THE NIGHT SURPRISE ON GUN HILL
_December 5, 1899._
We have now been shut up nearly five weeks. Some 15,000 people or more
have been living on a patch of ground roughly measuring three miles each
way. On that patch of ground at the lowest estimate 3,500 cases of
explosive iron have been hurled at high velocity, not counting an
incalculable number of the best rifle bullets. One can conceive the
effect on a Londoner's mind if a shell burst in the city. If another
burst next day, the 'buses would begin to empty. If a hundred a day
burst for five weeks, people would begin to talk of the paralysis of
commerce. Yet who knows? The loss of life would probably be small. The
citizen might grow as indifferent to shells as he is to shooting stars.
Here, for instance, the killed do not yet amount to thirty, the wounded
may roughly be put down at 170, of whom, perhaps, twenty have died, and
all except the confirmed cave-dwellers are beginning to go about as
usual, or run for cover only when it shells particularly hard.
To-day has not been hard in any sense. It opened with a heavy Scotch
mist, which continued off and on, though for the most part the outlines
of the mountains were visible. "Long Tom" of Gun Hill did not speak. The
bombardment was almost entirely left to "Puffing Billy" and "Silent
Susan." They worked away fairly steadily at intervals morning and
afternoon, but did no harm to speak of.
Again large numbers of Boers were seen moving along the south-west
borders, and a Kaffir brought in the story of a great conference at
Bester's on the Harrismith line. Whether the conference is to decide on
some future course of action, or to compare the difference between the
allied states, we do not know. Probably the Dutch will not abandon the
siege without a big fight.
On our side we contented ourselves with sending a shot or two from
"Bloody Mary" to Bulwan, but the light was bad and the shells fell
short. Sir George White now proposes to withdraw the curfew law, in
hopes that any traitors may be caught red-handed. The Town Guard,
consisting of young shop assistants with rifles and rosettes, are
displaying an amiable activity. Returning from dinner last night, I was
arrested four times in the half mile. I may mention that it is now
impossible to procure anything stronger than lime-juice or lemonade.
_December 6, 1899._
"Long Tom" of Gun Hill surprised us all by beginning a fairly rapid fire
about 10 a.m. "Lady Anne" and "Bloody Mary" replied within a few moments
of each other, and the second of the two shots exploded right on the top
of "Tom's" earthworks, but he fired again within a few minutes, aiming
at the new balloon, the old one having been torn to pieces in a
whirlwind nearly a week ago. When the balloon soared out of reach, he
turned a few shots upon the town and camps, and then was silent.
Since the siege began one farmer has steadily continued to plough his
acres on the plain near the racecourse. He reminded one of the French
peasant ploughing at Sedan. His three ploughs went backwards and
forwards quite indifferent to unproductive war. But to-day the Boers
deliberately shelled him at his work, the shells following him up and
down the field, and ploughing up the earth all wrong. Neither the farmer
nor his Kaffir labourers paid the least attention to them. The plough
drove on, leaving the furrow behind, just as the world goes forward, no
matter how much iron two admirable nations pitch at each other's heads.
Of course percussion-fused shells falling on ploughed land seldom burst,
as a boy here found by experiment. Having found an eligible little shell
in the furrows, he carried it home, and put it to soak in his washing
basin. When it had soaked long enough, he extracted the fuse and
proceeded to knock out the powder with a hammer. Then the nasty thing
exploded in his face, and he lost one eye and is otherwise a good deal
cut about.
In the afternoon I rode out again to the howitzers on Waggon Hill. The 6
in. gun which they command from their invisible station has not fired
for six days. The Boer gunners dare not set it to work for fear of the
85lb. shells which are fired the moment Boers are seen in the sangar.
Two were fired just as I left.
From the end of the hill there was a magnificent view of the great
precipices in Basutoland, but hardly a Boer could be seen. Ninety-seven
waggons had been counted the evening before, moving towards the Free
State passes, but now I saw hardly a dozen Boers. Yet if their big gun
had sent a shrapnel over us, what a bag they would have made! Colonel
Rhodes and Dr. Jameson were at my side, General Ian Hamilton, with Lord
Ava and Captain Valentine were within six yards, to say nothing of
Captain Clement Webb, of Johannesburg fame, and other Imperial Light
Horse officers.
