The wounded of the Highlanders, lying close to the Boer trenches, were able to see a good deal of the enemy's movements. One of the Boers, a German in appearance, attracted great attention. Faultlessly dressed, with patent leather boots, and a cigar in his mouth, he was seen walking among the ant hills, alternately using field glasses and rifle, and picking off the British officers. The volleys and individual fire of our men failed to bring him down. He seemed to bear a charmed life.

Here again, as at Modder River, as the sun rose higher and higher and the heat grew intense, the men suffered agonies of thirst. The water bottles had long since been emptied. "The troops," wrote a Black Watch private, "were dying for want of food and water. The sun had risen about eight o'clock, and we lay there getting our legs burned and blistered—frightened to move, as the bullets were flying all around." Great, however, as were the torments of the whole and uninjured, even more terrible were those of the wounded lying out at the very front, close to the Boer trenches, and far beyond the reach of aid from the stretcher companies and ambulances. Yet the restraint of the stricken men was wonderful. The wounded, says Mr. Ralph, did not writhe or groan. Only one or two dying men cried for the doctor or begged to be killed. Others exclaimed in a low voice, "Oh, dear, dear, dear!" All wanted water and cigarettes. They accepted their lot with a sad and noble resignation. Many had been hit with expanding bullets, which, in defiance of the conventions of war, the Boers only too often employed. These described the sensation thus: "You feel," they said, "exactly as if you had received a powerful shock from an electric battery, and then comes a blow as if your foot (or arm, or whatever part it might be), was crushed by a tremendous mallet." The Mauser bullets, where they did not hit the bone, merely produced a stinging, burning sensation.

Many gallant efforts were made by the medical officers and others to succour the wounded. Lieutenant Douglas, of the Black Watch, under a tremendous fire, advanced and attended to Captain Gordon, who was badly wounded, and to others of the Gordons. Band-Sergeant Hoare, of the Seaforths, was equally conspicuous for his coolness and daring. He, unaided, carried a wounded officer on his back 800 yards to the rear. Here, as elsewhere, the stretcher bearers distinguished themselves by their calm disregard of death. Among the many noble deeds of this terrible day, that of Major Lambton, of the Coldstreams, deserves to be recorded. He refused to allow the bearers to carry him, when wounded, off the field, because this would have drawn upon them a heavy fire and would have imperilled their lives. In consequence, he was left upon the ground thirty-seven hours without food or water.

Meantime, the Gordons and the Guards were gaining ground considerably; the Guards even got near enough to catch a sight of the enemy in their trenches now and then, and to observe that from time to time they refreshed themselves from the gin bottles, which were always found in great plenty in the captured Boer positions. Soon after one, Lord Methuen sent orders to the Highlanders to hold their position till nightfall, when the Guards and the Gordons were to assault the trenches at the point of the bayonet. The difficulty of sending instructions to the fighting line upon the modern battlefield is shown by the fact that Lieutenant Cuthbert, the bearer of Lord Methuen's message, received a volley from the Boers, which killed his horse and riddled his accoutrements, fortunately without touching him. The order had been given in the teeth of the vigorous protests of one of the Guards' Colonels, who pointed out to Lord Methuen the hopelessness of undertaking such an enterprise with weary, hungry men, and without any adequate support. It was not that he or his men were afraid, but that one brigade had already been shattered, so that the virtual destruction of another must mean the complete ruin of the column—perhaps even its envelopment at Modder River camp, with the most disastrous consequences. Were Magersfontein taken, the second Boer position remained to be dealt with. Thus there was nothing to be gained by adopting the desperate course of imperilling the safety of the whole division upon another night assault.

And now the continual crackle of the rifle fire, which had somewhat abated for the last two hours, suddenly swelled in volume. Away in the front rose dense clouds of dust as from the march of a large body of men. At first it was thought that the movement proceeded from the Boers; but the painful truth was soon revealed. The Highland Brigade had given way once more. Threatened with a flank attack by the enemy, under a heavy cross fire, the shaken, thirst-tortured infantry could hold its ground no longer. Colonel Hughes-Hallett, whom the death of his senior officers had left in command, saw the plight of his men and gave the order to retire. "Back they came," says the Morning Post correspondent, "in a wave that no officer could stop. From a point of vantage on the Horse Artillery hill one could see them swarming like bees over the veldt till they were almost out of range, and the guns were left out in the open with no one to support them. It was, perhaps, the most unpleasant sight that a British soldier of to-day has ever beheld."

