Of all the daring and skilful attacks delivered by the Boers during the war there is certainly none more remarkable than this one.  At two o’clock in the morning of a moonlight night De Wet’s forlorn hope assembled at the base of the hill and clambered up to the summit.  The fact that it was Christmas Eve may conceivably have had something to do with the want of vigilance upon the part of the sentries.  In a season of good will and conviviality the rigour of military discipline may insensibly relax.  Little did the sleeping Yeomen in the tents, or the drowsy outposts upon the crest, think of the terrible Christmas visitors who were creeping on to them, or of the grim morning gift which Santa Claus was bearing.

The Boers, stealing up in their stockinged feet, poured under the crest until they were numerous enough to make a rush.  It is almost inconceivable how they could have got so far without their presence being suspected by the sentries—­but so it was.  At last, feeling strong enough to advance, they sprang over the crest and fired into the pickets, and past them into the sleeping camp.  The top of the hill being once gained, there was nothing to prevent their comrades from swarming up, and in a very few minutes nearly a thousand Boers were in a position to command the camp.  The British were not only completely outnumbered, but were hurried from their sleep into the fight without any clear idea as to the danger or how to meet it, while the hissing sleet of bullets struck many of them down as they rushed out of their tents.  Considering how terrible the ordeal was to which they were exposed, these untried Yeomen seem to have behaved very well.  ’Some brave gentlemen ran away at the first shot, but I am thankful to say they were not many,’ says one of their number.  The most veteran troops would have been tried very high had they been placed in such a position.  ’The noise and the clamour,’ says one spectator, ’were awful.  The yells of the Dutch, the screams and shrieks of dying men and horses, the cries of natives, howls of dogs, the firing, the galloping of horses, the whistling of bullets, and the whirr volleys make in the air, made up such a compound of awful and diabolical sounds as I never heard before nor hope to hear again.  In the confusion some of the men killed each other and some killed themselves.  Two Boers who put on helmets were killed by their own people.  The men were given no time to rally or to collect their thoughts, for the gallant Boers barged right into them, shooting them down, and occasionally being shot down, at a range of a few yards.  Harwich and Watney, who had charge of the maxim, died nobly with all the men of their gun section round them.  Reed, the sergeant-major, rushed at the enemy with his clubbed rifle, but was riddled with bullets.  Major Williams, the commander, was shot through the stomach as he rallied his men.  The gunners had time to fire two rounds before they were overpowered and shot down to a man.  For half an hour the resistance was maintained, but at the end of that time the Boers had the whole camp in their possession, and were already hastening to get their prisoners away before the morning should bring a rescue.