Kleinberg. At first it didn’t register – puffs of gunsmoke from invisible positions between the marching column and the guns. Was it yet another threat? Then he saw that the sharpshooter fire from Kleinberg was slackening, and well ahead of the advance he could just make out nearly invisible green-clad figures scrambling from one vantage- point to another.
‘The “light bobs”. Amazing fellows – specially trained at Shorncliffe with rifles to act as light infantry in any regiment. Work in pairs always, and can be relied on, out on their own. See now? I do believe they’ve got the Dutch rattled!’
The Kleinberg cannons were silent now: an attempt to slew them round to meet the marching 24th Regiment was stopped by the light bobs, who were systematically picking off the gun crews.
Trumpets sounded faintly from the 24th and the glitter of steel showed as bayonets were fixed. After a crashing volley, the redcoats broke into a mad charge directly at the cannons. It was too much for the Dutch who hitched up their guns and fled downhill, leaving their now exposed position to join the main army.
Baird’s tense expression cleared. ‘Ah! Those brave fellows have done fine work this day. Now it’s the turn of our other Highlanders.’
The line of kilted warriors tramped implacably straight ahead. Suddenly the entire front of the enemy erupted into musket-fire. Some of the Highlanders went down but the others marched on, the gaps filled immediately. At 250 yards a halt was called to bring their weapons to the present and open fire for the first time.
Smoke swirled over them as they reloaded, then the relentless advance continued. Kydd had seen nothing like it – the march into the very mouths of the enemy guns, the silken colours proudly floating above, the pipers in the forefront, their cold courage striking the fear of the devil into their opponents.
An officer was shot from his horse. He tumbled to the ground but gamely dragged himself to his feet and hoisted himself back into the saddle.
The lines were closing. It was now more than possible that the armies would meet in the shock of close combat.
A hundred yards – then fifty. Even to Kydd’s eyes there seemed to be an edgy turbulence in the opposing ranks at the approach of the ferocious Scots. The line stopped: a final crashing volley erupted and out of the smoke with a triumphant yell came the Highlanders in a wild charge. It was a fearsome and glorious sight: in the dust and smoke the gleam of steel as bayonets and broadswords clashed, man stood against man, strove and died – and in the chaos and noise the day was decided.
The Dutch centre gave way. The vaunted Waldeckers had fallen back, then turned and fled, and kilted troops punched into the very heart of the enemy. The cannon were overrun, the Javanese artillerymen slaughtered to a man. The French heroically attempting to close the line gave ground under the terrible onslaught and more Scots demons flooded through.
Their army now broken and isolated, there was little the Dutch could do except call a general retreat. Trumpets bayed, and while gallant bands still held their ground and fought, most took flight. It turned to a rout, fleeing Batavians throwing aside their equipment in their terror as they made off south.
Baird punched the air in elation. ‘That I had the cavalry to harry them now!’ He swore, then recollected himself and raised his telescope to scan the scene. Abruptly he lowered it and looked about him. ‘Ah, Captain Kydd,’ he called pleasantly. ‘If you would oblige me, sir?’
Kydd rode up to the beaming general.
‘The Dutch are in headlong retreat and my brave Highlanders are too fatigued to pursue them. I fancy they are heading for their camp at Riet Vlei to regroup and I wish to dissuade them by means of your excellent frigate. Shall you . . . ?’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ Kydd said promptly, raising his arm expectantly. ‘To be signalled,’ he told the waiting galloper, and handed him an order. The officer saluted, wheeled his horse around in the direction of Bowden at the shore signal pole and thudded off.
The arrangement was simple: on their joint diagrams the length of the shore was divided into lettered units of one hundred yards. The point specified, together with a number indicating the required distance inland, would be signalled to
Baird walked his horse forwards, down the slight gradient over which the First Brigade had marched to glory. The smoke and dust had nearly dissipated and the pitiless glare picked out the trampled field, scattered pieces of kit, and hundreds of bodies lying at random over the arid land. Some still moved, giving out their life in the torture of thirst under the scorching sun; others were still and lifeless, fat black African flies gorging on their congealing blood. Scattered groups of men roamed over the battlefield – whether in plunder or mercy was not clear.
It turned Kydd’s stomach: at sea there was none of the dust, stink or flies; no casual acceptance of heroism and lonely suffering. It was another, cleaner existence where men fought and died but with their shipmates. They were not left to choke out their lives under a cruel sun without a soul to know of it.
They picked their way over the desolation, the general’s face now a mask. A dispatch rider cantered up with a message, which he read with evident satisfaction. ‘They’re on the run, gentlemen. I have it here – they’re attempting to regroup at Riet Vlei.’ He thought for a moment and grunted, ‘I’m told there’s a farm ahead. We’ll set up there until things become clearer.’
It turned out to be one of the pretty whitewashed farmhouses, a little larger than the others and with the infinite blessing of a small pond and spring. Dozens of soldiers drank there thirstily while hundreds more weary infantrymen just sat on the ground, hunched and dazed.
Inside, Baird welcomed his commanders. Dust-streaked, their breeches torn by thorny scrub and hard fighting, their features were lined and marked by their experience. ‘We’ll press on, shall we, sir?’ a grizzled colonel muttered. ‘My lads need a spell only, then they’ll—’
‘They’ll be sore tired. Issue ’em with rum and biscuit after they’ve had their fill of water and we’ll wait to see what the Navy can do to stir up Janssens’s camp with their cannon. He’s yet to receive his reinforcements from inland and I’ve a suspicion we’ll have a tight run of it when he does.’
Kydd knew Bowden would have shifted the signal post down the beach to keep with the tide of battle and would let him know anything of significance. In fact the bombardment would be well under way by now, just as the first of the fleeing army were streaming in. He fancied he could hear the faraway mutter and grumble of the guns of his ship on the still, fetid air.
