Slipping And Sliding Upon
The Wet Grass, They Advanced To The Assault.
And now amid the hissing of the rain there came the fuller, more
menacing whine of the Mauser bullets, and the ridge rattled from
end to end with the rifle fire.
Men fell fast, but their comrades
pressed hotly on. There was a long way to go, for the summit of the
position was nearly 800 feet above the level of the railway. The
hillside, which had appeared to be one slope, was really a
succession of undulations, so that the advancing infantry
alternately dipped into shelter and emerged into a hail of bullets.
The line of advance was dotted with khaki-clad figures, some still
in death, some writhing in their agony. Amid the litter of bodies a
major of the Gordons, shot through the leg, sat philosophically
smoking his pipe. Plucky little Chisholm, Colonel of the Imperials,
had fallen with two mortal wounds as he dashed forward waving a
coloured sash in the air. So long was the advance and so trying the
hill that the men sank panting upon the ground, and took their
breath before making another rush. As at Talana Hill, regimental
formation was largely gone, and men of the Manchesters, Gordons,
and Imperial Light Horse surged upwards in one long ragged fringe,
Scotchman, Englishman, and British Africander keeping pace in that
race of death. And now at last they began to see their enemy. Here
and there among the boulders in front of them there was the glimpse
of a slouched hat, or a peep at a flushed bearded face which
drooped over a rifle barrel. There was a pause, and then with a
fresh impulse the wave of men gathered themselves together and
flung themselves forward. Dark figures sprang up from the rocks in
front. Some held up their rifles in token of surrender. Some ran
with heads sunk between their shoulders, jumping and ducking among
the rocks. The panting breathless climbers were on the edge of the
plateau. There were the two guns which had flashed so brightly,
silenced now, with a litter of dead gunners around them and one
wounded officer standing by a trail. A small body of the Boers
still resisted. Their appearance horrified some of our men. 'They
were dressed in black frock coats and looked like a lot of rather
seedy business men,' said a spectator. 'It seemed like murder to
kill them.' Some surrendered, and some fought to the death where
they stood. Their leader Koch, an old gentleman with a white beard,
lay amidst the rocks, wounded in three places. He was treated with
all courtesy and attention, but died in Ladysmith Hospital some
days afterwards.
In the meanwhile the Devonshire Regiment had waited until the
attack had developed and had then charged the hill upon the flank,
while the artillery moved up until it was within 2000 yards of the
enemy's position. The Devons met with a less fierce resistance than
the others, and swept up to the summit in time to head off some of
the fugitives.
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