“Of course it will! It’ll be a bloody battle — I’ve already suggested as much. But if the order comes … ” He said no more; a glance around the set faces of the officers was enough. There was no lack of stomach for a fight, no faint hearts. But Dornoch himself was troubled as a little later, under cover of the darkness, he made his way alone to the summit of the hill. They had all come through so much together, through so many years of comradeship, and Spion Kop would be a tough nut to crack. Yet it. was a logical enough thing to do … to hold Spion Kop would be to free the approach from Fairview to Ladysmith, and allow Buller’s army its relieving passage to Sir George White and his gallant force. Dornoch stood looking down the glacis, and then across towards Spion Kop. He had just turned away when he saw a figure coming up to join him.
“James?” he said.
“Yes, Colonel. May I have a word?”
“By all means. What is it?”
“Spion Kop, Colonel. Do you think that’s the way General Warren is really thinking?”
Dornoch said, “If I was in his shoes, it’s the way I would be thinking. I can say no more than that. No orders have reached me as yet.”
“No, Colonel. But you believe yourself — ”
“I believe the order will come, yes. I believe it will.” Dornoch gave an involuntary sigh. “I have a feeling we’ll not easily take that damned hill! And I detest losses — detest them!”
“Yes, Colonel.” Ogilvie hesitated. “Colonel, I have a request to make.”
“A request? Then let me hear it, James.”
“Colonel, if your assessment of General Warren’s future planning is correct, we’ll head straight for Ladysmith after taking Spion Kop. In that case, we’ll not march anywhere near Botha’s head laager.”
“No.”
“Colonel, Miss Smith is there — in Botha’s laager, under heavy guard, and under threat too.”
“I see.” Dornoch’s tone was grave and worried. “What are you asking me, James? You must be precise now.”
“Yes, Colonel. This is not easy … I don’t want to seem to be asking to miss a fight. But I’d like permission to detach at once … to go in and get Maisie Smith, and then rejoin. May I do that, Colonel?”
Dornoch shook his head, not as a negative, but in perplexity and an unusual indecision. He was about to speak when a runner was seen coming fast up the hillside. “A moment, James. Yes, what is it?”
The runner halted and saluted. “Orders from Brigade, sir. The General intends to split his column in two, sir — to be known as Right Attack and Left Attack — ”
“On what, man, on what?” Dornoch’s eyes met Ogilvie’s.
“Sir, Spion Kop for the Right Attack, which includes the 114th under Major-General Coke, with Major-General Woodgate’s brigade in the van.”
“I see. When do we advance?”
“At eleven p.m. on the 23rd, sir.”
“Tomorrow! Well — we shall be ready!” Dornoch’s back stiffened and his mouth hardened. “Thank you, compliments to the adjutant, and I’d like all officers and N.C.O.’s to assemble immediately. That’s all.”
The runner saluted again, and withdrew down the hill, leaping from tussock to tussock to be soon lost in the darkness. Dornoch looked again towards Spion Kop, a dark shape rearing heavenward, a dark shape that seemed full of menace and bloodshed now. He put a hand on Ogilvie’s arm. “I’m sorry, James. We’re going to need every man, and Miss Smith must wait. First the battle — and then you will have my permission to detach.”
18
OBEDIENCE WAS ALL — ONCE A DIRECT ORDER SUCH AS the Colonel’s had been received. An army could not operate on less: that was an axiom of the military life. But James Ogilvie prepared for the assault on Spion Kop with a fair degree of sheer mutiny in his heart and soul. He was not sure, in fact, that his detachment to the Kitchener mission did not supersede his subordination to Dornoch’s orders; on the other hand, it was always open to any officer in command of troops in the field, to require those close to him to obey emergency orders to assist: and any subsequent appeal to Kitchener should he deliberately disobey would fall upon the deafest of all possible ears, as had already been made quite clear by Douglas Haig.
Reconnaissance carried out next morning by Brigade indicated that in fact Spion Kop was but poorly guarded: little more than a picket, it was believed, garrisoned the hill. From the bivouacs on the Tabanyama slopes, Ogilvie listened to the increasing thunder of Warren’s artillery as he softened up the ground for his advance. Shell after shell whined across, to explode in sound and flame behind the Boer lines or on the entrenchments all along the front. The very air above seemed speckled with bursts of shrapnel.
