Natal Force, in an unattached capacity, on the outbreak of hostilities.

CHAPTER VI
BULLER’S SECOND ADVANCE

At last, after a long period of suspense, it was possible for General Buller’s force to make an appreciable advance. The arrangements were set on foot with the utmost secrecy, and on the 9th of January the second forward movement of the troops from Frere and Chieveley may be said to have commenced. General Barton and the Fusilier Brigade were deputed to watch over Colenso, and with them were left some dummy cannon, cunningly contrived by Jack Tar so as not to forewarn the Boers, and allow them to congratulate themselves on the absence of lyddite from their vicinity. This was not the first time that guns in effigy had been arranged to do duty in our dealings with the Boers. During one of the sieges in the year 1881, a “Quaker” cannon was erected in an inviting position on purpose to draw the Boers’ fire, with the result that they expended the best part of a day and a vast amount of valuable ammunition on the imperturbable object!

PIETERMARITZBURG FROM THE EAST.
Photo by Wilson, Aberdeen.

To appreciate the gigantic nature of the advance now made, we may refer to a rough table showing the composition and strength of the forces in Natal at this date under the command of Sir Redvers Buller.

SIR REDVERS BULLER’S FORCE

Second Division.—(Lieutenant-General Sir C. F. Clery).—2nd (Hildyard’s) Brigade—2nd East Surrey; 2nd West Yorks; 2nd Devons; 2nd West Surrey. 4th (Lyttelton’s) Brigade—1st Rifle Brigade (included in Sir C. Warren’s Division); 1st Durham Light Infantry; 3rd King’s Royal Rifles; 2nd Scottish Rifles (Cameronians); Squadron 14th Hussars; 7th, 14th, and 66th Field Batteries, less 11 guns of 14th and 66th Batteries lost at Colenso.

Third Division.—5th (Hart’s) Brigade—1st Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers; 1st Connaught Rangers; 1st Royal Dublin Fusiliers; 1st Border. 6th (Barton’s) Brigade—2nd Royal Fusiliers; 2nd Royal Scots Fusiliers; 1st Royal Welsh Fusiliers; 2nd Royal Irish Fusiliers; Squadron 14th Hussars; 63rd, 64th, and 73rd Field Batteries.

Fifth Division.—(Lieutenant-General Sir Charles Warren).—10th (Coke’s) Brigade—2nd Dorset; 2nd Middlesex. 11th (Woodgate’s) Brigade—2nd Royal Lancaster; 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers; 1st South Lancashire; 1st York and Lancaster; Squadron 6th Dragoons; 19th, 20th, and 28th Field Batteries. Brigades uncertain—2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers; 2nd Somerset Light Infantry. Corps Troops—61st Field Battery (Howitzers); Natal Battery 9-pounders; Six Naval 12-pounder quick-firers; 4th Mountain Battery; 4.7 Naval guns. Cavalry Brigade—1st Royal Dragoons; 13th Hussars. South African Colonial Troops—500 Bethune’s Mounted Infantry; Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry; Natal Carabineers; South African Light Horse (seven squadrons); Imperial Light Horse (squadron); Imperial Light Infantry; Natal Police.

This table suggests a very imposing army, but it is necessary to remember that only a part of any force assembled at the base is available for actual attack. The lines of communication to Chieveley alone were some 160 miles in length, and the necessary work of guarding them, securing easy transport and supply, Royal Engineer work, and other business connected with the munition of war, independent of sickness, absorbed a large proportion of the troops. Military experts estimated that the absolute fighting men were far fewer than supposed. The table here shown represents some 30,000 men, but of these about 5000 were engaged in miscellaneous work. Out of twenty-three battalions of infantry it was necessary to use three or even more for the guarding of the lines of communication. Of three regiments of cavalry, only a part was available, while of the other arms, allowance had to be made for the loss that had been sustained, and also for sickness. In this march, now that the army had at last moved from the railway, the baggage column was enormous. It made a procession of some miles in length as it lumbered along primitive roads, through mud sometimes ankle-deep. It had been decided to bring up all tents, sheep, coops, &c., and consequently the various fatigue duties involved in the move were enormous.

When one considers the ordinary transport of a mere regiment, it is possible to form some idea of the amazing cortège that had to follow the movements of the commander. The transport of a regiment in South Africa, roughly speaking, was composed of six ox-waggons, each drawn by sixteen oxen in pairs tandem fashion (managed by Kaffir boys, one driving the wheelers, another spurring the whole caravan by means of an enormous whip and a profuse vocabulary); four ammunition carts, each drawn by six mules; a water-cart, with pair of mules; a “Scotch” cart, and a strong luggage-cart, drawn by four mules, for conveyance of tents, blankets, and food, &c. A little mental multiplication will help us to picture the long serpentine coil that was twisting its way from Colenso to the new westerly point of attack.

The procession was forced to move slowly and cautiously through a rugged, mountainous district, from which no supplies of any sort could be drawn. The ox-waggon of the country had to be relied upon entirely for heavy transport. This mode of conveyance is somewhat characteristic of the progress of the tortoise; two miles an hour was the average rate of advance, and at most the shambling cattle succeeded in covering about twelve to fifteen miles a day. Of proper roads there were none. The country was a vast swamp after heavy rain, or, in fine weather, a mass of dry ruts and tracks, steep hills, difficult fords, and irritating boulders. Over all this had to be coaxed or goaded the patient oxen, or, still worse, the stubborn, obstinate mules which dragged the lighter carts, and which, like ignorant persons, sometimes jibbed for sheer jibbing’s sake, true to the obstructionist instinct that belongs to the intellectually stolid. When a team of these strong yet strange beasts chooses to jib at a ford or in a pass, it takes some companies of infantry to haul the waggon on to level ground, and then, and only then, will they condescend to resume their labour. It may therefore be imagined that the progress of troops—dependent as they were for food and forage on the tempers of quadrupeds—was at this time slow and not always sure! However, troops and baggage were gradually concentrated at Springfield, while the Boers, who had spies everywhere, among boulders, in dongas, and upon the formidable height of Spion Kop, hurried about their preparations for the renewed and mighty tussle which was now pending.

On the 10th of January Lord Dundonald, at the head of the Cavalry Brigade, started at dawn from Frere Camp. A few miles outside they came on targets erected by the Boers to represent a force advancing in skirmishing order, which showed that the enemy had evidently been indulging in rifle practice. The troops marched some twenty-four miles in a north-westerly direction to Springfield, through the country, which was one vast quagmire beset with the enemy, without mishap of any kind. There were thrilling moments when the enemy were known to be ensconced in neighbouring kopjes or hiding in the bush, but every precaution was taken, the country having been previously searched by scouts, and the whole movement so successfully carried out that the brigade at last was able to occupy a strong position dominating Potgieter’s Drift on the Upper Tugela. Here at once extra defences were made, to ensure against surprise from the enemy, who, finding the rivers in flood, had retired to the north, and to enable Lord Dundonald’s force to hold its ground, and thus render safe the passage of the river.

Lord Dundonald’s Brigade was accompanied by the Fifth Brigade under General Hart, comprising the Dublin Fusiliers, the Connaught Rangers, the Border Regiment, and the Inniskilling Fusiliers. These, on hearing that Springfield was unoccupied by the enemy, now took possession of the place.

The column then advanced to Mount Alice, one of the spurs of Swartz Kop or Black Hill, a rocky eminence which faced the mountain fastnesses of the foe. From this point the panorama was magnificent. In front the Tugela looped and twisted in four big silvery bends, and great kopjes, the scenes of future fights, rose on the other side. It was possible to see the flat crowned summit of Spion Hill, which was held by the Boers and covered with trenches, and another frowning eminence also held by the enemy. A glimpse, too, might be had of the distant laager of the Boers perched on the Tugela heights; but the Dutchmen being evidently warned of the coming of the British troops, struck camp and silently melted away. Still it was known that there were some of them within almost a stone’s throw, for on the arrival of Lord Dundonald’s force at Potgieter’s Drift it was discovered they had been there the previous day.

The next morning, the 11th, the pontoon from the enemy’s side of the river was very cleverly captured, it may be said in the very teeth of the foe, by Lieutenant Carlyle and six of his men of the South African Horse. They leapt into the stream, which at that place was running strong, swam to the Boer side, untied the pont, and succeeded in getting it across for the use of the troops. The achievement was a brilliant one, because during the whole proceedings the exact position of the Boers was unknown. At any moment a volley might have been poured on the adventurous party from which it would have been almost impossible to escape. No sooner had they removed the fastenings of the pont and were getting it across than shots were fired, one of them grazing Lieutenant Carlyle, who, however, pursued his work to the end.

From the heights we had gained, operations were soon commenced both with heliograph and telescope. Mount Bulwana and part of the outskirts of Ladysmith were clearly visible. Fringed around them were Boer camps, waggons, and cattle; while studded over the ground the enemy was seen, some building forts, others digging trenches, and all working like bees to protect the road from our advance. The Ladysmith chief signaller, Captain Walker, rapidly came into communication with the signallers on Swartz Kop, and Sir George White was informed of the satisfactory progress of the advance so far.

The Naval guns were now comfortably ensconced on the western ridge of the hill, ready to do duty in sweeping away the strong positions which were being rapidly built up by the hostile hordes, who were fast beginning to congregate from the neighbourhood of Colenso.

Meanwhile General Lyttelton’s brigade had streamed in with howitzers, and soon these, under cover of the guns of the Naval Brigade, were across the river, and safely located on the other side. At the same time was commenced the fortifying of Mount Alice. The men were all in great fettle, working like Trojans, and perfectly regardless of fatigue. They crossed the scudding river, steadying themselves by holding each other’s rifles, in a burning sun with the water up to their waists, and advanced in skirmishing order over the boulder-strewn country, settling themselves at last on some low kopjes to the north of the river and facing the enemy’s defences five miles north of the drift.

While these important events were taking place at Potgieter’s Drift, General Sir Charles Warren with the 5th Division was also moving forward by a circuitous route. By another drift, called Trichardt’s Drift, some five miles farther west, the entire force eventually got across and took up a position beyond the river, with the object of turning the position of the enemy, who were posted on Spion Kop. This journey was not achieved without coming in touch with the Boers. Some of them were hidden in a wooded nook by a farmhouse, and from thence poured rifle-shots on the advance guards. They even brought their cannon to bear on the troops; but the passage d’armes was of short duration, and the enemy, warmed with fervent salutations from the Naval guns on the hills, was soon in full flight across country. Then the engineers, with celerity which looked to the uninitiated like a conjuring trick, in two hours threw a pontoon bridge over the river, and the crossing was successfully accomplished. The great object of Sir Charles Warren was now, as stated, to turn the enemy’s position. This, situated about five miles off to his right front, was undoubtedly a strong one. It ran laterally with the river, with Spion Kop for its centre, and all around the enemy were actively engaged in intrenching themselves. The plan of the combined movement was to make as hasty an attack as possible and prevent the Dutchmen from strengthening their position and reinforcing their right from their centre and left, and perhaps enable the Ladysmith garrison to do its share in threatening the enemy’s rear. For this reason General Barton, with sufficient troops, had been left at Colenso to hold the Boers’ forces and prevent them from massing on the line of Sir Redvers Buller’s march. This latter officer with a small force directed the combined operations from Spearman’s Farm, a little to the south of Mount Alice. The headquarters of himself and his staff were at the picturesque homestead of one Martinius Pretorius, a personage who thought it advisable not to remain to play the host.

THE CROSSING OF POTGIETER’S DRIFT, JANUARY 16.
Drawn by Enoch Ward from a Full Sketch by René Bull, War Artist with General Buller.

