they had had enough, but
Thorneycroft, a man of huge physique, rushed forward to the advancing
Boers. 'You may go to hell!' he yelled. 'I command here, and allow no
surrender. Go on with your firing.' Nothing could exceed the gallantry
of Louis Botha's men in pushing the attack. Again and again they made
their way up to the British firing line, exposing themselves with
a recklessness which, with the exception of the grand attack upon
Ladysmith, was unique in our experience of them. About two o'clock they
rushed one trench occupied by the Fusiliers and secured the survivors
of two companies as prisoners, but were subsequently driven out again. A
detached group of the South Lancashires was summoned to surrender. 'When
I surrender,' cried Colour-Sergeant Nolan, 'it will be my dead body!'
Hour after hour of the unintermitting crash of the shells among the
rocks and of the groans and screams of men torn and burst by the most
horrible of all wounds had shaken the troops badly. Spectators from
below who saw the shells pitching at the rate of seven a minute on to
the crowded plateau marvelled at the endurance which held the devoted
men to their post. Men were wounded and wounded and wounded yet again,
and still went on fighting. Never since Inkerman had we had so grim a
soldier's battle. The company officers were superb. Captain Muriel of
the Middlesex was shot through the check while giving a cigarette to a
wounded man, continued to lead his company, and was shot again through
the brain. Scott Moncrieff of the same regiment was only disabled by the
fourth bullet which hit him. Grenfell of Thorneycroft's was shot, and
exclaimed, 'That's all right. It's not much.' A second wound made him
remark, 'I can get on all right.' The third killed him. Ross of the
Lancasters, who had crawled from a sickbed, was found dead upon the
furthest crest. Young Murray of the Scottish Rifles, dripping from five
wounds, still staggered about among his men. And the men were worthy of
such officers. 'No retreat! No retreat!' they yelled when some of the
front line were driven in. In all regiments there are weaklings and
hang-backs, and many a man was wandering down the reverse slopes when he
should have been facing death upon the top, but as a body British troops
have never stood firm through a more fiery ordeal than on that fatal
hill...

The position was so bad that no efforts of officers or men could do
anything to mend it. They were in a murderous