TOPIC:

Wonderful thread.
Can someone tell me - Which Boer officers decided to concentrate their forces in a small area and hold the line at all costs? It was a tragic error and goes entirely against those quintessential Boer tactics outlined by Schikkerling:
"The Boer ... fights principally in scattered and extended order, concentrating only when very necessary... He... never grows sentimental over a position. With him retreat is no less a strategem than assault."
[Edit] Though looking at the map again, I was mistaken - the Boer forces did not concentrate any more than they did on the Tugela line - the Boer line extends well over 10 miles. As Amery points out (Times History Ch 13 p 459) "Thus the culminating battle of Bergendal was reduced simply to a duel of Buller's artillery and a couple of his battalions against seventy-four men."
So not a flawed Boer strategy...

Can we link the two photos and identify one fallen Boer as "Sergeant John Pretorius, mortally wounded in the head, the sturdy, handsome man..."?

This does look like a very plausible positive identification Rob.

The following version of events by Franco Steiner, being a loose translation from the original German. According to the S2A3 Biographical Database of Southern African Science, Franz Josef ("Franco") Seiner (*18 March 1874, Feldbach, Austria, †18 April 1929, Graz, Austria) was a Austrian journalist, traveler, politician and amateur scientist, who came to South Africa in November 1899 as a journalist for the newspaper Grazer Tagblatt and fought as a volunteer against the British in the Anglo-Boer War. He returned to Austria in September 1900 and, using the name Franco Seiner, described his war experiences in two popular books, published in 1902 and 1903.


Franco Seiner on Lookout (from Ervaringen en Herinneringen van een’ Boerenstrijder op het Slagveld van Zuid-Africa)

The Storming of Bergendal.

On the evening of August 26th, the gatekeeper's house was a cheerful scene. Two water buckets of coffee were boiled, and people enjoyed sweetened rice and condensed milk.
“Tomorrow we'll be in full swing,” they assured each other.
“Now, let them come, we will receive them properly,” thought the tireless fighters.
The Krugerdorpers came to us for coffee and everyone was in a cheerful mood: the hope for a good result was as lively among us as ever.
After we had taken the best possible care of our bodies, we returned to our positions to strengthen them where necessary.
I took a large quantity of barbed wire with me to the fortification to stretch it across the ground there, as I had seen at Colesberg and on the Modder River.
Unfortunately, I lacked the necessary tools to carry out my plan. So I waited until morning.
Work continued diligently throughout the night, and as we had to be prepared for the enemy to take advantage of the darkness, we were kept on constant watch.
I also had to take up a guard post with Lieutenant Simon, to the right of the railway.
To the right and left we saw the field on fire and the dark sky turned an awful red.
We also saw fires at Belfast and Dalmanutha.
No sounds reached us from the English positions. Only, here and below, near Belfast station, we heard the hissing of locomotives and the rattling of trains; we understood that they were delivering the bullets that had been assigned to us for the following morning.
When we were relieved from our post, I wanted to return along the railway, as usual, but my comrade thought he knew a shorter route, so we took a different direction. Very soon, however, it was impossible for us to find our bearings in the pitch darkness, and we began to wander. We walked for an hour, unsure where we were going. Fortunately, we finally heard the hum of the telegraph wires and reached the railway again. Now we were back on track and soon arrived "home."
So far, no one has ever heard of our nocturnal adventure.
It was a comforting thought to us that we were not the only ones who had been misled by the darkness.
Several English patrols marched much too far in the dark and arrived at our outpost position with the unpleasant result for them of being captured.
At Tweefontein the outposts of the Boers and the English were within rifle range of each other.
The commander of the English sentry sent a soldier to fetch blankets, and when he returned, he walked right past the Boers and stumbled into the Middelburg commando's position. By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. The blankets were very welcome to the Middelburg residents, and the man himself didn't need to return to his commander, who certainly wouldn't have received him kindly either.
It was one o'clock in the morning when we arrived at the fortification. An icy wind, piercing to the bone, swept across the plateau. All the men had to spend the night under the open sky; only those who had reported sick were allowed to sleep in the guardhouse.
Since the cold made it impossible for me to sleep, I worked diligently on the fortification. When I got tired, I lay down for a while until the cold forced me to get up again. This continued until daybreak.
