Climbing up a heap of loose stones a little to the right of the Devons, I could now see the Boers at the top of their position in the centre, moving about rapidly, taking cover, resting their rifles on the stones, and firing both at us and at the men who were pushing up the slope threatening their flank.  Meantime the artillery pumped iron and lead upon them without mercy.  Their own guns were quite silenced about this time, being unable to stand the combined shell and rifle fire.  But the ordinary Boers—­the armed and mounted peasants—­still clung to their rocks as though nothing could drive them out.

One big man in black I watched for what seemed a very long time.  He was standing right against the sky line, sometimes waving his arm, apparently to give directions.  Shells burst over his head, and bullets must have been thick round him.  Once or twice he fell, as though slipping on the rocks, for the rain had begun again.  But he always reappeared, till at last shrapnel exploded right in his face, and he sank together like a dropped rag.  Just after that the Manchesters and Gordons began to force their way along the top of the ridge on the Boers’ left.  They had the dismounted Imperial Light Horse with them, and it was there that the loss was most terrible.  Sometimes the advance hardly seemed to move, sometimes it rushed forward, and then appeared to swing back again.  It was six o’clock, rain was falling in torrents, and it was getting dark.  Perhaps the Gordons suffered most.  Fourteen officers were killed and wounded there, and next day the killed men lay thick among the rocks.  The Boer prisoners say the Gordon kilts made them easy marks.  But the Light Horse lost, too—­lost their Colonel, Scott Chisholme, who had been so eager for their success.  Still the Boers kept up their terrible fire, and the attack crept forward, rock by rock.  At the same time the Devons were called on to advance, and, getting up from the ant-hills without a moment’s pause, they strode forward to the foot of the hill, keeping up an incessant fire as they went.  Then we heard the bugler sounding the charge high up on our right, and we could just see the flank attack rushing forward and cheering.  The Boers were galloping away or running from the top.  The Devons also sounded the charge and rushed up the front of the position, but from that isolated hill on our left they met so obstinate a fire that the order for magazine firing was given, and for a few minutes the rifles rattled without a second’s pause, in a long roar of fire.  Then, with a wild cheer, the Devons cleared the position.  It is due to them to say that they were first at the guns.  Meantime, the “Cease Fire!” had sounded several times on the summit, but the firing did not cease.  I don’t know why it was.  Perhaps the Boers were still resisting in parts.  Certainly many of our men were drunk with excitement.  “Wipe out Majuba!” was a constant cry.  But the Boers had gone.