“Look out, sir!” the sergeant shouted at this moment; “they’ve got between us and the camp!”
“Then are you ready with those bayonets?” Rawlings cried cheerfully. “Charge right through them!”
Five minutes of wild, fierce fighting followed, for British troops, whether English, Irish, or Scotch, are perfect demons when their blood is roused and they are armed with that deadly weapon which none know better how to use. It seems to be an understood thing with them that, however much firing of guns there may be, and however thickly the bullets may fly, matters are not satisfactory and ended as they should be unless the bugle sounds “the charge”, and they rush with a cheer and hurl themselves upon the enemy.
The brave Highlanders, with their kilts blowing from side to side, rushed headlong at the Boers, and simply split them into two parties. Then they turned upon each one, and with a savage fierceness and a splendid disregard of the danger they incurred, forged a way into them and thrust them back at the points of the murderous bayonets.
Prominent amongst them was the giant who had ended Hans Schloss’s career, and by his side, using a bayonet which he had taken from a wounded soldier, was Jack Somerton, using it too with a vigour and a quickness which sent many a Boer to his last account.
“Get together there, me boys!” the Highlander by his side shouted. “Now, at ’em! Remember Majuba, and give them a taste of your steel!” His comrades answered with a hoarse cheer, and shouting “Remember Majuba!” fell upon the remaining Boers and put them to flight. Then they picked up those who had fallen and returned slowly to the camp, a rearguard marching behind them and answering the volleys discharged at them with a brisk fusillade.
Soon they were out of harm’s way, and stepped forward to the inspiriting wail of a bagpipe. About half an hour later it became light, and the whole garrison of Ladysmith who were free to do so turned out to welcome them. They had heard the firing, seen the flash of the gun-cotton which had destroyed the gun, and so learned that some of their number were making a sortie. It was a surprise to them as much as to the enemy; but to have published the news the day before would have meant a certain reverse, for in the town and camp, fraternising with our troops, were still men bought with Pretoria gold—spies and traitors who lived in the guise of harmless and refugee civilians, and yet were ready to send news of intended movements to the Boers.
But now that the sortie was an accomplished fact, and had proved such a signal success, the troops flocked out in hundreds and cheered the gallant party, relieving of their burdens those who were carrying the wounded.
Then a couple of ambulance wagons galloped up, and while one of them halted and took in the poor fellows, the other went ahead, one of the surgeons climbing in behind. A few hundred yards farther on a shell dropped and exploded near them, and a groan burst from all who were watching; for the work done for all who were helpless or hurt, by the medical staff, had already roused a feeling of deep gratitude in the hearts of the men.
Undaunted by the shell, and by another which quickly followed it, the ambulance wagon galloped on, a white flag with the red cross of Geneva flying above it. On arriving close to the hill, the surgeon was seen to leap out, and, followed by four stretcher-bearers, to walk hither and thither in search of the one or two men who had been left behind. Soon they found them, in the midst of a pile of wounded Boers, and, carrying them to the wagon, returned to the camp at a leisurely pace, the enemy this time letting them go unmolested.