No Sign
Of The Enemy Could Be Seen, Though The Men Were Dropping Fast.
It
is a weird and soul-shaking experience to advance over a sunlit and
apparently a lonely countryside, with
No slightest movement upon
its broad face, while the path which you take is marked behind you
by sobbing, gasping, writhing men, who can only guess by the
position of their wounds whence the shots came which struck them
down. All round, like the hissing of fat in the pan, is the
monotonous crackle and rattle of the Mausers; but the air is full
of it, and no one can define exactly whence it comes. Far away on
some hill upon the skyline there hangs the least gauzy veil of thin
smoke to indicate whence the six men who have just all fallen
together, as if it were some grim drill, met their death. Into such
a hell-storm as this it was that the soldiers have again and again
advanced in the course of this war, but it may be questioned
whether they will not prove to be among the last of mortals to be
asked to endure such an ordeal. Other methods of attack must be
found or attacks must be abandoned, for smokeless powder,
quick-firing guns, and modern rifles make it all odds on the
defence!
The gallant Irishmen pushed on, flushed with battle and careless
for their losses, the four regiments clubbed into one, with all
military organisation rapidly disappearing, and nothing left but
their gallant spirit and their furious desire to come to hand-grips
with the enemy. Rolling on in a broad wave of shouting angry men,
they never winced from the fire until they had swept up to the bank
of the river. Northern Inniskilling and Southern man of Connaught,
orange and green, Protestant and Catholic, Celt and Saxon, their
only rivalry now was who could shed his blood most freely for the
common cause. How hateful seem those provincial politics and narrow
sectarian creeds which can hold such men apart!
The bank of the river had been gained, but where was the ford? The
water swept broad and unruffled in front of them, with no
indication of shallows. A few dashing fellows sprang in, but their
cartridges and rifles dragged them to the bottom. One or two may
even have struggled through to the further side, but on this there
is a conflict of evidence. It may be, though it seems incredible,
that the river had been partly dammed to deepen the Drift, or, as
is more probable, that in the rapid advance and attack the position
of the Drift was lost. However this may be, the troops could find
no ford, and they lay down, as had been done in so many previous
actions, unwilling to retreat and unable to advance, with the same
merciless pelting from front and flank. In every fold and behind
every anthill the Irishmen lay thick and waited for better times.
There are many instances of their cheery and uncomplaining humour.
Colonel Brooke, of the Connaughts, fell at the head of his men.
Private Livingstone helped to carry him into safety, and then, his
task done, he confessed to having 'a bit of a rap meself,' and sank
fainting with a bullet through his throat.
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