“It’s the very hell of a barrage,” Ogilvie remarked to MacKinlay. “More than two hundred guns, so I’m told. And no answer from Brother Boer — I wonder what that means, James!”
“All knocked out?”
MacKinlay shook his head, suddenly dour and sombre. “Well, we’ll be finding out soon.” He stared around the bivouacs; Ogilvie followed his gaze. More and more troops had moved into the area of the Tabanyama slopes: men from the various Lancashire regiments mainly, together with some sappers and unmounted M.I. MacKinlay said, “I’m not happy with the choice of password, James.”
“Waterloo?” Ogilvie lifted an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Whose Waterloo is it to be — that’s why!”
“Oh, don’t be so damn querulous — you’re like an old woman this last day or two, with your premonitions!” Suddenly Ogilvie reached out a hand to his friend. “Sorry, Rob. I didn’t mean that. But we’re going to take Spion Kop and you know it — so cheer up!”
MacKinlay shrugged but said no more. During what remained of the day the artillery bombardment was kept up, kept up on a still increasing scale as daylight faded. At eleven p.m., in a pitch dark night with a light drizzle falling, the order for Woodgate’s brigade to advance came through. The men got to their feet, headed up for the mist-shrouded summit of Spion Kop by way of Three Tree Hill. The Royal Strathspeys, held for the present in reserve, watched them fade away through the night. For some four hours, nothing was heard. At the end of that time, there was distant rifle-fire which brought the Scots sentries to the alert, and the officers were woken. Within minutes of this rifle-fire, the artillery opened again and shells started dropping between Spion Kop and Tabanyama Hill.
There was no further news until well into the next forenoon. When it came, it was a cruel deception.
*
There had been wild cheering from the ranks, right along the line: General Woodgate had taken the summit at four a.m., chasing off the picket and causing the rest of the Boers in the vicinity to run for the rear, and his troops were now digging trenches. But three hours after this apparent taking of Spion Kop, the mists had cleared from along the summit, and another crest was seen to the north: Woodgate had in fact occupied only part of the summit plus the southern crest, and quickly the Boers began to pour men on to the summit to the north. And the troops on Spion Kop found themselves wide open to fire from every direction: Botha had driven his men back to the attack, fearing that if Spion Kop went then the whole of the Tugela defence line would go with it: and he was determined to re-take what he had lost. Thus Woodgate’s brigade came under intense attack from every kind of gun, light and heavy, from Green Hill and Conical Hill and Aloe Knoll, whilst a heavy enfilading fire swept them and cut them through from the easterly Twin Peaks. At 8.30 a.m. Woodgate fell dead, mortally wounded in the eye: Colonel Crofton of the Royal Lancasters, taking over the command, reported back to General Warren that if reinforcements were not sent immediately, all would be lost. In response to this, Warren ordered Major-General Coke to send up more men from his Right Attack force; and the Middlesex, the Imperial Light Infantry, and the 114th Highlanders received orders to advance and engage. Before they moved out they had the horrifying report that the Lancashire Fusiliers had been mown down in heaps, that they were lying in three-deep ro
ws of corpses with every officer killed or wounded. Spion Kop was a scene of death and carnage that day, with demoralisation beginning to set in below the terrible thunder of the guns.
*
The Royal Strathspeys advanced up the slope with Bosom Cunningham’s loud voice swearing at them. “Dinna bunch, ye bastards, dinna bunch! Remember the Maxims!” Hearing the R.S.M.’s bellow, the Scots separated, foregoing the comforting comradeship of a shoulder-to-shoulder advance. Reaching the top they found appalling confusion and heap upon heap of dead. Gazing around with a degree of helplessness at first, Dornoch took the battalion, with the pipes wailing, to the assistance of a large officer wearing the insignia of a lieutenant-colonel who was rushing vigorously hither and thither exhorting, encouraging and swearing. From then on, the 114th were in the thick of an intense fight. Ogilvie found himself in hand-to-hand combat with a huge Boer wielding a rifle-butt like a club. Whistling past his head, the weapon was within an eighth of an inch of smashing his skull. Ogilvie hurled himself at the man, seizing his throat and bringing him to the ground, but the Boer fought like a cat, twisting and turning and lashing out with big fists that took Ogilvie a number of heavy blows on the face. He was saved from certain death by a lance-corporal of the Middlesex Regiment, who held a bayonet to the Boer’s throat and, when the man refused to surrender, deftly slid the shining steel into the gullet.
