It was a venture.
But all war is a venture; and the brave man is he who ventures
most. One fiery rush and the master-key of all these locked doors
might be in our keeping. That evening there came a telegram to
London which left the whole Empire in a hush of anticipation. Spion
Kop was to be attacked that night.
The troops which were selected for the task were eight companies of
the 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, six of the 2nd Royal Lancasters, two
of the 1st South Lancashires, 180 of Thorneycroft's, and half a
company of Sappers. It was to be a North of England job.
Under the friendly cover of a starless night the men, in Indian
file, like a party of Iroquois braves upon the war trail, stole up
the winding and ill-defined path which led to the summit. Woodgate,
the Lancashire Brigadier, and Blomfield of the Fusiliers led the
way. It was a severe climb of 2000 feet, coming after arduous work
over broken ground, but the affair was well-timed, and it was at
that blackest hour which precedes the dawn that the last steep
ascent was reached. The Fusiliers crouched down among the rocks to
recover their breath, and saw far down in the plain beneath them
the placid lights which showed where their comrades were resting. A
fine rain was falling, and rolling clouds hung low over their
heads. The men with unloaded rifles and fixed bayonets stole on
once more, their bodies bent, their eyes peering through the mirk
for the first sign of the enemy - that enemy whose first sign has
usually been a shattering volley. Thorneycroft's men with their
gallant leader had threaded their way up into the advance. Then the
leading files found that they were walking on the level. The crest
had been gained.
With slow steps and bated breath, the open line of skirmishers
stole across it. Was it possible that it had been entirely
abandoned? Suddenly a raucous shout of 'Wie da?' came out of the
darkness, then a shot, then a splutter of musketry and a yell, as
the Fusiliers sprang onwards with their bayonets. The Boer post of
Vryheid burghers clattered and scrambled away into the darkness,
and a cheer that roused both the sleeping armies told that the
surprise had been complete and the position won.
In the grey light of the breaking day the men advanced along the
narrow undulating ridge, the prominent end of which they had
captured. Another trench faced them, but it was weakly held and
abandoned. Then the men, uncertain what remained beyond, halted and
waited for full light to see where they were, and what the work was
which lay before them - a fatal halt, as the result proved, and yet
one so natural that it is hard to blame the officer who ordered it.
Indeed, he might have seemed more culpable had he pushed blindly
on, and so lost the advantage which had been already gained.