The troops, in spite of their trying march—the mud collected by tremendous rains, the arduous business of getting across the river, the grilling sun overhead, and the enemy possibly threatening from unknown quarters—were bright, healthy, and hopeful. Immense enthusiasm was occasioned in every camp when all were made acquainted with the brief yet stirring words of Sir Redvers Buller: “We are going to the relief of our comrades in Ladysmith; there will be no turning back.” A short emphatic statement this—blunt as the conversation of the man who made it, but instinct with noble meaning—of superb resolve! It touched every heart, and made each bronzed-face warrior repeat once more to himself the oath to do or die for the honour of his country and for the service of those to be relieved!

THE FLANK MOVEMENT

Before going further, it is interesting to examine with the map a rough hint made by Mr. Winston Churchill, correspondent of the Morning Post, of the general plan of the advance.

Types of Arms—A Mountain Battery.
(Drawn by Ernest Prater.)

“Having placed his army within striking distance of the various passages across the Tugela, Sir Redvers Buller’s next object was to cross and debouch. To this end his plan appears to have been—for information is scarcely yet properly codified—something as follows: Lyttleton’s Brigade, the corps troops forming Coke’s Brigade, the ten Naval guns, the battery of howitzers, one field-battery, and Bethune’s Mounted Infantry to demonstrate in front of the Potgieter position, keeping the Boers holding the horseshoe in expectation of a frontal attack and masking their main position; Sir Charles Warren to march by night from Springfield with the brigades of Hart, Woodgate, and Hildyard, the Royal Dragoons, six batteries of artillery, and the pontoon train to a point about five miles west of Spearman’s Hill, and opposite Trichardt’s Drift on the Tugela. Here he was to meet the mounted forces from Spearman’s Hill, and with these troops he was next day, the 17th, to throw bridges, force the passage of the river, and operate at leisure and discretion against the right flank of the enemy’s horseshoe before Potgieter’s, resting on Spion Kop, a commanding mountain, ultimately joining hands with the frontal force from Spearman’s Hill at a point on the Acton Homes Ladysmith road. To sum up briefly, seven battalions, twenty-two guns, and three hundred horse under Lyttleton to mask the Potgieter position; twelve battalions, thirty-six guns, and sixteen hundred horse to cross five miles to the westward, and make a turning movement against the enemy’s right. The Boer covering army was to be swept back on Ladysmith by a powerful left arm, the pivoting shoulder of which was at Potgieter’s, the elbow at Trichardt’s Drift, and the enveloping hand—the cavalry under Lord Dundonald—stretching out towards Acton Homes.”

This plan on the surface appeared fairly practicable if the action could be carried on with sufficient rapidity to prevent the enemy from gathering in his crowds, as he had gathered at Colenso. Here was the great—If. The art of war is at best a choice of difficulties, and at this time our Generals had an embarrassment of that choice. It says a great deal for their courage that they handled these difficulties one after another, and let go only when they thought they had been squeezed dry.

The British troops having done with the fatigue of the march, did not allow the grass to grow under their feet. No sooner had they crossed the river than they began to threaten some of the Boer lines of retreat to the Free State. The Naval Brigade also set to work with vigour, and they, together with the howitzers from Mount Alice, pounded the whole vicinity to the right impartially. The range having been ascertained to a nicety, with the assistance of the balloon, whose occupants directed the gunners, some effective shots were launched at the Boer entrenchments, and others which were rapidly in course of construction. From the balloon these were plainly visible, but their tenants, if tenants there were, vouchsafed no reply. Many mounted Boers were seen galloping from Colenso to their laagers in the shelter of the more northerly kopjes, while others were also discovered coming in the direction from Ladysmith, evidently with a view to reinforce the commandoes on Spion Kop. While the Naval Brigade was hammering in the direction of the Boer position, which was somewhat below the level of Mount Alice, General Lyttleton was moving north of the position for the purpose of making a demonstration towards Brakfontein, and Sir Charles Warren’s force was approaching two high kopjes overlooking a ravine behind Spion Hill. It was now the 18th of January. The cavalry started in advance of the rest of the force. The order of march being, first, the Composite Regiment (one squadron of Imperial Light Horse, sixty Rifles Mounted Infantry, one squadron Natal Carabineers), four squadrons South African Light Horse, Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry, and behind these the Royals and 13th Hussars. But the Composite Regiment at midday was found to have moved still farther west, and soon from that region came an ominous crackling. Something deadly was afoot. It appeared that a party of Boers was caught trekking by the Acton Homes Road towards the Free State, and was in act of being cut off. Firing was fast and furious, and presently dead and dying Boers besprinkled the field that a few moments before had been green and gracious to the eye. A message was sent to the main body demanding reinforcements. Promptly Lord Dundonald with the rest of his troops came on the scene. Hostilities grew in animation—the situation was desperate. The Boers made a hard fight of it, clung tenaciously to their position, refusing, though surrounded, to surrender. Their fire rained furiously down on the Rifles as they advanced, so furiously that they were forced to seek the shelter of a desirable donga. The obstinate combat was on the point of renewal when up went a white flag. The old dodge, one to which now our troops had become so accustomed that they scarcely heeded it. Both sides continued to blaze away in uncertainty and mistrust till presently hands flew up, and this sincerest and distinct sign of surrender was accepted. Twenty-four burly Boers were then captured, while, round about, the wounded of the foe were assiduously succoured and tended by the very men who in the race for dear life had stricken them down. Twenty-four captured, ten killed, eight wounded—such was the result of a few hours’ work on the enemy. Of our number, Captain Shore of the Imperial Light Horse was severely wounded, two soldiers of the Mounted Infantry were killed, and one trooper of the Imperial Light Horse was slightly injured.

A word must be said of the South African Light Horse or “Cockyoli Birds,” as they were jocosely styled in deference to the plumes in their headgear. These had become the heroes of the hour owing to the splendid action formerly mentioned of Lieutenant Carlyle and his plucky companions, Sergeant Turner, Corporals Cox and Barkley, and Troopers Howell, Godden, and Collingwood. In addition to this plucky feat they were ceaseless in their activity, as we shall afterwards see.

Before this date the men of the squadron had been much commented on and universally praised. Their dash, their aptness, their marvellous intelligence had earned the admiration of all the regulars who had been associated with them. They, in their neat kharki, looked as efficient a body of mounted infantry as any one could wish to come across. Among their numbers were Afrikanders of good birth, Canadians, Australians, gentlemen of means, sporting men, old soldiers, and the like. They were hard as nails and bronzed as their saddles, acute as weasels, and big-hearted and adventurous as any of Robin Hood’s world-famed merry men. If they were rough they were ready, sniffing adventure in the air and rushing hot-foot to greet it, or stalking warily like old Shikari, saving no pains so that they eventually brought down their quarry.

The engagement was a grand feather in the cap of the cavalry, and an additional one in that of the “Cockyoli Birds.”

On the morning of Saturday the 20th of January Sir Charles Warren advanced his whole force to the attack. The scheme had been thought out with immense care. There was an excellent general with a superb division of troops, and there was every chance of success. General Woodgate’s and General Hart’s brigades marched forward at 3 A.M. from their bivouac on the low ridges below Spion Kop, with a view to capturing a position called Three Tree Hill, so called because of three mimosa trees whose fragrance filled the air. The proceedings opened with an animated bombardment from all quarters, our guns in the neighbourhood of Potgieter’s and Tritchardt’s Drifts engaging the attention of the Boers. By this time the Dutchmen were powerfully intrenched, and were still hurrying and scurrying to protect the big mountain that stood between the British and the object of their desire—Ladysmith. Woodgate’s Brigade had pushed forward in this direction. Later Hart’s Brigade took up a position on the spur parallel to the left of the Lancashire Brigade, and, under cover of the field-guns, the troops, in the thick of a storm from rifles and artillery, fought their way almost inch by inch up the steeps held by the Boers. They finally succeeded in gaining some portions of the enemy’s line of intrenchments. But this was not achieved without an exhibition of pluck and valiant obstinacy that was heroic.

ROYAL FIELD ARTILLERY (ACTION FRONT).
Photo by Gregory & Co., London.

The Irish Brigade, as usual, were in the thick of the fight, jovial yet determined, and holding their grip of every inch they gained notwithstanding shadows of threatened dissolution, the sights of death and sounds of horror that filled the air. Captain Hensley, a brave and gallant soul, was shot through the head, and several officers were smitten, but still their valorous commander, waving his sword, pressed on, and still his sturdy Irishmen, animated, encouraged, confident, pursued their upward way. They had debts to settle—some old scores to wipe out. They remembered their hideous disappointment of Colenso, their grievous experiences of Dundee, and also they remembered—a far grander remembrance!—that the honour of the Emerald Isle rested on their shoulders, and that the quality of its loyalty stood proved by the quality of their famous deeds!

All around played the fierce fire of the enemy’s guns, Creusot, Maxim, Nordenfeldt, and others. These were posted in commanding positions on a chain of hills to the west of Spion Hill, and from various points of vantage the Dutchmen were able to keep up a ceaseless clamour, and pour a rapid torrent of death and mutilation upon the advancing troops. These, by reason of the bad ground and the caution required in the manner of approach, could travel but slowly. The enemy, owing to the delay in our advance, had increased their forces most unexpectedly, and seemed, though scarcely to have existed a week ago, to be now ubiquitous! During the afternoon General Lyttleton’s Brigade made a frontal attack on the Dutchmen’s position between Schwartz Kop and Spion Kop, to divert their attention pending the movements of Sir Charles Warren. This movement, it was imagined, had been kept very “dark,” but, in spite of the secrecy and caution, the agile foe had contrived again to concentrate a huge force to oppose his every turn. More artillery seemed continuously to be brought to the scene, and also some of the trophies captured in the ill-fated attack on Colenso. Our Naval guns bombarded the ridge all day, and the howitzers boomed and roared, but the whole place appeared to be bustling with Boers. On the extreme left Lord Dundonald engaged in more energetic demonstration, and the indefatigable South African Light Horse, under Colonel Byng, more than ever distinguished themselves. In the most gallant manner they captured Bastion Hill, a hill between the Dutch right and centre.

This hill in the hands of the Boers was a standing menace, as from thence they could direct a cross-fire at the infantry on the opposite spur of the big mountain. Major Childe, commanding F Squadron, South African Light Horse, decided that he, and not the Federals, must secure so important a vantage-point. Dismounting with his men, and leaving his horses in rear of the heights, he cautiously crept round through a mealie field and various dongas which gave him cover from the storm of shot directed from the curve of the hills. In spite of the pelting lead, he got to the base of the position in safety. Then, with half the squadron, he started laboriously to climb. It was tough work, the sugar-loaf eminence being steep and stony and the sun above blisteringly hot. Thus they sweated and toiled for a whole hour. Finally, the Boers were seen scampering from the top. They had detected the approach of men—bayonets were suspected—they discreetly bolted. Just then Trooper Tobin, who had grandly led the way up the precipitous height, had reached his goal. Here he stood in his delight and triumph waving his helmet and shouting, and quite regardless of the fact that he made an excellent mark for Boer sharpshooters or their mercenaries. Up, too, rushed Major Childe with a dozen or so of his nimble men, into the midst of a tornado of shot and shell which had suddenly started from the Boer left and centre. Promptly every one went to earth. It was useless at the moment to attempt to return so withering a fire. Then came a shell—bursting and banging—and the gallant Major was caught on the head and killed. Several others were slain, among them Godden, who had been one of the gallant seven who distinguished themselves in the pont exploit. Shattered by the terrible fire of artillery, breathless from past exertions, the troops still hung on. Then our own artillery came to the rescue and kept the Boer gunners occupied. Meanwhile, reinforcements from Hildyard’s Brigade were sent up to the help of the brave fellows who for twelve hours had been without rest or water, and on the following day, to the West Surreys, the cavalry, after a tremendous and fatiguing experience, handed over the charge of the hill which they had so magnificently gained. The losses during this complex series of engagements were many, but the sufferings due to hunger, heat, thirst, and fatigue were even greater than those due to actual wounds.

