The Irish Brigade, as usual, were in the thick of the fight, jovial yet determined, and holding their grip of every inch they gained notwithstanding shadows of threatened dissolution, the sights of death and sounds of horror that filled the air. Captain Hensley, a brave and gallant soul, was shot through the head, and several officers were smitten, but still their valorous commander, waving his sword, pressed on, and still his sturdy Irishmen, animated, encouraged, confident, pursued their upward way. They had debts to settle—some old scores to wipe out. They remembered their hideous disappointment of Colenso, their grievous experiences of Dundee, and also they remembered—a far grander remembrance!—that the honour of the Emerald Isle rested on their shoulders, and that the quality of its loyalty stood proved by the quality of their famous deeds!
All around played the fierce fire of the enemy’s guns, Creusot, Maxim, Nordenfeldt, and others. These were posted in commanding positions on a chain of hills to the west of Spion Hill, and from various points of vantage the Dutchmen were able to keep up a ceaseless clamour, and pour a rapid torrent of death and mutilation upon the advancing troops. These, by reason of the bad ground and the caution required in the manner of approach, could travel but slowly. The enemy, owing to the delay in our advance, had increased their forces most unexpectedly, and seemed, though scarcely to have existed a week ago, to be now ubiquitous! During the afternoon General Lyttleton’s Brigade made a frontal attack on the Dutchmen’s position between Schwartz Kop and Spion Kop, to divert their attention pending the movements of Sir Charles Warren. This movement, it was imagined, had been kept very “dark,” but, in spite of the secrecy and caution, the agile foe had contrived again to concentrate a huge force to oppose his every turn. More artillery seemed continuously to be brought to the scene, and also some of the trophies captured in the ill-fated attack on Colenso. Our Naval guns bombarded the ridge all day, and the howitzers boomed and roared, but the whole place appeared to be bustling with Boers. On the extreme left Lord Dundonald engaged in more energetic demonstration, and the indefatigable South African Light Horse, under Colonel Byng, more than ever distinguished themselves. In the most gallant manner they captured Bastion Hill, a hill between the Dutch right and centre.
This hill in the hands of the Boers was a standing menace, as from thence they could direct a cross-fire at the infantry on the opposite spur of the big mountain. Major Childe, commanding F Squadron, South African Light Horse, decided that he, and not the Federals, must secure so important a vantage-point. Dismounting with his men, and leaving his horses in rear of the heights, he cautiously crept round through a mealie field and various dongas which gave him cover from the storm of shot directed from the curve of the hills. In spite of the pelting lead, he got to the base of the position in safety. Then, with half the squadron, he started laboriously to climb. It was tough work, the sugar-loaf eminence being steep and stony and the sun above blisteringly hot. Thus they sweated and toiled for a whole hour. Finally, the Boers were seen scampering from the top. They had detected the approach of men—bayonets were suspected—they discreetly bolted. Just then Trooper Tobin, who had grandly led the way up the precipitous height, had reached his goal. Here he stood in his delight and triumph waving his helmet and shouting, and quite regardless of the fact that he made an excellent mark for Boer sharpshooters or their mercenaries. Up, too, rushed Major Childe with a dozen or so of his nimble men, into the midst of a tornado of shot and shell which had suddenly started from the Boer left and centre. Promptly every one went to earth. It was useless at the moment to attempt to return so withering a fire. Then came a shell—bursting and banging—and the gallant Major was caught on the head and killed. Several others were slain, among them Godden, who had been one of the gallant seven who distinguished themselves in the pont exploit. Shattered by the terrible fire of artillery, breathless from past exertions, the troops still hung on. Then our own artillery came to the rescue and kept the Boer gunners occupied. Meanwhile, reinforcements from Hildyard’s Brigade were sent up to the help of the brave fellows who for twelve hours had been without rest or water, and on the following day, to the West Surreys, the cavalry, after a tremendous and fatiguing experience, handed over the charge of the hill which they had so magnificently gained. The losses during this complex series of engagements were many, but the sufferings due to hunger, heat, thirst, and fatigue were even greater than those due to actual wounds.
