Having fired at and killed a savage whom he believed to have aimed the fatal shot, Captain Rolland ran to his comrade’s assistance and dragged him to one side of the forest path, where he would be less exposed to the enemy’s fire. It was very evident that the wound was mortal, but Rolland—who, by the way, was an old Harrow boy, like Bruce—determined to make every effort to save his friend’s body if he could not save his life. While he attended to him two Yaos (men of the King’s African Rifles), a Sikh and a loyal Somali of the Camel Corps, bravely stood by them, covering them with their rifles and holding the enemy in check, the latter shouting to each other in joyful anticipation of a speedy victory.
Captain Bruce was a very heavy man, of nearly fourteen stone, and Captain Rolland, who turned the scale at nine and a half, found he could not lift the other. None of the four men could stop firing to help him, or the Somalis would have made a rush, so the despairing officer shouted to the disappearing column in front to halt. But the winding path soon hid it from sight, and Rolland saw that he was left to his fate. The enemy, becoming enboldened, now pressed closer in, and the captain had to leave the wounded man’s side and use his carbine and revolver to drive the Somalis back into the bush again. It was hot work, for the natives were in strong force and armed with rifles in addition to their broad-bladed throwing spears.
Suddenly Bruce got to his feet, and Rolland rushed to hold him up; but it was the last flicker of life. The wounded man lurched forward again and fell on his face, dragging Rolland down with him. As the latter turned him over on to his back, Bruce opened his eyes and spoke for the last time. “They’ve done for me this time, old man!” he said, and a moment or two afterwards relapsed into unconsciousness.
To Rolland’s great relief, he looked up from his friend’s body to see Captain Walker “trekking” towards him. His shout had been heard, after all. Together the two tried to carry poor Bruce between them, but it was no use; so Rolland decided to make a dash for the rearguard to get help. It was a terribly long run, and he thought he must get hit every moment, as the bullets pinged about him. He got through safely, however, and seized a Bikanir camel. As he was leading this back he met Major Gough, who asked what was the matter, and on being told at once hastened to Bruce’s aid.
Rolland’s camel was desperately frightened at the firing and shouting, and the captain had another bad quarter of an hour as he coaxed it and urged it along the bush path, but he reached the others without mishap. With Gough and Walker he now lifted Captain Bruce on to the kneeling camel, and as they did so a third Somali bullet struck the wounded man, almost immediately after which he died. At the same time the Sikh, who had done his duty nobly in protecting his officers, had his arm smashed by a fourth bullet.
The little party were not left alone until 5.30 p.m., when, after some scattering shots, the enemy at last drew off. “It was the hardest day of my life,” adds Captain Rolland, in his account of the affair, and we may well believe him. “I fired and fired in that fight till my rifle was boiling hot; even the woodwork felt on fire. Up to 3 a.m. a few biscuits and cocoa, then a 25-mile ride, a seven hours’ fight, and 25 miles back to camp; i.e. 50 miles that day; 25 hours without food of any kind, from the 3 a.m. biscuits and cocoa on the 22nd to the 4 a.m. dinner on the 23rd. Oh, the thirst of that day! I had two water-bottles on my camel, and drained them both. Hunger I did not feel.”
They buried Captain Bruce the next morning, side by side with another officer who had been killed, Captain Godfrey, laying them to rest just as they were, in their stained khaki uniforms. The silent African bush has many such graves in its keeping.
It was not until some time later that the part Major Gough had played in the rescue of Captain Bruce’s body was brought to light. He had promptly reported the heroic conduct of Captains Rolland and Walker, but modestly omitted all mention of his own share in the incident. And when the late Mr. W. T. Maud, the artist-correspondent of the Graphic, attempted to send home to his paper a full account of the affair, the Major rigidly censored the despatch so that his name did not occur therein. His heroism, however, could not be overlooked, and as soon as he was free from Major Gough’s censorship Mr. Maud made public the true story of the action, whereupon the V.C. was bestowed upon the Major as well as upon Captains Rolland and Walker.
It is interesting to note that Major John Edmond Gough (now Lieutenant-Colonel) is a son of General Sir C. J. S. Gough, V.C., and a nephew of that other distinguished Indian veteran, General Sir H. H. Gough, V.C. He thus establishes a record, for no other family has ever yet possessed three members entitled to wear the decoration.
To Lieutenant John Duncan Grant, of the 8th Ghurka Rifles, belongs the distinction of winning the last Cross that has been awarded. The scene of his exploit was Tibet, and the date July 6th, 1904. On that day the storming of the Gyantse-jong, the most formidable of the Tibetan strongholds, was successfully carried out, the Ghurkas, as on many a previous occasion, being called on to perform the most ticklish part of the business.