It was a long night, but at last the sun rose above the horizon and bathed the earth in its warm rays.
The ground was covered with a white layer and even our hair and beard showed evidence that it had frozen hard.
Many of us now wanted to try to sleep a little longer, but I preferred to warm myself from within, so I walked to the guardhouse, from where I soon returned with a bucket of coffee that our diligent cooks had already prepared. Everyone was quickly there to receive their share of the fragrant beverage.
We were just enjoying a drink when, on the edge of the plateau, Field Cornet Meier and Dr. Schiele appeared, accompanied by two Khakis who had lost their cloaks and weapons.
“Do you have some coffee for these guys?” the Field Cornet called out to us from afar.
I immediately filled my English drinking cup, which was a souvenir of the Wiltshire regiment I met at Rensburg.
The English approached somewhat timidly and then greeted us politely.
I offered them my cup and received an extra morning greeting in return.
One of the Khakis said, by way of apology for having robbed me of my hot drink, “It is very cold and we have neither blanket nor cloak.”
It was obvious that they were ashamed of their capture.
Dr. Schiele and Meier had ambushed them in a hollow near the railway line. At the first shot fired at them, one of them threw down his rifle and waved his helmet, even though the distance separating them was still almost four hundred meters. The other quickly followed suit, and thus they lost their freedom.
They belonged to the Walesh Regiment, some units of which had witnessed the assault on our right wing the previous day.
During their hasty retreat, the two men had become separated from their unit, gotten lost, and in the dark ended up in a mud puddle.
They were now astonished at the kindness with which they were treated by their enemies.
Stealthily, they cast their eyes over our fortifications. Now, they were indeed worth seeing. Everyone had lined their holes in the ground with blankets and empty pockets, making themselves as comfortable as possible. Some still lay sleepily, while others had gathered around the bucket of coffee. Truly, a pretty sight for a captured Englishman!
Gradually the half-frozen Khakis began to thaw and their tongues also loosened a little.
They related that their storm columns had suffered heavy losses the previous day, whole regiments having been blown apart by the Boer rapid-fire.
The prisoners were then taken to the guardhouse, where they were treated to rice, meat, soup, and other delicacies. The brave soldiers were utterly baffled as to how enemies could be treated so hospitably. They had imagined it so differently. The Boers, and all those who fought with them, had always been portrayed as barbarians who would not grant any decent person any good!
Finally the prisoners were brought to the position of the Krugerdorpers, who regarded their capture as a good omen and welcomed them cheerfully.
Meanwhile, large troops of Englishmen began to descend from the heights again, disappearing into sunken lanes and ravines on the left.
I was lying in my hole, looking out in the direction of Belfast, when Commandant Goldegg tapped me on the shoulder.
“Would you like to come with me to inspect the police force's position?” he asked.
“With pleasure,” was my answer.
We first walked to the guardhouse, where the cook was busily preparing our lunch. We crossed the railway line and then made our way across the flat field to the aforementioned position. This was located about two hundred paces from the railway line and consisted of a rock formation rising about three meters above the plain. It was fifty meters long and ten meters wide and jutted out in bastions to the south, east, and west on the southwest edge of the plateau. From this position, there was an unobstructed view of the valley. It was beyond me how the police force, known for its considerable experience in warfare, could establish itself in a position that offered such an excellent target for enemy artillery. But perhaps my perspective was flawed.
The hilly country to the south, which we had a good view of, was teeming with Englishmen. It was as if a gigantic anthill had been disturbed from its rest.
Many black lines moved eastwards on the heights north of Gelukfarm, followed by dense columns.
On the slopes of the nearest hill below us, we saw artillerymen moving into the field. They were barely two thousand meters away as the crow flies, so we could make out the guns and horses with the naked eye, and with the binoculars, we could see enemy units in every hollow road.
Troops were also stationed on the heights of Belfast, occasionally looking down silently on the hill country.
"Gosh, that's a whole division they're sending down on us!"
"Yes, those Khak's did speak the truth when they said that the main attack would take place today.
There could be no doubt about the point where the attack would be aimed, when examining the position of the batteries. It was aimed at us; that was beyond dispute.
And what could our few guns do against the strong English artillery?
It was clear that it would come down to us, but we relied on our Mausers and were of good cheer.
