HANGING ON.

Evening Post, Volume LXIII, Issue 87, 12 April 1902, Page 5 (Supplement)

HANGING ON.

"Troops were drawn from the inconclusive left and s&nt lo thicken the crowds clustering in the Tugela gorge below our hill. Guns followed suit, crawling one lifter the othor over the pontoons, climbing the steep roads over the shoulder of Hlangwani, and disappearing silently into the- .woods between ifc and Monte Cristo. The broadside was contracting from seven miles to four — pulling itself together, as it were, for one terrific final punch at the big trench on this hilltop, the 'mark' of the Boer position. Then a path, well known for fifty years to Kaffirs and cattle-runners, was miraculously 'discovered' by the Intelligence, and very soon swarms of soldiers were digging on either bank of the river, preparing approaches for the pontoon, which by the night of the 28th was in position fight behind the sungnrs of the Irishmen. All the time the firing in front was as incessant ad the stir and labour behind. , The history of war has few situations more intense and perilous, to show than that in which the advanced lines of Boer and British riflemen found themselves during these four days of indecision.' Thousands of keen-eyed men were lying flat within a few hundred yards of each other along the stony shelves and ridges, peering, ducking, ahooting all day and all night. Arid such shooting! A rifle that will kill at 3000 yds is a curious weapon at 300. Words' cannot describe its Instantaneousness and force, or how the bullets rufehed across the trifling spoco with so many thousand yards of energy to spare, smiting tho stones like millions of hammers, splitting the smaller ones into bluish chips, splashing the larger , with hot films of shining lead. .The , air was one tremendous crack of rifles^no one could say whether of Mauser or I»eo-Metford, so close were the volleying lines of friend and foe. No one could look over his sangor j even the wagging in the wind of a little tuft of gras* upon , a sod placed as head cover here and r thero on the low walls drew a huudred whistling bullets towards it, until the } Tectaugle of turf disappeared, blowjfi to sand in a succession of dusty puffs itfhich i filled the eyes of tho soldier lying under it. "Some men bored tiny loopholes in their walls, jusf: ,big enough to admit a I rifle barrel ftnd tho glance of one eye [ along it. Even theso were detected, and , flakes' of hot lead camo spinning through them from bullets splintering against the , stones outside, atynging the watchful [ face behind it. Sometimes a bullet i fluked its way through entire, and then . the drawn face suddenly flushed and , paled beneath its covering of dirt and , sweat, aivd stink quietly forward— so quietly sometimes th»t tho mun'B officer lying a few feet away would wonder I why Private Jones had plopped firing, [ and would pass a cheery word along i to the dead ears to ' Keep at it, my boy P ; And Private Jones would be [ pulled out backwards and borne secretly i down the hill, with a tiny hole between i liis eyes and a huge hideous cno under i Ins drenched helmet at the back, nnd Private Brown would take his late loo>

hole and his chances, with a preliminary long screwed-up stare through the little funnel, and, try to discover its discoverer. And tho same thing was happening amongst tho Boers. Their sehanzes weie sheets of lead-film too, and tftoffol's bearded face would fall forward agauibt the wall, to bo replaced by Jan'a anxious one, with the keen animal eyes squinting along the Mauser as often aB poor Jones' | and Brown's three hundred yards away. Three hundred yards 1 Neither knew thtfb three hundred years separated the faces squab and bearded oud those clearout and shaven I ....