Now The 75th And 18th Field
Batteries Came Rattling And Dashing To The Front, And Unlimbered At
One Thousand Yards.
The naval guns were working at four thousand,
but the two combined were insufficient to master the fire of the
pieces of large calibre which were opposed to them.
Lord Methuen
must have prayed for guns as Wellington did for night, and never
was a prayer answered more dramatically. A strange battery came
lurching up from the British rear, unheralded, unknown, the weary
gasping horses panting at the traces, the men, caked with sweat and
dirt, urging them on into a last spasmodic trot. The bodies of
horses which had died of pure fatigue marked their course, the
sergeants' horses tugged in the gun-teams, and the sergeants
staggered along by the limbers. It was the 62nd Field Battery,
which had marched thirty-two miles in eight hours, and now, hearing
the crash of battle in front of them, had with one last desperate
effort thrown itself into the firing line. Great credit is due to
Major Granet and his men. Not even those gallant German batteries
who saved the infantry at Spicheren could boast of a finer feat.
Now it was guns against guns, and let the best gunners win! We had
eighteen field-guns and the naval pieces against the concealed
cannon of the enemy. Back and forward flew the shells, howling past
each other in mid-air. The weary men of the 62nd Battery forgot
their labours and fatigues as they stooped and strained at their
clay-coloured 15-pounders. Half of them were within rifle range,
and the limber horses were the centre of a hot fire, as they were
destined to be at a shorter range and with more disastrous effect
at the Tugela. That the same tactics should have been adopted at
two widely sundered points shows with what care the details of the
war had been pre-arranged by the Boer leaders. 'Before I got my
horses out,' says an officer, 'they shot one of my drivers and two
horses and brought down my own horse. When we got the gun round one
of the gunners was shot through the brain and fell at my feet.
Another was shot while bringing up shell. Then we got a look in.'
The roar of the cannon was deafening, but gradually the British
were gaining the upper hand. Here and there the little knolls upon
the further side which had erupted into constant flame lay cold and
silent. One of the heavier guns was put out of action, and the
other had been withdrawn for five hundred yards. But the infantry
fire still crackled and rippled along the trenches, and the guns
could come no nearer with living men and horses. It was long past
midday, and that unhappy breakfast seemed further off than ever.
As the afternoon wore on, a curious condition of things was
established. The guns could not advance, and, indeed, it was found
necessary to withdraw them from a 1200 to a 2800-yard range, so
heavy were the losses. At the time of the change the 75th Battery
had lost three officers out of five, nineteen men, and twenty-two
horses. The infantry could not advance and would not retire. The
Guards on the right were prevented from opening out on the flank
and getting round the enemy's line, by the presence of the Riet
River, which joins the Modder almost at a right angle. All day they
lay under a blistering sun, the sleet of bullets whizzing over
their heads. 'It came in solid streaks like telegraph wires,' said
a graphic correspondent. The men gossiped, smoked, and many of them
slept. They lay on the barrels of their rifles to keep them cool
enough for use. Now and again there came the dull thud of a bullet
which had found its mark, and a man gasped, or drummed with his
feet; but the casualties at this point were not numerous, for there
was some little cover, and the piping bullets passed for the most
part overhead.
But in the meantime there had been a development upon the left
which was to turn the action into a British victory. At this side
there was ample room to extend, and the 9th Brigade spread out,
feeling its way down the enemy's line, until it came to a point
where the fire was less murderous and the approach to the river
more in favour of the attack. Here the Yorkshires, a party of whom
under Lieutenant Fox had stormed a farmhouse, obtained the command
of a drift, over which a mixed force of Highlanders and Fusiliers
forced their way, led by their Brigadier in person. This body of
infantry, which does not appear to have exceeded five hundred in
number, were assailed both by the Boer riflemen and by the guns of
both parties, our own gunners being unaware that the Modder had
been successfully crossed. A small hamlet called Rosmead formed,
however, a point d'appui, and to this the infantry clung
tenaciously, while reinforcements dribbled across to them from the
farther side. 'Now, boys, who's for otter hunting?' cried Major
Coleridge, of the North Lancashires, as he sprang into the water.
How gladly on that baking, scorching day did the men jump into the
river and splash over, to climb the opposite bank with their wet
khaki clinging to their figures! Some blundered into holes and were
rescued by grasping the unwound putties of their comrades. And so
between three and four o'clock a strong party of the British had
established their position upon the right flank of the Boers, and
were holding on like grim death with an intelligent appreciation
that the fortunes of the day depended upon their retaining their
grip.
'Hollo, here is a river!' cried Codrington when he led his forlorn
hope to the right and found that the Riet had to be crossed.
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