The position which had been assigned to the South African Light Horse afforded a close yet extensive view of the whole scene.  Deep in its gorge below our feet flowed the Tugela, with the new pontoon bridge visible to the left, just below a fine waterfall.  Behind us, on a rounded spur of Monte Cristo, one of the long-range batteries was firing away busily.  Before us, across the river, there rose from the water’s edge first a yellow strip of sandy foreshore, then steep, scrub-covered banks, and then smooth, brown slopes, terminating in the three hills which were to be successively assaulted, and which were surmounted by the dark lines of the Boer forts and trenches.

It was like a stage scene viewed from the dress circle.  Moreover, we were very comfortable.  There were large convenient rocks to sit behind in case of bullets, or to rest a telescope on, and the small trees which sparsely covered the ridge gave a partial shade from the sun.  Opposite our front a considerable valley, thickly wooded, ran back from the river, and it was our easy and pleasant task to ‘fan’ this, as an American officer would say, by scattering a ceaseless shower of rifle and machine-gun bullets throughout its length.  Under these satisfactory circumstances I watched the battle.

It developed very slowly, and with the deliberation which characterises all our manoeuvres.  The guns gradually worked themselves into a state of excitement, and what with our musketry, supplemented by that of the Border Regiment and the Composite Battalion, whose duties were the same as ours, and the machine-guns puffing like steam engines, we soon had a capital loud noise, which I think is a most invigorating element in an attack.  Besides this, the enemy’s sharpshooters were curiously subdued.  They found an unexpected amount of random bullets flying about, and, as they confessed afterwards, it puzzled and disturbed them.

The spectacle of two thousand men firing for half a day at nothing may provoke the comment ‘shocking waste of ammunition.’  Very likely there was waste.  But all war is waste, and cartridges are the cheapest item in the bill.  At any rate, we made it too hot for the ‘snipers’ to show their heads, which was certainly worth fifty men to the assaulting brigades.  This method of preparing an attack by a great volume of unaimed—­not undirected—­rifle fire is worthy of the closest attention.  I have only once before noticed its employment, and that was when Sir Bindon Blood attacked and took the Tanga Pass.  Then, as now, it was most effective.

While we were thus occupied the Infantry of Barton’s Brigade were marching across the pontoon bridge, turning to their right and filing along the sandy foreshore.  The plan of attack to which Sir Redvers Buller had finally committed himself was as follows:  Hildyard’s Brigade to hold its position on the low kopjes; Barton’s Brigade to cross the new pontoon bridge opposite to the left of the enemy’s position, and assault the hill marked ‘3’ on my diagram, and hereinafter called Barton’s Hill.  Next Kitchener’s Brigade was to cross, covered by Barton’s fire, to assault the centre hill marked ‘2,’ and called Railway Hill.  Lastly, Norcott’s two untouched battalions were to join the rest of their brigade, and, supported by General Hart’s Brigade, to attack Inniskilling Hill.