The Little Natal
Guns, Firing With Obsolete Black Powder, Threw A Few Shells Into
The Station, One Of Which, It Is Said, Penetrated A Boer Ambulance
Which Could Not Be Seen By The Gunners.
The accident was to be
regretted, but as no patients could have been in the ambulance the
mischance was not a serious one.
But the busy, smoky little seven-pounder guns were soon to meet
their master. Away up on the distant hillside, a long thousand
yards beyond their own furthest range, there was a sudden bright
flash. No smoke, only the throb of flame, and then the long
sibilant scream of the shell, and the thud as it buried itself in
the ground under a limber. Such judgment of range would have
delighted the most martinet of inspectors at Okehampton. Bang came
another, and another, and another, right into the heart of the
battery. The six little guns lay back at their extremest angle, and
all barked together in impotent fury. Another shell pitched over
them, and the officer in command lowered his field-glass in despair
as he saw his own shells bursting far short upon the hillside.
Jameson's defeat does not seem to have been due to any defect in
his artillery. French, peering and pondering, soon came to the
conclusion that there were too many Boers for him, and that if
those fifteen-pounders desired target practice they should find
some other mark than the Natal Field Artillery. A few curt orders,
and his whole force was making its way to the rear. There, out of
range of those perilous guns, they halted, the telegraph wire was
cut, a telephone attachment was made, and French whispered his
troubles into the sympathetic ear of Ladysmith. He did not whisper
in vain. What he had to say was that where he had expected a few
hundred riflemen he found something like two thousand, and that
where he expected no guns he found two very excellent ones. The
reply was that by road and by rail as many men as could be spared
were on their way to join him.
Soon they began to drop in, those useful reinforcements - first the
Devons, quiet, business-like, reliable; then the Gordons, dashing,
fiery, brilliant. Two squadrons of the 5th Lancers, the 42nd R.F.A.,
the 21st R.F.A., another squadron of Lancers, a squadron of the
5th Dragoon Guards - French began to feel that he was strong enough
for the task in front of him. He had a decided superiority of
numbers and of guns. But the others were on their favourite
defensive on a hill. It would be a fair fight and a deadly one.
It was late after noon before the advance began. It was hard, among
those billowing hills, to make out the exact limits of the enemy's
position. All that was certain was that they were there, and that
we meant having them out if it were humanly possible. 'The enemy
are there,' said Ian Hamilton to his infantry; 'I hope you will
shift them out before sunset - in fact I know you will.' The men
cheered and laughed.
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