They were now going to join the man they adored, and take a hand in the great coming struggle.
It was November 3rd before our heroes managed to pass the rebel lines and get into Kimberley. Here they found the town in a state of siege, but well prepared. Cecil Rhodes was calm and cheerful, with no doubts as to the results of the war.
He welcomed the adventurers warmly, and heard the account of their travels with pleasure. The news they brought him also from the outside gave him great satisfaction.
“There is nothing else to be done now but to make ourselves as comfortable as possible here, and defend ourselves until we are relieved. We shall all have enough work to keep us from being dull.”
He was right, as our heroes found as the weeks rolled past. General Cronje and his army kept them in a constant state of attention and excitement.
Thanks to the personal magnetism of Cecil Rhodes, with his unfailing serenity and constant exertions to amuse the besieged townspeople, the first two months, although nerve-trying, were not unpleasant from a social point of view.
Balls, concerts, and parties filled up the intervals of bombarding and repelling the enemy. The town had been well provisioned, and the great empire-maker had taken previous precautions to outwit his rival, W.P. Schreiner, as far as could be done. Had the loyal colonists trusted implicitly in the Cape Premier, Kimberley, as well as Mafeking, must have succumbed in a month. This Bond leader had played his cards well to serve his friends the Boers at the expense of his fellow-subjects; but Cecil Rhodes, like Baden-Powell, found himself equal to the occasion.
Inadequately garrisoned as it was and imperfectly armed, the mines which they were protecting proved of invaluable service to them. From the débris they formed perfect forts and trenches, and soon made the place impregnable. They had a splendid mayor, a commander of infinite resources, and a garrison of undaunted heroes. The result was that they kept Cronje with his hosts and Long Toms at bay, and went on eating, drinking, fighting, and enjoying themselves in spite of the deadly dangers that environed them. Yet it was nerve-trying, and added grey hairs to every head in that beleaguered town, young and old. Out of bravado they might speak of those bursting shells and those numerous attacks as subjects for joking, but all the same, the sport was grim and heart-corroding.
Every hour had its casualties, with wounded and killed. No one knew the moment their own hour might come.
As time went on and they became more isolated from the world, it took a lot of pluck to keep a bold front to the relentless, treacherous, and dastardly foe. If they had not occasionally received news of the outside world by special runners, they must have lost heart long before their provisions became short.