The Lancashire Fusiliers, Lancashire Regiment, and the Dublin Fusiliers lost most during the day. Their wounded numbered about 350 officers and men. These troops had a peculiarly trying time, as for three whole days previously they had remained on some captured hills, sun-baked and fired on promiscuously, while at night, when the temperature had run down with its customary rapidity, they had found themselves chilled to the bone, with no blankets or overcoats to cover them. They had about two hours’ sleep on an average per night and very little to eat during the day. From 3 A.M. on the 20th the Lancashires had taken up a position screened behind a string of low kopjes, while the artillery on the right battered and pounded at the Boer earthworks in front and half-left and half-right. The troops had remained quiet and painfully inactive in the sweltering sun for many hours, stray bullets whistling round their ears, and, as one of the officers said, “causing great levity among the men.” At 1.30 they had begun to advance. Immediately they showed their heads they were caught by a hailstorm of bullets, and seven men dropped. Rushing dauntlessly on, they made for the shelter of a ring of rocks some 150 yards in advance, remained for some ten minutes or so, then pushed forward another 400 yards, losing less men and taking a lesson in caution from the Boers. Thus, in short energetic rushes, they had managed to get within 900 yards of the enemy. On the top of the hillock a perfect deluge of bullets descended, and though the General had moved some 400 forward, so quickly were the men hit that only thirty or so could use their rifles.

Afterwards the order was given to make breastworks, and there was a rush into the open to gather stones and rocks and boulders, when more men were stricken down. All the wounded could do was to creep to a rock in the rear, and there await the turn of events. Some lay as they crawled from 3 to 8.30 at night. It was impossible for them to be removed from the hill, as the Boers promptly fired on the stretcher-bearers. The sights and sounds were heart-rending. On one side was seen a man sent to his last account in a breath; on another was one still hobbling along and plying his rifle, with both ankles smashed. Here lay a poor fellow who had a splinter of rock driven clean through his lungs and out at his back; there languished another shot through the eye and brain—hopeless. All of them suffered patiently, but were madly athirst, craving for the hour when the sun should go down and they might get a chance of removal from the awful scene. And yet there were some, wounded too, who bore the long hours with amazing cheeriness. One, shot in the leg, lay on his back, drew forth his home letters, and perused them in the midst of a deadly fusillade. Another, more seriously wounded still, had the audacity to beguile the weary moments by taking a “snap-shot” at General Hart in the act of waving his sword and gesticulating. So much for pluck!

After sundown came the moment so longed for by the wretched beings, some of whom were now literally glued to earth in their own gore. But their miseries were not yet at an end. It took some two hours to go three-quarters of a mile in the darkness over the bad ground; there were creeks, and dongas, and boulders everywhere. No lights were allowed. In the jetty obscurity the Samaritans tripped and stumbled. “I was only dropped twice,” smiled a wounded youth when he was at last safely borne towards the stretcher-bearers. Others at intervals were brought in soaked with blood and rain, the hot stream and the cold mingling uncannily and to their supreme discomfort. Many who were wounded soon after midday only succeeded in reaching the field-hospital about half-past twelve at night. Some, more pathetic still, did not reach it at all! They had patiently waited till past the need of assistance!

Very pathetic were the circumstances attending the fall of Major Childe. It was said that on the previous day he had had forebodings of disaster, so much so that he even begged of his companions, in the event of his death, to put on his grave his chosen quotation, “Is it well with the child? It is well.” This dying wish was faithfully carried out. His burial took place on the day after the engagement, Lord Dundonald reading the solemn words of the funeral service. Over his roughly-made grave was placed the gallant officer’s name, the date of his death, and the text he had desired to have written on his tomb.

On the following day the fight was waged as fiercely as ever so far as artillery was concerned. Six field-batteries and four howitzers bombarded the enemy’s position with tremendous vigour, and inflicted considerable loss. The Boer rifles were indefatigable, however, and continued their fiendish activity, and the Dutch or German gunners maintained their excellent practice with scarcely a moment’s cessation.

While General Woodgate made a demonstration on the right, General Hart and his brigade continued to advance, and General Hildyard’s troops joined in the attack from the valley past the right of Bastion Hill. Here a cleft appeared to open between the right and centre of the Boer position, and here the infantry, pushing on, practically divided the position in two; but it was found that the second line of defence was a formidable one; that the Boers had secured to themselves a magnificent point of vantage, whence they could sweep the country and command all the approaches with cross-fire, and even with converging fire; but, in spite of this, the troops tenaciously retained the positions they had gained, remaining there throughout the 22nd and 23rd, partially covered, so that in all their loss was inconsiderable.

The following officers were wounded in action near Venter’s Spruit on the 20th of January:—

Staff—Colonel B. Hamilton, Major C. M’Grigor. 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers—Captain R. B. Blunt, Second Lieut. M. G. Crofton, Second Lieut. E. I. M. Barret. 1st Border Regiment—Captain E. D. Vaughan, Second Lieut. Muriel. 1st York and Lancaster Regiment—Second Lieut. A. H. Kearsey. 2nd Dublin Fusiliers—Captain C. A. Hensley (since dead), Major F. English. 2nd Gordon Highlanders—Second Lieut. P. D. Stewart. Non-commissioned officers and men, 279. Royal West Surrey Regiment—Second Lieut. Du Buisson. 16th Lancers (Staff)—Captain Dallas.

SPION KOP

On Tuesday the 23rd, the continuous and steady assault of the Boer position seemed to be reaching a promising climax. For four days on the heights above the Venter Spruit the English and Irish Brigades had been doggedly moving up and on, and had carried one position after another in the teeth of many guns, and in the face of discomforts and discouragements multifarious. They had achieved a great deal with comparatively small loss, viewing the masterly manner in which the Boer guns were served. Fortunately the rifle-fire of the foe was not equal in accuracy to their shell-fire, most probably for the reason that the bucolic Dutchman had lost his ancient cunning in wielding the rifle, while in the management of guns of position he was assisted—nay, relieved, by his German mercenaries. The astonishing dexterity of the Teutonic specialists in planting shells accurately at a range of over 3000 yards was a matter for marvel and admiration. Their success was attributed partly to the fact that the range had previously been marked, and also that spots had been selected over which it was known bodies of troops must eventually pass, and where it was certain every shot must be made to tell. For all that, and considering the cross-fire to which the troops were subjected on the opening days of Sir Charles Warren’s attack, the losses were small. A council of war had been held, and three courses had been sifted: first, a frontal attack by night on the second Boer position, possibly attended by terrible loss; second, retirement beyond the river to seek for a new passage; third, attack by night on the mountain of Spion Kop, thence to enfilade and dominate all the Boer positions.

TAKING THE 4·7 NAVAL GUN ACROSS THE TUGELA.
Drawing by J. Finnemore.

The last course was decided on. Spion Kop was to be attacked by night, the Boer trenches to be scooped out with the point of the bayonet, and the position held till again—by night—guns could be dragged up to assist in commanding the position of the foe. Spion Kop, the extreme left of the Boer position, once fortified, would become a key to the door of Ladysmith. So it was thought.

General Woodgate was informed of what was required of him, and Colonel Thorneycroft discussed the programme of the night attack. By his desire, satisfactory reconnaissances had been made, and there was every reason to believe that the attempt would be crowned with success. Accordingly, soon after midnight, General Woodgate, accompanied by Colonel àCourt, started forth with the 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, the Royal Lancaster Regiment, a portion of Thorneycroft’s Horse, and half a company Royal Engineers, supported by two companies of the Connaught Rangers and by the Imperial Light Infantry.

In pitch darkness the troops began their march up the southern slope of the giant mountain called Thaba Emunyama. The steeps were precipitous and rocky, and had to be negotiated with extreme care. Dongas were on this side, boulders on that; these had to be crept through and leapt over with stealthy, cat-like tread lest the enemy on the summit should be forewarned. Now and then the whirr of a bullet showed that the Dutchmen were awake, and were indulging in the pastime of sniping; otherwise the still, purple night spoke of peace. Led by General Woodgate and Colonel Blomfield, the Fusiliers (who, being seasoned fighters, were specially selected for the honour of engaging in “ticklish” work) ascended softly, advancing higher and higher in single file and in cautious silence. When more than half-way up, the approaching multitude was discovered, and the Boer picket, firing, fled. But the warrior crowd pressed on, Colonel Thorneycroft now leading the way, firing never a shot, and waiting till the trusty bayonet should teach its lesson. At three o’clock the summit was reached. The rain drizzled down, the clouds wrapt the hill, but the ardour of the troops was unabated. With a wild, ringing cheer, which echoed far over the hills, the position was carried. The force then proceeded to fortify itself so far as was possible in the hard and rocky ground that covered the heights.

It must here be noted that, owing to the darkness and the impossibility of judging exact distances, the trenches that were dug were badly situated. Instead of the whole or most part of the triangular tableland of the top, the force occupied merely a cramped position on the extreme point. This point was already marked and commanded by six Boer guns, while on the very hill itself was another hostile weapon. Sneaking around the crust of the kop—on the brim, as it were, while we occupied the crown—were sharpshooters and snipers, who from thence could pelt the northern hump of the slope; but in the dense atmosphere of the early morning these facts were unknown, and the effort, under cover of the darkness, to widen our position and capture the entire triangle was not then made.

Sketch and Plan of the Battle of Spion Kop.
Made on the spot by Lieutenant E. B. Knox of the Royal Army Medical Corps.

While the hazy blue pall of the morning yet hung over the hills the trenches near the crest were occupied. The clouds hung low, and not a Dutchman was to be seen. For some time the troops were protected by the enshrouding mist, but so soon as it cleared, the Boers from their posts opened fire. They realised that the position to them was virtually one of life or death. Ping! ping! rang the rifles in chorus; bong! bong! went the guns, with a deep basso that reverberated in the hollows of the hills. It was an awe-striking reveillé. The hostile artillery had the range to a nicety; each shell followed the other with precision, and burst with terrific uproar on the patch of earthworks held by our infantry. Under this fearful fusillade our men, pelted yet undismayed, faithfully held their ground for two mortal hours. But the shell-fire made horrible gaps in the stalwart company; and by-and-by General Woodgate, who, having captured the position, still continued to direct and encourage his men, was wounded, Colonel Blomfield, of the 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, took over command, and sent for reinforcements. He also fell. Then, by reason of merit rather than of seniority, Major Thorneycroft, local lieutenant-colonel, was appointed to take the place of the disabled chief. With the rising of the sun, with the development of day, developed the battle. Shrapnel from 15-pounders sprayed hither and thither; lyddite opened out earth-umbrellas far and wide. The roar and the roll of fiends in fury rent the clear, mimosa-scented atmosphere, and made even the bosom of the placid, silvery river shudder and quake as it wound and twisted and looped round Potgieter’s Drift. For three and a half hours the tornado pursued its deadly course. Death—mutilation—agony—thirst—these were more prominent than the word glory in that long, immemorial period. Officers and men alike could scarce lift a head lest they should meet the doom that hung over every creature that dared to stand upright in the murderous arena. They crouched, and took cover, and waited. The Boers, seeing their advantage, noting the terrible strain on the men that held the captured trenches, and the dance of death among Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry, also bided their time. With great caution and “slimness” they finally commenced to creep up nearer and nearer, firing the while, and hoping, when things became a shade worse, to rush the position. Unfortunately there were no guns to rout the adventurous crew—not one handy Naval 12-pounder to sweep the enemy from the plateau. There they were, and there they meant to remain. Major-General Coke’s brigade had started to get to the scene of action, and before long the Middlesex, Dorset, and Somerset Regiments were moving up the heights to the assistance of the battered regiments above. Major Walters, in charge of the ambulance, was also carrying out his grim, unusually heavy duties, but he, in the midst of his deeds of mercy, was caught by a shot and brought to earth.

