There were eight mounted men sitting on horseback outside the head-quarters office.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” asked a man in the crowd.
“We are under Major Karie Davis with a despatch from General Mahon.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, we’ve come to relieve you fellows; but you don’t seem to care much whether you are relieved or not.”
Then the news travelled round the town; a great crowd gathered, and round after round of cheers broke out. The troopers were surrounded by enthusiastic citizens, cross-questioned, congratulated, slapped on the back, shaken by the hand, and offered—coffee!
Major Davis came out and called for cheers for the garrison; then all fell to hallooing of such anthems as “Rule Britannia” and “God save the Queen.”
Then the troopers of the Imperial Light Horse were taken in to supper.
About two in the morning the troops entered Mafeking—not quite 2,000 men; but when the townsfolk, hearing the noise, ran out into the starry, moonlit night, they saw such a host of horses, mules, and bullocks, such a line of waggons and camp-followers, and such a beautiful battery of bright Royal Horse and Canadian Artillery and Maxims that life seemed worth living at last. Those who did not laugh quietly went home and cried for joy. They had earned their day of delight.
Mafeking had endured 1,498 shells from the 100-pound Creusot; besides this, they had had to dodge 21,000 odd shells of smaller calibre. Men who saw Ladysmith said that the ruin at Mafeking was far greater.