The History of Lumsden's Horse. Various

were being shot down. A small body of Remington’s Scouts made one plucky effort to get near the captured battery, but suffered heavily. Then two troops of Roberts’s Horse, acting as escort for the convoy, dashed forward to cross the spruit and take the Boers in flank, but they were confronted by enemies from another ambush, who, at a distance of only a few yards, had them covered and called upon them to surrender. Their only answer was ‘Fours about—gallop’; but it came too late, and before they could get out of range nearly every saddle was emptied. Only five men got away, and of these four were wounded. Among the missing, nine officers had either been killed or fallen into the enemy’s hands.

      Emboldened by success, the Boers came into the open, as they had never done before. They galloped up to groups of men who were fighting shoulder to shoulder, reined in, and shot as they sat in the saddle, reckless of the bullets that whistled about them. One body charged close up to a Maxim gun that was pouring out a deadly torrent of bullets, and silenced it for a time by shooting down the detachment, but whether they got away or fell victims to their own bravery could not be seen as the struggle surged round them. Three New Zealanders whom I met coming out of the fight told the story, and spoke with admiration of the daring displayed by many of their foes, but still more enthusiastically of the splendid courage of our Horse Artillery. Of these three, one was a fine type of the half-caste Maori, the others hardy Colonists, who looked as if they had faced death more than once—cold-eyed and calm. They had evidently taken mental note of all that passed within sight of them, while they with others held a group of buildings, keeping the enemy in check by steady shooting.

      Major Hornby, finding that he could not bring his guns to bear at short range without shooting down friend as well as foe, limbered up to get clear of the close mêlée. In wheeling round on rough ground one gun capsized, bringing all the team down with it—horses and drivers together in a confused mass. The Boers saw their chance, and brought a withering rifle fire to bear, so that every attempt to right the gun failed. Under this fire the two wheelers of another team fell. The leaders struggled on for a time, dragging their maimed comrades, then came to a standstill, and that gun also had to be left behind. Marksmen of the Durham Light Infantry did their best to keep down the enemy’s fire, while volunteers ran out to help the distressed gunners, who, managing to escape, went off for fresh horses.

      Captain Gore Anley, commanding the Essex Regiment’s Mounted Infantry, aided by two of his men, brought a wounded gunner from under that terrific fire to safety, and then went out with a brother-officer to help at the guns. Time after time the artillerymen brought up fresh teams, which were shot down before they could be hooked to the limbers. One driver had nine horses killed or wounded before he gave up the attempt as hopeless.

      Meanwhile Major Hornby, with four guns of his own command, and the only one remaining of U Battery, which had been recaptured after stampeding, moved southward to a position twelve hundred yards from Koorn Spruit Drift. There he brought them into action with a cool audacity and effect that paralysed the enemy. Though he could not save the guns that had been left behind, he could cover the retirement of Cavalry and Mounted Infantry of the rearguard, who, unable longer to hold the low ridge against heavy odds, were being forced back from the waterworks, fighting stubbornly, though threatened in flank by the force that had captured our convoy. Shelled at from right and left, smitten by storms of rifle bullets, the gunners of Q Battery never budged. Coolly, as if at target practice, they loaded and aimed. The shells burst among the Boers, checking more than one attempt at a rush, and then the remnants of a shattered brigade were enabled to retire upon their supports, who had rallied for a stand at the station buildings.

      All the time officers and men of the Army Medical Corps were covering themselves with honour by brilliant services rendered to stricken soldiers, who lay helpless where the ground was torn by bullets. The coolest deed of all, however, was done by an American named Todd, a trooper in Roberts’s Horse. With a comrade he had first volunteered to go out and bring in some stray horses for the disabled guns. Before they had ridden fifty yards the second trooper was shot dead, but Todd galloped on straight towards the Boers, rounded up both horses, and had nearly brought them back when one was killed. When he rejoined his detachment Todd heard an officer asking for volunteers to go out in search of their doctor, who was lying wounded in a donga. Without waiting to hear more the trooper turned his horse’s head towards the Boer lines again and galloped off. Twenty minutes later he rode back slowly, bearing a heavy burden on his arms. ‘I couldn’t see the doctor anywhere,’ he said, ‘but I have brought back the only wounded man that I found alive there.’ If ever a man earned the right to wear the grim badge of Roberts’s Horse it is Trooper Todd. Deeds of heroism, however, were not rare that day. They could not avert disaster, but they shed a light upon it that dispels the shadow of humiliation.

