A small hamlet called Rosmead formed, however, a point d'appui, and to this the infantry clung tenaciously, while reinforcements dribbled across to them from the farther side.
'Now, boys, who's for otter hunting ?' cried Major Coleridge, of the North Lancashires, as he sprang into the water.

How gladly on that baking, scorching day did the men jump into the river and splash over, to climb the opposite bank with their wet khaki clinging to their figures! Some blundered into holes and were rescued by grasping the unwound putties of their comrades.

And so between three and four o'clock a strong party of the British had established their position upon the right flank of the Boers, and were holding on like grim death with an intelligent appreciation that the fortunes of the day depended upon their retaining their grip.
'Hollo, here is a river!' cried Codrington when he led his forlorn hope to the right and found that the Riet had to be crossed.

'I was given to understand that the Modder was fordable everywhere,' says Lord Methuen in his official despatch.

One cannot read the account of the operations without being struck by the casual, sketchy knowledge which cost us so dearly.