In the evening the Natal Carbineers gave an open-air concert to a big
audience. A good many women and girls came. As usual the sailors had the
best of it in the comic songs, but the event of the evening was "The
Queen." Though the Boers must have seen our lights, and perhaps heard
the shout of "Send her victorious," they did not fire, not even when the
balloon, fresh charged at the gas-works, stalked past us like a ghost.
_December 7, 1899._
A glorious day for the heliograph, which flashed encouragement on us
from that far-off mountain. But little else was done. The bombardment
was only half-hearted. Some of the shells pitched about the town,
smashing walls and windows, and two of the Irish Fusiliers were wounded
by shrapnel. Towards evening a lot of children in white dresses were
playing among the rocks opposite my window, when "Puffing Billy," of
Bulwan, sent a huge shell over my roof right into the midst of them as
it seemed. Fortunately it pitched a few yards too high. The poor little
creatures scuttled away like rabbits. They are having a queer
education--a kindergarten training in physical shocks.
During the day I rode nearly all over the camp and outposts, even
getting to Waggon Hill again to see the enemy at their old trick of
calling the cattle home with shells. There I heard that the 6 in. gun on
Middle Hill was removed last evening, and that was the cause of the two
shots I had heard as I left. Our gunners detected the movement too late
to prevent it, and the destination of the gun is unknown.
_December 8, 1899._
The brightest day of the siege so far. The secret was admirably kept.
Outside three or four of the General Staff, not a soul knew what was to
happen. At 10 p.m. on Thursday an officer left me for his bed; a
quarter of an hour later he was marching with his squadron upon the
unknown adventure. It was one of the finest and most successful things
done in the war, but what I most admire about it is its secrecy. The
honours go to the Volunteers. One regrets the exclusion of the Regulars
after all their splendid service and cheery temper, but the Volunteers
are more distinctly under Headquarter control, and it was thought best
not to pass the orders through the brigades. Accordingly just after ten
certain troops of the Imperial Light Horse, under Colonel Edwards, the
Natal Carbineers, and Border Mounted Rifles, all under the command of
Colonel Royston, suddenly received orders to march on foot along the
Helpmakaar road. About 600 went, though only 200 of them actually took
part in the final enterprise.
The moon was quarter full, but clouded, giving just enough light to see
the road and no more. The small column advanced in perfect silence. Not
a whisper was heard or a light seen. After long weeks of grumbling under
the steady control of Regular officers, the Volunteers are learning what
discipline means. The Cemetery was passed, the gorge of Bell's Spruit,
the series of impregnable defences built by the Liverpools and Devons
along the Helpmakaar road. At the end of those low hills the Devons were
found drawn up in support, or to cover retreat. General Hunter then took
command of the whole movement, and the march went on. Three-quarters of
a mile further the road enters rough and bushy ground, thinly covered
with stunted thorns and mimosa. It rises gradually to the foot of the
two great hills, Lombard's Kop and Bulwan, the road crossing the low
wooded nek between them. Lombard's Kop, which is the higher, lies in the
left. The kop itself rises to about 1,200 or 1,300 feet, in a
square-topped pyramid; but in front of it, forming part of the same
hill, stands a broad and widely-expanded base, perhaps not higher than
600 or 700 feet. It is called Little Bulwan by the natives and Gun Hill
by our troops. Near its centre on the sky-line the Boers placed the new
"Long Tom" 6 in. Creusot gun, throwing a 96lb. shell, as I described
before, and about 150 yards to the left was a howitzer generally
identified with "Silent Susan." Those are the two guns which for the
last fortnight have caused most damage to the troops and town. Their
capture was the object of the night's adventure.
Leaving two-thirds of-his force in the bush nearly half-way up the
slope, General Hunter took about 100 Light Horse, nearly 100 Carbineers
and Mounted Rifles, with ten sappers under Captain Fowke, and began the
main ascent. Major Henderson, of the Intelligence Department, acted as
guide, keeping the extreme left of the extended line pretty nearly under
the position of the big gun. So they advanced silently through the rocks
and bushes under the uncertain light of the moon, which was just
setting. It was two o'clock.
