aren't the guns firing? What's happened to Colonel Long?
'The guns have been silenced. Long is badly wounded.'
While Buller sat his horse, slowly absorbing this, a sergeant of the
Transvaal Staats Artillerie jerked the lanyard of his quick firing
Nordenfelt and fired the shell which changed a British reverse into a
resounding defeat that would echo around the world. From out of the
broken and rocky complex of hills on the north bank the shell arched
upwards; over the river with its surface churned to brown by shrapnel
and short shell and blood; high over the deserted guns manned only by
corpses; shrieking over the heads of the surviving gunners as they
crouched in the rear with their wounded, forcing them to duck as they
had ducked a thousand times before; plunging in its descent over the
town of Colenso where weary men waited; down across thorn tree and
mimosa and brown grass veld littered with dead men; falling at last in
a tall jump of dust and smoke in the midst of General Buller's staff.
Beneath him Garry's horse dropped, killed instantly, pinning his leg so
that had it been flesh and bone, not carved oak, it would have been
crushed. He felt the blood soaking through his tunic and splattered in
his face and mouth.
'I've been hit. Help me, God help me, I'm wounded.' And he writhed
and struggled in the grass, wiping the blood on his face.
Rough hands freed his leg and dragged him clear of his horse.
'Not your blood. You're all right. Not your blood, it's his. ' On
his hands and knees Garry stared in horror at the Surgeon-Major who had
stood beside him and who had shielded him from the blast. Shrapnel had
cut his head away, and the blood still spouted from his neck as though
it were a severed hose.
Around him men fought their panic-stricken horses as they reared and
whinnied. Buller was doubled up in the saddle, clutching the side of
his chest.
'Sir, sir. Are you all right?' An ADC had the reins and was bringing
Buller's horse under control. TWo officers ran to Buller and helped
him down. He stood between them, his face contorted with pain, and his
voice when he spoke was shaky, but hoarse.
'Disengage, Lyttelton! Disengage on your whole front!'
'Sir,' protested the Brigadier. 'We hold the town. Let me cover the
guns until nightfall when we can retrieve them at our . . . ' .
'Damn you, Lyttelton. You heard me. Pull your brigade back
immediately. The attack has failed. ' Buller's breathing wheezed in
his throat and he still clutched the side of his chest with both
hands.
'To withdraw now will mean accepting heavier losses than we have
suffered already. The enemy artillery is accurately ranged
'Pull them out, do you hear me!' Buller's voice rose to a shout.
'The guns . Lyttelton tried again, but Buller had already turned to
his ADC.
'Send riders to Lord Dundonald's Brigade. He must retire immediately.
I give him no latitude of discretion, he is to disengage his force at
once and withdraw. Tell him ... tell him the attack has failed on left
and centre, tell him the guns are lost and he is in danger of being
