s all along the line, and
as more and more of our infantry came up and gun after gun roared into
action we began to push our stubborn enemy northwards. On the 21st the
Dorsets, Middlesex, and Somersets had borne the heat of the day. On the
22nd it was the Royal Lancasters, followed by the South Lancashires, who
took up the running. It would take the patience and also the space of
a Kinglake in this scrambling broken fight to trace the doings of those
groups of men who strove and struggled through the rifle fire. All day
a steady advance was maintained over the low kopjes, until by evening
we were faced by the more serious line of the Pieter's Hills. The
operations had been carried out with a monotony of gallantry. Always the
same extended advance, always the same rattle of Mausers and clatter of
pom-poms from a ridge, always the same victorious soldiers on the barren
crest, with a few crippled Boers before them and many crippled comrades
behind. They were expensive triumphs, and yet every one brought them
nearer to their goal. And now, like an advancing tide, they lapped along
the base of Pieter's Hill. Could they gather volume enough to carry
themselves over? The issue of the long-drawn battle and the fate of
Ladysmith hung upon the question.

Brigadier Fitzroy Hart, to whom the assault was entrusted, is in some
ways as singular and picturesque a type as has been evolved in the war.
A dandy soldier, always the picture of neatness from the top of his
helmet to the heels of his well-polished brown boots, he brings to
military matters the same precision which he affects in dress. Pedantic
in his accuracy, he actually at the battle of Colenso drilled the Irish
Brigade for half an hour before leading them into action, and threw
out markers under a deadly fire in order that his change from close to
extended formation might be academically correct. The heavy loss of the
Brigade at this action was to some extent ascribed to him and affected
his popularity; but as his men came to know him better, his romantic
bravery, his whimsical soldierly humour, their dislike changed into
admiration. His personal disregard for danger was notorious and
reprehensible. 'Where is General Hart?' asked some one in action. 'I
have not seen him, but I know where you will find him. Go ahead of the
skirmish line and you will see him standing on a rock,' was the answer.
He bore a charmed life. It was a danger to be near him. 'Whom are you
going to?' '