The historian must be content to give a tame account of the siege of Kimberley, for the thing itself was tame.  Indeed ‘siege’ is a misnomer, for it was rather an investment or a blockade.  Such as it was, however, the inhabitants became very restless under it, and though there were never any prospects of surrender the utmost impatience began to be manifested at the protracted delay on the part of the relief force.  It was not till later that it was understood how cunningly Kimberley had been used as a bait to hold the enemy until final preparations had been made for his destruction.

And at last the great day came.  It is on record how dramatic was the meeting between the mounted outposts of the defenders and the advance guard of the relievers, whose advent seems to have been equally unexpected by friend and foe.  A skirmish was in progress on February 15th between a party of the Kimberley Light Horse and of the Boers, when a new body of horsemen, unrecognised by either side, appeared upon the plain and opened fire upon the enemy.  One of the strangers rode up to the patrol.  ’What the dickens does K.L.  H. mean on your shoulder-strap?’ he asked.  ’It means Kimberley Light Horse.  Who are you?’ ‘I am one of the New Zealanders.’  Macaulay in his wildest dream of the future of the much-quoted New Zealander never pictured him as heading a rescue force for the relief of a British town in the heart of Africa.

The population had assembled to watch the mighty cloud of dust which rolled along the south-eastern horizon.  What was it which swept westwards within its reddish heart?  Hopeful and yet fearful they saw the huge bank draw nearer and nearer.  An assault from the whole of Cronje’s army was the thought which passed through many a mind.  And then the dust-cloud thinned, a mighty host of horsemen spurred out from it, and in the extended far-flung ranks the glint of spearheads and the gleam of scabbards told of the Hussars and Lancers, while denser banks on either flank marked the position of the whirling guns.  Wearied and spent with a hundred miles’ ride the dusty riders and the panting, dripping horses took fresh heart as they saw the broad city before them, and swept with martial rattle and jingle towards the cheering crowds.  Amid shouts and tears French rode into Kimberley while his troopers encamped outside the town.

To know how this bolt was prepared and how launched, the narrative must go back to the beginning of the month.  At that period Methuen and his men were still faced by Cronje and his entrenched forces, who, in spite of occasional bombardments, held their position between Kimberley and the relieving army.  French, having handed over the operations at Colesberg to Clements, had gone down to Cape Town to confer with Roberts and Kitchener.  Thence they all three made their way to the Modder River, which was evidently about to be the base of a more largely conceived series of operations than any which had yet been undertaken.