On October 20th-the same day as the Battle of Talana Hill--the line was
cut by the Boers at a point nearly midway between Dundee and Ladysmith. A
small body of horsemen were the forerunners of a considerable commando,
composed of Freestaters, Transvaalers, and Germans, who had advanced into
Natal through Botha's Pass under the command of General Koch. They had
with them the two Maxim-Nordenfelds which had been captured from the
Jameson raiders, and were now destined to return once more to British
hands. Colonel Schiel, the German artillerist, had charge of these guns.
On the evening of that day General French, with a strong reconnoitering
party, including the Natal Carabineers, the 5th Lancers, and the 21st
battery, had defined the enemy's position. Next morning (the 21st) he
returned, but either the enemy had been reinforced during the night or he
had underrated them the day before, for the force which he took with him
was too weak for any serious attack. He had one battery of the Natal
artillery, with their little seven-pounder popguns, five squadrons of the
Imperial Horse, and, in the train which slowly accompanied his advance,
half a battalion of the Manchester Regiment. Elated by the news of Talana
Hill, and anxious to emulate their brothers of Dundee, the little force
moved out of Ladysmith in the early morning.
Some at least of the men were animated by feelings such as seldom find
a place in the breast of the British soldier as he marches into battle. A
sense of duty, a belief in the justice of his cause, a love for his
regiment and for his country, these are the common incentives of every
soldier. But to the men of the Imperial Light Horse, recruited as they
were from among the British refugees of the Rand, there was added a
burning sense of injustice, and in many cases a bitter hatred against the
men whose rule had weighed so heavily upon them. In this singular corps
the ranks were full of wealthy men and men of education, who, driven from
their peaceful vocations in Johannesburg, were bent upon fighting their
way back to them again. A most unmerited slur had been cast upon their
courage in connection with the Jameson raid--a slur which they and other
similar corps have washed out for ever in their own blood and that of
their enemy. Chisholm, a fiery little Lancer, was in command, with Karri
Davis and Wools-Sampson, the two stalwarts who had preferred Pretoria Gaol
to the favours of Kruger, as his majors. The troopers were on fire at the
news that a cartel had arrived in Ladysmith the night before, purporting
to come from the Johannesburg Boers and Hollanders, asking what uniform
the Light Horse wore, as they were anxious to meet them in battle. These
men were fellow townsmen and knew each other well. They need not have
troubled about the uniform, for before evening the Light Horse were near
enough for them to know their faces.
It was about eight o'clock on a bright summer morning that the small
force came in contact with a few scattered Boer outposts, who retired,
firing, before the advance of the Imperial Light Horse. As they fell back
the green and white tents of the invaders came into view upon the
russet-coloured hillside of Elandslaagte. Down at the red brick railway
station the Boers could be seen swarming out of the buildings in which
they had spent the night. The little Natal guns, firing with obsolete
black powder, threw a few shells into the station, one of which, it is
said, penetrated a Boer ambulance which could not be seen by the gunners.
The accident was to be regretted, but as no patients could have been in
the ambulance the mischance was not a serious one.
But the busy, smoky little seven-pounder guns were soon to meet their
master. Away up on the distant hillside, a long thousand yards beyond
their own furthest range, there was a sudden bright flash. No smoke, only
the throb of flame, and then the long sibilant scream of the shell, and
the thud as it buried itself in the ground under a limber. Such judgment
of range would have delighted the most martinet of inspectors at
Okehampton. Bang came another, and another, and another, right into the
heart of the battery. The six little guns lay back at their extremest
angle, and all barked together in impotent fury. Another shell pitched
over them, and the officer in command lowered his field-glass in despair
as he saw his own shells bursting far short upon the hillside. Jameson's
defeat does not seem to have been due to any defect in his artillery.
French, peering and pondering, soon came to the conclusion that there were
too many Boers for him, and that if those fifteen-pounders desired target
practice they should find some other mark than the Natal Field Artillery.
A few curt orders, and his whole force was making its way to the rear.
There, out of range of those perilous guns, they halted, the telegraph
wire was cut, a telephone attachment was made, and French whispered his
troubles into the sympathetic ear of Ladysmith. He did not whisper in
vain. What he had to say was that where he had expected a few hundred
riflemen he found something like two thousand, and that where he expected
no guns he found two very excellent ones. The reply was that by road and
by rail as many men as could be spared were on their way to join him.
Soon they began to drop in, those useful reinforcements--first the
Devons, quiet, business-like, reliable; then the Gordons, dashing, fiery,
brilliant. Two squadrons of the 5th Lancers, the 42nd R.F.A., the 21st
R.F.A., another squadron of Lancers, a squadron of the 5th Dragoon
Guards--French began to feel that he was strong enough for the task in
front of him. He had a decided superiority of numbers and of guns. But the
others were on their favourite defensive on a hill. It would be a fair
fight and a deadly one.
It was late after noon before the advance began. It was hard, among
those billowing hills, to make out the exact limits of the enemy's
position. All that was certain was that they were there, and that we meant
having them out if it were humanly possible. 'The enemy are there,' said
Ian Hamilton to his infantry; 'I hope you will shift them out before
sunset--in fact I know you will.' The men cheered and laughed. In long
open lines they advanced across the veld, while the thunder of the two
batteries behind them told the Boer gunners that it was their turn now to
know what it was to be outmatched.