The Boer sentries must have been fast asleep. There was only one
challenge. An old man's voice from behind suddenly cried in Dutch:
"Halt! who goes there?" One of the Volunteers--a Carbineer--answered,
"Friend." "Hermann," cried the sentry. "Who's that? Wake up. It's the
Red-necks" (the Boer name for English). "Hold your row!" cried the
Carbineer, still in Dutch. "Don't you know your own friends?" The sentry
either ran away, or was satisfied, and the line crept on. The first part
of the slope is gentle, but the face of the hill rises steep with rocks,
and must be climbed on hands and knees, especially in the dark. Up went
the 200, keeping the best line they could, and spreading out well to
the right so as to outflank the enemy when the top was reached. Within
about 100 yards of the summit they came under rifle fire, the Boer guard
having taken alarm. A picket in rear also began firing up at random. It
was impossible to judge the number of the enemy. Anything between twenty
and fifty was a guide's estimate at the time. The slope was so steep
that the Boers were obliged to lean over the edge and show themselves
against the sky as they fired. Some of our men returned their fire with
revolvers. At sixty yards from the top they were halted for the final
assault. The Volunteers, like the Boers, carry no bayonets. Their orders
were not to fire, but to club the enemy with the butt if they stood. The
orders were now repeated. Then some inspired genius (Major Carey-Davis
[? Karri Davis], of the I.L.H., it is said) raised the cry: "Fix
bayonets. Give 'em cold steel, my lads." All appreciated the joke, and
the shout rang down the line, as the men rose up and rushed to the
summit. Four bayonets were actually present, but I am not sure whether
they were fixed or not.
That shout was too much for the Boer gunners. They scattered and fled,
heading across the broad top of the hill, even before our men had
reached the edge. Swinging round from the right, our line rushed for the
big gun. The Light Horse and the Sappers were first to reach it, Colonel
Edwards himself winning the race. They found the splendid gun deserted
in his enormous earthwork, the walls of which are 30 ft. to 35 ft.
thick. One Boer was found dead outside it, shot in the assault.
Captain Fowke and his sappers at once got to work. The breech-block was
unscrewed and taken out, falling a prize to the Light Horse, who vied
with each other in carrying it home (it weighs 137lbs.) Then gun-cotton
was thrust up the breech into the body of the gun. A vast explosion told
the Boers that "Tom" had gone aloft, and his hulk lay in the pit, rent
with two great wounds, and shortened by a head. The sappers say it
seemed a crying shame to wreck a thing so beautiful. The howitzer met
the same fate. A Maxim was discovered and dragged away, and then the
return began. It was now three o'clock, and by four daylight comes. The
difficulty was to get the men to move. The Carbineers especially kept
crowding round the old gun like children in their excitement. At last
the party came scrambling down the hill, joined the supports, and all
straggled back into camp together, with exultation and joy. They
just, and only just, got in before the morning gave the enemy light
enough to fire on their line of march.
[Illustration: BREECH BLOCK FROM GUN HILL]
The whole movement was planned and executed to perfection. One man was
killed, three or four were slightly wounded. Our worse loss was Major
Henderson, wounded in the shoulder and leg during the final advance. He
went through the rest of the action, and returned with the party, but
must now retire for a week or so to Intombi Camp, for the Röntgen rays
to discover the ball in his leg. It is thought to be a buckshot, or,
rather, the steel ball of a bicycle bearing, fired from a sporting gun.
General Hunter found a letter in the gun-pit. It is in Dutch, and
half-finished, scribbled by a Boer gunner to his sister in Pretoria. I
give a literal translation:--
"MY DEAR SISTER,--It is a month and seven days since we besieged
Ladysmith, and I don't know what will happen further. We see the
English every day walking about the town, and we are bombarding the
place with our cannon. They have built breastworks outside the
town. To attack would be very dangerous. Near the town they have
set up two naval guns, from which we receive a very heavy fire we
cannot stand. I think there will be much blood spilt before they
surrender, as Mr. Englishman fights hard, and our burghers are a
bit frightened. I should like to write more, but the sun is very
hot, and, what's more, the flies are so troublesome that I don't
get a chance of sitting still.--Your affectionate Brother."
In the afternoon the General publicly congratulated the Volunteers on
their achievement. The Boers added their generous praise--communicated
to some doctors left behind to look after our wounded, who returned to
us in the course of the day, after being given a good breakfast.
Unhappily the above account is necessarily second-hand. No correspondent
had a chance of going with the party. The only one who even started was
sent back by General Hunter to await the column's return in a
guard-room. I have been obliged to build up the story from my knowledge
of the ground and from what has been told me by Major Henderson and
other officers or privates who were present.
