and the effort was repelled. On their furthest left the
British had better success. There the advanced kopjes supported the
movement, and there the enemy's fire was weakest. A place deep
{p.158} but passable was found, and the Boers' right flank was turned
under a heavy fire of infantry supported by a battery. First a party
of twenty crossed, under Colonel Barter, of the Yorkshire Light
Infantry--the names of all the men who do such a deed should be
remembered, but their leader at least may be mentioned. Three or four
hundred followed, and fixed themselves on the north bank, winning the
outskirts of the village. Thence an advance of three-quarters of a
mile up the river-side was made, the general of the brigade having now
crossed; but this ground could not be held, and the British were
forced back. Reinforcements were sent, and in performing this service
Methuen's chief-of-staff, Colonel Northcott, was killed, the battle
raging along the front in full severity. When the fire ceased at dark,
the Boers still occupied their trenches, but the British were firmly
settled upon their right flank and rear, on the north bank, and had
possession of a practicable ford. During the night the Boers evacuated
their positions, and the field of battle remained with the British,
who continued to hold the line of the river {p.159} up to the time
that Roberts began his advance.

The battle of the Modder showed that, with the modern improvements in
rapid-firing arms, it is possible for troops well entrenched over an
extended front to sweep a plain field of approach with such a volume
of fire as is impossible to cross. This it shows, but otherwise the
lessons to be derived have been greatly exaggerated. Witnesses exhaust
their descriptive powers to portray the evidences of the innumerable
falls of bullets, shown by the kicking up of the dust. "A fire so
thick and fearful that no man can imagine how any one passed under or
through it. Many crippled lay flat for hours, not daring to rise for
succour. If any one asked a comrade for a drink of water, he saw the
bottle, or the hand passing it, pierced by a Dum-Dum or a one-pounder
shell. If he raised his head to writhe in his pain, he felt his helmet
shot away."[13]

[Footnote 13: Julian Ralph, "Toward Pretoria," p.
153.]

The impression produced by the scene is most forcibly betrayed by the
exaggerated phrase of the veteran commander in his first
telegra