By this time the glorious Lancashire Fusiliers, who held the captured trenches, had suffered most severely, not only from wounds, but from the agonies of thirst, for which there was no remedy. Their losses were horrible, and so also were those of Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry, and they lay in many cases too far removed for the ambulance-bearers to reach them, and in too exposed a position for help from any around. Indeed, the state of affairs was so lamentable, the Boers forcing their way with such persistency, that the question of holding the hill hung by a thread. Three times before midday had the Dutchmen returned, driven the Britons back, and again been driven back themselves, till the ups and downs of the fight became like a perilous game of see-saw, none daring to prognosticate the conclusion. From noon till the late afternoon the Boers persisted in their desperate efforts to retake the crest of the hill. They evidently regarded the position of so much importance that reinforcements from their right were drawn away to help in the work. But the gallant fellows who were in possession hung doggedly to their prize. “Only a day,” they said; “a day’s more endurance, and to-morrow we shall mount guns. We shall be rulers of the roost.” So they fought on with a will. Fortunately, at this time they had no premonition of impediments to success. The place turned out to be very difficult to hold. Its perimeter was large, and water was exceedingly scarce, and their ammunition, moreover, gave out at a critical period.

All these discoveries were gradually and painfully made as the day wore on, but nevertheless they resisted the assaults of the enemy with herculean vigour—with courage that was Spartan.

For two hours in the afternoon the scene on the summit of the kop was terrific. A hurricane of shot and shell swept the crest—it became a seething Inferno. Six quick-firing guns, two Hotchkiss guns, and numerous other weapons of more or less deadliness played upon the troops. Maimed and dying were being carried off as fast as possible. General Woodgate, brave as a lion, who had worked like a Trojan till struck down by a piece of shell, refused to leave. Usually a placid man, he was now irrepressible, protesting that he would remain on the field, though his sufferings—since he was shot over the left eye—must have been severe. Reinforcements had now arrived—the Middlesex, Dorsets, and Somersets—the plateau was crowded—overcrowded, some say—and death was taking a full meal. The Boer Maxim-Nordenfeldt, which had done its fell work at Colenso, perambulated from position to position with insatiable greed, preying on the life-blood of our bravest and best, and defying the efforts of our gunners below to locate it. Its work, and the work of the Mausers, lay everywhere—the hill was a shambles. Major Walters, chief of the Natal Volunteer Ambulance, had dropped; his brother, of the 2nd Scottish Rifles, was killed; Captain Murray, of the same regiment, was simply riddled with bullets—he received as many as four, yet persisted in leading on his men till struck down mortally. Colonel Buchanan Riddell, King’s Royal Rifles, another hero, was slain later, while directing a flanking movement. The turmoil of those exciting hours was described by an officer:—

“I crawled along a little way with half my company, and then brought up others in the same manner. The men of the different regiments already on the hill were mixed up, and ours met the same fate. It was impossible, under the circumstances, to keep regimental control. One unit merged into another; one officer gave directions to this or that unit, or to another battalion. I saw some tents on the far side of the hill to our front, and knowing the enemy must be there, opened with volleys at 1800 yards, when we saw a puff of smoke, indicating that one of the Boer guns had just fired. We lay prone, and could only venture a volley now and again, firing independently at times when the shower of bullets seemed to fall away, and the shells did not appear likely to land specially amongst us. Everywhere, however, it was practically the same deadly smash of shells, mangling and killing all about us. The only troops actually close to me then were a party of the Lancashire Fusiliers inside a schanze, F Company of the Middlesex, and a mixed company of other troops on the left front. A good many shells from the big guns burst near us, and a lance-corporal of the Fusiliers was killed. The only point I could see rifle-fire proceeding from was a trench, the third, I believe, occupied by our troops on the right, and looking towards Spearman’s.

“Presently I heard a great deal of shouting from this trench, in which were about fifty men. They were calling for reinforcements, and shouting, ‘The Boers are coming up.’ Two or three minutes afterwards I saw a party of about forty Boers walking towards the trench. They came up quite coolly; most of them had their rifles slung, and all, so far as I could observe, had their hands up. Our men in the trench—they were Fusiliers—were then standing up also, with their hands up, and shouting, ‘The Boers are giving in, the Boers are giving in.’ I did not know what to think, but ordered a company of my regiment to fix bayonets. We waited to see what would happen. Just then, when the Boers were close to the trench, some one—whether an enemy or one of our men—fired a shot. In an instant there was a general stampede, or rather a mêlée, my men rushing from their position and charging, while the Boers fired at the men in the trench, knocking several back into it, dead. Previous to this a Boer came towards me saying, ‘I won’t hurt you.’ He looked frightened, and threw down his rifle. Immediately afterwards the Boer fired, and there was a frightful muddle. I fired at one Boer, and then another passed. We were fighting hand to hand. I shot the Boer in order to help the man, and he dropped, clinging, however, to his rifle as he fell, and covering me most carefully. He fired, and I fell like a rabbit, the bullet going in just over and grazing the left lung. I lay where I fell until midnight. Subsequent to my being hit, parties of Boers passed twice over me, trying on the same trick, holding up their hands, as if they were asking for quarter. But our men refused to be taken in again, and fired, killing or driving them back.”

In this fight the Dutchmen were unusually obstinate. Over and over again they advanced to within seventy yards of the captured trenches, and from thence were only routed at the point of the bayonet. Their rushes were most valiant and persistent, and nothing but the heroism of officers and men could have withstood the overwhelming nature of the attack made upon them.

But dodges with the white flag and other frauds continued to be practised by the Boers. Colonel Thorneycroft escaped merely by an accident from an endeavour to play a trick upon him. The leader of a commando facing Thorneycroft’s Horse advanced with a white flag. The Colonel approached to the parley, but being suspicious, he told the leader to go back, as he refused to confer with him. Both retired, but before the Colonel could return to his regiment a volley was poured on him by the enemy. Another and more curious trick was practised on some of the privates. They were approached by an officer in kharki and directed to follow him to a better position. This they began to do till, at last, seeing themselves being led into the jaws of the enemy, they halted, and some one demanded to know who this bogus officer might be. At that moment the party was met by a storm of Boer bullets, and scarcely a man came whole from the adventure. Fortunately, the miscreant—an Austrian—who had played the trick on them was bayoneted ere all our gallant fellows dropped down. Strange, too, was the fate of gallant Colonel Blomfield, whose regiment, one of the smartest of the smart regiments present, had done such splendid work, and had held on to its post to the bitter end. This officer was wounded early in the day, as already recorded, and lay in a trench helpless and fainting for hours and beyond the reach of help. Finally, he was able to crawl out and make his way down the side of the hill—down the wrong side, unluckily for himself—and when next he was heard of he was a prisoner in Pretoria. That his life was saved at all was a marvel. Captain Tidswell, on seeing his Colonel wounded, rushed out with Sergeant Lightfoot and dragged him under a heavy fire into a trench, where he remained till the action was over.

Plan of Engagement at Spion Kop.

During the early part of the day the Scottish Rifles and the 3rd Battalion of the King’s Royal Rifles had been sent off to storm the kopjes forming an extension of Spion Kop, and thus occupy the enemy and relieve the pressure of his attack. The river was forded at Kaffir Drift by Colonel Buchanan Riddell’s troops, and soon after the battalion divided, half being led by the Colonel to the right, and half under Major Bewicke-Copley advancing to the left, of the objective. The enemy was everywhere—at the base of the kopjes and in the trenches up the sides. Still the troops advanced. The Dutchmen were shifted upwards inch by inch from their defences. The best cold Sheffield glittered near the trenches, and—the trenches were vacated! Up and up moved the Boers, on and on went the Rifles—on and up, rushing wildly, gallantly, charging and cheering, and finally gaining the crest!

Meanwhile the Scottish Rifles had advanced on Spion Kop. Nothing could exceed the smartness with which they scaled the steeps. They marched straight to the front firing line, and, in a word, saved the situation. No sooner did the enemy show his nose than the Scottish Rifles held him in check, and over and over again showed him that British tenacity was equal to both Boer stubbornness and slimness combined. The enemy could make no headway against them.

But the gallant action of the King’s Royal Rifles was one of the grand deeds that end in the ineffectual. The battalion in its triumph had pressed the Boers upwards, but on doing so became practically isolated. The Boers were above and between them and our own troops, and as a result of its too forward movement the regiment stood in peril. Seeing their position of jeopardy, orders were sent up to retire. It was disgusting, heart-breaking, but it had to be done. The glorious company, after capturing two positions, slowly, reluctantly, moved down the hill they had ascended in the flush of triumph—moved again to their bivouac, sadder and wiser men. But they were only the first of many sad and sorry men that day. Meanwhile the battle on the great hill raged continuously, and shells, not alone those of the enemy, but those of our own guns which had attempted to assist, made the crowded kop a “veritable hell.”

GOING OUT TO THE ATTACK ON SPION KOP ON JANUARY 24.
Drawing by R. Caton Woodville.

Presently, in the late afternoon a still more serious situation presented itself. Water, always scarce, threatened to run short altogether. Ammunition failed. A more appalling quandary in the drama of war can scarcely be imagined. Fortunately, to the relief of the plucky band on the heights, at last came a mule-train with much-desired water and cartridges, and the fight was pursued in more auspicious circumstances. But the Boer guns lost none of their persistency. Shells hurtled over the plateau, and as dusk set in, regiments and battalions and such officers as were left were mixed up in a surging, stumbling mêlée, wounded men firing last shots at the darkness, and hale ones dropping helpless as the blaze from the bursting projectiles showed, for one moment, the scene of agony.

When night made further activity impossible the position of affairs came under discussion. Was this sorry game worth the vast, the costly candle that was being expended—that yet might have to be expended? One commanding officer said “Yes!” another said “No!” It is stated that the decision rested with Colonel Crofton. He argued in favour of withdrawal. The troops were terribly mauled; the dead lay in crowds, a ghastly testimony of their impetuous courage. It had been found impossible to secure good cover against the enemy’s shrapnel and venomous, unceasing quick-firers. There had scarcely been time for the raking of rifle-pits, the construction of stone defences—the guns of the foe had been too active and unceasing—and besides this, the troops were unaccustomed to the sly art of crouching to cover. While the Colonial crawled like a stalker along dongas and through gulleys to get at his quarry, the hardy Briton always exposed himself as though pluck demanded that he should make a mark of himself. As some one at the time expressed it, “Their courage is incontestable, their methods absurd.” For this reason many of the trenches that our soldiers had so grandly defended became in the end their graves. The number of slain was appalling to see. The flower of the country lay struck down as the grass beneath the scythe of the reaper. It was a harvest of blood. The dead lay literally in stacks, the sole protection of their living comrades. Crowds upon crowds had pressed to the top of the great hill, offering a thick, compact front to the guns of the enemy, an imposing target to the horrible shells that merely breathed death as they passed. Liberally as the brigades exposed themselves, liberally they paid the penalty.

Late in the evening, guns—Naval guns and a battery—toiled towards the scene, rattling along through the night air to get into position for the morrow, and take revenge, though late, on the devastating “pom-poms” of the foe. But the die was cast. The withdrawal had begun. At 7.30 P.M. Colonel Thorneycroft gave the word. Slowly and in confused fashion the shattered braves began to wind downwards, and by nine the summit of the hill was almost deserted.