The tireless men of the police force were busily working to bring in large boulders to reinforce their position. They did this work with good will and joked with each other as if a party was about to begin. The spirit among these men was, in a word, excellent.
On the left of their position a maxim had been placed, a piece that had been taken from the English during the storming of Kerumskop on 12 February 1900 and had now been entrusted to the command of the Dutch Lieutenant Van Lier.
This lieutenant welcomed us warmly and showed us around the position. Oosthuizen, the corps commander, also accompanied us. Just then, a detachment of English cavalry came up the slope of the plateau where we were, but they halted a considerable distance away and took a good look at the position. Apparently, before the planned attack, the enemy wanted to be sure that we still held the ridge. It had happened so often now that some abandoned cairns had been attacked for hours by the English, naturally without the slightest success, that it was no unnecessary effort to take a look first.
Oosthuizen fired his Mauser at the enemy. It was the first rifle shot heard across the entire line that day.
After inspecting the maxim, we wanted to leave again, but Oosthuizen beckoned to Commandant Goldegg very mysteriously, and then they both went to the back of the rock formation, where the saddled horses of the corps were standing.
It seemed that a very important matter was to be addressed here, but we were nevertheless invited to witness it; Van Lier and I were called in. Then Oosthuizen pulled a potbellied whiskey bottle from his saddlebag and offered it to us. Now, we certainly needed something to cheer us up. The fiery drink was a true refreshment for me after so many hours of exertion.
With a hearty handshake we now quickly parted from each other.
We knew we could count on each other in times of need and death, and that each at his post would remain loyal to the good cause for which we fought. But we also knew that the next few hours would demand much, much of us. And the possibility that we would fall in the coming battle was not excluded: every human life hangs by a thread, but especially the life of a soldier amidst the turmoil of war.
No wonder that our “see you again!” sounded somewhat melancholic, although the encouraging “all will be well!” was also not long in coming.
Once again we entered the position to observe the enemy's movements.
The English had already advanced considerably and new guns were still being brought up.
With seventy-four men of the police corps and forty Germans, the most dangerous part of the position was occupied to defend it against an overwhelming majority.
Indeed, the war in South Africa has revealed all sorts of strange relationships; relationships that we must continue to admire.
It seemed as if the enemy wanted to bring his entire force against us, so active were the Khakis.
We were still standing there looking intently at all the swarming activity before us, when suddenly the first bullets whizzed over our heads.
More and more came; it was getting serious now, that was clear.
My watch read exactly half past ten. One likes to know the exact time of important events, and the battle that was now about to begin was extremely important; none of us could doubt that.
“Let us now hasten to our men; it is truly high time!” said Baron Goldegg.
We immediately returned to our position. We passed a row of trees and lo and behold—two shells from the direction of Belfast hissed through the air. One struck the ground under the trees near us, while the other landed in a small pond, sending up a huge column of water and mud.
In the gatehouse, we encountered some Italians assigned to the Krugersdorp commando who had come here to collect firewood. However, I doubted there would be much to be found, as we had already burned the doors, a few window shutters, and most of the floor, even though we saw no way to obtain the necessary fuel in any other way.
While we were still exchanging a few words with the Italians, we heard a tremendous whooshing sound outside, followed by a bang that rattled the windowpanes. A lyddite bomb had exploded near us; a second, and then a third, soon followed.
A dangerous crush now developed in the cottage. Goldegg and I were roughly pressed against the wall by the alert Italians, who all tried to leave through the door at the same time.
We allowed this for once without serious protest, and consoled ourselves with the thought that one usually has to get things from one's friends.
The calm of our faithful cooks, who quietly continued their useful work, contrasted nicely with the excitement of our Italians. When we left the cottage again, I urged them to hurry, because if we didn't get something to eat soon, we risked getting nothing at all. We then hurried back to our crew, while shell after shell crashed behind us.
When we returned to our comrades, they all asked with one voice what news we brought.
“Now,” replied Goldegg, “it will be our turn today; within two hours the Khakis will begin to charge.”
This news was not at all received as sad; on the contrary, it seemed very welcome.
It is simply a fact that in times of war a soldier prefers to fight, especially if he is convinced that he is fighting against injustice and violence.
In anticipation of what was to come, I found my place and took another good look at my carbine; it certainly couldn't let me down now.
