A West Pointer with the Boers: $b personal narrative of Colonel J. Y. F. Blake, commander of the Irish brigadeBlake, John Y. Fillmore
History
A West Pointer with the Boers: $b personal narrative of Colonel J. Y. F. Blake, commander of the Irish brigade
Blake, John Y. Fillmore
South African War, 1899-1902
Counting the Boers on the right and left sides of the kop who also took
part in the fight, the total number of them engaged was about 600,
but the actual number on the kop, who alone fought the big English
force, was about 250 men. The Boers and the English were within easy
point-blank range of each other, and at some points no more than
fifty yards separated them. Here was the time, the place and the
opportunity for the British to display that bold courage, that dash
and fighting quality of which they have been boasting for centuries,
for, with their overwhelming numbers, they would have easily swept
that little handful of Boers off the kop. But they positively declined
to take advantage of such conditions to display British pluck and
courage, and, in the end, were themselves swept off. In their wars with
the blacks, it had been their rule to hoist the Union Jack, boldly
advance as at Khartoum, and when they discovered a horde of unarmed
and defenceless negroes, make a mad rush, fall upon them and shoot
them down; then apply the cold steel, and when they have murdered the
last one and see him lying at their feet, with blood gurgling from his
mouth, give three cheers for the Union Jack, and everyone at once apply
for a Victoria Cross.
But on Spion Kop it was different, for no Union Jack was hoisted, no
Union Jack brought to the battlefield, no rush was made, because a Boer
was there, with a mauser in his hand--and that was a horse of another
color.--So the British halted and trembled, and then threw up the
sponge and retreated as fast as their legs would take them, each hoping
that he might escape the fatal bullet and receive his well deserved
Victoria Cross. I may here add that when you find any one so decorated
with the Victoria Cross, you may generally put him down as a worthless
son of a lord, or as a puny specimen of a puny, dissolute, diseased
nobility, or the son of some moneyed, unscrupulous politician to whom
the English Government must bow in obeisance. One in a thousand who has
been decorated may deserve it, but I even have my doubts about that.
Nearly all the officers and men of the British army who have been given
the Victoria Cross you will find in an English company's cigarette
packages, and that is just where they belong.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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