With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

by F. S. Brereton

“By Jove, it’s fine to see them!” Farney cried, with a ring of pride in his voice. “Look at them now! They have opened out, and the foremost lines have reached the edge of the hill. Ah, now they are giving it to them! Volley-firing, regular and well delivered. Look at them now, Jack; they are pushing up the hill, and more of the poor fellows are dropping! Ah! who would now dare to say that my countrymen are disloyal? I know some of them have acted as blackguards at home, but they are the scum of Irishmen, while these soldiers are real, brave boys!”

By this time the three advancing regiments had commenced to climb the hill, and the batteries had galloped up to closer range, and were now pouring in a hail of shrapnel at the puffs of flame which told where the Boer marksmen were. On our side, too, the men were cunningly taking advantage of every stone and boulder, or bravely facing the hail where no cover existed, and from their rifles a steady discharge of bullets was kept up at the heights above.

And behind them, and right up in the firing line, with no time to think of cover, the army surgeons and the bearers of the Army Medical Corps were at work picking up the wounded, applying dressings, and carrying the poor fellows away with a coolness and bravery which matched that of the other soldiers.

But our lads were gradually creeping up the hill, and were now within 300 yards of the summit, where they lay down, and poured in murderous volleys at the Boers, while a few feet overhead a succession of screaming shells flew by, to plunge amongst the boulders a few moments later, and burst with an appalling roar, scattering death-dealing bullets on every side.

Gallantly did our brave fellows fight, and gallantly too did the Boer marksmen prove their devotion to their country. Struck down on every side, they still stuck to their posts, and in those last few minutes added numbers to our list of dead and wounded.

But British pluck, whether bred in England, Ireland, Scotland, or Wales, or indeed in any of our colonies, was not to be gainsaid. With a roaring cheer and the shrill notes of the “charge” sounding along the hill, the British fixed bayonets, sprang to their feet, and made one rush for the summit of Talana, never pausing to fire, but trusting to reach the enemy and apply cold steel, the most terrifying death of all. But the Boers did not wait for them. Those that had held so stubbornly to the crest of the hill had performed their allotted task, for they had enabled their comrades to withdraw the guns and retreat in order; and now, springing from behind the boulders, they darted down the other side, a mark for the bullets of our soldiers.

Meanwhile the two hundred cavalry with whom Jack and Farney had thrown in their lot had been quietly walking their horses round the shoulder of the hill. As the infantry lay down for the last time before the charge, Colonel Moller, who was in command, gave the order to trot, and the little column swept round the shoulder, a Maxim gun on a galloping carriage trundling along in the centre. Arrived in sight of the reverse side of the hill, they halted for a few moments and waited for the flight of the Boers. Already they were retiring in ones and twos, but a minute later they came in a swarm.

“Draw swords! Trot! Charge! At them, my lads!” came in quick, sharp tones, and in a second the horsemen had opened out, and were going pell-mell across the open space.

Jack was close to Farney, and as, like the mounted infantry, neither possessed a sword, they had fixed their bayonets on their rifles, and holding the latter close to the lock, with the bayonet well advanced, prepared to use them as lances.

A moment later they were amongst the flying enemy, bullets singing about their heads and knocking men out of their saddles. But all the time the sabres were flashing fiercely in the sunlight, and Jack and his friend were using their bayonets to advantage. It was a wild ten minutes, and what happened during that time Jack never knew. Almost before he had expected it, Boers rose up in front of him and fired point-blank in his face. One bullet actually grazed his forehead and sent his hat flying, while another smashed his water-bottle to pieces. But he knew nothing about it at the time. Gripping Prince firmly with his knees, and keeping him well in hand, he leant forward in the saddle prepared to act at any moment. Suddenly a huge, bearded Boer stood in his way, half-hidden by a boulder, and, waiting till Jack was almost on him, pulled his trigger. What happened to the bullet Jack never knew; probably it went beneath his arm, for he found a slit in the sleeve after the fight was over, but the concussion and flash of light almost blinded him. Next moment with a hitch at the reins and a touch with his leg, given almost unconsciously, he was round the boulder and had plunged his bayonet into the Boer’s body.