I lay out forty cartridges before me—for the same number of khakis, I hoped. It wasn't my entire supply: I still had three times that number in my two belts, so plenty for a significant fight.
We also had the advantage that we could determine distances quite accurately up to two thousand meters by means of the telegraph wires, which were eighty-three paces apart.
Gradually, more batteries began to open fire on our positions, and heavy artillery also made itself heard. Most of the shots were aimed at the police corps, but some batteries threw grenades over this corps' position, probably with the intention of deterring potential reinforcements. Thus, at least twenty grenades landed every minute between our position and the aforementioned guardhouse.
At half past ten the first shots were fired, and by eleven o'clock salvos were already being fired.
The ground shook with the roar of the cannons and the whole area seemed to convulse with the terrible commotion we were now forced to experience.
Meanwhile, the battery ahead of us descended from the Belfast plateau to take up position on the nearest ridge. This brought them considerably closer to us and opened a heavy fire on our position. It was now a matter of caution.
Several shells flew over us in the direction of the guardhouse, causing some horses tied there to break free and run away. Some Boers saw this and chased the animals, shouting loudly, which made for a funny sight and provoked laughter. Our mood became more serious when we saw two wounded policemen enter the house.
Our cooks had just about finished their culinary masterpieces when suddenly a grenade came hurtling through the window into the cottage and out again through the door.
However short this visit was, it still had serious consequences.
The air pressure created by the projectile ripped both men's hats off. But that wasn't the worst of it. As they were about to flee, they heard a terrible noise, as if something were exploding, and at the same instant, the floor was covered with rice, meat, and whatnot. The large soup pot had burst, and now its delicious contents, so carefully prepared, were scattered around the room. The house shook to its foundations. The walls cracked in several places, and the ceiling threatened to collapse. One shell followed another; it was predictable that soon there would be little left of the house.
The two cooks were now in a less than enviable state. They couldn't even get outside properly, because the doorway was blocked by a partial collapse of the wall, and grenades were coming in through the window; it wasn't safe there either. Still, they had to get out.
They took advantage of a moment when the enemy seemed to be pausing for a moment and jumped headlong out of the window.
Almost at the same instant, another grenade came whizzing by, and half-dead with fright, they ran toward the Krugerdorpers' position. Bursting grenades made them faster than they had ever been. It was as if their wings were tied to their feet.
The mad dash of the two fugitives gave us some moments of pure pleasure, especially as we had already considered our faithful cooks as dead.
Hello! Suddenly, there stood a rider before us.
As if the man had suddenly sprung up from the earth, he stood there, four hundred paces away, on the edge of the plateau. He sat motionless on his horse, surveying the police force's position. He didn't seem to notice us; perhaps we weren't even worth looking at.
“Let him come a little closer and we'll hit him,” said one of the comrades.
A few shots were fired from the police position, but the Englishman didn't seem to mind; he calmly waited for the bullets.
"Shoot him; he won't come any closer now," was our comrade's advice.
A few bullets hissed, but the Englishman still did not move.
I, too, now set my rifle, took careful aim, and fired. I'd shot a blesbok or a baboon at such a distance many times before; so it wasn't impossible that I'd now hit that Khaki.
At the same time, Rumpf and a few other good shooters also fired a bullet.
The rider now slowly turned his horse and rode at a walking pace down the edge of the plateau.
Thirty bullets wouldn't have been able to unseat him. It was possible that a few had hit him, but certainly not fatally.
The explanation for this strange occurrence is certainly to be found in the fact that the sun's rays were falling almost vertically; the air, vibrating with heat, always makes accurate aiming at long range extremely difficult. In that respect, the Englishman had done remarkably well.
Meanwhile, the men of the police corps were occupying a difficult position. From their position, they had a clear view of the enemy camp. Dense clouds of gunpowder smoke pointed precisely at the location of the English batteries, and the Khakis were busily engaged at every turn. A constant barrage of bullets was sent towards the high plateau edge. Two men had already been killed by the first shells.
At the foot of the ridge a battalion of riflemen had taken up position, gradually trying to move up the slope under cover of the gunfire.
Now the police force of the latter did not suffer all that much, as most of the grenades crashed against the cliffs of their fortification and there found the end of their murderous existence.
