“Laing’s Nek was the first, and on that fatal day we marched out of camp and up the rugged and zigzag road which leads to the pass of that name. On either side of us some 1500 Boers were posted, and we attacked those on the right. Our gallant boys of the 60th Rifles and the 58th Regiment marched directly against them, whilst we with the guns and the ‘tars’ with their rockets were posted in the rear. It was a one-sided conflict. We had only stones to fire at, while our poor lads, many of them, like myself, mere youngsters, were out in the open, without cover of any kind, and wearing white helmets, which were simply a series of bull’s-eyes for the enemy.
“I shall never forget that morning. The sun came up over the mountain peaks, making them look like golden pinnacles. Then, passing down the green elopes of the hills, it lit up the valley, with its dusty road, and its little farmhouse nestling on the left at the foot of the steep incline. And there, moving across the grass in regular order, and with the rays flashing from their helmets and rifle-barrels, were our brave fellows, many of them marching to their death.
“Well, well, such things must be, I suppose! England has not done all the glorious acts for which she is famous without a deal of suffering and much loss of life.
“When our troops started up the slopes a perfect hail of lead was poured into their ranks, and every bullet, mind you, was directed by an unseen hand, and by a hand which, backed up by a steady eye, never failed, even from the back of a galloping horse, to bring down the swiftest deer that ever ran.
“But though many of our gallant lads fell, the remainder reached a ridge, fixed bayonets, and prepared to charge. They were met by a murderous fire, which almost decimated them, and the same fate befell a squadron of the 1st Dragoon Guards, who charged the enemy’s flank.
“The Boers pressed forward immediately, and we were forced to retire.
“That was the end of that engagement. We sent in a flag of truce in order that we might gather our wounded, who were unmolested by the Boers, save in one instance, when a cowardly ruffian was caught in the act of shooting a helpless soldier, and was promptly bayoneted by one of the injured man’s comrades.
“We were now in a pretty tight hole. Surrounded on all sides by the Boers, our supplies were cut off completely. But on February 8th we moved out of camp back towards Newcastle, from which town a convoy was to set out to join us. It never started, but we were ignorant of that, and, pushing forward, crossed the Ingogo River, which runs transversely across that portion of Natal. The guns remained on the other side, and were at once at it hammer and tongs, throwing shrapnel at the Boers, who were strongly posted opposite to us.
“It was the same old tale again. There wasn’t so much as a hat to be seen, but every tuft of grass, every mimosa bush and stone sheltered a keen-eyed and stout-hearted marksman. Yes, my lads, I will give them their full due. They were roused to desperation in a struggle for independence, and they were in their element. Themselves in shelter, save from our shrapnel fire, which searched their hiding-places, they aimed steadily and coolly at our boys, with fatal results. For six long hours we stuck to it, and then retired, dragging the guns with us, for most of the horses had been killed.
“It was our second reverse, and we returned to camp dispirited, drenched with rain, which had been falling since the afternoon, and thoroughly exhausted, leaving our wounded under the red-cross flag in charge of the army surgeons. Our infantry behaved nobly in the face of insurmountable difficulties, and it was no fault of theirs that they were beaten. Opposed to us were a host of men, wholly undrilled and unused to modern warfare. Yet they showed the greatest foresight and cunning in the selection of their trenches, and no one, not even the most experienced veteran, could have improved upon their tactics.