'I Was
Given To Understand That The Modder Was Fordable Everywhere,' Says
Lord Methuen In His Official Despatch.
One cannot read the account
of the operations without being struck by the casual, sketchy
knowledge which cost us so dearly.
The soldiers slogged their way
through, as they have slogged it before; but the task might have
been made much lighter for them had we but clearly known what it
was that we were trying to do. On the other hand, it is but fair to
Lord Methuen to say that his own personal gallantry and unflinching
resolution set the most stimulating example to his troops. No
General could have done more to put heart into his men.
And now, as the long weary scorching hungry day came to an end, the
Boers began at last to flinch from their trenches. The shrapnel was
finding them out and this force upon their flank filled them with
vague alarm and with fears for their precious guns. And so as night
fell they stole across the river, the cannon were withdrawn, the
trenches evacuated, and next morning, when the weary British and
their anxious General turned themselves to their grim task once
more, they found a deserted village, a line of empty houses, and a
litter of empty Mauser cartridge-cases to show where their
tenacious enemy had stood.
Lord Methuen, in congratulating the troops upon their achievement,
spoke of 'the hardest-won victory in our annals of war,' and some
such phrase was used in his official despatch. It is hypercritical,
no doubt, to look too closely at a term used by a wounded man with
the flush of battle still upon him, but still a student of military
history must smile at such a comparison between this action and
such others as Albuera or Inkerman, where the numbers of British
engaged were not dissimilar. A fight in which five hundred men are
killed and wounded cannot be classed in the same category as those
stern and desperate encounters where more of the victors were
carried than walked from the field of battle. And yet there were
some special features which will differentiate the fight at Modder
River from any of the hundred actions which adorn the standards of
our regiments. It was the third battle which the troops had fought
within the week, they were under fire for ten or twelve hours, were
waterless under a tropical sun, and weak from want of food. For the
first time they were called upon to face modern rifle fire and
modern machine guns in the open. The result tends to prove that
those who hold that it will from now onwards be impossible ever to
make such frontal attacks as those which the English made at the
Alma or the French at Waterloo, are justified in their belief. It
is beyond human hardihood to face the pitiless beat of bullet and
shell which comes from modern quick-firing weapons. Had our flank
not made a lodgment across the river, it is impossible that we
could have carried the position. Once more, too, it was
demonstrated how powerless the best artillery is to disperse
resolute and well-placed riflemen. Of the minor points of interest
there will always remain the record of the forced march of the 62nd
Battery, and artillerymen will note the use of gun-pits by the
Boers, which ensured that the range of their positions should never
be permanently obtained.
The honours of the day upon the side of the British rested with the
Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, the Yorkshire Light Infantry,
the 2nd Coldstreams, and the artillery. Out of a total casualty
list of about 450, no fewer than 112 came from the gallant Argylls
and 69 from the Coldstreams. The loss of the Boers is exceedingly
difficult to gauge, as they throughout the war took the utmost
pains to conceal it. The number of desperate and long-drawn actions
which have ended, according to the official Pretorian account, in a
loss of one wounded burgher may in some way be better policy, but
does not imply a higher standard of public virtue, than those long
lists which have saddened our hearts in the halls of the War
Office. What is certain is that the loss at Modder River could not
have been far inferior to our own, and that it arose almost
entirely from artillery fire, since at no time of the action were
any large number of their riflemen visible. So it ended, this long
pelting match, Cronje sullenly withdrawing under the cover of
darkness with his resolute heart filled with fierce determination
for the future, while the British soldiers threw themselves down on
the ground which they occupied and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
CHAPTER 9.
BATTLE OF MAGERSFONTEIN.
Lord Methuen's force had now fought three actions in the space of a
single week, losing in killed and wounded about a thousand men, or
rather more than one-tenth of its total numbers. Had there been
evidence that the enemy were seriously demoralised, the General
would no doubt have pushed on at once to Kimberley, which was some
twenty miles distant. The information which reached him was,
however, that the Boers had fallen back upon the very strong
position of Spytfontein, that they were full of fight, and that
they had been strongly reinforced by a commando from Mafeking.
Under these circumstances Lord Methuen had no choice but to give
his men a well-earned rest, and to await reinforcements. There was
no use in reaching Kimberley unless he had completely defeated the
investing force. With the history of the first relief of Lucknow in
his memory he was on his guard against a repetition of such an
experience.
It was the more necessary that Methuen should strengthen his
position, since with every mile which he advanced the more exposed
did his line of communications become to a raid from Fauresmith and
the southern districts of the Orange Free State.
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