Slowly, the ranks of Khakis pushing upwards grew denser, but whether they would reach their objective was somewhat doubtful, for the Boers had an excellent aim here, and the brave English were no match for their well-maintained fire; repeatedly, they were forced to fall back.
Finally the attackers received important reinforcements and a new attack was attempted.
For a moment the batteries were silent, awaiting a successful outcome of the assault.
The Boers also kept quiet and lay in wait with bated breath.
Meanwhile, we had watched this game with interest and understood that a little help here was not superfluous.
Out of the blue we fired at the enemy and our Maxim also did its best to prevent the attackers from advancing.
The English soon found themselves in a less than enviable position. Bullets pounded furiously through their ranks, and many fell down, unable to rise again. After a few minutes, advancing was impossible.
The officers constantly tried to instill new courage in the soldiers and urged them on. Their lively gestures clearly distinguished them from the rest of the troops, but no matter how hard they tried, it ultimately proved futile. Most soldiers threw themselves to the ground, exhausted and desperate.
Still the officers persisted; they encouraged the despondent and tried to achieve something by their example, but it was all in vain. Their courageous lead found no followers; they sacrificed themselves for nothing, and the storm ceased. One of the commanders wanted to make one last attempt and leaped forward, but a few seconds later he lay lifeless.
At the top of the Belfast hill, in the midst of a glittering group of officers, stood Lord Roberts with his staff.
The sad fate of the charging marksmen had not escaped his trained military gaze.
By means of the heliograph he gave orders to bring the entire artillery of Lyttleton's division into the front and to send the second regiment of riflemen forward along the railway line to attack the position of the police corps on the right flank.
Fortunately, we were on that flank and could therefore at least protect the corps to some extent.
Now, no one should think that we were completely safe from enemy attacks, because the concentrated artillery fire also extended over our position. At first, the shells had landed immediately behind us, but now the Khakis seemed to have become a little wiser, and soon a rain of projectiles descended around us.
It is a very peculiar feeling that takes possession of us when one has to serve as a target for hours on end, and an army unit can prove its worth in nothing so well as by holding out for so long amid enemy fire.
And we endured it.
True, many hearts beat a little faster than usual, but none of us thought about retreating.
The bullets from seven field batteries and a howitzer battery, which dropped lyddite bombs, flew around us continuously for four hours over an area of half a square kilometer, and all that to destroy a small force of only one hundred and fourteen men. It's actually rather ridiculous, and it doesn't reflect well on the English army, that so many were needed to fight against so few.
Hour after hour passed for us under the greatest mental and physical exertion, but when necessary, a person can endure a lot.
A strong wind blew up from the northwest, driving dense clouds of sand and dust. Those who could turned away from the wind, but we were forced to meet it, as the enemy was just northwest of us.
Initially, things were quite lively in our position, and many witty moves were made at the expense of the English. But as more and more grenades were sent our way, we gradually became quieter and more serious. Even those who were otherwise inexhaustible in coming up with all sorts of jokes became calm and composed.
Amid the crack and pop of bullets, Commandant Goldegg had his men counted again. Each man had to state his name. The result was that, besides the commander, there were exactly forty men in the position. Later, Goldegg had bread distributed, but most had no desire to feed themselves, now that they felt so close to death.
"Watch out! What's that over there in front of us?"
Six Englishmen appeared on the edge of the plateau, six hundred paces from our position, and immediately lay down flat on the ground.
It would have been easy for us to drive this six out, but we preferred not to expose ourselves. The longer the enemy remained uncertain about the exact location of our position, the better.
Boom! A huge shot rang out far behind us; a white cloud of smoke rose from Elandskop near Dalmanutha. Hooray! That was our Long Tom!
It was a comforting thought to us that we weren't completely left to our own devices after all. With a loud whooshing sound, the shell flew over us and several hundred meters away. We couldn't tell where it landed.
“Oh, he's gotten lost in the mountains again,” said one of us, somewhat disappointed, and perhaps he was right.
Near Belfast, it flashed several times in succession, and a few lyddite bombs stopped good Tom's boastful mouth. This was a setback for the Boers.
On the nearest hill, barely two thousand paces away, we now saw a battery set up, which soon began firing quite cheerfully. They certainly already counted us among the dead.
Fortunately, the wind calmed down a little and we could now aim accurately again.
“Rapid fire!” was the command.
