And now amid the hissing of the rain there came the fuller, more menacing whine of the Mauser bullets, and the ridge rattled from end to end with the rifle fire.  Men fell fast, but their comrades pressed hotly on.  There was a long way to go, for the summit of the position was nearly 800 feet above the level of the railway.  The hillside, which had appeared to be one slope, was really a succession of undulations, so that the advancing infantry alternately dipped into shelter and emerged into a hail of bullets.  The line of advance was dotted with khaki-clad figures, some still in death, some writhing in their agony.  Amid the litter of bodies a major of the Gordons, shot through the leg, sat philosophically smoking his pipe.  Plucky little Chisholm, Colonel of the Imperials, had fallen with two mortal wounds as he dashed forward waving a coloured sash in the air.  So long was the advance and so trying the hill that the men sank panting upon the ground, and took their breath before making another rush.  As at Talana Hill, regimental formation was largely gone, and men of the Manchesters, Gordons, and Imperial Light Horse surged upwards in one long ragged fringe, Scotchman, Englishman, and British Africander keeping pace in that race of death.  And now at last they began to see their enemy.  Here and there among the boulders in front of them there was the glimpse of a slouched hat, or a peep at a flushed bearded face which drooped over a rifle barrel.  There was a pause, and then with a fresh impulse the wave of men gathered themselves together and flung themselves forward.  Dark figures sprang up from the rocks in front.  Some held up their rifles in token of surrender.  Some ran with heads sunk between their shoulders, jumping and ducking among the rocks.  The panting breathless climbers were on the edge of the plateau.  There were the two guns which had flashed so brightly, silenced now, with a litter of dead gunners around them and one wounded officer standing by a trail.  A small body of the Boers still resisted.  Their appearance horrified some of our men.  ’They were dressed in black frock coats and looked like a lot of rather seedy business men,’ said a spectator.  ’It seemed like murder to kill them.’  Some surrendered, and some fought to the death where they stood.  Their leader Koch, an old gentleman with a white beard, lay amidst the rocks, wounded in three places.  He was treated with all courtesy and attention, but died in Ladysmith Hospital some days afterwards.

In the meanwhile the Devonshire Regiment had waited until the attack had developed and had then charged the hill upon the flank, while the artillery moved up until it was within 2000 yards of the enemy’s position.  The Devons met with a less fierce resistance than the others, and swept up to the summit in time to head off some of the fugitives.  The whole of our infantry were now upon the ridge.