Of All The Daring And Skilful Attacks Delivered By The Boers During
The War There Is Certainly None More Remarkable Than This One.
At
two o'clock in the morning of a moonlight night De Wet's forlorn
hope assembled at the base of the hill and clambered up to the
summit.
The fact that it was Christmas Eve may conceivably have had
something to do with the want of vigilance upon the part of the
sentries. In a season of good will and conviviality the rigour of
military discipline may insensibly relax. Little did the sleeping
Yeomen in the tents, or the drowsy outposts upon the crest, think
of the terrible Christmas visitors who were creeping on to them, or
of the grim morning gift which Santa Claus was bearing.
The Boers, stealing up in their stockinged feet, poured under the
crest until they were numerous enough to make a rush. It is almost
inconceivable how they could have got so far without their presence
being suspected by the sentries - but so it was. At last, feeling
strong enough to advance, they sprang over the crest and fired into
the pickets, and past them into the sleeping camp. The top of the
hill being once gained, there was nothing to prevent their comrades
from swarming up, and in a very few minutes nearly a thousand Boers
were in a position to command the camp. The British were not only
completely outnumbered, but were hurried from their sleep into the
fight without any clear idea as to the danger or how to meet it,
while the hissing sleet of bullets struck many of them down as they
rushed out of their tents. Considering how terrible the ordeal was
to which they were exposed, these untried Yeomen seem to have
behaved very well. 'Some brave gentlemen ran away at the first
shot, but I am thankful to say they were not many,' says one of
their number. The most veteran troops would have been tried very
high had they been placed in such a position. 'The noise and the
clamour,' says one spectator, 'were awful. The yells of the Dutch,
the screams and shrieks of dying men and horses, the cries of
natives, howls of dogs, the firing, the galloping of horses, the
whistling of bullets, and the whirr volleys make in the air, made
up such a compound of awful and diabolical sounds as I never heard
before nor hope to hear again. In the confusion some of the men
killed each other and some killed themselves. Two Boers who put on
helmets were killed by their own people. The men were given no time
to rally or to collect their thoughts, for the gallant Boers barged
right into them, shooting them down, and occasionally being shot
down, at a range of a few yards. Harwich and Watney, who had charge
of the maxim, died nobly with all the men of their gun section
round them. Reed, the sergeant-major, rushed at the enemy with his
clubbed rifle, but was riddled with bullets.
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