The operations of this day began with a sustained cannonade from the field batteries and 61st Howitzer Battery, which was as fiercely answered by the enemy.  About eleven the infantry began to go forward with an advance which would have astonished the martinets of Aldershot, an irregular fringe of crawlers, wrigglers, writhers, crouchers, all cool and deliberate, giving away no points in this grim game of death.  Where now were the officers with their distinctive dresses and flashing swords, where the valiant rushes over the open, where the men who were too proud to lie down?—­the tactics of three months ago seemed as obsolete as those of the Middle Ages.  All day the line undulated forward, and by evening yet another strip of rock-strewn ground had been gained, and yet another train of ambulances was bearing a hundred of our wounded back to the base hospitals at Frere.  It was on Hildyard’s Brigade on the left that the fighting and the losses of this day principally fell.  By the morning of January 22nd the regiments were clustering thickly all round the edges of the Boer main position, and the day was spent in resting the weary men, and in determining at what point the final assault should be delivered.  On the right front, commanding the Boer lines on either side, towered the stark eminence of Spion Kop, so called because from its summit the Boer voortrekkers had first in 1835 gazed down upon the promised land of Natal.  If that could only be seized and held!  Buller and Warren swept its bald summit with their field-glasses.  It was a venture.  But all war is a venture; and the brave man is he who ventures most.  One fiery rush and the master-key of all these locked doors might be in our keeping.  That evening there came a telegram to London which left the whole Empire in a hush of anticipation.  Spion Kop was to be attacked that night.

The troops which were selected for the task were eight companies of the 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, six of the 2nd Royal Lancasters, two of the 1st South Lancashires, 180 of Thorneycroft’s, and half a company of Sappers.  It was to be a North of England job.

Under the friendly cover of a starless night the men, in Indian file, like a party of Iroquois braves upon the war trail, stole up the winding and ill-defined path which led to the summit.  Woodgate, the Lancashire Brigadier, and Blomfield of the Fusiliers led the way.  It was a severe climb of 2000 feet, coming after arduous work over broken ground, but the affair was well-timed, and it was at that blackest hour which precedes the dawn that the last steep ascent was reached.  The Fusiliers crouched down among the rocks to recover their breath, and saw far down in the plain beneath them the placid lights which showed where their comrades were resting.  A fine rain was falling, and rolling clouds hung low over their heads.  The men with unloaded rifles and fixed bayonets stole on once more, their bodies bent, their eyes peering through the mirk for the first sign of the enemy—­that enemy whose first sign has usually been a shattering volley.  Thorneycroft’s men with their gallant leader had threaded their way up into the advance.  Then the leading files found that they were walking on the level.  The crest had been gained.