he Canadians, the Australians, and several line regiments were moved
up on the line from De Aar to Belmont. It appeared to the public at
home that there was the material for an overwhelming advance; but the
ordinary observer, and even perhaps the military critic, had not yet
appreciated how great is the advantage which is given by modern weapons
to the force which acts upon the defensive. With enormous pains Cronje
and De la Rey were entrenching a most formidable position in front of
our advance, with a confidence, which proved to be justified that it
would be on their own ground and under their own conditions that in
this, as in the three preceding actions, we should engage them.

On the morning of Saturday, December 9th, the British General made an
attempt to find out what lay in front of him amid that semicircle of
forbidding hills. To this end he sent out a reconnaissance in the early
morning, which included G Battery Horse Artillery, the 9th Lancers, and
the ponderous 4.7 naval gun, which, preceded by the majestic march
of thirty-two bullocks and attended by eighty seamen gunners, creaked
forwards over the plain. What was there to shoot at in those sunlit
boulder-strewn hills in front? They lay silent and untenanted in the
glare of the African day. In vain the great gun exploded its huge shell
with its fifty pounds of lyddite over the ridges, in vain the smaller
pieces searched every cleft and hollow with their shrapnel. No answer
came from the far-stretching hills. Not a flash or twinkle betrayed the
fierce bands who lurked among the boulders. The force returned to camp
no wiser than when it left.

There was one sight visible every night to all men which might well
nerve the rescuers in their enterprise. Over the northern horizon,
behind those hills of danger, there quivered up in the darkness one
long, flashing, quivering beam, which swung up and down, and up
again like a seraphic sword-blade. It was Kimberley praying for help,
Kimberley solicitous for news. Anxiously, distractedly, the great De
Beers searchlight dipped and rose. And back across the twenty miles
of darkness, over the hills where Cronje lurked, there came that other
southern column of light which answered, and promised, and soothed. 'Be
of good heart, Kimberley. We are here! The Empire is behind us. We have
not forgotten you. It may be days, or it may be weeks, but rest assured
that we are coming.'

About three in the afternoon of Sunday, Decemb