The nearest drift to Cronje was only a mile or two distant, Klipkraal the name; next to that the Paardeberg Drift; next to that the Wolveskraal Drift, each about seven miles from the other.  Had Cronje pushed on instantly after the action, he might have got across at Klipkraal.  But men, horses, and bullocks were equally exhausted after a long twenty-four hours’ marching and fighting.  He gave his weary soldiers some hours’ rest, and then, abandoning seventy-eight of his wagons, he pushed on before daylight for the farthest off of the three fords (Wolveskraal Drift).  Could he reach and cross it before his enemies, he was safe.  The Klipkraal Drift had in the meanwhile been secured by the Buffs, the West Ridings, and the Oxfordshire Light Infantry after a spirited little action which, in the rapid rush of events, attracted less attention than it deserved.  The brunt of the fighting fell upon the Oxfords, who lost ten killed and thirty-nine wounded.  It was not a waste of life, however, for the action, though small and hardly recorded, was really a very essential one in the campaign.

But Lord Roberts’s energy had infused itself into his divisional commanders, his brigadiers, his colonels, and so down to the humblest Tommy who tramped and stumbled through the darkness with a devout faith that ‘Bobs’ was going to catch ‘old Cronje’ this time.  The mounted infantry had galloped round from the north to the south of the river, crossing at Klip Drift and securing the southern end of Klipkraal.  Thither also came Stephenson’s brigade from Kelly-Kenny’s Division, while Knox, finding in the morning that Cronje was gone, marched along the northern bank to the same spot.  As Klipkraal was safe, the mounted infantry pushed on at once and secured the southern end of the Paardeberg Drift, whither they were followed the same evening by Stephenson and Knox.  There remained only the Wolveskraal Drift to block, and this had already been done by as smart a piece of work as any in the war.  Wherever French has gone he has done well, but his crowning glory was the movement from Kimberley to head off Cronje’s retreat.

The exertions which the mounted men had made in the relief of Kimberley have been already recorded.  They arrived there on Thursday with their horses dead beat.  They were afoot at three o’clock on Friday morning, and two brigades out of three were hard at work all day in an endeavour to capture the Dronfield position.  Yet when on the same evening an order came that French should start again instantly from Kimberley and endeavour to head Cronje’s army off, he did not plead inability, as many a commander might, but taking every man whose horse was still fit to carry him (something under two thousand out of a column which had been at least five thousand strong), he started within a few hours and pushed on through the whole night.  Horses died under their riders, but still the column marched over the shadowy veld under the brilliant stars.  By happy chance