      Our men had still hard fighting to do before they could hope to extricate themselves. Brigadier-General Broadwood’s retirement upon the station buildings was not effected without difficulty, and it is wonderful that he should have been able to keep the remnants of so many broken squadrons in hand, while they were weakened by further losses every minute, and the on-coming enemy gathered strength. Several horsemen, escaping, got away across the veldt, and then, forming groups, headed towards Boesman’s Kop, Boers pursuing for some distance. But the main body made a stand at the station buildings, and fought it out for two weary hours, so fiercely that the enemy did not dare to come to closer quarters. The company of Burmese Mounted Infantry that had been on outpost duty west of Koorn Spruit, when they found themselves cut off by Boers in ambush, made an attempt to rejoin the main body, but were in turn surrounded. Having some advantage of ground, though outnumbered, they were enabled to hold their assailants off until 7 o’clock.

      Then the scene changed. Troops appeared on Boesman’s Kop. They were the advanced guard of Colonel Martyr’s Mounted Infantry brigade, which had made a forced march to relieve the beleaguered column. Their commander halted only long enough to let the main body close up, and then ‘Queenslanders to the rescue’ came sweeping across the veldt as fast as their jaded horses could move. But the Boers were at their old tactics again, and the Queensland Mounted Infantry fell into a trap skilfully laid for them. Before the enemy could reap much advantage, however, Colonel Henry was at them with all his companies of Regular Mounted Infantry, which the astute Brigadier had ordered forward when he saw the Queensland men in difficulties. The young officer, who has spent many years with Egyptian Camel Corps, chasing Dervish raiders and scouting about their strongholds, was not to be caught by a Boer ambush. He advanced upon them in a formation too flexible even for their mobility, and gradually drove them before him until the Burmese and Queensland Mounted Infantry were enabled to fight their way through the weakened cordon.

      This timely diversion gave General Broadwood his opportunity, Major Hornby’s battery fell back to another position, covering the retirement, and then the column, leaving its wounded under care of our own surgeons, retired slowly to join the welcome reinforcements. They had to turn again and again to face the foe, who still hung on their heels, and all the way they were shelled by Boer guns, until a final stand was made near the waterworks, where the enemy dared not attack, though the artillery fire continued for nearly two hours longer.

      Late that afternoon the Highland Brigade, under General Hector MacDonald, passed Boesman’s Kop, and advanced to get touch of the enemy, near Modder River; but except for a few shells and sputtering rifle fire, no attempt was made by the Boers to resist this advance. When General Smith-Dorrien’s brigade, and other troops of the Ninth Division, joined MacDonald, the column that had fought so well after disaster fell upon it, dispersed into scattered remnants once more, each unit making for the appointed bivouac in any want of formation best adapted to the needs of weary men who had to walk because their horses were more tired than themselves.

      What a roll-call it would have been if the Brigadier had not in mercy spared them that melancholy ordeal! When the losses came to be counted, they numbered, in dead, wounded, and prisoners, nearly a third of the force that had marched out of Thaba ’Nchu forty hours earlier. Of U Battery, Royal Horse Artillery, only a mere handful remained, and Q Battery had suffered heavily too. Seven out of twelve guns had been left in the enemy’s hands, with some eighty baggage waggons full of stores. Household Cavalry, 10th Hussars, and Mounted Infantry had losses to mourn, and Roberts’s Horse the most of all. Unhappily, it was too late to hope that either guns or convoy could