Throughout the day reinforcements had pushed up the hill, until two
full brigades had been drawn into the fight. From the other side of
the ridge Lyttelton sent up the Scottish Rifles, who reached the
summit, and added their share to the shambles upon the top. As the
shades of night closed in, and the glare of the bursting shells
became more lurid, the men lay extended upon the rocky ground,
parched and exhausted. They were hopelessly jumbled together, with
the exception of the Dorsets, whose cohesion may have been due to
superior discipline, less exposure, or to the fact that their khaki
differed somewhat in colour from that of the others. Twelve hours
of so terrible an experience had had a strange effect upon many of
the men. Some were dazed and battle-struck, incapable of clear
understanding. Some were as incoherent as drunkards. Some lay in an
overpowering drowsiness. The most were doggedly patient and
long-suffering, with a mighty longing for water obliterating every
other emotion.
Before evening fell a most gallant and successful attempt had been
made by the third battalion of the King's Royal Rifles from
Lyttelton's Brigade to relieve the pressure upon their comrades on
Spion Kop.
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