THROUGH THE FIVE DAYS' ACTION
Venter's Spruit: January 25, 1900.
The importance of giving a general and comprehensive account of the late
actions around and on Spion Kop prevented me from describing its scenes
and incidents. Events, like gentlemen at a levee, in these exciting days
tread so closely on each other's heels that many pass unnoticed, and
most can only claim the scantiest attention. But I will pick from the
hurrying procession a few--distinguished for no other reason than that
they have caught my eye--and from their quality the reader may judge of
the rest.
The morning of the 20th discovered the cavalry still encamped behind the
hills near the Acton Homes road, on which they had surprised the Boers
two days before. The loud and repeated discharge of the artillery
advised us that the long-expected general action had begun. What part
were the cavalry to play? No orders had been sent to Lord Dundonald
except that he was to cover the left flank of the infantry. But the
cavalry commander, no less than his brigade, proposed to interpret these
instructions freely. Accordingly, at about half-past nine, the South
African Light Horse, two squadrons of the 13th Hussars, and a battery of
four machine guns moved forward towards the line of heights along the
edge and crest of which ran the Boer position with the intention of
demonstrating against them, and the daring idea--somewhere in the
background--of attacking and seizing one prominent feature which jutted
out into the plain, and which, from its boldness and shape, we had
christened 'Bastion Hill.' The composite regiment, who watched the
extreme left, were directed to support us if all was clear in their
front at one o'clock, and Thorneycroft's Mounted Infantry, who kept
touch between the main cavalry force and the infantry left flank, had
similar orders to co-operate.
At ten o'clock Lord Dundonald ordered the South African Light Horse to
advance against Bastion Hill. If the resistance was severe they were not
to press the attack, but to content themselves with a musketry
demonstration. If, however, they found it convenient to get on they were
to do so as far as they liked. Colonel Byng thereon sent two squadrons
under Major Childe to advance, dismounted frontally on the hill, and
proposed to cover their movements by the fire of the other two
squadrons, who were to gallop to the shelter of a wood and creep thence
up the various dongas to within effective range.
Major Childe accepted his orders with alacrity, and started forth on
what seemed, as I watched from a grassy ridge, a most desperate
enterprise. The dark brown mass of Bastion Hill appeared to dominate the
plain. On its crest the figures of the Boers could be seen frequently
moving about. Other spurs to either flanks looked as if they afforded
facilities for cross fire. And to capture this formidable position we
could dismount only about a hundred and fifty men; and had, moreover, no
artillery support of any kind. Yet as one examined the hill it became
evident that its strength was apparent rather than real. Its slopes were
so steep that they presented no good field of fire. Its crest was a
convex curve, over and down which the defenders must advance before they
could command the approaches, and when so advanced they would be exposed
without shelter of any kind to the fire of the covering troops. The
salient was so prominent and jutted out so far from the general line of
hills, and was besides shaped so like a blunted redan, that its front
face was secure from flanking fire. In fact there was plenty of dead
ground in its approaches, and, moreover, dongas--which are the same as
nullahs in India or gullies in Australia--ran agreeably to our wishes
towards the hill in all directions. When first we had seen the hill
three days before we had selected it as a weak point in the Dutch line.
It afterwards proved that the Boers had no illusions as to its strength
and had made their arrangements accordingly.
So soon as the dismounted squadrons had begun their advance, Colonel
Byng led the two who were to cover it forward. The wood we were to reach
and find shelter in was about a thousand yards distant, and had been
reported unoccupied by the Boers, who indeed confined themselves
strictly to the hills after their rough handling on the 18th by the
cavalry. We moved off at a walk, spreading into a wide open order, as
wise colonial cavalry always do. And it was fortunate that our formation
was a dispersed one, for no sooner had we moved into the open ground
than there was the flash of a gun faraway among the hills to the
westward. I had had some experience of artillery fire in the armoured
train episode, but there the guns were firing at such close quarters
that the report of the discharge and the explosion of the shell were
almost simultaneous. Nor had I ever heard the menacing hissing roar
which heralds the approach of a long-range projectile. It came swiftly,
passed overhead with a sound like the rending of thin sheets of iron,
and burst with a rather dull explosion in the ground a hundred yards
behind the squadrons, throwing up smoke and clods of earth. We broke
into a gallop, and moved in curving course towards the wood. I suppose
we were a target a hundred yards broad by a hundred and fifty deep. The
range was not less than seven thousand yards, and we were at the gallop.
