The troops advanced in grim silence against the savage-looking, rock-sprinkled, crag-topped position which confronted them.

They were in a fierce humour, for they had not breakfasted, and military history from Agincourt to Talavera shows that want of food wakens a dangerous spirit among British troops.
A Northumberland Fusilier exploded into words which expressed the gruffness of his comrades.

As a too energetic staff officer pranced before their line he roared in his rough North-country tongue, 'Domn thee! Get thee to hell, and let's fire!' In the golden light of the rising sun the men set their teeth and dashed up the hills, scrambling, falling, cheering, swearing, gallant men, gallantly led, their one thought to close with that grim bristle of rifle-barrels which fringed the rocks above them.
Lord Methuen's intention had been an attack from front and from flank, but whether from the Grenadiers losing their bearings, or from the mobility of the Boers, which made a flank attack an impossibility, it is certain that all became frontal.

The battle resolved itself into a number of isolated actions in which the various kopjes were rushed by different British regiments, always with success and always with loss.
The honours of the fight, as tested by the grim record of the casualty returns, lay with the Grenadiers, the Coldstreams, the Northumberlands, and the Scots Guards.

The brave Guardsmen lay thickly on the slopes, but their comrades crowned the heights.