Colonel Hughes-Hallett's intention was only to fall back a short distance and not thus to leave the guns exposed; but the disheartened men were difficult to control. As the Highlanders fell back, the Boer fire became furiously rapid, and only the tempests of shrapnel from the British field guns prevented the casualties from mounting to enormous figures. Some of our guns actually got off not less than two rounds apiece in the minute. Yet, in spite of this all-important aid, the Highlanders suffered severely and had many casualties. The Gordons were left in an exposed position when the Highlanders fell back, and many of them were carried away in the retirement and thus were involved in the confusion. A few, however, stubbornly held their ground and rendered inestimable service. Their commanding officer, Colonel Downman, was mortally wounded, and was gallantly carried by Captain Towse towards the rear.

The retreat of the Highlanders left the artillery in a position of the extremest peril. A single bold dash on the part of the Boers, and the guns, it seemed to many, must have been lost. They were now far in advance of the infantry line and quite without support. Yet the Boers would not venture out of their trenches and trust themselves upon the open ground, and so the opportunity was lost. Only the small Scandinavian contingent, seventy men strong, pushed boldly forward and seized a kopje on the right. But here it was steadily received by the Guards; a murderous rifle fire was poured into it, and of its seventy men, but fourteen escaped unhurt and were taken prisoners. The others were killed or wounded by the rifle fire and shrapnel. At this moment a corporal of the Seaforths, who had been taken prisoner, disarmed, and placed in one of the advanced Boer trenches, under guard of an armed man, escaped. He snatched up his bayonet, attacked the Boer, and disarmed him in return, carrying off his Mauser and bandolier. With these trophies he safely regained his comrades.

To protect the guns, the Scots Guards were sent forward, and vigorous efforts were made to rally the shaken Highlanders. Major Ewart rode up with a message from Lord Methuen that all he asked was for the men to hold their ground till nightfall. Staff officers, officers, sergeants, and corporals set a fine example, reminding the heart-broken débris of what had been the day before the best fighting brigade in the British Army, of the call of duty and honour. The pipers wailed sorrowfully in their effort to stir the men by the sound of the martial notes to which they had often marched to glory. Major Milton, though he had received three bullets and was mortally wounded, was among those who distinguished themselves in the effort to encourage the Highlanders. "Men," he said, "you are not conquered, but repulsed." And it is to the credit of the men that, after the fearful surprise of the night attack, after the long ordeal of the terrible morning, they rallied once more, once more went back to face death and torture, and took ground close to the guns, where with difficulty they found some shelter from the bullets of the Boers. "Whoever," says a German officer, writing of Mars-la-Tour, "has been in so murderous a conflict as this will know what moral force, what confidence in one's own efficiency are requisite for such conduct at a time when nothing remains of a brigade but paper numbers. This force of will is needed in an army that is determined to conquer."

Throughout these tragical events, as in the earlier part of the day, the conduct of the artillery had been beyond all praise. Exposed to every shot the gunners stood firm, even when the troops before them were melting away under the trials of battle. Their magnificent behaviour saved the British Army from a great disaster, for, had they wavered, had they even relented their impetuous fire, Lord Methuen's force must have been riven in two. Magnificent, too, was the conduct of the Coldstreams. They, also, stood like a rock in the rout, though their position was one of great danger. It was at this time that Major the Marquis of Winchester fell dead, "displaying an almost reckless courage." But a few days before, not far from the very spot on which he died, he had jestingly spoken of his rumoured fall in the battle of the Modder River. And now death had claimed him. Throughout the day he had insisted upon walking to and fro along the firing line, instructing the men as to where they were to aim their fire. Bullets rained around him; several passed through his helmet and his clothes, but he seemed to bear a charmed life. The fatal shot pierced his spine.