Immediately some shots were fired, and we felt no small satisfaction when we saw that these shots caused hopeless confusion in the battery.
This gave us courage and we fired our guns with great pleasure.
"Pompom-pom!" boomed on the heights to our right, and three grenades slammed back into the battery. Our joy was immense. We hadn't even suspected that one of our Maxims was positioned on that height.
The English artillerymen realized they had to find a safer spot. Several of their men had already fallen, and if things continued like this, there wouldn't be many left.
So they hastily retreated with their pieces into a hollow, where they were out of range of our guns.
If we had had a cannon at our disposal, certainly nothing of the battery would have remained intact.
We now ceased firing again.
Soon afterward we were presented with a new scene.
Several detachments of Khakis, followed by long columns, appeared on the hill ahead of us. These were the battalions of the second rifle regiment, sent ahead by Lord Roberts along the railway line.
But again there was a bang on our right and six grenades found their way into the enemy ranks, who then tried to hide in a hollow as quickly as possible.
“Well, that's what you get, so don't be so rude, young men!” Rumpf exclaimed cheerfully.
If we'd had two such pom-poms instead of Long Tom, we would certainly have gone much further. Tom did shoot a few more times, but we didn't gain any direct benefit from that, as the bullets landed somewhere near Belfast.
The Khakis had now discovered, to their horror and detriment, that we were still there, even though they had been shelling us heavily for hours.
They now redoubled their fire, but most of the shells landed on the plain between our position and the familiar guardhouse. There was absolutely nothing to be seen of us, and that was our good fortune. Had we held the low area near the guardhouse, as we had originally intended, we would certainly have fared poorly. That guardhouse, after all, provided an excellent target for the enemy.
The din around us grew steadily louder, and we were constantly receiving more bullets from the enemy guns near us. They were now coming from the west, south, and southeast. Every shell that flew just half a meter over the Johannesburg position landed near us. The sight of the shells crossing over our heads was enough to frighten us.
In addition, the enemy near Belfast began dropping lyddite bombs from a howitzer. These monsters exploded with a terrible roar, scattering their contents far and wide. The pieces of iron flew through the air in great arcs, creating a terrifying concert.
Suddenly, a few rifle bullets whistled past our heads. We weren't immediately sure where they came from, as there wasn't an Englishman in sight yet.
For a moment I was in grave danger, for a fragment of a grenade struck the ground a hand's breadth in front of me, with such force that a large mass of sand and dust flew into my face. My left eye, in particular, took such a beating that it immediately swelled.
How glad I was now that I had carefully removed the stones in front of me; if they had still been there, my head would very likely have been crushed.
Good precautions are always advisable, and not least in wartime, when life is threatened on all sides, and that was now the case with us in the most literal sense of the word.
In a single minute, we counted no fewer than sixteen shells landing in our immediate vicinity. Imagine the perilous position we were in. We could be hit at any moment; no one knew if they would still be alive the next minute.
Several times we saw black dots in the sky. They were shells from the Belfast battery, rising from the gun and then descending again, coming towards us; they seemed to pause in the air for a few seconds.
While we were being bombarded with grenades near Belfast, we were being treated to lyddite bombs from another battery not far away. This happened very regularly, as if by convention, because a grenade was followed by a lyddite bomb. So we had a change of pace and were never long without a visitor.
The Krugersdorpers, who had their position some distance behind us, saw this game and said to each other:
"Those Germans won't escape today; perhaps they're all dead already; it's impossible that even one of them will come out alive.
Indeed, it must have been a horrific sight to see what happened.
Our position, as well as the plain which separated us from the railway, and on which the projectiles which flew over the police force and us burst, was constantly covered by a pale green cloud of smoke, through which lightning seemed to shoot constantly.
Of course, nothing was visible of us, as we kept ourselves covered with the utmost care.
Later a good friend of the Krugersdorp commando said to me:
"It gave us a sense of relief when, amidst the horrible din, we occasionally heard the report of a Mauser: it was proof to us that at least some of you were still alive."
The enemy fire was so intense that, in our opinion, it couldn't get any worse, and yet it continued to intensify. We were all convinced that it would be absolutely impossible for us to endure this much longer.
We now hoped that the English would attempt another assault. At least then we'd be free of that terrible cannon fire for a while and would have something significant to do, and our position couldn't possibly become more dangerous than it was now.