Think of this, Inspector-General of Artillery: the Boer gunners fired
ten or eleven shells, every one of which fell among or within a hundred
yards of our ranks. Between us and the wood ran a deep donga with a
river only fordable in places flowing through it. Some confusion
occurred in crossing this, but at last the whole regiment was across,
and found shelter from the terrible gun--perhaps there were two--on the
further bank. Thanks to our dispersed formation only two horses had been
killed, and it was possible to admire without having to deplore the
skill of the artillerists who could make such beautiful practice at
such a range.
Colonel Byng thought it advisable to leave the horses in the cover of
the protecting river bank, and we therefore pushed on, dismounted, and,
straggling through the high maize crop without presenting any target to
the guns, reached the wood safely. Through this we hurried as far as its
further edge. Here the riflemen on the hill opened with long-range fire.
It was only a hundred yards into the donga, and the troopers immediately
began running across in twos and threes. In the irregular corps all
appearances are sacrificed to the main object of getting where you want
to without being hurt. No one was hurt.
Colonel Byng made his way along the donga to within about twelve or
fourteen hundred yards, and from excellent cover opened fire on the
Boers holding the summit of the hill. A long musketry duel ensued
without any loss to our side, and with probably no more to the enemy.
The colonial troopers, as wary as the Dutch, showed very little to
shoot at, so that, though there were plenty of bullets, there was no
bloodshed. Regular infantry would probably have lost thirty or forty
men.
I went back for machine guns, and about half an hour later they were
brought into action at the edge of the wood. Boers on the sky-line at
two thousand yards--tat-tat-tat-tat-tat half a dozen times repeated;
Boers galloping to cover; one--yes, by Jupiter!--one on his back on the
grass; after that no more targets to shoot at; continuous searching of
the sky-line, however, on the chance of killing someone, and, in any
case, to support the frontal attack. We had altogether three guns--the
13th Hussars' Maxim under Lieutenant Clutterbuck, detached from the 4th
Hussars; one of Lord Dundonald's battery of Colts under Mr. Hill, who is
a member of Parliament, and guides the majestic course of Empire besides
managing machine guns; and our own Maxim, all under Major Villiers.
These three machines set up a most exhilarating splutter, flaring and
crackling all along the edge of the wood, and even attracted the
attention of the Boers. All of a sudden there was a furious rush and
roar overhead; two or three little cassarina trees and a shower of
branches fell to the ground. What on earth could this be? The main
action was crashing away on the right. Evidently a shell had passed a
few feet over our heads, but was it from our guns shelling the hills in
front, or from the enemy? In another minute the question was answered by
another shell. It was our old friend the gun to the westward, who,
irritated by the noisy Maxims, had resolved to put his foot down. Whizz!
Bang! came a third shot, exploding among the branches just behind the
Colt gun, to the great delight of Mr. Hill, who secured a large fragment
which I have advised him to lay on the table in the smoking-room of the
House for the gratification, instruction, and diversion of other
honourable members. The next shell smashed through the roof of a
farmhouse which stood at the corner of the wood, and near which two
troops of the 13th Hussars, who were escorting the Maxims and watching
the flanks, had left their led horses. The next, in quick succession,
fell right among them, killing one, but luckily, very luckily, failed to
burst. The officer then decided to move the horses to a safer place. The
two troops mounted and galloped off. They were a tiny target, only a
moving speck across the plain. But the Boer gunners threw a shell within
a yard of the first troop leader. All this at seven thousand yards!
English artillery experts, please note and if possible copy.