The fight still grew in fierceness and intensity, though the second crisis had passed when the Boers failed to take advantage of the confusion of the Highlanders. Away on the left, General Pole-Carew, with the greater part of the Ninth Brigade, was demonstrating along the railway line and feeling the enemy's right to discover if it could be turned, as had been done at Modder River. But these efforts were unsuccessful; the line of entrenchments continued interminably far to the west, and was clearly held by the enemy in sufficient force to render an assault hopeless. Away on the right, the Boers seemed to be developing an attack and could be seen from the balloon concentrating for an advance. Hereabouts there was a considerable gap in the British line between the Grenadiers, on the right of the Coldstreams, and some companies of Yorkshire Light Infantry, who held a drift across the Modder and who were supporting the two Lancer regiments and the mounted infantry. The Yorkshiremen, however, met and defeated the Boer effort. With trivial loss they stormed a ridge held by the enemy, close to the river, and repulsed the counterstroke with a coolness and valour for which they received well-merited praise from Lord Methuen. In this brisk encounter they fired no less than 22,000 rounds. The Yorkshire Mounted Infantry had already begun to bring in the wounded on this flank and were far away from support when they were vigorously attacked by the Boers. Here Sergeant Casson, Lance-Corporal Bennett, and Private Mawhood did fine service, kneeling down in the open and by a steady and continuous fire checking the enemy. The Lancers' Maxims, too, were invaluable.

The afternoon was now declining, and it was evident to all, except to a few who took the Boer movement towards the British right for a retreat, that the battle was lost beyond hope. But the Guards would none the less have been sent in at dusk had not a fresh misfortune come as a blessing in disguise. Suddenly, after a prolonged silence since the early morning, the Boer artillery began to fire shell and shrapnel at the British guns. Just behind these guns were placed the sad remnants of the Highlanders—a dispirited mass of men in close order. One or two projectiles came shrieking amongst them, whereupon, suddenly and as if at the word of command, the men of the brigade once more precipitately retired, turning their backs upon the enemy and pouring in complete disorder past Lord Methuen's flag. This was the crowning touch—the culminating disaster. There now remained no troops whatever to support the Guards; for the Ninth Brigade would be needed to guard the flanks and the camp.

Lord Methuen now determined to cling stubbornly to his position, in the hope that here, as at Modder River, the enemy might retire during the night. Accordingly, though the infantry and artillery fell back from the most advanced positions, there was no general retreat. The whole force bivouacked on the field. The night, like its predecessor, was bitterly cold. It was again impossible to remove the wounded from the ground before the Boer trenches. Only a very few had been brought in by the devoted efforts of the medical staff and the stretcher bearers. The others had to spend a cruel night, tortured by cold, after the sufferings caused by the fierce heat of the day. Many officers and men were twenty, thirty, even thirty-six hours upon the ground, without food or water and with wounds undressed. Further to the rear the wounded were carefully attended to and sent back to camp during the night.

With day, the artillery recommenced its fire. The men of the Guards during the night had entrenched their position and were in good spirits, ready even for an assault upon the Boer lines in broad daylight. Meantime, Lord Methuen scrutinised the Boer trenches and received the reports of his Intelligence Department. Everything showed that the enemy still held their position. General Colvile was for continuing the battle, to wear the Boers down, but the other officers were all for a retirement, and it was evident that what the whole force could not effect upon December 11, was out of the question for it on the 12th, with quite one third its strength for all practical purposes eliminated. During the night the supply train had fallen back to the old camp, and now a general retirement was ordered. The moment the Boers observed that the British force was retreating, they opened a hot fire from all their guns. But the range was long and the effects of the fire insignificant; it did not shake or demoralise the British infantry, who slowly and steadily, as if on parade, marched back the three miles to Modder River camp, defeated but not disgraced.

Very early in the morning, a flag of truce had come in from the Boers requesting Lord Methuen to remove the British wounded who were lying close to the trenches, in the most urgent need of medical help. The motive of this message was kindly and humane, and it should be said that the enemy had treated the Highlanders with tenderness, giving them food and water and roughly bandaging their wounds. The ambulances at once pushed in, drivers and stretcher-bearers being blindfolded by the Boers, who streamed out of their trenches to watch the operations. "They were," says Mr. Ralph, "courteous, helpful, and respectful. By not one word did they give offence." Yet two regrettable incidents occurred. The first was that one of the ambulance men was found to have a revolver, and was seized and made prisoner by the Boers, despite his explanations and expostulations. The other was that the naval 4·7 opened fire suddenly upon the trenches. The officer in charge was unaware of the flag of truce, and saw, as he supposed, the Boers issuing for an attack upon our men. Fortunately, his shots had no effect and soon ceased, but the Boers were so incensed at what they considered treachery, that they opened a hot fire upon the Horse Artillery near them. The Horse Artillery made no reply, and, seeing this, the Boers also ceased fire.

