Death on a Pale Horse Read Online Free PDF Page B

tent, then pausing. He was looking up at the skyline, the hills above the plain. What could he hope to see there, in the white glare of noon? Perhaps Lord Chelmsford’s column returning. But as he looked to left and right, he would sense a growing stillness across the field of battle. And in that stillness the colonel would know, as the quiet observer had known for many hours, that he and his entire force were doomed to die.
    To the south, on the right of the position, the red lines of the infantry were still holding firm, for the attack had been lighter. On the left, where the artillerymen had found refuge, the crackling volleys of the rifles sputtered and died. The forward ranks were almost face to face with the enemy. A metallic rattle and scraping followed the chilling command that echoed down the lines of white helmets and scarlet tunics from officers and NCOs:
    â€œCompany—Fix bayonets!”
    Pulleine must have wondered how it could have come to this. Perhaps he might guess. More likely, he would die and never know the reason. With the precision of a guards regiment on a drill square, the endangered platoons and companies had drawn bayonets in unison, counting three as the steel flickered bright in the sun, then clipping them in a single movement to the hot barrels of the rifles.
    With a howl of expectant triumph, Cetewayo’s warriors flung down their shields, raised their fine-honed assegais in powerful fists, and rushed upon the redcoat line. The bayonets of the 24th held them for an instant. But as each rifleman sank his blade under the breastbone of an assailant, a new wave of the warriors broke over his position. Before the bayonets could be withdrawn, the first riflemen were cut down by the Uvi and Umcijo.
    The 24th infantry pulled back, leaving dead and wounded on the rough grass over which the line of the advance swept forward. The Natal Cavalry, fighting on foot, though entirely unprepared for hand-to-hand combat, was the next in danger of being cut off as the 24th fell back. But many of these dismounted riders turned, found their horses, and galloped for safety in the hills. Another gap in the northern flank was now undefended. The remaining artillery pieces stood forlorn and isolated in the wake of the advance.
    The watching horseman again turned his field-glasses to the wagon-park below him. The orderly queue of blue-uniformed bandsmen had become a rabble of musicians, cooks, batmen, grooms, and orderlies. The tailboard of every ammunition wagon was down and a dozen of the heavy wooden boxes with their rope handles stood in two lines. Quartermaster Bloomfield was struggling with a powerful turn-screw to twist the thread of one of the steel bolts, sunken and rusted into the oblong boxes, holding the copper bands and heavy lids in place. There was a shout across the yard.
    â€œThe turn-screw drivers are too narrow! They’re not Boxer calibre!”
    â€œThey surely must be! They were checked!”
    â€œGod help us, we have been given the wrong calibre for .450 ammunition crates!”
    Another shout rang back.
    â€œThen the boxes must be broken open, Mr. Bloomfield! A mallet or rifle butt! Nothing metal. There must not be a spark! Make a start! Some of these packets are to be carried half a mile to forward companies.”
    This reply had come from a supply officer, whom the onlooker identified as Lieutenant Smith-Dorrien. His disorganised queues of bandsmen and supernumeraries now scattered and began to attack the abandoned boxes. At the far end of the transport-park, there was a sound of hooves. Captain Bonham and two corporals of the Newcastle Mounted Infantry appeared at a gallop. Bonham swung round to face the supply officer, his voice carrying through the warm air.
    â€œMr. Smith-Dorrien! Captain Wardell’s compliments. H Company’s ammunition is exhausted. The 24th must abandon their present position and fall back almost to this point unless you can give our runners