And immediately the first rank dropped into the grass. Behind them the
other ranks lost their rigidity, as men hesitated.
'Get into the town,' a voice shouted. 'Take cover in the buildings.'
And they broke and ran, a thousand men, jostling each other racing for
the security of the cottages of Colenso.
Pouring into the single street, diving into doorways and windows.
Within thirty seconds they had all gone to ground.
'Now, what's this all about? ' demanded the Colonel, turning back to
Sean. Impatiently Sean repeated himself, standing out in the open and
uncomfortably aware that for absence of other targets the Boers were
beginning to take a very active interest in them.
'I,&
'Are you sure?'
'Dammit! Of course, I'm sure. The bridge is destroyed and they have
torn up all the barbed wire fences and thrown them into the river.
You'll never get across there. ' 'Come along. ' The Colonel set off
towards the nearest cottage and Sean walked beside him. Afterwards he
was never certain how he had managed to cover that hundred yards
without running.
'For God's sake, put that sword away,' he growled at the colonel as
they walked with the flit, spang, flit, spang of bullets around them.
'Nervous, Sergeant?' And for the first time the Colonel grinned.
'You're damn right, I am.'
'So am I. But it would never do to let the men see that, would it?', He
steadied the scabbard on his hips and ran the sword back into it.
'What's your name, Sergeant?'
'Sean Courtney, Natal Corps of Guides. What's yours?'
Sean ducked instinctively as a bullet cracked Past his head, and the
Colonel smiled again at the familiarity.
'Acheson. John Acheson. 2nd Battalion, Scots Fusiliers.
And they reached the cottage. No longer able to restrain himself, Sean
dived thankfully through the kitchen door and found Saul already there.
He handed Sean a cheroot and held a match for him.
'These crazy Souties! ' he observed. 'And you're as bad as he
strolling around in the middle of a battle.
'Right, Courtney. ' Acheson followed him into the kitchen.
'Let's go over the situation.'
He listened quietly while Sean explained in detail. He had to shout to
lift his voice above the whistle and crack of the Boer artillery and
the roar of a thousand Lee-Metford rifles as they replied from the
windows and doorways of the village. Around them the kitchen was being
used as a dressing-station and the moan and whimper of wounded men
added to the hubbub Of battle.
When Sean had finished Acheson turned away and strode to the window. He
looked out across the railway tracks, to where the guns stood. They
were drawn up in precise parade-ground formation. But now they were
silent. Dribbling back towards the shelter of a deep don ga-or
gully-in the rear, the surviving gunners dragged their wounded with
them.
