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.
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