Spattered with blood, Ogilvie got to his feet, feeling groggy. As another Boer came for him, he collected his senses and dived for his revolver, which had fallen to the ground when he had been evading the first swipe of the rifle-butt. Taking quick aim, he fired: the Boer gaped, looking totally surprised, then slid to the ground in a heap. With the fresh arrivals the fighting was now going better for the British in the sector: under the impact of the bayonets the Boers were starting to scatter down the north side of the hill. Within a comparatively short time, the defenders were left in possession, somewhat to their surprise, and a ragged cheer from the ranks sent the Boers scurrying the faster.
Lord Dornoch approached the officer to whose assistance he had gone. This officer came forward with his hand outstretched, and wrung Doritoch’s hard. “Thank you,” he said. “Your men were splendid. I don’t know who you are, but I’m damn grateful! I’m Thorneycroft, by the way. What news from the rear — what’s Warren up to, does anybody know?”
“I’m afraid I don’t, other than that he’s sent us to reinforce.” Dornoch brought out a handkerchief and mopped the streaming sweat from his face. “Who’s in command, now poor Woodgate’s gone?”
“Damned if I know,” Thorneycroft answered. “It could be Hill of the Middlesex — he’s the senior — it could be Crofton, or it could even be me I suppose. I dare say we shall be told in due course!”
“A little confusing, Colonel.”
“So’s the damn fighting.” Thorneycroft shaded his eyes and scanned the slopes below. “They’ve reinforced well and fast — those Boers! Must have had men sent down from Ladysmith.”
“How many have we against us?”
Thorneycroft shrugged. “Ask me another, my dear chap! I haven’t the faintest idea, but it’s a damn sight more than Buller ever bargained for, I’ll be bound!” He added, “Those Boers are a curious bunch, though — so often they fail to press home their advantage, don’t you know. A lack of real tenacity — they’re not keen on close-quarter fighting and they run like sheep from the bare steel. But there’s one old demon … feller with flaming red hair, Commandant Opperman according to our prisoners — he’s been chivvying up the burghers no end, putting the fighting spirit into ‘em as though he were God in person — it’s uncanny! Wouldn’t mind him on our side — I can tell you!”
Looking up, Dornoch caught Ogilvie’s attentive eye. Casually he asked Thorneycroft, “Is Opperman still in this sector, d’you know?”
“He’s just down there.” Thorneycroft pointed down the northern glacis. “Down there — with his damn commandos from Carolina and Reitz. They’re the strongest opposition we have to face, rot ‘em!”
*
It was not long before Ogilvie became convinced it was a case of now or never. Things were again going badly: the Boers’ gunnery was far too good, the British position far too exposed to their heavy concentration of artillery and rifle-fire. The casualties were appalling and the groans and cries of the wounded and dying jagged cruelly at the nerves of those as yet untouched. Water was so short as to be virtually non-existent, and raging thirsts added to the troops’ misery. There was the feeling of imminent retreat in the air: and if that order should come through from Warren or Buller, then it might well be too late to cut Maisie Smith out from under the Boers’ noses. During the day word filtered through that General Lyttelton was moving the 60th Rifles from Potgeiter’s Drift, to head westerly and cross the Tugela by a pontoon thrown across by Kaffir’s Drift; later intelligence indicated that the 60th had taken Twin Peaks, and for a while the enfilading fire from the Boers was reduced. Ogilvie took advantage of the lull to talk to Rob MacKinlay. In him, and in him alone, he confided.
“I’m not in a position to tell you much, Rob,” he said, “so you’ll just have to take my word. There’s an English girl in the Boer lines, and I’ve promised to get her out.” He gave MacKinlay as much of the story as he felt able, and added, “It’s not fair, I know, to ask for help, but — ”
“You don’t think you can manage on your own, James. I don’t think so either!”
