shimmered ahead of the outriders from the column as they fanned out along the high ground that rose up into a cluster of rocks that the Boers called kopjes . Private Saul Rosenblum no longer felt the sweat that continuously covered his body under his heavy khaki tunic. Nor was the exhaustion of the forced march to Bloemfontein a consideration. It was something that he had long learned to live with over the four months he had campaigned in South Africa.
His tough little mount endured the same conditions of searing heat by day and bitter cold by night. If they were not sweating they were shivering. Not even the summer storms that came to lash the seemingly endless miles of rolling plains gave comfort to the soldiers advancing relentlessly towards the Boercapital in the Orange Free State under the command of General Lord Roberts.
The regular swish of the horses’ legs through the tall grasses was suddenly drowned by the shattering crack of Mauser rifles firing from the kopje ahead of the flanking outriders of the Queensland Mounted Infantry. Private Rosenblum was wrenched from dreams of a decent beef stew, a hot bath and clean sheets as his mount reared, the deadly rounds plucking at her body. She crashed to the ground, flinging her rider free.
‘Into ’em, boys!’ Saul heard Major Duffy roar amidst the terrifying crash of the high velocity rifle fire. He crawled painfully away from his horse as she thrashed helplessly on her side in the tall grass, her terrible dying whinnies of confusion and pain adding to the trooper’s fear. Although he still clutched his rifle in his hands despite the heavy fall, he realised that the bandolier of Lee Metford rounds slung diagonally across his chest had been flung away from him when he hit the ground.
Desperately feeling around for the precious ammunition, Saul soon found it a few feet away. Around him, horses’ hooves pounded the earth as the rest of the flanking party charged the knoll of rocks. A lethal hail of Boer bullets plucked the tips of the grass around him and Saul hugged the ground as if trying to be absorbed by the very earth itself. He knew from past experience that the Dutch farmers could be deadly accurate with their modern German rifles, so he dared not raise his head above the concealment provided by the tall grasses. But as quicklyas the incoming rifle fire had rent the hot air, it tapered off into a spasmodic sound of distant shots. He guessed the Boers had employed their ruse of harassing fire and then escaped down a reverse slope to their waiting mounts. There was no hope of catching the expert horsemen as they galloped away to do the same further up the track. Their own horses had been pushed far too long and were in no state to gallop after the Boer skirmishers.
Major Duffy appeared above him astride his mount and glanced down with an expression of concern on his face. ‘You’ve been hit, Private Rosenblum?’ he asked with a note of concern.
Saul eased himself into a sitting position and reached for his broad-brimmed hat. ‘No, boss. But it looks like old Nelly copped it.’
As Patrick reached down to help Saul to his feet the trooper gazed across to the rocky knoll at the rise of the undulating grassy veldt. With bayonets fixed, his comrades were on foot, searching amongst the rocks. Although Saul could not hear them, he guessed they were cursing the elusive Boer guerillas, who refused to stand and fight a pitched battle.
‘Anyone else injured?’ Saul asked the special services officer who had been attached to his unit of Queensland Mounted Infantry.
The QMI rode to a battle like cavalry men but fought on foot like infantry whilst their horses were held in the rear by a handler. On the seemingly endless plains of the South African campaign this strategy proved highly effective against an enemy that used the mobility of the horse to strike at theless mobile British army which was hampered by a cumbersome logistics system.
‘We were lucky – this
His tough little mount endured the same conditions of searing heat by day and bitter cold by night. If they were not sweating they were shivering. Not even the summer storms that came to lash the seemingly endless miles of rolling plains gave comfort to the soldiers advancing relentlessly towards the Boercapital in the Orange Free State under the command of General Lord Roberts.
The regular swish of the horses’ legs through the tall grasses was suddenly drowned by the shattering crack of Mauser rifles firing from the kopje ahead of the flanking outriders of the Queensland Mounted Infantry. Private Rosenblum was wrenched from dreams of a decent beef stew, a hot bath and clean sheets as his mount reared, the deadly rounds plucking at her body. She crashed to the ground, flinging her rider free.
‘Into ’em, boys!’ Saul heard Major Duffy roar amidst the terrifying crash of the high velocity rifle fire. He crawled painfully away from his horse as she thrashed helplessly on her side in the tall grass, her terrible dying whinnies of confusion and pain adding to the trooper’s fear. Although he still clutched his rifle in his hands despite the heavy fall, he realised that the bandolier of Lee Metford rounds slung diagonally across his chest had been flung away from him when he hit the ground.
Desperately feeling around for the precious ammunition, Saul soon found it a few feet away. Around him, horses’ hooves pounded the earth as the rest of the flanking party charged the knoll of rocks. A lethal hail of Boer bullets plucked the tips of the grass around him and Saul hugged the ground as if trying to be absorbed by the very earth itself. He knew from past experience that the Dutch farmers could be deadly accurate with their modern German rifles, so he dared not raise his head above the concealment provided by the tall grasses. But as quicklyas the incoming rifle fire had rent the hot air, it tapered off into a spasmodic sound of distant shots. He guessed the Boers had employed their ruse of harassing fire and then escaped down a reverse slope to their waiting mounts. There was no hope of catching the expert horsemen as they galloped away to do the same further up the track. Their own horses had been pushed far too long and were in no state to gallop after the Boer skirmishers.
Major Duffy appeared above him astride his mount and glanced down with an expression of concern on his face. ‘You’ve been hit, Private Rosenblum?’ he asked with a note of concern.
Saul eased himself into a sitting position and reached for his broad-brimmed hat. ‘No, boss. But it looks like old Nelly copped it.’
As Patrick reached down to help Saul to his feet the trooper gazed across to the rocky knoll at the rise of the undulating grassy veldt. With bayonets fixed, his comrades were on foot, searching amongst the rocks. Although Saul could not hear them, he guessed they were cursing the elusive Boer guerillas, who refused to stand and fight a pitched battle.
‘Anyone else injured?’ Saul asked the special services officer who had been attached to his unit of Queensland Mounted Infantry.
The QMI rode to a battle like cavalry men but fought on foot like infantry whilst their horses were held in the rear by a handler. On the seemingly endless plains of the South African campaign this strategy proved highly effective against an enemy that used the mobility of the horse to strike at theless mobile British army which was hampered by a cumbersome logistics system.
‘We were lucky – this
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