Now, our wish was fulfilled.
A little to our left, on the other side of the railway line, the Khaki figures appeared in a long row; they stood out darkly against the horizon.
Very slowly they pressed forward. They didn't seem to have found it necessary to send a scout or patrol ahead.
It was clear what the enemy had in mind: they wanted to advance to the edge of the plain covered by artillery fire, and then, as soon as the fire ceased, to attack the police corps' position.
If they had really cared about us, they would most likely have included us in their friendly plan.
Now we were still in great danger, because if they came any closer, they would spot us. So we were forced to do something to instill some respect in them.
“Rapid fire!” was the command and off they went.
Ha! How our bullets flew into the enemy ranks! I had never fired my carbine with such pleasure before, and we had the advantage that the enemy was so close; not a single shot needed to miss its target.
The surprise we gave the Khakis was great.
They had not expected anything from that side.
For a moment, they stood still, seized with fear, and the clearest proof that they were not being held up by a false alarm was the many men who fell, mortally wounded. The captain in command also met the end of his military career with one of our bullets. A shot to the head took his life.
As soon as he fell a small group of officers formed around him, and we soon saw the dead man being carried away by two strong men.
Meanwhile, new detachments of Khakis advanced, and we were soon involved in a lively fight.
Shhh! That flew right past my head!
An inch more to the right and—I would have been done for.
Oh, how frightening it is to feel so close to death, and yet with one's limbs still healthy and glowing with fighting spirit!
And now consider that on the battlefield we intend nothing other than to inflict as much damage as possible on the enemy and raise a song of victory when we have succeeded in thinning his ranks!
No! Whoever wages war otherwise than out of necessity must have a heart as hard as stone.
Meanwhile the English had retreated below the edge of the plateau, and as they were now out of range of our guns, we ceased firing.
The Khakis prepared to launch a powerful attack with a new storm column.
We were waiting, and with a sense of impatience we awaited the approach of the bayonets. It would be a life-and-death struggle; there was no doubt about that.
Then suddenly bullets from behind us whistled past our heads.
What was that? Had the enemy already attacked us from behind?
The police corps' position was in grave danger. After the initial assault had been repulsed, the English had aimed more guns at the position, and in human terms, it had to be considered lost.
No fewer than fifty cannons now poured death and destruction upon the small, brave band.
Almost a cannon for each of the men!
A torrent of shells rained down on their position. Lyddite bombs, whirring and howling, burst into the air above their heads.
There was no longer any way of distinguishing one shot from the next, the thunder continued uninterruptedly, and even the crackle of the musketry was drowned out by the roar of the cannons.
How is it possible, one may ask, that a small group of men still had the courage to hold out against such a terrible enemy action?
And yet—those brave men fought with contempt for death! Commandant Oosthuizen fired shot after shot at the advancing English, until a shell fragment struck him in the chest.
Van Lier, ignoring the whirring shells, stood calmly by his maxim, operating it with imperturbable composure—until a shell ripped away the boulder on which the maxim rested. The maxim then rolled down the slope and was shattered.
And at that very moment, a rifle bullet pierced Van Lier's chest. Yet the brave warrior held on for a while longer. It burned his chest, and he knew what the outcome would be, but that didn't stop him from seizing his rifle with the utmost composure and firing at the enemy.
The corps was increasingly thinned out, one after the other fell; whoever raised his voice or stepped back even a little could be sure of being mortally wounded.
And yet these heroic men would not surrender; they never thought of retreating.
One of them, an Afrikaner of gigantic stature, limped out of the battle line, his right foot pierced by two bullets.
“Stay there, boy, or you're dead!” an older comrade admonished the limping one.
“Better to die than fall into the hands of the English,” was the answer, and the man trudged on.
He had scarcely proceeded twenty paces when a piece of stone came and crushed his left hip, and a few seconds later a grenade ended his life.
Meanwhile the English had approached to within two hundred paces of the position, and with their rifles over their shoulders they now advanced at a rapid pace.
Like a rushing stream they came closer and closer.
There stood the alert Polhman with the others who had been spared. Shot after shot he fired at the advancing men, and with each shot one of the Khakis fell, mortally wounded.
Finally, he was unable to use his rifle any longer; it had become so hot that the lock failed. Throwing it down and grabbing the Mauser from a fallen comrade was the work of a moment.