While these things were passing the advancing squadrons had begun to
climb the hill, and found to their astonishment that they were scarcely
fired at. It was of great importance, however, that the Boers should be
cleared from the summit by the Maxim fire, and lest this should be
diverted on our own men by mistake I left the wood for the purpose of
signalling back how far the advance had proceeded and up to what point
the guns could safely fire. The ground was broken; the distance
considerable. Before I reached the hill the situation had changed. The
enemy's artillery had persuaded the Maxims that they would do better to
be quiet--at any rate until they could see something to shoot at. Major
Childe had reached the top of the hill, one man of his squadron, ten
minutes in front of anyone else, waving his hat on his rifle at the
summit to the admiration of thousands of the infantry, all of whom saw
this act of conspicuous recklessness and rejoiced. Lord Dundonald had
galloped up to support the attack with Thorneycroft's Mounted Infantry
and the rest of the 13th Hussars. We, the South African Light Horse, had
taken Bastion Hill.
To advance further forward, however, proved quite impossible. The Boers
had withdrawn to a second position a thousand yards in rear of the top
of the hill. From this they directed a most accurate and damnable fire
on all who showed themselves on the plateau. Beneath the crest one sat
in safety and listened to the swish of bullets passing overhead. Above,
the men were content to lie quite still underneath the rocks and wait
for darkness. I had a message for Major Childe and found him sitting on
this dangerous ground, partly sheltered by a large rock--a serene old
gentleman, exhausted with his climb, justly proud of its brilliant
success.
I found no reason to remain very long on the plateau, and had just
returned to the Brigadier when the Boer guns began to shell the tip of
the hill. The first two or three projectiles skimmed over the surface,
and roared harmlessly away. But the Boers were not long in striking
their mark. Two percussion shells burst on the exposed side of the hill,
and then a well-exploded shrapnel searched its summit, searched and
found what it sought. Major Childe was instantly killed by a fragment
that entered his brain, and half a dozen troopers were more or less
seriously wounded. After that, as if satisfied, the enemy's gun turned
its attention elsewhere.
I think this death of Major Childe was a very sad event even among the
inevitable incidents of war. He had served many-years ago in the Blues,
and since then a connection with the Turf had made him not unknown and
well liked in sporting circles. Old and grey as he was, the call to arms
had drawn him from home, and wife, and comfort, as it is drawing many of
all ages and fortunes now. And so he was killed in his first fight
against the Boers after he had performed an exploit--his first and last
in war--which would most certainly have brought him honourable
distinction. He had a queer presentiment of impending fate, for he had
spoken a good deal to us of the chances of death, and had even selected
his own epitaph, so that on the little wooden cross which stands at the
foot of Bastion Hill--the hill he himself took and held--there is
written: 'Is it well with the child? It is well!'
The coign of vantage which I found on the side of the hill was not only
to a great extent sheltered from the bullets, but afforded an extensive
view of the general action, and for the rest of the day I remained with
Lord Dundonald watching its development. But a modern action is very
disappointing as a spectacle. There is no smoke except that of the
bursting shells. The combatants are scattered, spread over a great
expanse of ground, concealed wherever possible, clad in neutral tint.
All the pomp and magnificence of Omdurman, the solid lines of infantry,
the mighty Dervish array, bright with flashing spears and waving flags,
were excluded. Rows of tiny dots hurried forward a few yards and
vanished into the brown of the earth. Bunches and clusters of brown
things huddled among the rocks or in sheltered spots. The six batteries
of artillery unlimbered, and the horses, hidden in some safe place, were
scarcely visible.
Once I saw in miniature through glasses a great wave of infantry surge
forward along a spur and disappear beyond a crest line. The patter of
the Mauser rifles swelled into a continuous rumbling like a train of
waggons passing over a pontoon bridge, and presently the wave recoiled;
the minute figures that composed it squeezed themselves into cover
among some rocks, a great many groups of men began carrying away black
objects. A trickle of independent dots dispersed itself. Then we
groaned. There had been a check. The distant drama continued. The
huddling figures began to move again--lithe, active forms moved about
rearranging things--officers, we knew, even at the distance. Then the
whole wave started again full of impetus--started--went forward, and
never came back. And at this we were all delighted, and praised the
valour of our unequalled infantry, and wished we were near enough to
give them a cheer.
So we watched until nightfall, when some companies of the Queen's, from
General Hildyard's Brigade, arrived, and took over the charge of our
hill from us, and we descended to get our horses, and perhaps some food,
finding, by good luck, all we wanted, and lay down on the ground to
sleep, quite contented with ourselves and the general progress of the
army.