Before that party returned in triumph another important movement was
already in progress, of which, I believe, I was the only outside
spectator. Just before four I was awakened by the trampling of cavalry
going up the Newcastle road. They were the 5th Lancers, the 5th Dragoon
Guards, and the 18th Hussars. The 19th Hussars had been out all night
burning a kraal and distracting attention from Gun Hill. Just as the
stars vanished, the 18th, followed by the others, galloped forward
towards the Boer lines in the general direction of Pepworth Hill, though
our main force was on the left of the direct line. General Brocklehurst
was in command. It is described at Headquarters as a reconnaissance or
demonstration. But there are rumours that more was originally
intended--perhaps an attack on the Boer rail head, with its three heavy
trains this side of Modder Spruit; perhaps the destruction of the Modder
Spruit Bridge. If the object was only to discover whether the Boers are
still in force, and to demonstrate the coolness of the British cavalry,
the movement was entirely successful.
Directly the cavalry advanced across the fairly open valley of Bell's
Spruit, passing Brook's Farm and making for the left of Limit Hill on
the main road, they were met by a tremendous rifle fire from every
ridge and hillock and rock commanding the scene. At the same time, guns
opened upon them from Surprise Hill on our left rear, and from some spot
which I could not locate on our left front. Still they advanced,
squadron after squadron sweeping across Bell's Spruit, and up into the
tortuous little valleys and ravines beyond, towards Macpherson's Farm.
That was the limit. It is about two and three-quarter miles (not more)
from our picket on the Newcastle road, and lies not far from the left
foot of Pepworth Hill. The 18th Hussars, through some mistake in orders,
attempted to push still further forward towards the hill, but just
before five a general retirement began.
Except perhaps at the close of Elands Laagte fight, or in one brief
assault of Turks upon a Greek position in Epirus, I have never heard
anything to compare to the rifle fire under which the withdrawal was
conducted. The range was long, but the roll of the rifle was incessant.
The whole air screamed with bullets, and the dust rose in clouds over
the grass as they fell. Then the 6 in. gun on Bulwan ("Puffing Billy")
and an invisible gun on our right opened fire, throwing shells into the
thick of our men wherever the ravines or rocks compelled them to crowd
together. They came back fast, but well in hand, wheeling to right or
left at word of command, as on parade. The B Squadron of the 18th had a
terrible gallop for it, right across the front of fire along a ridge
such as Boers rejoice in. Their loss was two killed and seventeen
wounded. The others only lost three or four slightly wounded. It proves
how lightly a highly-disciplined cavalry can come off where one would
have said hardly any could survive.
As we retired the Boers kept following us up, though with great caution.
Riding along the valleys, dismounting, and creeping from kopje to kopje
among the stones, a large body of them came up to Brooks Farm, and began
firing at our sangars and outposts at ranges of 800 to 1,000 yards, the
bullets coming very thick over our heads, even after we had reached the
protection of the Gloucesters' walls and earthworks. There our infantry
opened fire, while two guns of the 13th Battery near the railway
cutting, and two of the 69th on Observation Hill, threw shrapnel over
the kopjes, and checked any further advance.
But the Boers still held their positions, pouring a tremendous fire into
any of the cavalry who had still to pass within their range. As to
their number, their magazine rifles, firing five shots in rapid
succession, makes any estimate difficult. I have heard it put as low as
600. Perhaps 1,000 is about right. I myself saw some 300 from first to
last. By seven the whole of our force was again within the lines.
Splendid as the behaviour of all the cavalry was, one man seemed to me
conspicuous. Towards the end of the retirement he quietly cantered out
across the most exposed bit of open ground, and went round among the
kopjes as though looking for something. For a time he disappeared down a
gully. Then he came cantering back again, and reached the high road
along a watercourse, which gave a little cover. At least 300 bullets
must have been fired at him, but he changed neither his pace nor
direction. Whether he was looking for wounded or only went out for
diversion I have not heard, but one could not imagine more complete
disregard of death.
The rest of the day passed quietly. The Boers gathered in crowds on Gun
Hill and stood around the carcass of "Long Tom" as though in
lamentation. His absence gave us an unfamiliar sense of security. Some
called it dull. "Lay it on where you like, there's no pleasing you,"
said the gaoler.
_December 9, 1899._
The Dutch left us pretty much alone. Sickness is becoming serious. The
cases average thirty a day, chiefly enteric. A Natal newspaper only a
week old was brought in by a runner. It contained a few details of
Methuen's fight on Modder River, but hardly any English news. Captain
Heath, of the balloon, told me he could see the Boers concentrating in
much larger camps than before, especially about Colenso and at
Springfield further up the Tugela.