Then he fired again, and made many more victims, until a bullet pierced both his temples.
This hero, who had remained faithful until death to the sacred cause of freedom and justice, also fell lifeless!
The attackers were now within a hundred paces.
“Bayonets up!” came the order.
With the usual "Long live the Queen! Hurrah!" the English pushed forward. The lowered bayonets were now intended to put an end to the Boer resistance.
But the police force men did not give way yet.
It now became a furious man-to-man battle.
The outcome could not be in doubt — the brave Gideon's band was forced to surrender against such overwhelming odds.
Soon nineteen seriously wounded defenders fell into the hands of the enemy, while twenty corpses lay scattered throughout the destroyed position.
Meanwhile, the artillery fire continued with unabated intensity; it was now mainly aimed at the railway line.
The remaining men, thirty-five in number, now crossed the railway under a hail of bullets.
One of them was shot in the leg, but he still managed to escape.
When the last one had reached the other side of the railway, we found ourselves alone on the plateau.
We continued to fight, but now it was only to uphold our honour, because of course any significant advantage was no longer possible.
The English gunfire continued to thunder; they knew we were still on the plateau, and they would not rest until we had disappeared.
Then a gust of wind tore for a moment the dense cloud of smoke which hid the surroundings from our view, and now we became aware behind us on the railway line of troops who had just crossed it.
They were the first units of the Inniskilling Regiment that prepared to clear the plateau completely of Boers.
Soon the cloud of smoke again prevented us from seeing further enemy movements, but we had seen enough to know how dangerous our position had become.
“Dalmanutha has been taken and now we are cut off from our own people here,” remarked one of the comrades.
“Well no, not yet, but we'll have to hurry,” said another.
“But we cannot give up our position, otherwise all is lost,” claimed a third, certainly one of the bravest.
"Nonsense," the first replied. "The artillery has abandoned us, and while we fight to the death here, the others will run for safety. And what good will it do if we let ourselves be finished off here? It can only serve to make the English even more proud of their victory."
A hasty whistle from the commander put an end to the conversation.
“Rapid fire, straight ahead and to the left and sideways!” came the order.
Almost at the same instant our bullets hissed into the enemy ranks, and apparently they made quite an impression there, for the gunfire from that side ceased almost immediately.
"Stop shooting and return to the Krugerdorpers' position!" was the command now.
I quickly shoved another round into my rifle and then jumped up. It was back at breakneck speed now. We jumped two or three meters, sometimes falling, but were just as quick on our feet, then caught our breath, fired a shot at the enemy, and then continued on. We were running for our lives, and that was reason enough to take it seriously.
The English batteries had apparently been waiting for us to appear.
Scarcely had we jumped up when, above our position, lyddite bombs exploded with terrible violence.
What it means to have to cross a plain of four hundred paces, threatened by cannon and rifle fire from various sides, can only be imagined by those who have ever been compelled to do so.
Meanwhile, things had also become less pleasant for the Krugerdorpers. A lyddite bomb had killed two of them and seriously wounded five others. This caused considerable consternation, and Commandant Kemp needed all his skill and energy to keep the commando united.
The commander initially managed to persuade his men to hold out, but when the rumour spread of the storming of "Bergendal" and we came running, there was no stopping them.
"We retire!"
With this exclamation the timid ones began to withdraw rapidly.
The commander, revolver in hand, tried to stop the fleeing men, but it was in vain.
“Stand or I’ll shoot you!” the commander shouted to one of the fugitives, and he placed the revolver on his chest.
“Just shoot me dead, Commandant!” was the Boer’s calm reply, “the others are retreating anyway.”
And the man was licked. Once fear has struck the heart, harsh words and threats are no more effective than friendly speeches.
This was also experienced by Doctor Van der Merwe, who stood with his ambulance at the end of the gorge where the Krugersdorpers were located.
He saw the fleeing Boers while he was busy bandaging some wounded men of the police corps.
"You must wait just a moment," he shouted to the wounded, and immediately threw himself on his horse. Swift as the wind, he raced toward the fleeing men and soon reached them.
With his heavy riding crop he struck them mercilessly, while shouting:
“Back to the front, runners, cowards!”
But all his efforts were to no avail.
“Bergendal” had been taken and with it the battle was lost!