Ladysmith: The Diary of a Siege

by Henry Woodd Nevinson

The doctors and ambulance men who went out after the brief cavalry action on Friday morning report they were fired on while carrying the dead and wounded in the dhoolies. The Boers retaliate with a similar charge against us in Modder River. Unhappily, there can be no doubt that one of our doctors was heavily fired on whilst dressing a man's wounds on the field.

December 11, 1899.

Soon after two in the night I heard rifle-firing, then two explosions, and heavier rifle-firing again, apparently two or three miles away. It was too dark to see anything, even from the top of the hill, but in the morning I found we had destroyed another gun—the 4.7 in. howitzer on Surprise Hill. For weeks past it had been one of the most troublesome guns of the thirty-two that surround us. It had a long range and accurate aim. Its position commanded Observation Hill, part of the Newcastle road, Cove Hill, and Leicester Post, the whole of the old camp and all the line of country away to Range Post and beyond. It was this gun that shelled the 18th Hussars out of their camp and continually harassed the Irish Fusiliers. It was constantly dropping shells into the 69th Battery and on the K.R.R. at King's Post. Surprise Hill is a square-topped kopje, from 500 feet to 600 feet high, between Thornhill's Kopje and Nicholson's Nek. It overlooks Bell's Spruit and the scene of "Mournful Monday's" worst disaster. From Leicester Post, where two guns were always kept turned on it, the distance is 4,100 yards—just the full range of our field guns. From Observation Hill it is hardly 2,500 yards. The destruction of its gun was therefore of the highest importance.

At ten o'clock last night four companies of the 2nd Rifle Brigade started from their camp on Leicester Post, with six sappers, under Mr. Digby Jones, and five gunners under Major Wing, of the 69th Battery. The whole was commanded by Colonel Metcalfe of the battalion. They marched across the fairly open grassland toward Observation Hill, and there halted because the half-moon was too bright. About midnight they again advanced, as the moon was far down in the west. They marched in fours towards the foot of the hill, but had to cross the Harrismith Railway two deep through a gap where the wire fences were cut with nippers. One deep donga and a shallower had to be crossed as well. At the foot of the hill two companies were left, extended in a wedge shape, the apex pointing up the hill. The remaining two companies began the ascent. The front of the hill is steep and covered with boulders, but is greener than most South African hills. About half-way up half a company was left in support. The small assaulting party then climbed up in extended line. Not a word was spoken, and the Boers gave no sign till our men were within twenty yards of the top. Then a sentry cried, "Who's there? Who's there?" in English, and fired. Our men fixed swords and charged to the top with a splendid cheer. They made straight for the sangar and formed in a circle round it, firing outwards without visible target. To their dismay they found the gun-pit empty. The gun had been removed perhaps for security, perhaps for the Sabbath rest. But it was soon discovered a few yards off, and the sappers set to work with their gun-cotton. Meantime a party was sent to the corner of the hill on the left to clear out a little camp, where the Boer gunners slept and had their meals under a few little trees. They fired into it, and then carried everything away, some of the men bringing off some fine blankets, which they are very proud of this morning. The great-coats were in such a disgusting condition that the soldiers had to leave them.

The fuse was long in going off. Some say the first fuse failed, some that it was very slow. Anyhow, the party was kept waiting on the hill-top almost half an hour, when the whole thing ought to have been done in a quarter. Those extra fifteen minutes cost many lives. At last the shock of the explosion came. Two great holes were made in the gun's rifling near the muzzle, and the breech was blown clean out, the screw being destroyed. Major Wing secured the sight, the sponge, and an old wideawake, which the gunner used always to wave to him very politely just before he fired. Some say there was a second explosion, and I heard it myself, but it may have been a Boer gun which threw one round of shrapnel high over the hill, the bullets pattering down harmlessly, and only making a blue bruise when they hit. As soon as the sappers and gunners had made sure the gun was destroyed, the order to retire was given, and the line began climbing down in the darkness. The half company in support was taken up, the two companies at the foot were reached by some, when a heavy fire flashed out of the darkness on both sides. The Boers, evidently by a preconcerted scheme, were crowding in from Thornhill's farm on our left—Mr. Thornhill, by the way, was acting as our guide—and from Bell's farm on our right. They came creeping along the dongas, right into the midst of our men, as well as cutting off retreat. Then it was that we wanted that quarter of an hour lost by the fuse. The men hastily formed up into their four companies and began the retirement in succession. Each company had simply to fight its way through with the sword-bayonet. They did not fire much, chiefly for fear of hitting each other, which unfortunately happened in some cases. The Boers took less precaution, and kept up a tremendous fire from both flanks, many of the bullets probably hitting their own men. Under shelter of the dongas some got right among our companies and fired from a few yards' distance.