The idea was to take the position by a front and a flank attack, but
there seems to have been some difficulty in determining which was the
front and which the flank. In fact, it was only by trying that one could
know. General White with his staff had arrived from Ladysmith, but refused
to take the command out of French's hands. It is typical of White's
chivalrous spirit that within ten days he refused to identify himself with
a victory when it was within his right to do so, and took the whole
responsibility for a disaster at which he was not present. Now he rode
amid the shells and watched the able dispositions of his lieutenant.
About half-past three the action had fairly begun. In front of the
advancing British there lay a rolling hill, topped by a further one. The
lower hill was not defended, and the infantry, breaking from column of
companies into open order, advanced over it. Beyond was a broad grassy
valley which led up to the main position, a long kopje flanked by a small
sugar-loaf one Behind the green slope which led to the ridge of death an
ominous and terrible cloud was driving up, casting its black shadow over
the combatants. There was the stillness which goes before some great
convulsion of nature. The men pressed on in silence, the soft thudding of
their feet and the rattle of their sidearms filling the air with a low and
continuous murmur. An additional solemnity was given to the attack by that
huge black cloud which hung before them.
The British guns had opened at a range of 4400 yards, and now against
the swarthy background there came the quick smokeless twinkle of the Boer
reply. It was an unequal fight, but gallantly sustained. A shot and
another to find the range; then a wreath of smoke from a bursting shell
exactly where the guns had been, followed by another and another.
Overmatched, the two Boer pieces relapsed into a sulky silence, broken now
and again by short spurts of frenzied activity. The British batteries
turned their attention away from them, and began to search the ridge with
shrapnel and prepare the way for the advancing infantry.
The scheme was that the Devonshires should hold the enemy in front
while the main attack from the left flank was carried out by the Gordons,
the Manchesters, and the Imperial Light Horse. The words 'front' and
'flank,' however, cease to have any meaning with so mobile and elastic a
force, and the attack which was intended to come from the left became
really a frontal one, while the Devons found themselves upon the right
flank of the Boers. At the moment of the final advance the great black
cloud had burst, and a torrent of rain lashed into the faces of the men.
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. The whole of our
infantry were now upon the ridge.
But even so these dour fighters were not beaten. They clung desperately
to the further edges of the plateau, firing from behind the rocks. There
had been a race for the nearest gun between an officer of the Manchesters
and a drummer sergeant of the Gordons. The officer won, and sprang in
triumph on to the piece. Men of all regiments swarmed round yelling and
cheering, when upon their astonished ears there sounded the 'Cease fire'
and then the 'Retire.' It was incredible, and yet it pealed out again,
unmistakable in its urgency. With the instinct of discipline the men were
slowly falling back. And then the truth of it came upon the minds of some
of them. The crafty enemy had learned our bugle calls. 'Retire be damned!
shrieked a little bugler, and blew the 'Advance' with all the breath that
the hillside had left him. The men, who had retired a hundred yards and
uncovered the guns, flooded back over the plateau, and in the Boer camp
which lay beneath it a white flag showed that the game was up. A squadron
of the 5th Lancers and of the 5th Dragoon Guards, under Colonel Gore of
the latter regiment, had prowled round the base of the hill, and in the
fading light they charged through and through the retreating Boers,
killing several, and making from twenty to thirty prisoners. It was one of
the very few occasions in the war where the mounted Briton overtook the
mounted Boer.
'What price Majuba?' was the cry raised by some of the infantry as they
dashed up to the enemy's position, and the action may indeed be said to
have been in some respects the converse of that famous fight. It is true
that there were many more British at Elandslaagte than Boers at Majuba,
but then the defending force was much more numerous also, and the British
had no guns there. It is true, also, that Majuba is very much more
precipitous than Elandslaagte, but then every practical soldier knows that
it is easier to defend a moderate glacis than an abrupt slope, which gives
cover under its boulders to the attacker while the defender has to crane
his head over the edge to look down. On the whole, this brilliant little
action may be said to have restored things to their true proportion, and
to have shown that, brave as the Boers undoubtedly are, there is no
military feat within their power which is not equally possible to the
British soldier. Talana Hill and Elandslaagte, fought on successive days,
were each of them as gallant an exploit as Majuba.
We had more to show for our victory than for the previous one at
Dundee. Two Maxim-Nordenfeld guns, whose efficiency had been painfully
evident during the action, were a welcome addition to our artillery. Two
hundred and fifty Boers were killed and wounded and about two hundred
taken prisoners, the loss falling most heavily upon the Johannesburgers,
the Germans, and the Hollanders. General Koch, Dr. Coster, Colonel Schiel,
Pretorius, and other well-known Transvaalers fell into our hands. Our own
casualty list consisted of 41 killed and 220 wounded, much the same number
as at Talana Hill, the heaviest losses falling upon the Gordon Highlanders
and the Imperial Light Horse.
In the hollow where the Boer tents had stood, amid the laagered wagons
of the vanquished, under a murky sky and a constant drizzle of rain, the
victors spent the night. Sleep was out of the question, for all night the
fatigue parties were searching the hillside and the wounded were being
carried in. Camp-fires were lit and soldiers and prisoners crowded round
them, and it is pleasant to recall that the warmest corner and the best of
their rude fare were always reserved for the downcast Dutchmen, while
words of rude praise and sympathy softened the pain of defeat. It is the
memory of such things which may in happier days be more potent than all
the wisdom of statesmen in welding our two races into one.
Having cleared the Boer force from the line of the railway, it is
evident that General White could not continue to garrison the point, as he
was aware that considerable forces were moving from the north, and his
first duty was the security of Ladysmith. Early next morning (October
22nd), therefore, his weary but victorious troops returned to the town.
(Source: The Great Boer War by Sir A Conan Doyle)