The action of the 21st had begun before I awoke, and a brisk fusillade
was going on all along the line. This day the right attack stood still,
or nearly so, and the activity was confined to the left, where General
Hildyard, with five battalions and two batteries, skilfully felt and
tested the enemy's positions and found them most unpleasantly strong.
The main difficulty was that our guns could not come into action to
smash the enemy in his trenches without coming under his rifle fire,
because the edge of the plateau was only a thousand yards from the
second and main Boer position, and unless the guns were on the edge of
the plateau they could see very little and do less. The cavalry guarded
the left flank passively, and I remember no particular incident except
that our own artillery flung the fragments of two premature shells among
us and wounded a soldier in the Devonshire Regiment. The following fact,
however, is instructive. Captain Stewart's squadron of the South African
Light Horse dismounted, held an advanced kopje all day long under a
heavy fire, and never lost a man. Two hundred yards further back was
another kopje held by two companies of regular infantry under equal
fire. The infantry had more than twenty men hit.
On the 22nd the action languished and the generals consulted. The
infantry had made themselves masters of all the edge of the plateau, and
the regiments clustered in the steep re-entrants like flies on the side
of a wall. The Boers endeavoured to reach them with shells, and a
desultory musketry duel also proceeded.
During the afternoon I went with Captain Brooke to visit some of the
battalions of General Hart's Brigade and see what sort of punishment
they were receiving. As we rode up the watercourse which marks the
bottom of the valley a shrapnel shell cleared the western crest line and
exploded among one of the battalions. At first it seemed to have done no
harm, but as we climbed higher and nearer we met a stretcher carried by
six soldiers. On it lay a body with a handkerchief thrown across the
face. The soldiers bearing the stretcher were all covered with blood.
We proceeded and soon reached the battalions. A company of the Dublin
Fusiliers were among those captured in the armoured train, and I have
the pleasure of knowing most of the officers of this regiment. So we
visited them first--a dozen gentlemen--begrimed, unwashed, unshaven,
sitting on the hillside behind a two-foot wall of rough stones and near
a wooden box, which they called the 'Officers' Mess.' They were in
capital spirits in spite of every abominable circumstance.
'What did you lose in the action?'
'Oh, about fifty. Poor Hensley was killed, you know; that was the worst
of it.'
Captain Hensley was one of the smallest and bravest men in the Army, and
the Dublin Fusiliers, who should be good judges, regarded him as their
very best officer for all military affairs, whether attack, retreat, or
reconnaissance. Each had lost a friend, but collectively as a regiment
they had lost a powerful weapon.
'Very few of us left now,' said the colonel, surveying his regiment with
pride.
'How many?'
'About four hundred and fifty.'
'Out of a thousand?'
'Well, out of about nine hundred.'
This war has fallen heavily on some regiments. Scarcely any has suffered
more severely, none has won greater distinction, than the Dublin
Fusiliers--everywhere at the front--Dundee, Lombard's Kop, Colenso,
Chieveley, Colenso again, and even here at Spion Kop. Half the regiment,
more than half the officers killed or wounded or prisoners.
But the survivors were as cheery as ever.
'Do these shells catch anyone?'
'Only two or three an hour. They don't come always: every half-hour we
get half a dozen. That last one killed an officer in the next regiment.
Rather bad luck, picking an officer out of all these men--only one
killed to-day so far, a dozen wounded.'
I inquired how much more time remained before the next consignment of
shells was due. They said about ten minutes. I thought that would just
suit me, and bade them good morning, for I have a horror of being killed
when not on duty; but Captain Brooke was anxious to climb to the top and
examine the Boer position, and since we had come so far it was perhaps
worth while going on. So we did, and with great punctuality the shells
arrived.
