Next morning the main body of the infantry was passed across,
and the army was absolutely committed to the formidable and
unnecessary enterprise of fighting its way straight to Ladysmith.
The force in front had weakened, however, both in numbers and in
morale. Some thousands of the Freestaters had left in order to
defend their own country from the advance of Roberts, while the
rest were depressed by as much of the news as was allowed by their
leaders to reach them. But the Boer is a tenacious fighter, and
many a brave man was still to fall before Buller and White should
shake hands in the High Street of Ladysmith.
The first obstacle which faced the army, after crossing the river,
was a belt of low rolling ground, which was gradually cleared by
the advance of our infantry. As night closed in the advance lines
of Boers and British were so close to each other that incessant
rifle fire was maintained until morning, and at more than one point
small bodies of desperate riflemen charged right up to the bayonets
of our infantry. The morning found us still holding our positions
all along the line, and as more and more of our infantry came up
and gun after gun roared into action we began to push our stubborn
enemy northwards. On the 21st the Dorsets, Middlesex, and Somersets
had borne the heat of the day. On the 22nd it was the Royal
Lancasters, followed by the South Lancashires, who took up the
running. It would take the patience and also the space of a
Kinglake in this scrambling broken fight to trace the doings of
those groups of men who strove and struggled through the rifle
fire. All day a steady advance was maintained over the low kopjes,
until by evening we were faced by the more serious line of the
Pieter's Hills. The operations had been carried out with a monotony
of gallantry. Always the same extended advance, always the same
rattle of Mausers and clatter of pom-poms from a ridge, always the
same victorious soldiers on the barren crest, with a few crippled
Boers before them and many crippled comrades behind. They were
expensive triumphs, and yet every one brought them nearer to their
goal. And now, like an advancing tide, they lapped along the base
of Pieter's Hill. Could they gather volume enough to carry
themselves over? The issue of the long-drawn battle and the fate of
Ladysmith hung upon the question.
Brigadier Fitzroy Hart, to whom the assault was entrusted, is in
some ways as singular and picturesque a type as has been evolved in
the war. A dandy soldier, always the picture of neatness from the
top of his helmet to the heels of his well-polished brown boots, he
brings to military matters the same precision which he affects in
dress.
