For Cavalry He Had The
9th Lancers, With Detachments Of Mounted Infantry, And For
Artillery The 75th And 18th Batteries R.F.A.
Extreme mobility was aimed at in the column, and neither tents nor
comforts of any sort were permitted to officers or men - no light
matter in a climate where a tropical day is followed by an arctic
night.
At daybreak on November 22nd the force, numbering about
eight thousand men, set off upon its eventful journey. The distance
to Kimberley was not more than sixty miles, and it is probable that
there was not one man in the force who imagined how long that march
would take or how grim the experiences would be which awaited them
on the way. At the dawn of Wednesday, November 22nd, Lord Methuen
moved forward until he came into touch with the Boer position at
Belmont. It was surveyed that evening by Colonel Willoughby Verner,
and every disposition made to attack it in the morning.
The force of the Boers was much inferior to our own, some two or
three thousand in all, but the natural strength of their position
made it a difficult one to carry, while it could not be left behind
us as a menace to our line of communications. A double row of steep
hills lay across the road to Kimberley, and it was along the
ridges, snuggling closely among the boulders, that our enemy was
waiting for us. In their weeks of preparation they had constructed
elaborate shelter pits in which they could lie in comparative
safety while they swept all the level ground around with their
rifle fire. Mr. Ralph, the American correspondent, whose letters
were among the most vivid of the war, has described these lairs,
littered with straw and the debris of food, isolated from each
other, and each containing its grim and formidable occupant. 'The
eyries of birds of prey' is the phrase with which he brings them
home to us. In these, with nothing visible but their peering eyes
and the barrels of their rifles, the Boer marksmen crouched, and
munched their biltong and their mealies as the day broke upon the
morning of the 23rd. With the light their enemy was upon them.
It was a soldiers' battle in the good old primeval British style,
an Alma on a small scale and against deadlier weapons. The troops
advanced in grim silence against the savage-looking,
rock-sprinkled, crag-topped position which confronted them. They
were in a fierce humour, for they had not breakfasted, and military
history from Agincourt to Talavera shows that want of food wakens a
dangerous spirit among British troops. A Northumberland Fusilier
exploded into words which expressed the gruffness of his comrades.
As a too energetic staff officer pranced before their line he
roared in his rough North-country tongue, 'Domn thee! Get thee to
hell, and let's fire!' In the golden light of the rising sun the
men set their teeth and dashed up the hills, scrambling, falling,
cheering, swearing, gallant men, gallantly led, their one thought
to close with that grim bristle of rifle-barrels which fringed the
rocks above them.
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