Pitiable were the circumstances of the retirement. The wounded, with staggering footsteps, crawled or crept down the mountain-side, reeling from loss of blood and exhaustion. Streams of officers and knots of men scrambled along calling for their units and finding them not. Drowsy, stupefied beings stumbled through dongas and broke their ankles against boulders, trying before they dropped to come in touch with their fellow-men. Many wandered aimlessly, twining the hill and passing over it into the hands of the enemy. Battalion was mixed with battalion, company with company. Dazed men searched in vain for the rendezvous. Some cursed, some swore, some slept or seemed to sleep. One commanding officer sat helplessly on the spur of the hill, staring like a somnambulist, deaf to all consciousness of the outer world; another, lying among the trenches, was given up for dead.

The losses were terrific. The Royal Engineers, in some cases, were riddled with bullets. Major Massey died covered with wounds. Lieutenant Falcon, 17th Company, had arms, legs, knees, and helmet perforated with lead. In fact, no one has been able very clearly to describe in its hideous reality the awful picture of the battle of Spion Kop. A great holocaust some called it, and with truth, for the mountain from morn till night was literally scourged with lead, raked in all directions by Maxim-Nordenfeldts, artillery, and musketry. The tale is only writ in the wounds and on the graves of those who by a miracle took the summit, and by sheer grit held it in the face of overwhelming odds. Over a thousand men gave their lives to gain that which, in twenty hours—hours each one crowded with moments of heroism—had to be abandoned. The evacuation was carried out by order of Colonel Thorneycroft, one of the most valiant of the many valiant men who went up only to come down again. The excellence of his reasons was acknowledged, and his personal valour was beyond dispute. His authority for action was the sole source of debate. A military correspondent of the Daily Telegraph related an incident of the fight which served to show what manner of commander had taken the place made vacant by the wounding of General Woodgate. Some men, about a score, who had lost their officers, threw down their arms to surrender, but Thorneycroft, seeing the act, rushed out to the front and called to the Boers to go on firing, for he commanded on the hill, and he alone would give the word to surrender. The Boers promptly responded. The officer went on to say, “Luckily a fresh regiment arrived at our side and restored the battle, but Thorneycroft undoubtedly saved a dreadful disaster by conduct so gallant that it recalls the old story of Messieurs de la Garde Française, tirez.”

Acts of gallantry were so numerous that V.C.’s were surely earned by the dozen. Lieutenant Mallock’s devotion to duty was remarkable, and all regretted his loss. Captain Stewart, who also lost his life, assisted in maintaining the high traditions of the 20th Regiment.

The King’s Royal Rifles lost three officers killed and five wounded. Their Colonel, the bravest of the brave, was hit while in the act of leading the regiment up the steeps. He rose for one instant to read a message and was shot through the brain. The commanders of three leading companies were all wounded. Colonel Thorneycroft was injured, Captain the Hon. J. H. Petre, though twice struck, held on to his duty till another bullet laid him low. Captain O’Gowan was hit in two places, and Lieutenant Lockwood in four, as also was Captain Murray of the Scottish Rifles while attempting to lead his men towards the Boer trenches. Death claimed this splendid officer before the end of the day. Captain Walter was killed by a shell.

Curious stories were told of the behaviour of the Boers to the Colonial soldiers, stories which were hardly creditable to the Dutchmen. What their deadly missiles had failed to do the Boers themselves accomplished. They clubbed some unfortunates to death. These were Uitlanders, or suspected of being such. The correspondent of the Daily Telegraph gave the names of two men slaughtered in this way—Corporal Weldon and Private Daddon, ex-Pretoria men! In addition to this brutality, explosive bullets in quantities were used. A drummer and a private of the Fusiliers were both killed by them. It was said that the quantity of losses sustained by Thorneycroft’s, the Imperial Light Horse, and other South African “Irregulars” was due to special spite owing to a suspicion on the part of the Boers that these regiments might have been recruited from Uitlanders. This charge was so generally believed that many of the “Regulars” came to the assistance of the Colonials, transferring to them their badges in order to save them from the consequences of discovery; for it was distinctly stated that cases had occurred where the Boers deliberately shot the wounded whom they knew to be Colonials. So as to be thoroughly impartial, however, we must remember that there are blood-thirsty villains of all nationalities in times of peace as well as in times of war.

Next morning, General Buller, riding to the scene of action, then, and then only, became acquainted with the decisive move, the abandonment of Spion Kop. His astonishment was great—so was that of the Boers. Some said that the foe had already begun trekking, believing, in spite of their stout resistance, that the position was lost. Others argued that any trekking that they might have attempted meant merely a manœuvre consistent with their mobility to entice the British farther on into a trap from whence they could not have escaped. Be this as it may, a man of immense courage gave the order to withdraw, and he had his reasons, which reasons proved satisfactory to the Chief.

THE SCENE ON SPION KOP—MAJOR THORNEYCROFT’S DESPERATE SITUATION.
Drawing by Frank Craig from a Sketch by a British Officer.

On the 25th the battle dragged on, the artillery barking and rifles snapping at each other, while the transport slowly prepared to retrace its winding way whither it had come, across the Tugela. The most gallant and perhaps the most melancholy feature of the war was at an end. General Warren’s right flanking movement had failed, and the Commander-in-Chief decided that there was no alternative but to again concentrate in the neighbourhood of Potgieter’s Drift. The movement was conducted, under the personal direction of General Buller, with admirable precision and skill, and though there were weary and disgusted hearts among the bitterly disappointed troops, they bore their trial with dignity. The return was orderly, and no further misfortune happened. The enemy made no attempt to interfere. They, too, though successful in their defence, were hard hit.

The following casualty list represents the cost of the great flanking movement:—

Killed:—Staff—Captain Virtue, Brigade-Major. 3rd King’s Royal Rifles—Lieut.-Colonel Buchanan Riddell, Lieutenant R. Grand, Second Lieutenant French-Brewster. 2nd Cameronians—Captain F. Murray, Captain Walter, Lieutenant Osborne. 17th Company Royal Engineers—Major Massey. 2nd King’s Royal Rifles—Lieutenant Pope Wolferstan. 1st South Lancashire—Captain Birch. 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers—Captain Stewart, Lieutenant J. Mallock, Lieutenant Fraser. Imperial Light Horse—Lieutenant Rudall, Lieutenant Kynock. 2nd Middlesex Regiment—Captain Muriel, Second Lieutenant Lawley, Second Lieutenant Wilson. 2nd Lancaster Regiment—Major Ross, Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Wade. Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry—Captain Hon. W. Petre, Captain Knox-Gore, Lieutenant Grenfell, Lieutenant Newnham, Lieutenant M’Corqudale, Lieutenant Hon. Hill-Trevor. South African Light Horse—Major Childe. 2nd West York—Captain Ryall. Wounded:—Staff—Major-General Sir E. Woodgate[5] (since dead), Captain Castleton, A.D.C. 3rd King’s Royal Rifles—Major Thistlethwayte, Major Kays, Captain Beaumont, Captain Briscoe. 2nd Cameronians—Major S. P. Strong, Major Ellis, Captain Wanless-O’Gowan, Lieutenant H. V. Lockwood, Second Lieutenant O. M. Torkington, Second Lieutenant F. G. W. Draffen. Indian Staff Corps—Major Bayly. Bethune’s Horse—Captain Ford. 17th Company Royal Engineers—Lieutenant Falcon. 1st South Lancashire—Lieutenant Raphael. 1st Border Regiment—Captain Sinclair-M’Lagan, Second Lieutenant Andrews. 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers—Lieut.-Colonel Blomfield (taken prisoner), Major Walter, Lieutenant Griffin, Lieutenant Wilson, Lieutenant Charlton. Royal Engineers—Captain Phillips. Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers—Captain Maclachlan. 2nd West York—Lieutenant Barlow. 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers—Captain Wolley-Dod, Captain White, Captain Ormond, Lieutenant Campbell. 1st York and Lancaster—Lieutenant Halford, Lieutenant Duckworth. 2nd West Surrey—Captain Raitt (since dead), Captain Warden, Lieutenant Smith, Lieutenant Wedd. 2nd Middlesex Regiment—Major Scott-Moncrieff, Captain Savile, Captain Burton, Second Lieutenant Bentley. 2nd Lancaster Regiment—Captain Sandbach, Lieutenant Dykes, Lieutenant Stephens, Second Lieutenant Nixon. Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry—Captain Bettington, Lieutenant Foster, Lieutenant Baldwin, Lieutenant Howard. Missing:—2nd Lancashire Fusiliers—Captain Elmslie (taken prisoner), Captain Hicks, Captain Freeth. 2nd Middlesex Regiment—Lieutenant Galbraith. 2nd Lancaster Regiment—Major Carleton. Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry—Lieutenant Power-Ellis.

THE THIRD GREAT EFFORT—VAAL KRANTZ

At this time it seemed as though the word “As you were” had been spoken by the military authorities. But it was, alas! no longer possible to believe that the position was as it had been; for it was now a case of melancholy experience plus previous melancholy experience. Nearly six weeks before, the great frontal attack at Colenso had failed—failed partly by reason of the tremendous strategical position taken up by the Boers, with the river Tugela as a natural moat for its protection, and partly on account of the disaster to the guns, which completely upturned the plan of Sir Redvers Buller’s calculations.

Now a great flank movement had been attempted, and had failed as signally as the first frontal effort. It was really discovered that a flanking movement, truly interpreted, was impossible, for there is no flank to a circle, and the Boer lines were found to be equally strong all round from Colenso to Ladysmith.

This horrible discovery naturally made the situation very grave indeed. The effect on the garrison of Ladysmith—the terrible rebound from delighted anticipation to amazed despair—may be partly imagined. None, indeed, save those who had so valiantly endured the terrible changes in the barometer of expectation could entirely gauge the sensitivity of those ill-fed, debilitated thousands, ravaged by disease, privation, and warfare, who hung oscillating day after day between salvation and destruction. They now knew that their saviours, Sir Charles Warren and his force, were withdrawn to the south of the Tugela. This was done because the river forms a species of natural rampart, beyond which the country—a species of South African Switzerland—offered no facilities to an attacking force. It was found that the Boers had carefully fortified every position already well formed by nature for purposes of defence. It was the same as Colenso. The theatre of war was margined by fortifications, regular galleries, rising tier upon tier on originally favourable positions. The opportunity to occupy these favourable positions the Boers owed entirely to us—to the procrastination and pacific tendencies of the British Government. It was now owned that Sir Alfred Milner should have gone to the Conference with a forest of rifles at his back, an army of mounted Colonials at his elbows, and some big guns “up his sleeve.” As it was, while he talked and the Government spent its money on telegraphic palaver, the Boers, assisted by their German mercenaries, were marking out the choicest positions, not for their own defence, but for the defence of Natal (which they were allowed time to seize) against the “magnanimous” Briton. Yes, the Boers from the beginning had decided to talk the British into delay, and had profited gloriously by their strategy. In our first volume, a letter on “Boer ignorance” candidly showed the Dutchman’s hand—too late, of course, for then the trick was bound to be taken. The Dutchmen conferred with Sir Alfred Milner to suit their own ends and to further their main objects; firstly, to keep the war outside their own territories, and secondly, to confine it to soil that, geographically and by a species of hereditary instinct, they knew to perfection. They, boy and man, loved those kopjes. In those semi-circular windings, those almost inaccessible peaks and cones, those boulders which afforded eternal cover to the sniper, those vast arenas of open veldt where an approaching enemy might be stormed upon by a deluge of leaden hail—they had mentally played hide-and-seek for eighteen years. Now the reality of the game was come. From the early days when Sir Harry Smith found them prospecting the fair land of Natal, they had learnt its intimate geography. We, to whom the fair land belonged, had barely heard of the Tugela or the region around it. To us it was superficially known only at the cost of dire experience. The Boers had been aware that the British advance northwards through the Free State would lie across flat fair country, and knowing this, had decided that during the month taken to land the British army they must take up their positions beyond and around it; and so excellent was their cunning, so amicably pacific the temper of the British nation, that they were enabled to follow their strategic programme in its entirety, and plant themselves in firmly rooted masses to await our arrival!

