The M.R.F. and the police attacked the central portion of the enemy’s position with great steadiness and determination, and drove him out of one position after another, until at last the enemy seemed to give up all hope of continuing the struggle, and strings and parties of them could be seen making off over the hills in all directions, followed wherever they made a good target by the fire of the Maxims and the 7–pounders. Had we had more men where I was, we could have carried out a most effective pursuit; but, after all, the smashing they got was sufficient in itself, and after a time the firing died down, and we could hear the trumpet sounding the recall.
Making my way down to Plumer in response to a signal from him, I found him on the knoll where Beresford’s party had been attacked. Although naturally satisfied with the result of the day’s work, Plumer was evidently affected by the loss of his friend and right–hand man, Kershaw.
We now found that out of our force of seven hundred, five had been killed and fifteen wounded, and among the latter was Lieutenant Hervey, for whom there is little hope. The enemy’s force was estimated at from four to five thousand men, and of these we killed between two and three hundred.
To our great surprise, we found that it was already three o’clock; the day had flown by very quickly. We then reformed the column for marching back to camp, the wounded being taken on stretchers carried by Cape Boys; and I was placed in command of a strong party to act as a rearguard to prevent any attacks from the enemy when moving through the defiles. As we moved slowly away, burning everything inflammable as we went, in the way of huts or long grass, we could see small parties of the enemy going about the field picking up the dead and wounded, and at one point one of our parties engaged in the same work was fired upon by some of the enemy in a koppie, and the rearguard went to their assistance; we found they were bringing out the body of Sergeant M’Loskie laid across the saddle of a spare horse.
In the Midst of Life
The above shows the mule battery moving off from Beresford’s position after the fight of 5th August. The grave is that of one of the men who had just before been killed in the action—but previous to leaving we took down the cross again, as it could only show the enemy’s stragglers where a white man was buried, and they were always anxious to exhume bodies for the purpose of making fetish–medicines from them. (It will be seen that the mule beyond the grave has a carbine strapped on to its pack–saddle; this had carelessly been left loaded and at full–cock, consequently, when passing the next bush, a twig caught the trigger and fired the carbine—the bullet hitting the grave. Many a man has nearly been shot by an ass, but I claim to have been nearly shot by a mule.)