Puzzling as was the silence of the Boers, the silence of the British artillery was still more curious. The soldier in his attacks likes to hear the roar of his own guns; it gives him moral courage and a sense of support. He dislikes an enemy who awaits his onset in absolute silence and withholds fire till the last moment. Upon the kopjes no enemy could be discerned; the hills seemed so many huge lifeless stone-heaps, tenanted only by scorpions and lizards.
F. Dadd, R.I.] [From a Sketch by a British Officer.
THE BATTLE OF BELMONT.
The line of infantry reached the foot of the kopjes and began the ascent, each man four paces from his neighbour, without supports or reserves. At this instant the slopes burst into flame, and a strange, unearthly crackling and sputtering ran along the front of the advancing soldiers. "You could see nothing but men dropping all round you," writes a private in the Scots Guards. This fire at close ranges should have been annihilating, and yet, as a matter of hard fact, not very many men went down. The Boers seemed to be nervous and alarmed at the steady and determined approach of our infantry; after the first few rounds they shot most indifferently and failed to use their splendid opportunity. They had almost complete shelter behind great boulders and stone walls, whereas our troops had to scale on hands and knees the steep and stony slopes. In the assault the Grenadiers, who were in too close formation, suffered most.
British victory at Belmont.
Nov. 23, 1899.] Incidents of the Battle.
The British troops with a roar of cheering reached the summit of the kopjes and used their bayonets upon the Boers, whom they caught amidst the boulders. Here fell Private St. John, a famous boxer, in hand-grips with the enemy. Writes a brother private of his battalion:—"At the battle of Belmont we fought hand to hand. I was just behind David St. John when he was shot. He stuck his bayonet right through a Boer and could not get it out again. He tried to throw the man over his shoulder to get him off, and then another Boer came up and shot him through the head. Then another of our men put his bayonet through that Boer's heart." But the main body of the enemy had already discreetly retired. The Boers with their agile little ponies could wait till the stormers were close upon them, and then leap upon their steeds and gallop off to their fresh position in the rear, thus baulking our soldiers of their prey at the very moment when against any other enemy the battle would have been gained. There was not cavalry or horse artillery to drive home the blow and keep the foe "on the run." And thus the fight had to be fought over and over again.
Halting on the summit, to give time for the artillery, which had now been ordered to open fire on the high ground beyond the line of kopjes, to do its work, the infantry re-formed, while a heavy shrapnel fire was poured in upon the enemy's second position. The Boer guns responded vigorously, but without doing much harm. An artillery duel of an hour-and-a-half's duration followed, yet it cannot be said that any full or complete preparation for the assault was achieved by the British guns. They were too few in number, and they fired for too short a time. About 5·45 a.m. the advance was resumed.
Chaplain Hill's bravery.
This time the fighting was harder and the men suffered more. The Ninth Brigade lost its general, Fetherstonhaugh, wounded while leading. He had cantered up and down his fighting line attended by his staff, and so doing drew a severe fire from the enemy upon his men, who could not reply from fear of hitting him. At last a soldier in the ranks shouted in humorous indignation, says Mr. Kinnear, "—— thee! Get thee to——, and let's fire!" Mont Blanc was stormed by the 1st Coldstreams with splendid dash, while the Northamptons and Northumberlands attacked a high ridge to the south of it. Here Chaplain Hill, of the Ninth Brigade, covered himself with honour. He followed the fighting line and administered the last consolation of the Sacrament to the dying, standing erect where no man dared to show himself amidst the hail of bullets. It was a noble and inspiring picture; the fallen soldier prone in the grip of death; the priest upright and serene; around on every side the tumult of battle and the rush of the storming line. "Get down," shouted an officer to the chaplain; "you have no right to risk your life." "This is my place and I am doing my special business," was the answer. And the bullets left him unscathed.