The problem of how to dislodge them and how to relieve Ladysmith was once more staring Sir Redvers Buller in the face with hard and unbending austerity. According to military experts, who viewed the plan of campaign with dispassionate eyes, the fate of Ladysmith should have been left out of the calculations. The troops should have been massed to a common centre and at the south, and from thence boldly advanced into the Free State. But against that opinion was the picture of the noble ten thousand inside a beleaguered town, a grand British multitude, who had been kept for months hoping against hope, fighting bravely, and praying of the Almighty to hasten the hour of their deliverance. They could not be left. While he had men and guns the General felt he must go on. But how? Certainly not by the newer route. The recapture of Spion Kop was decided to be impracticable, and the force remained stationary south of the Tugela while the complicated situation was reviewed.

The General, whatever his misfortunes, had lost none of the confidence of his troops. As he himself said of them, “The men were splendid.” They were disgusted at being a second time defeated without being beaten, and disappointed at again being forced back from the road to Ladysmith; but their steadfast faith in their chief was unalterable. Sir Redvers Buller again addressed his warriors, promising them they should be in Ladysmith soon, and the men, Britons to the core, again said in their hearts, “We shall.”

To replace 1600 killed and wounded in the late actions, drafts of 2400 men had now arrived. A mountain battery, A Battery R.H.A., and two fortress guns had strengthened the artillery, while two squadrons of the 14th Hussars had been added to the cavalry, thus bringing the strength of the force to 1000 more than the number which had started for Spion Kop. This was an imposing increase, but its value at the present time was much less than it would have been had Sir Redvers Buller originally taken the field with a proper complement of men and guns. “To do the thing handsomely we want 150,000 men,” a tactician declared at the onset; but nobody heeded him, and in consequence of this heedlessness the complications in Natal had arisen.

“However,” as a military officer expressed it, “there was not a sore head nor a timid heart in Buller’s army. As we lie in our bivouacs at night, the Southern Cross and a thousand constellations watching over our slumbers, we dream of the Angel of Victory, and in our dreams we hear the flapping of her wings.”

The optimism of the army was undiminished. There was no doubt whatever that they would relieve Ladysmith, but the when and the how remained as yet unsolved. The troops had not yet sustained actual defeat at the hands of the Boers, and, while our losses could be replaced, and were being replaced, the recuperative power of the Boers was nil. Indeed it was stated that they had come to the end of their resources, and that they were already forcing Kaffirs to fight for them in the trenches. Later on it was discovered that females even—true to the ancient sporting instinct of the Boer woman—were lending a hand in the management of the rifle.

At last, after some days of deliberation, a third great attempt to reach the imprisoned multitude in Ladysmith was planned out.

A week of waiting and then a new advance was decided on. Seventy guns drew up in line on the hills to prepare the way for another gigantic move. This time Sir Redvers Buller’s plan was to occupy a hill called Vaal Krantz and get forward between Spion Kop and the Doorn Kloof ranges. But after a very short yet valorous essay, it was discovered that there were veritably cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them. The Boers commanded the hills on either side the road through which the troops must pass. Not only were there guns on both sides, but these Krupps and Creusot cannon far outranged anything that our artillery could bring to bear on them. The Naval guns alone were capable of not only barking but biting, and these three were not enough to meet the formidable array of the Republicans.

Plan of the Battle of Vaal Krantz

On the 5th of February, however, the gallant attempt was made. The cavalry moved forward about 6 A.M.—one brigade under Colonel Burn-Murdoch advanced to the right below Swartz Kop, the Colonials under Lord Dundonald kept nearer to Potgieter’s Drift, Sir Charles Warren with one brigade remained west of Mount Alice in a position commanding the road leading to Potgieter’s Drift. The Naval guns meanwhile came into action, shelling the Boer positions, dongas, and trenches, and every imaginable hiding-place with immense energy, but with little result. The Boers in their trenches were quiet, as usual reserving themselves for an effective outburst later on. Meanwhile the Lancashire Brigade (now under Colonel Wynne) were advancing in skirmishing order to the tune of the mighty orchestra, while above an officer of sappers in the balloon spied out the Boer haunts, and directed accordingly. By nine o’clock pandemonium was unloosed—lyddite bellowed, shrapnel clattered over the whole fortified face of Brakfontein, while the infantry steadily moved on. Presently from dongas and trenches, at ranges of 1000 yards and less, came the crackling of rifles, to which our troops responded by volleys now and again. Between these volleys they proceeded steadily, regardless of the uproar and the fell work of the eternally active sniper.

CYCLISTS—LANCASHIRE FUSILIERS.
Photo by Gregory & Co., London.

While this feint attack was taking place on the left before the now flaming ridges of Brakfontein, a real and vigorous move was being made on the extreme right for the purpose of carrying the crest of Vaal Krantz, which was then thought to be the key to the direct road to Ladysmith, and was not very strongly fortified by the Dutchmen. The Royal Engineers with immense energy set to work laying a pontoon bridge across the treacherous depths in the direction of Skiet’s Drift, an operation which had to be performed with infinite patience and pluck, as the Boers were no sooner aware of their activities than they plied their Mausers with a will. This crossing-place, styled Munger’s Ford, now attracted the attention of the whole Boer artillery, and the “pom-poms” and 40-pounders of the enemy contrived to render the locality anything but an enviable place of rendezvous. Our pieces, from their hiding-place among the trees in the neighbourhood of Swartz Kop, soon bombarded the Boer position with equal activity. By ten o’clock the bridge had been thrown across the river, and General Lyttelton and his troops were preparing for the assault of Vaal Krantz. The artillery now made its finishing demonstration before Brakfontein, there being no necessity—now that the troops had come successfully across the pontoon bridge—for a continuation of the feint attack. For this reason the Lancashire Brigade was now ordered to retire. The gallant fellows, having done what was required of them, marched back in excellent order to their original position.

All this while shells were shrieking, lyddite was bursting, and musketry crackling, till the whole earth seemed riven with an enormous convulsion. The gunners had some terrific experiences, and nobly, in a truly alarming position, they comported themselves. They were on low ground, exposed without shelter to the Boer works, which dominated the plain; yet they pursued their labours with unerring care and intelligence that was truly remarkable. Shell plumped in their midst, under the limbers, over the guns, above their heads, round their feet. They stuck to their duty. Horses dropped and shrieked in their agony, gunners fell shot through the heart and were carried away. Loudly the vociferous chorus of death went on, steadily the gunners took their share of the fearful drama of destruction. To show the vast amount of “grit” that these gunners could boast, an incident of the day must be recorded. About noon the batteries were ordered to approach nearer to Vaal Krantz and prepare the way for the infantry assault. The guns, ever under a scathing fire, moved off in due order to take up the fresh position on the right facing Vaal Krantz. Finally they came to the last waggon, an ammunition waggon belonging to the 78th Battery R.A., which was horseless. The team had been wiped off by the enemy. Nevertheless the gunners put their shoulders to the wheel, and, with a mighty effort, rolled the machine straight through the fiery hurricane to a place of safety! The conduct of the Jack Tars also stuck another feather in their already well-decorated caps. While the new balloon made its descent it became an object of attention, and was saluted vigorously by the enemy. Nevertheless the sailors stuck to their work, held the basket, took possession of the truculent aërial vessel, and marched off with it under a galling fire.

By-and-by, when Vaal Krantz had been thoroughly searched and swept by the British batteries, and the snipers from the base of Doorn Kloof had been partially reduced to silence by the joint efforts of the artillery and Hildyard’s Brigade, Lyttelton’s gallant band began to move off from the direction of Munger’s Farm on the road to Vaal Krantz. It was now the early afternoon, but from all sides the deadly missiles of the enemy still bellowed and hooted. Still the Durham Light Infantry, with the 3rd King’s Royal Rifles on their right, pushed steadily on—forward from the river and up the precipitous broken face of the hill. Cheering, they went, clambering and leaping, and whether it was the menacing roar, or the suggestion it gave of coming steel that stirred them, certain it was that few of the foe remained to meet the charge.

The Boers saw them—heard them—gauged the meaning of the lusty British cheer—and bolted. Scarcely any elected to fall victim to the bayonet. Those who were there threw up their hands and appealed for mercy. These were promptly made prisoners, and the British, for the time being, reigned supreme on the hill. But their reign had its discomforts. Dutchmen crowded the ground, west, east, and north of them, dosing them liberally with lead from their rifles, while their position was perpetually pounded by the big guns of the enemy. These, vomiting on the eastern slopes of the hill, set fire to the grass and added to the discomforts of the position by surrounding it with appalling fumes, which choked and blinded, and destroyed the view of the Dutchmen’s haunts. Nevertheless, the kopje once gained, the men rushed along the crest and entrenched themselves in a spot that looked as though it had been overtaken by a prairie fire. Our shells had effectually cleared the grass and scrub. The gunners from the surrounding kopjes kept a sharp lookout, firing at the Boers as they brought up their guns from all directions, while General Lyttelton maintained his ground. Meanwhile efforts were made to get the batteries forward to the hill, but the task was a difficult one, and the position was strengthened and enlarged in order to assist in the accomplishment of the desired object. Until guns could be mounted and made to defy the active aggression of the “pom-poms,” Creusots, and other deadly weapons of the enemy, there could be no hope of getting the troops and their baggage through to Ladysmith. At this time an obstinate effort to gain lost ground was made by the Republicans, but owing to the doughty resistance of the Scottish Rifles and the King’s Royal Rifles, the attempt to dislodge them entirely failed. Towards seven o’clock a drizzling rain and darkness descended. The troops which had gathered together between Swartz Kop, Munger’s Drift, and the newly acquired hill were forced to bivouac where they were for the night, Sir Redvers Buller and his staff remaining on the field with the men.

At dawn on the 6th of February the Boers resumed their activity. Long Tom—the first to awake—with his big black snout snorted sonorously. Bang went a hundred-pound shell across the plain—helter-skelter flew the British Tommies, who were enjoying their morning tea, and crash and splash went their delicious brew. Fortunately no serious harm was done. A few horses were killed. But after this began an artillery duel of vigorous nature. This was chiefly directed against General Lyttelton’s troops on Vaal Krantz. The Boers seemed everywhere, more ubiquitous than usual. From the lower crests of Spion Kop, from the peak of Doorn Kloof, from the mountains commanding the road to Ladysmith, flame vomited, and lead and steel and powder spouted and spluttered.

The fact was that during the night the Boers, in order to proceed with the work of defence, had set fire to more grass in the neighbourhood of the British position, and utilised the illumination for the transfer of their guns from one place to another. Early, therefore, they were enabled to greet the camp with the roar of a Creusot gun and other weapons from all quarters playing upon the position. Shells burst everywhere, some even reaching headquarters. It was said that Buller, the imperturbable, welcomed them. Certainly his Spartan-like disregard of danger was remarkable, and was responsible for the superb nonchalance of those who served under him. Still, with his courage he displayed caution, the caution that only a courageous man would dare to display. He decided later on that his move was impracticable, that more lives should not be spent in futile effort. Of this anon. While the Creusots and Krupps pounded the hill, the Boers strove their uttermost to regain their hold on the lost position. Meanwhile the Naval guns rumbled and rampaged, ammunition waggons blew up, earthquakes filled the clear blue atmosphere with avalanches of dust, and one of the enemy’s cherished weapons on Spion Kop was knocked clean out of action.