“You’ll come, then?”
“Yes, I’ll come. Look out!” They both flattened as the scream of a shell came at them: the projectile flew over their heads to burst on the trench farther along. Bodies hurtled into the air and fell back, shattered. Medical orderlies moved up. “By God, James, this begins to look like another of our good old British blunders, doesn’t it!”
“It may not be, Rob. The Boers aren’t having it all their own way. Our gunners are pretty hot too! If only we can hold out till we’re reinforced by more infantry … that’s the thing.”
MacKinlay laughed. “I doubt if Brother Boer knows just how badly we need reinforcements, James!” He held up his face in an attempt to catch an evening breeze: his skin, like that of all of them, was painfully burned from a day’s blazing sun, a day in which the unwounded among the officers and men had seen no water at all to help cool their insides and take the dust from dry throats. “Well — what’s your plan of campaign to be?”
“Simple and straightforward. When the light’s gone tonight, we just slip away, down the hillside — ”
“Do we? And what of the Colonel?”
Ogilvie said, “I’m saying nothing to the Colonel.” He remembered the way Dornoch had caught his eye that day, and the way he had drawn Thorneycroft out about Opperman for his benefit. “I’m pretty sure he’s given me tacit consent, which of course is not to say permission — I mean, he won’t want to know, but I do know he’ll turn a blind eye.”
“A little foolish, isn’t it — on your part and his?”
“I don’t think so. As I said, I can’t tell you everything. But does it make any difference to you? Naturally, I’d understand — ”
“No, no — no difference. I said I’ll come, and come I will. But when we’re down the hillside, what then?”
“We cut Opperman out from his commando, and make him ride with us to where Maisie. Smith’s being held. There’s Boer dead on the hillside — we’ll take their clothing. Opperman’s bound to have access to ponies. When we’ve got Maisie Smith, we rejoin with her.”
MacKinlay raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Simple — is it?”
“Perhaps a little exaggeration, Rob!”
*
It had been an appalling day, a day of blood and slaughter on both sides, and a day of complete misapprehension on the part of both Boers and British as to the remaining fighting potential of each other. Louis Botha’s burghers had grown despondent that all their gunfire, all the brilliance of their marksmen, had so far failed to dislodge the
defenders of Spion Kop; and many of those burghers were slipping away to the rear, going off on their ponies as they had so often done before when the victory did not come fast, rather than face the overwhelming numbers of men that they knew Buller had at his disposal and which they had no reason to imagine he would not commit. On the heights of Spion Kop itself, where these numbers had not in fact been deployed at all, indecision nagged like a cancer at the British command, indecision as bitter as the rain of shells sent down so continually and accurately by the Boer gunners. Those shells were crunching everywhere, wrecking the trenches, shattering even the piles of dead. The air was choked with dust and explosive fumes, and the survivors cried out for the water that never came. The firing-line was approaching utter panic and confusion as the rifle bullets, adding to the shellfire, snicked between the boulders. Sir Redvers Buller had apparently no idea of how badly events were going for his advanced force, and still he sent no reinforcements. By dusk Thorneycroft, gallantly holding on with dwindling numbers, watched helplessly as weary, frightened soldiers began slipping away down the hillside to the rear. He felt a galling sense of having been let down, of having been left by his seniors to defend an impossible position. He saw nothing but defeat looming, though Buller had enough troops at his disposal to send the, enemy flying back if he would only order them in.
Worse was to come when Colonel Crofton ran up through the fading light, dodging the shell-bursts. Crofton called out, “Buller’s withdrawn the 60th from Twin Peaks.” He pointed down towards the south, where across the Tugela a bonfire was blazing. “He’s lit that fire down by Spearman’s, to guide them in!”
“But … they took Twin Peaks … ” Thorneycroft’s voice held the tone of a broken man. “They took them!”
“Yes, indeed. But against Buller’s orders — so he’s ordered them back. I’m sorry. It’s dreadful news.”
Thorneycroft’s fists clenched hard. “In my view,” he said, “it’s better to save what men we can now, rather than be sent to blazes in the morning, Crofton.”
The Heart of the Empire Page 22