Thus the battle had been fought and had issued in a complete check to Lord Methuen's division. The Highland Brigade had temporarily ceased to exist as a fighting force; its shaken and demoralised soldiers needed to be strengthened by rest and drafts of fresh men before they could again be sent into action. "I do not hesitate to admit that for months after Mars-la-Tour," says a German officer, who had passed through an ordeal as terrible as that to which the Highland Brigade was subjected, "the effects of the fire remained on my nerves. Troops that have to undergo anything of the kind are demoralised for a long time—not only rank and file, but officers as well." The subtle force known as morale, which is the mark of the good soldier, had been exhausted by the nervous strain of that night and day of continuous fighting.

The losses of the Brigade were, in detail, as follows, according to Mr. Ralph:—

As each battalion would not muster more than 750 or 800 men present and fit for duty, it follows that about one fourth of the Brigade was put out of action. The Black Watch was by far the worst sufferer; it lost nearly half its strength, the Seaforths about one quarter, and the other two battalions each about one eighth. The Boers took sixty-nine unwounded prisoners of the Brigade—a gallant little party, which had actually fought its way into their trenches, and had there been overwhelmed by numbers. They captured ten wounded men and buried fifteen whose names are not known. Of the prisoners they had taken, no less than forty-two were, through some error, reported to have been killed; their relatives were notified accordingly, and it was not till some weeks afterwards that the mistake was corrected, and that these men, so to say, came back from the dead.

The rest of the British forces engaged lost but lightly. They had 17 killed, 105 wounded, and 10 missing. The total list of casualties, as officially issued, is not in entire agreement with Mr. Ralph's figures, but places the loss at 171 killed, 692 wounded, and 107 missing, a total of 970, or not far from one tenth of the force engaged. As to the Boer losses there was really no information. Stories went round the camp to the effect that the slaughter wrought by the lyddite shells and shrapnel had been awful, whole commandos being "wiped out." But as the Boer trenches were in sandy soil where the lyddite shells would do little damage, and as the gunners had great difficulty in locating their exact whereabouts, it is most improbable that the enemy suffered heavily. Three or four hundred killed, wounded, and prisoners would be a fair approximation to their casualties.

Cronje's official account of the battle rendered full justice to the bravery and determination of the British troops. It was as follows, and it will be seen that it was comparatively accurate, though it just doubled the British losses:—

"Having received large reinforcements, and his army having rested since November 28, Lord Methuen advanced against General Cronje's army, which occupied a position extending for many miles on both sides of the railway. The fighting was opened by a heavy cannonading at four in the morning, under cover of which dense masses of infantry moved towards our position. They were received with a heavy, steady fire, which repulsed the advance before the English had come within measurable distance. A second attack met the same fate. The bravery of the English was wonderful against the hail of Mauser bullets that met them. About this time the corps of Scandinavians, who had a great record for reckless courage, charged. They were cut off on a scrub-covered kopje, and lost several killed and wounded and many were taken prisoners. In the afternoon all the British reserves were brought into the attack, which was delivered with sublime courage. The plains north of the Modder River were black with the forces deployed for the charge. But no courage could break through the Boer defences, and late in the day the British retreated to the Modder River, leaving the ground covered with their dead and dying.

"Exclusive of the losses suffered by the Scandinavians, of whom eighteen were killed and forty-three wounded and taken prisoners, the Boer loss was insignificant. The English loss in killed and wounded is calculated to be 2,000. Prisoners we have taken say that the Black Watch was quite cut up."

"But I shall never forgive myself, nor would you if you had seen the poor British mowed down at Magersfontein," wrote an English traitor present with the Free State forces, to his father. "But not a man did I fire at. That I made up my mind not to do.... You should see our entrenchments, for we burrow under the ground, and never get hit. Millions of pounds must have been shot away by the English gunners, and you, father, will have to pay for all the waste. It made me laugh to see the firing hour after hour and not one of our men hit. The English all start their engagements like that. They fire two days, and as they always follow the same childish plan we know they will not attack until after a day or two's bombardment. Then we come out of our burrows and simply shoot them down like deer. But I have not stained myself with English blood, and don't mean to.... It makes me proud of my fellow countrymen, and the good-class Boers regret having to kill such plucky fellows as they come along to their death. Like the Battle of Balaclava, it is not war, but it is magnificent. Poor chaps; I am sure they can never see us. One whole day of hard fighting we never showed ourselves, and I see by the papers that hundreds of English were killed, and especially the Scotsmen. Our loss was trifling. You cannot hit men with rocks protecting them all round, and who are underground when the cannons fire."