We were talking to the officers of another regiment when they began. Two
came in quick succession over the eastern wall of the valley and then
one over the western. All three burst--two on impact, one in the air. A
fourth ripped along a stone shelter behind which skirmishers were
firing. A fifth missed the valley altogether and screeched away into the
plain clear of the hills. The officers and men were quite callous. They
scarcely troubled to look up. The soldiers went on smoking or playing
cards or sleeping as if nothing had happened. Personally I felt no
inclination to any of these pursuits, and I thought to sit and wait
indefinitely, for the caprice of one of these shrieking iron devils
would be most trying to anyone. But apparently you can get accustomed
to anything. The regiment where the officer had been killed a few
minutes before was less cheerful and callous. The little group of
officers crouching in the scanty shelter had seen one of their number
plucked out of their midst and slain--uselessly as it seemed. They
advised us to take cover, which we would gladly have done had there been
any worth speaking of; for at this moment the Boers discharged their
Vickers-Maxim gun--the 'pom-pom'--and I have never heard such an
extraordinary noise. Seven or eight bangs, a rattle, an amazing
cluttering and whistling overhead, then the explosions of the little
shells, which scarred the opposite hillside in a long row of puffs of
brown dust and blue-white smoke, suggesting a lash from a knotted
scourge.
'Look out!' we were told, 'they always follow that with a shell.' And so
they did, but it passed overhead without harming anyone. Again the
Vickers-Maxim flung its covey of projectiles. Again we crouched for the
following shell; but this time it did not come--immediately. I had seen
quite enough, however, so we bade our friends good luck--never good-bye
on active service--and hurried, slowly, on account of appearances, from
this unhealthy valley. As we reached our horses I saw another shell
burst among the infantry. After that there was another interval. Further
on we met a group of soldiers returning to their regiment One lad of
about nineteen was munching a biscuit. His right trouser leg was soaked
with blood, I asked whether he was wounded. 'No, sir; it's only blood
from an officer's head,' he answered, and went on--eating his biscuit.
Such were the fortunes for four days of the two brigades forming
Warren's left attack.
I have already written a general account of the final action of Spion
Kop on January 24, and have little to add. As soon as the news spread
through the camps that the British troops were occupying the top of the
mountain I hurried to Gun Hill, where the batteries were arrayed, and
watched the fight from a flank. The spectacle was inconsiderable but
significant. It was like a shadow peep-show. Along the mighty profile of
the hill a fringe of little black crotchets advanced. Then there were
brown and red smudges of dust from shells striking the ground and white
puffs from shrapnel bursting in the air--variations from the black and
white. Presently a stretcher borne by five tiny figures jerks slowly
forward, silhouetted on the sky-line; more shells; back goes the
stretcher laden, a thicker horizontal line than before. Then--a rush of
crotchets rearwards--one leading two mules, mules terrified, jibbing,
hanging back--all in silhouette one moment, the next all smudged with
dust cloud; God help the driver; shadows clear again; driver still
dragging mules--no, only one mule now; other figures still running
rearwards. Suddenly reinforcements arrive, hundreds of them; the whole
sky-line bristles with crotchets moving swiftly along it, bending
forward almost double, as if driving through a hailstorm. Thank heaven
for that--only just in time too--and then more smudges on the shadow
screen.
Sir Charles Warren was standing near me with his staff. One of his
officers came up and told me that they had been disturbed at breakfast
by a Boer shell, which had crashed through their waggon, killing a
servant and a horse. Presently the General himself saw me. I inquired
about the situation, and learned for the first time of General
Woodgate's wound--death it was then reported--and that Thorneycroft had
been appointed brigadier-general. 'We have put what we think is the best
fighting man in command regardless of seniority. We shall support him as
he may request. We can do no more.'
I will only relate one other incident--a miserable one. The day before
the attack on Spion Kop I had chanced to ride across the pontoon bridge.
I heard my name called, and saw the cheery face of a boy I had known at
Harrow--a smart, clean-looking young gentleman--quite the rough material
for Irregular Horse. He had just arrived and pushed his way to the
front; hoped, so he said, 'to get a job.' This morning they told me
that an unauthorised Press correspondent had been found among the killed
on the summit. At least they thought at first it was a Press
correspondent, for no one seemed to know him. A man had been found
leaning forward on his rifle, dead. A broken pair of field glasses,
shattered by the same shell that had killed their owner, bore the name
'M'Corquodale.' The name and the face flew together in my mind. It was
the last joined subaltern of Thorneycroft's Mounted Infantry--joined in
the evening shot at dawn.
Poor gallant young Englishman! he had soon 'got his job.' The great
sacrifice had been required of the Queen's latest recruit.