He realised the gravity of the
situation, but he was as calm as if he had been victorious in a battle. He
talked cheerily with his men, saying, "Let the English come on," and when
they heard their old commander speak in such a confident manner they
determined to fight until he himself announced a victory or a defeat.
On Monday morning it seemed as if the very blades of grass for miles
around the Boer laager were belching shot and shell over the dongas and
trenches where the burghers had sought shelter. Lyddite shells and
shrapnel burst over and around them; the bullets of rifles and
machine-guns swept close to their heads, and a few yards distant from them
were the heavy explosions of ammunition-waggons set on fire by the enemy's
shells. Burghers, horses and cattle fell under the storm of lead and iron,
and the mingled life-blood of man and beast flowed in rivulets to join the
waters of the river. The wounded lay groaning in the trenches; the dead
unburied outside, and the cannonading was so terrific that no one was able
to leave the trenches and dongas sufficiently long to give a drink of
water to a wounded companion. There was no medicine in the camp, all the
physicians were held in Jacobsdal by the enemy, and the condition of the
dead and dying was such that Cronje was compelled to ask for an
armistice. The reply from the British commander was "Fight or surrender,"
and Cronje chose to continue the fight.
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