A West Pointer with the Boers /

by John Y. Fillmore Blake

Major Wolmorans brought his French guns into play on the English right also, and this forced some of the English guns to drop Pepworth Hill, and try their luck with Wolmorans. Wolmorans was too much for them, and we could see that the whole English line was beginning to tremble, yet the battle continued to rage and the bullets and shells were flying to and fro so thick and fast that it would seem impossible for any one to come out alive.

It was about this time, eight o'clock, that a shell caught me, smashed both the bones of my arm near the elbow, cut the tendon, nerve and artery and completely paralysed my whole arm. I went to my horse, about 300 yards away, and was fortunate to find him alive, because most of them near him had been killed. A young Boer boy helped me to mount and I managed to reach a hospital tent about a mile away, but it was a close call, for I had grown very weak from loss of so much blood. As I passed my camp, I could not help smiling, for it was completely destroyed, and I knew that when the Irish boys saw it again, there would be plenty of Irish wit in the air.

Finally about two p.m. the Boer fire became so warm and deadly that the Lancers with their cold British steel, and the whole British army, bolted, and a pell-mell retreat followed, in which everyone seemed bent on getting into Ladysmith as quickly as possible, regardless of consequences. Such was their anxiety to escape, that they crowded together like a flock of sheep, and it may be taken as a fact that Captain Pretorius did not fail to try his pom-pom guns on such a magnificent target.

The Lancers threw away their cold British steel, helmets, guns, ammunition, and everything of weight that might impede fast running; and so ended the Battle of Modderspruit.

On our right at Nickolson's Nek, something happened that we on Pepworth Hill knew nothing about, till the battle was over, although the Nek was in plain view. During the previous night, General White sent two regiments under Colonel Carleton to take possession of Nickolson's Nek and the adjoining big hill. Before they reached the Nek, some Boer guards saw them and fired upon them. Colonel Carleton, who was in command, had with him a lot of pack mules carrying several mountain guns. It seems these mules did not like fighting, so they deserted with their cannon and joined the Boers. However, Colonel Carleton got the Nek and the big hill much to his regret. The wily Christian De Wet (afterwards General De Wet) happened to be near at hand. In the early morning some Pretoria town boys, Johannesburg police, and a few Free Staters discovered the unwise Colonel and his men on the Nek and hill. Having placed themselves in a sluit about 1,000 yards away, they gave the Colonel a warm rifle salute. Carleton and his men of course responded. Cunning De Wet took about 200 Free Staters, slipped around the hill, crept up it and fired into Colonel Carleton's rear. No man likes to be shot in the rear, so Colonel Carleton hoisted his white flag, and with about 900 of his men went to Pretoria to see Oom Paul. Of course General White thinks that if the mules with the cannon had not stampeded, Colonel Carleton would have been all right and would have given the Boers particular—well, I will put it mildly and say fits.

Now a word about those mountain guns. The Boers would take a good look at them, give a sarcastic smile and walk away. Those guns are about as much use in war as so many popguns would be, and it is a question with me whether I would rather fire one of them or stand 100 feet in front of it, and let some one fire at me. They might prove useful in scaring unarmed niggers, who had never heard a loud noise. The Boers are not niggers, notwithstanding the fact that the whole British press labored hard during the year preceding the war to make the world believe they were niggers, and savage ones, too. The Boer has heard too many lions roar to be frightened to death by a popgun; but an incompetent British general must have some kind of an excuse to explain away his blunders, so General White attributes his defeat to the unfaithfulness of a mule, and receives the congratulations of his Queen. At the conclusion of the battle Commandant General Piet Joubert called up the Irish boys, thanked them, congratulated them, and told them that the brave stand they had made and their serving of Long Tom had prevented a grave disaster and enabled the Boers to gain a great victory over the enemy.

Young Tommie Oates, who carried the green flag, and young Cox, another brave boy, were both shot dead, and buried on Pepworth Hill, facing the enemies' position. Hugh Carbury was shot through the head, the bullet striking the very centre of his forehead. How he lived for even an instant no one could understand. Dr. Max Mehliss and Dr. Lilpop took him, operated upon him and within three days he was walking about the temporary hospital. Finally orders were received for all the wounded, eighty-five in number, to be sent to Pretoria. I would not go, because I knew that I must stay near the Irish Brigade. Hugh Carbury went to Pretoria and so far recovered that he was walking around the town. In about three months he had a stroke of paralysis and died, and the Irish Brigade lost one of its best and bravest boys. Andy Higgins, Olsen, Kepner, Tinen, Barnes and Gaynor were also wounded, but all recovered. Many others had holes shot through their clothing but escaped uninjured. For months after this battle, the Irish boys and the Boers amused themselves playing a game known as "mumble peg" with the cold British steel that the Lancers on their hurried retreat thought unnecessary to carry with them into Ladysmith. The Lancers were now armed with rifles and converted into mounted infantry, and I don't think that a lance was ever after seen on any battle field during the rest of the war. When we captured the Eighteenth Hussars, we asked them for their flag and we were informed that they didn't carry any. Now Christian De Wet had captured two regiments, the Dublin Fusiliers and the Gloucesters, and when asked for their flags they answered that all regiments had received orders to leave all colors and flags behind, locked up in the vaults at Durban, Pietermaritzburg and Cape Town. Of course every regiment was provided with the necessary white flag, and everyone found that flag a most useful and life-saving piece of cloth. Not a battalion and not a regiment carried either its own colors or its country's flag into the battle field, throughout the whole war. This alone should be sufficient proof of the cowardice and degeneracy of the British army, and at the same time explain the pig-sticking at Elandslaagte and the use of the dum-dum and split bullets by the soldiers.

There can be neither pride nor honor among either officers or soldiers of any army when they hide away their country's flag for safe keeping, on the eve of battle. I have an idea that every regiment considered the carrying of its colors and flag into battle from a business point of view, for if their flag were not carried into battle it would not be necessary to make requisition for a new supply after the battle. However, I will guarantee that any one visiting the various regimental headquarters throughout England, will find in every one of them a tattered and torn flag bearing the names of many great battles in South Africa in which it floated; and in which its brave defenders performed wonderful deeds and added another glorious victory to the British army in the face of overwhelming odds.

Every one asks "why didn't the Boers follow up this pell-mell retreat of the English into Ladysmith?" The fact is that the Boer is too pious, too religious and, therefore, too humane to battle with such an unscrupulous people as the English. Commandant General Piet Joubert was a grand man, grown old and mellow in the service of his country, a most religious and humane man, who looked upon the English as a Christian people, and he felt that it would be unchristian-like to follow up and shoot down his retreating enemy.

When the English were well out of range, and the commandos returned to their laagers, they held their services, and then began to make their coffee and prepare their food, as if nothing had happened. Every pot, kettle, blanket and tent, etc., in the Irish camp was simply riddled by shells, so that they had to be supplied with a completely new outfit. This resulted because our camp was about 300 yards in the rear of the guns, and the English guns were so located that every shell that passed over our heads must fall in or near it. Judging by appearances one could easily be made believe that about all the shells fired by the British landed in the camp, for it was certainly a total wreck.