Go On With Your Firing.' Nothing
Could Exceed The Gallantry Of Louis Botha's Men In Pushing The
Attack.
Again and again they made their way up to the British
firing line, exposing themselves with a recklessness which, with
the exception of the grand attack upon Ladysmith, was unique in our
experience of them.
About two o'clock they rushed one trench
occupied by the Fusiliers and secured the survivors of two
companies as prisoners, but were subsequently driven out again. A
detached group of the South Lancashires was summoned to surrender.
'When I surrender,' cried Colour-Sergeant Nolan, 'it will be my
dead body!' Hour after hour of the unintermitting crash of the
shells among the rocks and of the groans and screams of men torn
and burst by the most horrible of all wounds had shaken the troops
badly. Spectators from below who saw the shells pitching at the
rate of seven a minute on to the crowded plateau marvelled at the
endurance which held the devoted men to their post. Men were
wounded and wounded and wounded yet again, and still went on
fighting. Never since Inkerman had we had so grim a soldier's
battle. The company officers were superb. Captain Muriel of the
Middlesex was shot through the check while giving a cigarette to a
wounded man, continued to lead his company, and was shot again
through the brain. Scott Moncrieff of the same regiment was only
disabled by the fourth bullet which hit him. Grenfell of
Thorneycroft's was shot, and exclaimed, 'That's all right. It's not
much.' A second wound made him remark, 'I can get on all right.'
The third killed him. Ross of the Lancasters, who had crawled from
a sickbed, was found dead upon the furthest crest. Young Murray of
the Scottish Rifles, dripping from five wounds, still staggered
about among his men. And the men were worthy of such officers. 'No
retreat! No retreat!' they yelled when some of the front line were
driven in. In all regiments there are weaklings and hang-backs, and
many a man was wandering down the reverse slopes when he should
have been facing death upon the top, but as a body British troops
have never stood firm through a more fiery ordeal than on that
fatal hill. . .
The position was so bad that no efforts of officers or men could do
anything to mend it. They were in a murderous dilemma. If they fell
back for cover the Boer riflemen would rush the position. If they
held their ground this horrible shell fire must continue, which
they had no means of answering. Down at Gun Hill in front of the
Boer position we had no fewer than five batteries, the 78th, 7th,
73rd, 63rd, and 61st howitzer, but a ridge intervened between them
and the Boer guns which were shelling Spion Kop, and this ridge was
strongly entrenched. The naval guns from distant Mount Alice did
what they could, but the range was very long, and the position of
the Boer guns uncertain. The artillery, situated as it was, could
not save the infantry from the horrible scourging which they were
enduring.
There remains the debated question whether the British guns could
have been taken to the top. Mr. Winston Churchill, the soundness of
whose judgment has been frequently demonstrated during the war,
asserts that it might have been done. Without venturing to
contradict one who was personally present, I venture to think that
there is strong evidence to show that it could not have been done
without blasting and other measures, for which there was no
possible time. Captain Hanwell of the 78th R.F.A., upon the day of
the battle had the very utmost difficulty with the help of four
horses in getting a light Maxim on to the top, and his opinion,
with that of other artillery officers, is that the feat was an
impossible one until the path had been prepared. When night fell
Colonel Sim was despatched with a party of Sappers to clear the
track and to prepare two emplacements upon the top, but in his
advance he met the retiring infantry.
Throughout the day reinforcements had pushed up the hill, until two
full brigades had been drawn into the fight. From the other side of
the ridge Lyttelton sent up the Scottish Rifles, who reached the
summit, and added their share to the shambles upon the top. As the
shades of night closed in, and the glare of the bursting shells
became more lurid, the men lay extended upon the rocky ground,
parched and exhausted. They were hopelessly jumbled together, with
the exception of the Dorsets, whose cohesion may have been due to
superior discipline, less exposure, or to the fact that their khaki
differed somewhat in colour from that of the others. Twelve hours
of so terrible an experience had had a strange effect upon many of
the men. Some were dazed and battle-struck, incapable of clear
understanding. Some were as incoherent as drunkards. Some lay in an
overpowering drowsiness. The most were doggedly patient and
long-suffering, with a mighty longing for water obliterating every
other emotion.
Before evening fell a most gallant and successful attempt had been
made by the third battalion of the King's Royal Rifles from
Lyttelton's Brigade to relieve the pressure upon their comrades on
Spion Kop. In order to draw part of the Boer fire away they
ascended from the northern side and carried the hills which formed
a continuation of the same ridge. The movement was meant to be no
more than a strong demonstration, but the riflemen pushed it until,
breathless but victorious, they stood upon the very crest of the
position, leaving nearly a hundred dead or dying to show the path
which they had taken. Their advance being much further than was
desired, they were recalled, and it was at the moment that Buchanan
Riddell, their brave Colonel, stood up to read Lyttelton's note
that he fell with a Boer bullet through his brain, making one more
of those gallant leaders who died as they had lived, at the head of
their regiments.
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