Late in the afternoon, the worn-out troops of Lyttelton’s Brigade were relieved by Hildyard’s men, who came in from a violent night-attack by the enemy. This in their usual gallant style was repelled by the East Surrey and the West Yorks—the veteran West Yorks, who had learned not a little from Beacon Hill onwards.

On Wednesday the firing grew terrific. More guns were brought up, seemingly from the bowels of the earth; they were posted everywhere—another 6-inch Creusot gun, Maxim cannons, two 30-pounders, three “pom-poms,” in addition to the death-dealing weapons of the previous day. Shells hurtled and burst on hill and dale, mountain and valley, smoke, flame, and dust spouted forth, making the atmosphere dense, torrid, and fearsome. Still Hildyard’s dauntless brigade held their ground unflinchingly, while the Naval guns strove bravely, but strove in vain, to tackle the great snorting crew of the opposition. It seemed as though the advance must be accomplished not merely through a zone, but a sheath of fire, for the road to Ladysmith was barred from end to end, a sheer cul-de-sac, with flame and death for its lining.

Our troops during the whole day hung tenaciously to Vaal Krantz, while the Dutchmen obstinately challenged their right to be there. But nothing appreciable was achieved, and evacuation seemed the wiser and more profitable course to pursue. By this time it began to be recognised that the strategic value of Vaal Krantz for turning the Brakfontein position had been over-estimated, and that an advance would necessitate the routing of the Boers from Brakfontein and the taking and holding of Doorn Kloof, if our communications through the valley were to be maintained.

There was no glory in trying to proceed in the teeth—nay, into the jaws—of so overpowering a foe, a foe who was on the eve of outflanking us. It would have been walking into a fiery furnace—into the pocket of hell. Another council of war took place. Retirement was suggested. General Hart, as distinguished for valour as General Lyttelton for brave discretion, proposed the storming of Doorn Kop. He and his were ready for everything: he had Ireland at his back. But Pat was not to be thrown away on an impossible undertaking, and consequently the majority had their way, and the retirement was effected. On Friday the whole glorious persevering band were again across the Tugela, preparing to strike out in a fresh direction.

FALLS ON THE TUGELA RIVER.
Photo by Wilson, Aberdeen.

The following is the list of casualties between the 5th and 7th of February:—

Killed:—1st Durham Light Infantry—Major Johnson Smith; Second Lieutenant Shafto.

Wounded:—1st Durham Light Infantry—Lieut.-Colonel Fitzgerald; Captain Lascelles; Second Lieutenant Lambton; Second Lieutenant Appleby. 1st Rifle Brigade—Captain Thorp; Captain Talbot; Lieutenant Blewitt; Lieutenant Ellis; Lieutenant Sir T. Cunninghame, Bart. 3rd King’s Royal Rifles—Lieutenant Sims. Royal Artillery—Lieut.-Colonel Montgomery, Captain Dawson, 78th Battery R.F.A. 2nd Scottish Rifles—Second Lieutenant Ferrars. 2nd West Yorkshire—Second Lieutenant Bicknell. 2nd East Surrey—Captain White. R.A.M.C., Major Rose.

DISAPPOINTMENT AT LADYSMITH

The fearful and ghastly activity of the 6th of January ceased with dusk. Night descended: she came softly as the footsteps of angels moving lightly among the tranquil dead. The moon, with pale white serenity, looked down on the scene of carnage, so still, so appallingly still; and the dots of twinkling stars seemed like a thousand eyes of heaven, seeing and inquiring how the face of the fair earth could grow so changed within a day. And everywhere there moved leaden hearts and feet weary with the long strain of foregone hours. Hunger, exposure, and long vigils had become a daily routine, but this close and sustained attack, and the terrible havoc it had wrought on the weakening numbers, brought with it new alarms. True, the bayonet, the trusty bayonet, had served its turn, and might serve again, so long as strength would hold out. But there were doubts. The Russian general Suvaroff once said, “The ball is a fool, but the bayonet is a brick.” He took it for granted that the bayonet even must needs have a man, and not the ghost of a man, at the back of it; and the poor heroes in Ladysmith were fast becoming shadows of the hale and muscular fellows who had scaled the steeps of Talana Hill and broken the echoes of Elandslaagte with the yell of victory. Sadly and solemnly they now set themselves to the pathetic work of removing the slain.

On the 7th of January one of the Boer medical officers rode in under a Red Cross flag, requesting the burial of the British dead. A party started to fulfil this sad office, and while they wandered about picking up the melancholy mutilated forms, the Boers assisted in the task, and in some cases helped to dig the graves and carry the slain; conversing the while with such perfect amity, that it was almost impossible to believe they were deadly foes. Deeply pathetic was the reading of the solemn burial service by the commanding officer, for Britons and Boers stood side by side, and one of the latter, moving apart, uttered a short prayer that the war would soon be at an end. This was followed by the singing of a hymn in Dutch, a quaint, simple, earnest solemnity, which was vastly touching to all.

The curious blend of courage and pleasantness, of trickery and barbarity, in the Boer character has been remarked upon before. It was never more displayed than in the dealings of the Boers around Ladysmith. On one day they would shell an hospital, or rather the Town Hall, knowing it to serve as an hospital; on another they would treat the wounded with almost brotherly consideration. For instance, one man in the 19th Hussars, who was wounded on January 6, and subsequently taken prisoner, gave a refreshing account of Boer manners. Though shot in the arm, he remained at his post till dark, and then in the gloom mistook his way to camp and wandered down the wrong side of the hill. He was captured and detained till morning, while his wound was dressed and cared for. Then he was sent back to camp armed with a tin of jam and a box of chocolate! A somewhat similar experience was related by another man, one of the Gordons, who was wounded and taken prisoner on Waggon Hill early in the morning, and was removed in charge of an old Boer to a place of safety half-way down the slope. From here he subsequently escaped. In the mêlée that followed the Devons’ charge across the plateau in the thick of the hailstorm, the Boers, shouting in Dutch that the rooineks were upon them, stampeded, and consequently the prisoner was left to his own devices. He thereupon rejoined the troops.

British 7-Pounder Field-Gun.

The Boers in the fight had been animated by unusual confidence. They had seemed assured of victory. Their demeanour was cool and deliberate, some of them doing an hour’s firing while others put in a half-hour’s nap under cover of the rocks. All their preparations were made with a view to spending Sunday in Ladysmith, and their tents were ready to be pitched immediately they had obtained possession of the ridge. They, in fact, firmly believed that they would make a repetition of Majuba, and it was noticed that their tactics were identical with those observed on that tragic occasion. Curiously enough, an exceedingly interesting relic of Majuba came to hand. A rifle bearing the mark “Majuba” and the name of the 58th Regiment was found on an old Boer. It had evidently been captured on the fatal day when Colley fell.

Much regret was felt for the loss of Lord Ava, one of the cheeriest of soldiers and most handsome and brilliant of men. He had served with the 17th Lancers, and had also cast in his lot with the irregulars in South Africa under Methuen. He was essentially a sporting and a romantic figure in all circles of London society, having resuscitated the fortunes of Ranelagh and engaged himself actively in plans and projects for the brightening of social life. He was moreover a general favourite, and sympathy with Lord Dufferin on the loss of his promising heir was great.

Now that the rivers were flooded the service of native runners was precarious, and less than ever was known of the outside world. But the Boers were seen to be in active movement on the distant hills, and there was a very general belief that the quiet that was enjoyed was due to some advance movement on the part of General Buller that was demanding the attention of the Dutchmen. This belief was confirmed by the sight of two machine-guns which were being galloped off post-haste to a destination unknown.

Since Christmas the prices had gone up. Eggs by the middle of January were worth 19s. a dozen, and jam cost 6s. 6d. a tin. Condensed milk was sold for 10s. a tin, other things, particularly medicines, were becoming priceless. An appalling apathy almost approaching despair had settled on the community. It was going on for three months since they had been shut off from the outside world, during which their losses had exceeded 1500 in slain, wounded, and missing, yet they were no nearer release. Indeed, each began to wonder whether death or Sir Redvers Buller’s force would reach them first. One month after another passed, and with them, precious lives, yet little fuss was made, for death was a common visitor. Much regret was felt at the loss on the 15th of the brilliant author and correspondent of the Daily Mail, Mr. G. W. Steevens. His was a young career, rich in promise. But death is a connoisseur—he chooses the best. Only a few days before, Mr. Mitchell, sub-editor of the Johannesburg Star, and Lieutenant Stabb (Naval Reserve) of the Times of India, had been carried off by enteric fever; while young Ferrand, sometime a correspondent of the Morning Post and a trooper of the Light Horse, fell in action on the 6th.

The Siege of Ladysmith, Jan. 1900. View from Bulwana Hill.
From a sketch by George Lynch, War Correspondent.
The hospital train is here shown on its way to Intombi Camp with its daily load of sick and wounded.

But soon a change came. Sounds of unusual guns reached their ears—ears now well attuned to all the surrounding noises. Though news by heliogram came slowly and at long intervals, all were conscious that something was afloat.

They were soon wild with excitement and anticipation. Not only could Sir George White’s garrison hear the distant thunder of the guns of the relieving column, a sound which made heavenly music to their ears, but from the lookout posts on the heights held by them they could occasionally see the bursting of the shells fired by the Naval guns from the region of Potgieter’s Drift. The attention of the investing force was now distracted; the Dutchmen were concentrating their energies to repel the movement of the British troops on the Upper Tugela, and continued to send reinforcements westward to meet the demand on their resources there. But they strengthened their works on the north of the town, added some more howitzers and fired a few shells by way of introduction.

LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR CHARLES WARREN, G.C.M.G.
Photo by Elliott & Fry, London.

At this time impatience and anxiety arrived at an almost painful pitch. Every soul was panting for the signal that might call upon them to co-operate in the final tug-of-war which should set Ladysmith free. Acutely were the movements of General Buller’s relieving force watched from the highest points in the town. Intense was the interest displayed as every bursting shell threw forth its dense volumes of brown smoke, and showed how the friendly lyddite worked to the rescue. The garrison looked forth breathlessly for the coming of relief, hoping, praying, doubting, fearing, with nothing to vary the ever-recurrent anguish of anticipation.

At this date a journalist made a daring sortie on his own account, and reached Durban in safety. He left with permission at nightfall on the 18th of January, and, guided by a wily Kaffir, made tracks for Chieveley. Having gone about two miles to the east of Cæsar’s Camp and approached unwarily a Boer picket, he was promptly challenged. Then ping! ping! ping! a swift whistling sound of Boer bullets, and silence! The journalist, to use a sporting phrase, was lying “doggo.” Not a shot touched him. Flat on his stomach he remained for fully half an hour with bated breath, then, when murmurs of the disquieted Boers ceased to ruffle the night air, he resumed his way, groping on hands and knees, and wishing fervently that he had taken lessons in deportment earlier—from the quadrupeds. Perilous was the onward journey, clambering and crawling up hill and down dale, and falling over rocks and stones in the pitch darkness. Daylight saw him at the hut of a friendly native not far from Chieveley, and here concealed, he spent twenty-four hours of terrible suspense till it was time again to proceed on his journey. The Boers almost discovered him. They called at the hut for milk, absorbed it, and looked about suspiciously, while the man of the pen was penned in amongst a heap of blankets, a perspiring mass, quaking but safe.