The Lancashire Fusiliers, Lancashire Regiment, and the Dublin Fusiliers lost most during the day. Their wounded numbered about 350 officers and men. These troops had a peculiarly trying time, as for three whole days previously they had remained on some captured hills, sun-baked and fired on promiscuously, while at night, when the temperature had run down with its customary rapidity, they had found themselves chilled to the bone, with no blankets or overcoats to cover them. They had about two hours’ sleep on an average per night and very little to eat during the day. From 3 A.M. on the 20th the Lancashires had taken up a position screened behind a string of low kopjes, while the artillery on the right battered and pounded at the Boer earthworks in front and half-left and half-right. The troops had remained quiet and painfully inactive in the sweltering sun for many hours, stray bullets whistling round their ears, and, as one of the officers said, “causing great levity among the men.” At 1.30 they had begun to advance. Immediately they showed their heads they were caught by a hailstorm of bullets, and seven men dropped. Rushing dauntlessly on, they made for the shelter of a ring of rocks some 150 yards in advance, remained for some ten minutes or so, then pushed forward another 400 yards, losing less men and taking a lesson in caution from the Boers. Thus, in short energetic rushes, they had managed to get within 900 yards of the enemy. On the top of the hillock a perfect deluge of bullets descended, and though the General had moved some 400 forward, so quickly were the men hit that only thirty or so could use their rifles.
Afterwards the order was given to make breastworks, and there was a rush into the open to gather stones and rocks and boulders, when more men were stricken down. All the wounded could do was to creep to a rock in the rear, and there await the turn of events. Some lay as they crawled from 3 to 8.30 at night. It was impossible for them to be removed from the hill, as the Boers promptly fired on the stretcher-bearers. The sights and sounds were heart-rending. On one side was seen a man sent to his last account in a breath; on another was one still hobbling along and plying his rifle, with both ankles smashed. Here lay a poor fellow who had a splinter of rock driven clean through his lungs and out at his back; there languished another shot through the eye and brain—hopeless. All of them suffered patiently, but were madly athirst, craving for the hour when the sun should go down and they might get a chance of removal from the awful scene. And yet there were some, wounded too, who bore the long hours with amazing cheeriness. One, shot in the leg, lay on his back, drew forth his home letters, and perused them in the midst of a deadly fusillade. Another, more seriously wounded still, had the audacity to beguile the weary moments by taking a “snap-shot” at General Hart in the act of waving his sword and gesticulating. So much for pluck!
After sundown came the moment so longed for by the wretched beings, some of whom were now literally glued to earth in their own gore. But their miseries were not yet at an end. It took some two hours to go three-quarters of a mile in the darkness over the bad ground; there were creeks, and dongas, and boulders everywhere. No lights were allowed. In the jetty obscurity the Samaritans tripped and stumbled. “I was only dropped twice,” smiled a wounded youth when he was at last safely borne towards the stretcher-bearers. Others at intervals were brought in soaked with blood and rain, the hot stream and the cold mingling uncannily and to their supreme discomfort. Many who were wounded soon after midday only succeeded in reaching the field-hospital about half-past twelve at night. Some, more pathetic still, did not reach it at all! They had patiently waited till past the need of assistance!
Very pathetic were the circumstances attending the fall of Major Childe. It was said that on the previous day he had had forebodings of disaster, so much so that he even begged of his companions, in the event of his death, to put on his grave his chosen quotation, “Is it well with the child? It is well.” This dying wish was faithfully carried out. His burial took place on the day after the engagement, Lord Dundonald reading the solemn words of the funeral service. Over his roughly-made grave was placed the gallant officer’s name, the date of his death, and the text he had desired to have written on his tomb.
On the following day the fight was waged as fiercely as ever so far as artillery was concerned. Six field-batteries and four howitzers bombarded the enemy’s position with tremendous vigour, and inflicted considerable loss. The Boer rifles were indefatigable, however, and continued their fiendish activity, and the Dutch or German gunners maintained their excellent practice with scarcely a moment’s cessation.
While General Woodgate made a demonstration on the right, General Hart and his brigade continued to advance, and General Hildyard’s troops joined in the attack from the valley past the right of Bastion Hill. Here a cleft appeared to open between the right and centre of the Boer position, and here the infantry, pushing on, practically divided the position in two; but it was found that the second line of defence was a formidable one; that the Boers had secured to themselves a magnificent point of vantage, whence they could sweep the country and command all the approaches with cross-fire, and even with converging fire; but, in spite of this, the troops tenaciously retained the positions they had gained, remaining there throughout the 22nd and 23rd, partially covered, so that in all their loss was inconsiderable.
The following officers were wounded in action near Venter’s Spruit on the 20th of January:—