It is said by Mr. Churchill that the artillery officers when questioned as to the practicability of moving guns up to the summit, replied that it was impossible, and that even if the guns could be got there they would be shot to pieces. Lieutenant James, of the Royal Navy, however, the officer in charge of the naval guns, replied that he could go anywhere, or at least make the attempt. Accordingly, two of his 12-pounders and the Mountain Battery were ordered to leave for the top. It is Mr. Churchill's opinion that the path was impracticable for field guns, and, as we have often seen, the British mountain guns were of such a pattern and so short-ranged that they could have done nothing against the Boer Krupps, Creusots, and "Pom-Poms." So that, after all, little was lost by failing to send up guns earlier. The movement of the guns did not begin till darkness was closing down. The crackle of rifles still proceeded from the summit of Spion Kop, but the heavy, incessant bombardment had now abated. Truth to tell, the Boers were in the most grievous discouragement. If we had suffered, they had suffered too. All their artillery fire had failed visibly to shake our soldiers' grip on the hill; from the rear of their firing line, as from ours, there was a procession of unwounded but faint-hearted men. Their numbers were less than ours, and their men were worn out with incessant fighting. As night fell, the signs of an imminent retreat were clearly manifest to observers in the Boer rear, at Ladysmith. The garrison made no effort to harry the enemy or precipitate the decision; weakened by hunger, it could only watch from a distance the terrific contest on which its fate hinged—watch and pray. As hour followed hour, it saw shell and shrapnel burst; saw the scurry of tiny figures on the summit of Spion Kop; saw, too, the victorious advance of the Rifles; saw the flight of large parties of Boers, north-westwards and northwards. And then darkness descended upon the doubtful field. But the Boers were in a mind for flight—so much was certain. Some hundreds of their men, as their surgeons afterwards owned, had been killed or wounded, and these hundreds could never be replaced. In fact, that moment had arrived which comes in all stubbornly contested conflicts, when the men on each side feel themselves beaten, and when all depends upon the general. The Boers had Louis Botha—young, brave, active, a born leader of men—who had held a small band steady through the evening, and had even succeeded in bringing up reinforcements. The British troops had no one but Colonel Thorneycroft, and he, weary with twenty-four hours of terrible conflict, appalled by the manner in which the force on the summit had melted and suffered in the struggle, unconscious that the enemy was equally hard hit, and with no knowledge that help was at hand, was in no condition to reach a cool and balanced judgment.
[Jan. 24-25, 1900.
Thorneycroft determines to withdraw.
In the darkness the firing continued, but intermittently. Straggling and skulking had increased; the trickle to the rear had swelled to a stream; there were even stories of panic and flight, which were eagerly caught up by the Boers from demoralised prisoners. But Mr. Churchill, who a second time visited the position in the darkness, tells us that the mass of the infantry were determined to hold on to the last. Already, however, the fatal decision had been reached. On his own authority, and in despite of the vigorous protests of Colonel Hill, Colonel Thorneycroft had determined to withdraw, though his orders were to hold the position to the last. He could not communicate with Generals Buller and Warren or receive the instructions which, had they only been present in person, they would undoubtedly have given. There was no oil for the signal lamps, a sad instance of the fatal result of the want of that attention to detail which has always marked the great commanders. It added irony to the event that the British Staff down below, in utter ignorance of what was proceeding above—and since the morning no Staff officer had appeared on the summit—was making arrangements for a general assault all along the line, as the retreat began. Many of the wounded had to be abandoned when the shattered companies and battalions, covered by a strong rearguard, withdrew through the darkness, and stole down the precipitous path. One of the bloodiest, certainly the most terrible, of the battles of the war had reached its end.
R. B. M. Paxton.] [After a sketch by Ernest Prater.
MAJOR WRIGHT DEMANDING POSSESSION OF THE WOUNDED.
The Boers at first refused to allow the British Volunteer Ambulance men to carry off the wounded. Major Wright, who had been wounded at Elandslaagte and was now serving under the Red Cross, persisted in his demand, claiming his right under the Geneva Convention, and finally carried his point in a personal interview with Commandant Botha.
Scene on the hill after the battle.
Jan. 25, 1900.] Boer Estimates of Comparative Losses.