"I don't think that even at
Badajos, British soldiers were ever sent on a more desperate enterprise.
It looks as if nothing could live under that fire even now; what will it
be when they get closer?"
Not a shot was fired by the advancing infantry in reply to the storm of
bullets from the Boer marksmen. Every round of ammunition might be
wanted yet, and it would only be wasted on an invisible foe. They took
advantage of what little shelter could be obtained, sometimes close to
the river bank, sometimes following some slight depression which
afforded at least a partial protection. At last they reached a deep
donga running into the river; this was crossed by a small bridge, and in
passing over it they had to run the gauntlet of the Boer fire. Many fell
here, but the stream of men passed on, and then at a double rushed to a
sheltered spot close to the foot of the ascent, where they had been
ordered to gather. Here they had a breathing space. Their real work was
yet to begin, but already their casualties had been numerous. The
Inniskillings alone had lost thirty-eight killed and wounded. Not a word
had been spoken among the little group on the hill, for the last ten
minutes; they stood with tightly-pressed lips, breath coming hard, and
pale faces looking at the scene.
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