Then came the horror of a war between two nations familiar with the same language. "Second R.B.! Second R.B.!" shouted our fellows as a watchword and rallying-cry. "Second R.B.!" shouted every Boer who was challenged or came into danger. "B Company here!" cried an officer. "B Company here!" came the echo from the Dutch. "Where's Captain Paley?" asked a private. "Where's Captain Paley?" the question passed from Boer to Boer. In the darkness it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe. The only way was to stoop down till you saw the edge of a broad-brimmed hat. Then you drove your bayonet through the man, if he did not shoot you first. Many a poor fellow was shot down by some invisible figure who was talking to him in English and was taken for a friend. One Boer fired upon a private at two or three yards—and missed him! The private sprang upon him. "I surrender! I surrender!" cried the Boer, throwing down his rifle. "So do I," cried the private, and plunged his bayonet through the man's stomach and out at his back.

One by one the companies cut their way into the open ground by the railway, and to Observation Hill, where the enemy dare not pursue. By half-past three a.m. the greater part were back at Leicester Post again. It was a triumph, even for the Rifle Brigade: as fine and gallant an achievement as could be done. But the cost was heavy.

Eleven were dead, including one or perhaps two officers. Six are prisoners. Forty-three are wounded, some severely. The ambulance was out all the morning bringing them in. Again they complained that the Boers fired on them and wanted to keep them prisoners. Nothing has so embittered our troops against the enemy as this continual firing on the wounded and hospitals. It was sad in any case to see the stretchers coming home this morning. Meeting a covered dhoolie, I asked the bearers who was in it. "Captain Paley," they said, and put him down for water. He had been reported missing. In fact, he had stayed behind to look after some of his men who were down or lost. He is known for his excellent government of a district in Crete. I gave him the water. He recognised me at once and was conscious, but his singularly blue eyes looked out of a deadly yellow and bloodless face, and his hands seemed to have the touch of death on them. When I said I was sorry, he answered, "But we got the gun." He was shot through the chest, though, as he pointed out, he was not spitting blood. Another bullet had entered the left hip and passed out, breaking the right hip-bone. That is the dangerous wound. He said he did not feel much pain.

The wounded were taken down to the tents set up in the ravine of the Port Road between the Headquarters and the old camp. That is the main hospital (11th and 18th) since the wounded were shifted out of the Town Hall, because the Boers shelled it so persistently. Since the Geneva flag was removed from the hall's turret not a single shell has been fired near the building. The ravine—"kloof" is the word here, like "cleft"—is fairly safe from shells, though the Bulwan gun has done its best to get among the tents ever since spies reported the removal.

It is fully exposed to those terrible dust storms which I described in an earlier letter. In the afternoon we had one of the worst I have seen. The sand and dust and dry filth, gathered up by the hot west wind from the plain of the old camp, swept in a continuous yellow cloud along the road and down into the ravine. It blotted out the sun, it blinded horses and men, it covered the wounded with a thick layer. I have described its horrible effects before. Imagine what it is like to have a hospital under such conditions, practically unsheltered—to extract bullets, to staunch blood, to amputate. One admires the Boers as a race fighting for their freedom, soon to be overthrown on behalf of a mongrel pack of speculators and other scoundrels. But I did not like them any better when I saw our wounded in the dust-storm to-day, and remembered why they were there.