Meanwhile with the rumour of battle in the air, hope revived. It continued to increase as the British positions from the heights around the town became visible—the newly gained positions on Swartz Kop and the eminences near the Tugela at Potgieter’s and Trichardt’s Drifts. Every red flash was like a smile of welcome—every roar of bursting shrapnel seemed a very chorus of jubilation. To the ears of the besieged the tremendous awe-striking cannonade appeared as the loved assurance of Great Britain, their deliverer, saying, with grand majestic tone, “I am coming.” In the distance the Boers could be seen in frenzied activity inspanning their waggons, and towards the evening they were observed trekking northwards towards Van Reenan’s Pass. Many conjectures were rife, and subsequently on the 25th curiosity grew to fever heat. Surely the British were in possession of Spion Kop! Decidedly they were masters of the situation! Yet in the nek below, by the light of the telescope, Boer camps could be seen on the plains; under cover of the great hill Boer cattle were grazing. What could this mean? Had the Boers gone and left everything to the mercy of their victors? or were they merely in hiding, intending to return at nightfall, and remove their valuables? Certainly the Burghers were to be viewed mounted and decamping in the direction of the pass, and also winding strings of waggons pursuing their slow way in the same direction. Still the riddle remained unsolved. Night fell. The suspense grew more and more fevered; it became almost a delirium. There was little sleep; then, when morning dawned, there was more anxiety and more puzzling, more mental torture. The Boers were as much in evidence as ever!

Disappointment may be borne with a show of spirit when the inner machinery is well oiled, but the inhabitants of Ladysmith had no such source of fortitude. True, they had fared, if not sumptuously, at least practically, on horse-sausages, which were turned out wholesale from a factory for the benefit of the troops, and on fairly nourishing soup which was supplied in the same way; but of civilised food there was none. Eggs had now gone up to 36s. a dozen, and a diminutive and emaciated fowl could be purchased for 18s. These luxuries were for the elect. For the mass a varying dietary of horse and mule was obligatory. Vegetables were sold at a prohibitive price, and a case of whisky was raffled for and fetched £145, so that “Dutch courage” wherewith to meet their misfortune was unpurchasable.

Not till Sunday the 28th the fearful truth was learned, that Warren, after holding Spion Kop, had retired, and left the Boers in undisturbed occupation of their commanding position!

As all the latest events to the south were communicated to the garrison as fast as they were made known to the chief, the news of the capture of Spion Kop and the disappointing retirement therefrom was published in general orders. Blank faces turned from each other, that none should see the reflection of his own despondency. Intense had been the rapture of the anxious inhabitants when they had heard the far-away booming of the British guns, seen the splashing of British lyddite, watched the great spouts of smoke that spoke of tremendous activity and their possible salvation. Now their dismay was more than proportionate. After all their agony—silence. Silence, so far as they were concerned. Mystery, doubt, and agonising suspense—and now the news, the woeful news, that the second splendid effort to break through the imprisoning Boer girdle had failed!

Still the garrison was resolved to hold on to the last, preferring death by starvation or disease rather than surrender. The malodorous surroundings were borne with patience, the diminution of the supply of medicines, watched with pathetic resignation. Nevertheless an untold weariness crept over the unhappy sufferers, who spent their days huddled underground and dreading to expose themselves in the open lest they should be caught by a shell or “sniped” at by some Boer more enterprising than the rest. How they longed, how they prayed for the great hour! They believed in Buller; they knew he would come, they said to themselves. But when, O when? And echo answered—When?

LORD ROBERTS AT THE CAPE

On the 10th of January Lord Roberts arrived. He was received by General Sir F. Forestier Walker on behalf of Sir Alfred Milner. All the ships in port were dressed, and there was immense excitement at the prospect of better things. Many recalled to mind the occasion of the last coming of the great little man, when, on the eve of a campaign to retrieve Majuba, he found that the British Government, unknown to him, had arranged peace on contemptible terms. At that time it was said he broke his sword in indignation at the betrayal to which he had been subjected, and vowed never again to serve under a British Government. Be this as it may—he had now come at the earnest call of his country, and all felt that his coming meant a turn in the wheel of fortune. After his arrival things began gradually to unfold themselves, and the promise of decisive movement was in the air.

Lord Roberts’s decision to bring the Colonial volunteers to the support of the Imperial forces was acknowledged to be a great move. The Colonist’s services were eminently to be desired, for he had taken the Boer measure. He knew him in all the complex windings of his sinuous, twisting nature. In some respects the Boer had been his lesson-book. From him he had learned the necessity to be a good shot, a smart horseman, and a long stayer. He followed the ins and outs of the Dutchman’s war game, and could practise the art of dodging round kopjes and into dongas, hiding in scrub and disappearing from mortal ken at a moment’s notice, with the zest and agility of a schoolboy playing at hide and seek, and with a certain enjoyment in the diamond-cut-diamond sort of exercise.

On the 26th of January General Brabant arrived at Queenstown to take over the command of the Colonial Division, and on the same day General Kelly Kenny, commanding the Sixth Division, occupied Thebus, a position on the railway between Middleburg and Stormberg Junction. This station is situated about ninety miles from Colesberg, around which General French so untiringly operated, and forty-five miles from Stormberg, the scene of General Gatacre’s disaster.

On the 1st of February the City of London Volunteers landed. Immediately after their arrival at the Cape they were honoured by a visit from the great man who was about to control the destinies of South Africa. Gracefully he welcomed them, and said how little it had been imagined in days gone by, the days when the Volunteer force had been established, that any of its members would come to take part in a war in South Africa. He expressed his belief that nothing was more calculated to benefit the army than employment together on service of all its component parts, and that these would learn to appreciate each other, and acquire a spirit of comradeship which would have far-reaching results. He reminded them that strangely enough the first Volunteers left home three hundred years ago to fight for the Dutch, and arrived just in time to save Flushing from the Spaniards. On this occasion they would take an equally brilliant part in establishing peace, order, and freedom in South Africa.

Type of Arms—New Naval 12-Pounder Field-Gun.
(Photo, Cribb, Southsea.)

The members of the corps were delighted. Colonel Cholmondeley expressed their thanks, and they all cheered right royally. They were burning to get to the front, and, in spite of the sudden change of temperature from British midwinter to tropical sunshine, their zeal to be up and doing was unabated. They waited at the Cape to be joined by the second detachment and receive their horses, after which they entrained for the western border, where they were so soon to distinguish themselves.

ARRIVAL AT CAPE TOWN OF WOUNDED FROM NATAL.
Photo by Hosking, Cape Town.

There was great satisfaction at the announcement that General Brabant would command the Colonial corps. The class of men enlisting in Brabant’s Horse, the Imperial Horse, Bailey’s Horse, and other of the South African mounted corps was a superior one. The volunteers were mostly well-to-do men, sons of farmers and Colonials who were residents in the country, and were intimately acquainted with its geography. Moreover, they were men and not striplings, and were averse from being commanded by young officers who were absolutely without South African experience.

It has been rumoured that the British officers and those of the irregular troops have not always been in accord. The fact is, that one is a master of discipline and the other a master of independence. The Colonial is accustomed to habits of complete self-reliance; he expects to be treated like an individual and not as a machine. Our military system is a machine-made system, and one which, unluckily for us, has been incapable of any of the smart plasticities which warfare with the Boers has demanded. Colonial troops will be led, but they won’t be driven. They are composed of men of first-rate quality, but not men accustomed blindly to obey orders. The Colonist obeys because of the personal influence of a man or men whom he holds intellectually or morally in esteem, but the word discipline for sheer discipline’s sake he is disinclined to understand. Among the ranks of the Colonials are many men of wealth and influence, men of high character and good education. These could not suddenly be treated in the same way as the British regulars, who, being gifted with more dare-devil courage than knowledge of the three R’s, require to be welded together on a system. A tactician once asked the question—What is the difference between an army and a mob? and the general answered—“Discipline.” It is discipline that converts a rowdy British youngster into the glorious British Tommy that he is. With the Colonial we have already the trained and independent man, and the system of give and take is the only system that can avert friction between men who, though brothers in blood, have, and always must have, the special idiosyncrasies attendant on their dissimilar forms of life.

Lord Roberts, recognising all this, with his usual diplomacy and sympathy for those who serve the Queen, decided to form a bodyguard, to accompany him to the front, of Colonials, the troops to be representative of all the corps—volunteers, irregulars, &c. The guard was to consist of Major Laing, an officer well versed and distinguished in Colonial matters, a lieutenant, two sergeants and corporals, and about forty picked troopers taken from the various irregular corps already at the front. The men of the corps were to continue to wear their own uniform, and merely to be distinguished by a badge. Preference in choosing the members of the guard was given to men of Colonial birth, good shots, riders, and scouts, who were well acquainted with all the peculiarities of Colonial life.

To further show his appreciation of the services of the Colonials, Lord Roberts appointed as extra aide-de-camp on his personal staff Colonel Bryon of the Australian Artillery. He also sent telegrams to the Governors of Victoria and New South Wales congratulating them on the spirit of patriotism in Australia, and expressing his appreciation of the useful and workmanlike troops that had been sent to assist in restoring peace, order, and freedom in South Africa.

PRIVATE, DRUMMERS, PIPER, AND BUGLER—THE BLACK WATCH.
Photo by Knight, Aldershot.

At this time the following correspondence between the Presidents of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State and Lord Roberts was published at the Cape. It began with a joint despatch from Presidents Steyn and Kruger dated Bloemfontein, February 3, stating:—

“We learn from many sides that the British troops, contrary to the recognised usages of war, have been guilty of destruction by burning and blowing up with dynamite farmhouses and devastating farms and goods therein, whereby unprotected women and children have often been deprived of food and shelter. This happens not only in places where barbarians are encouraged by British officers, but even in Cape Colony and in this State (Orange Free State), where white brigands come out from the theatre of war with the evident intention of carrying on general devastation without any reason recognised by the custom of war and without in any way furthering the operations. We wish earnestly to protest against such practices.”

Mr. Kruger’s Autograph

In reply Lord Roberts wrote:—

“I beg to acknowledge your Honours’ telegram charging British troops with the destruction of property contrary to the recognised usages of war, and with brigandage and devastation. These charges are made in vague and general terms. No specific case is mentioned. No evidence is given. I have seen such charges made before now in the Press, but in no case which has come under my notice have they been substantiated. Most stringent instructions have been issued to British troops to respect private property so far as it is compatible with the conduct of military operations. All wanton destruction and injury to peaceful inhabitants are contrary to British practice and traditions, and will, if necessary, be vigorously repressed by me.

“I regret that your Honours should have seen fit to repeat the untrue statement that barbarians have been encouraged by British officers to commit depredations. In the only case in which a raid has been perpetrated by native subjects of the Queen, the act was contrary to the instructions of the British officer nearest the spot, and entirely disconcerted his operations. The women and children taken prisoners by the natives were restored to their home by the agency of the British officer in question.

“I regret to say it is the Republican forces which in some cases have been guilty of carrying on war in a manner not in accordance with civilised usage. I refer especially to the expulsion of loyal subjects of Her Majesty from their homes in the invaded districts because they refused to be commandeered by the invaders. It is barbarous to attempt to force men to take sides against their sovereign country by threats of spoliation and expulsion. Men, women, and children had to leave their homes owing to such compulsion. Many of those who were formerly in comfortable circumstances are now maintained by charity.

“That war should inflict hardships and injury on peaceful inhabitants is inevitable, but it is the desire of Her Majesty’s Government and my intention to conduct this war with as little injury as possible to peaceful inhabitants and private property. I hope your Honours will exercise your authority to ensure that it is conducted in a similar spirit on your side.”

Meanwhile the British Commander was rapidly maturing his plans. Troops were pouring into the Cape and mysteriously departing none knew whither. Great doings were in the air, and secret communications between Lord Roberts and the wily General French—communications which Boer spies endeavoured to intercept—promised that the splendid fastnesses hitherto enjoyed by the enemy would not much longer serve to keep him from the punishment that was his due.