A West Pointer with the Boers /

by John Y. Fillmore Blake

During the night, Tom Haney was on guard and Mick Ryan was to relieve him. When the hour arrived, Mick picked up his rifle and went to take his post. On approaching, Tom said "Halt! Who comes there?" "It is Mick," was the reply, and he approached. Tom said, "See here, Mick, you must not answer 'Mick' when you are challenged, but 'friend.'" Mick's reply was, "Now, Tom, how can I answer, 'friend,' when I haven't a friend in the world?"

From the balloon incident I knew there would be trouble in the early morning. At the first sign of dawn I got up and went to the hill crest. I had not sat there long before it became light enough for me to use my glasses. Within about two minutes, I discovered twenty-four cannon about 2,500 yards distant, and pointed right toward Pepworth Hill. Near them was a long line of Lancers and some cavalry. Beyond them and nearer to Lombard's Kop, I saw a lot more cavalry. To our right and front, I saw ten companies of infantry marching towards us. They were halted and concealed behind some rocks, at about 1,500 yards from us. I had seen enough to be convinced that there was going to be a fight, and that no time was to be lost. I sent one of the guards to tell the boys to come quickly, for there was going to be a hot fight. He found them making coffee and preparing pig for breakfast. They forgot their coffee and pig and every thing else, except their rifles and ammunition, and came running up that hill like a band of wild Apaches. As fast as they arrived they would call out, "Where are the English?" After all had taken a good look at the cannon and cavalry in front of them, I simply told them to remember that they were Irishmen, and then put them in a position on the right of the guns. Commandant Trichardt had discovered the English batteries at the same time that I did, and after the Ermelo Commando had taken its position at the left of the guns, he prepared for immediate action. It was just 5.45 a.m. Sunday when a long column of curling blue smoke rising from Long Tom told us that a six-inch shell was on its way, to extend to the English an early welcome.

Within ten seconds the British batteries responded with twenty-four fifteen pound shells, and the Battle of Modderspruit was begun. The shells continued to come so thick and fast that by seven o'clock, Pepworth Hill was so enveloped with smoke that it was with difficulty at times to see the enemy.

Shells were bursting over our heads, on the ground, among us, and great chunks of iron were whizzing about from stone to stone. At times the uproar was so great that we could scarcely hear each other speak, yet the Irish boys, who had not the least protection, never once showed any inclination to waver. They were there to protect their guns, and to fight the English, and though they could be killed, they were not to be driven away. It was about this time, seven o'clock, that the Ermelo Commando could not stand it any longer, and nearly all of them fell back about one mile, and there awaited further developments.

Afterwards this same commando proved to be one of the best, bravest, and most reckless in the field.

It was about this time, too, that six of those artillery boys were killed and several wounded. This so weakened the artillery force at Long Tom that he could not be supplied with shells, and so had to stop fighting. Shells continued to rain upon us, and the English undoubtedly thought that Long Tom was disabled, as he had ceased to respond.

As no Boers could be found who would carry ammunition to Long Tom during such a shell storm, Commandant Grobler came to me about seven o'clock and asked for four volunteers from the Irish Brigade, to serve Long Tom, and I called upon the boys. In an instant every one clamored to go, and I sent seven instead of four, as being necessary. In another three minutes Long Tom roared again and it was plainly to be seen by the commotion it raised in the valley, that the English were utterly amazed. Of the seven men who volunteered and served Long Tom, two were shot. Now Long Tom and the two French field guns made it so very uncomfortable for the English that the number of shells that had been raining upon us for the past hour and a half was reduced at least fifty per cent.

MAJOR J.L. PRETORIUS
The acknowledged greatest artillerist of the world by those who know him and his deeds.

Between seven and eight o'clock the commandos under Lucas Meyer and Schalk Burger came into contact with French's cavalry on the extreme English right. We could plainly see warm rifle firing, and soon it grew to be terribly hot, and then we knew that the English would be so hard pushed that they would have to abandon any hope of breaking through our centre and capturing Long Tom and the French field guns. After a time that brave, keen-eyed artillerist and dashing officer, Captain J.L. Pretorius appeared on the scene with his pom-pom maxims, and so deadly was his fire that French's cavalry had to fall back.