"Nothing," says Lord Methuen, in his official despatch, "could exceed the conduct of the troops from the time of the failure of the attack at daybreak. There was not the slightest confusion, though the fight was carried on under as hard conditions as one could imagine, for the men had been on the move from midnight and were suffering terribly from thirst.... The attack failed; the inclement weather was against success; the men in the Highland Brigade were ready enough to rally, but the paucity of officers and non-commissioned officers rendered this no easy matter. I attach no blame to this splendid Brigade."

In the camp the battle gave rise to much indignant comment upon the manner and disposition of the night attack. It was pointed out that such attacks are exceptionally perilous when made upon a vigilant, well-armed enemy, behind trenches and entanglements. It was asserted that every precaution required by the rules of military science had been disregarded; the ground had not been accurately and carefully reconnoitred; the exact location of the Boer trenches had not been ascertained. The march in close order up to the enemy's position was, indeed, defended by some as being both the natural formation for such a movement by night and the formation sanctioned by the drill book. But the experience of Lord Methuen's brief campaign had at least shown that open order could be used on a fairly fine night, and if the terrible weather of the night of December 10-11 rendered a night march impracticable, it was said that the attempt ought to have been postponed to some more favourable opportunity. The strongly-held opinion was that General Wauchope, an officer famous for his carefulness and attention to detail, had religiously carried out his instructions. But the official despatch clearly proves him to have deployed long after the hour which had been fixed in conversation with Lord Methuen.

Shortly after the battle Lord Methuen made a somewhat infelicitous speech. Addressing the men of the Highland Brigade, he sympathised with them over the heavy losses they had sustained. "The advance," he said, "was executed exactly to the time and place that I had given orders for, and we were within an ace of carrying the position in a short and decisive engagement. Everything depended upon one word; that word was 'Forward!'" No doubt there was this much in what he said, that had the Highlanders dashed at the trenches when they received the first fatal volley, they would have captured the position. But the General must be a judge of human nature and must know exactly what he can expect of his troops. The Highland Brigade was not composed of automata, and a strain had been imposed upon the nerves of the men which it was quite beyond their power to resist.

Among the few Boer prisoners taken in this engagement was a double-dyed traitor and thief named Greener. This man, a Sergeant-Major of the Royal Engineers, had been detected in wholesale theft at Aldershot. Deserting the colours and betraying the country which had given him birth, he fled to South Africa and took service with the Boers. So far as we can discover, the extraordinary leniency of the British suffered this rogue to retain his life. By any other nation he would have been summarily executed under the orders of a drum-head court martial.

After the action the chaplain of the Highland Brigade gave the dead Highlanders the solemn rites of Christian burial. He went to and fro among the enemy, who received him with an honourable regard when he came to inquire after the wounded and missing. "He told me," says Mr. Ralph, "that there were Englishmen, Irishmen, and Scotchmen among them, as well as the mercenary Germans and Scandinavians, serving for a gold krüger a day—which is to say, a pound sterling Dutch.... Everybody was courteous." And though they blindfolded the bearers and ambulance men, they did not fear his presence, open eyed, in their midst, nor did they put him under oath as to what he might reveal or hide. Their confidence, it need scarcely be said, was in no way abused.

With the men he had so valiantly led was buried the fallen General. The piper wailed "Lochaber no more" as they bore him and his stubborn countrymen from the battlefield to the fast-growing burial ground near Modder River town, where lie the bravest of the brave. "There," says the Daily News correspondent, "moved with slow and solemn tread all that remained of the Highland Brigade. In front of them walked the chaplain with bared head, dressed in his robes of office; then came the pipers with their pipes, sixteen in all, and behind them, with arms reversed, moved the Highlanders, dressed in all the regalia of their regiments, and in the midst the dead General borne by four of his comrades." The sad impressiveness of the funeral service was deepened by the circumstance that away to the north stood the defiant enemy—that round the grave were gathered, in battle-torn uniforms, the men who had faced the storm of bullets and borne the brunt of the fatal assault, only to win the bitterness of defeat. The bright hopes with which they had set out had been shattered and, it might be said, were buried in this grave with the fallen General. Man had proposed; God had disposed.