1900 - Diary of the siege of Mafeking by Edward Ross
Thursday, 8 March
The very last news we have yet had came in this morning, viz., the capture of Cronje and his commandos, unconditionally. Hurrah, if it is only true, what a smack in the eye it will be for them. All on Majuba day. How grand to wipe out that never forgotten stain. It is also said that the Republics asked for a three days’ armistice which was refused them. That’s the talk, surrender unconditionally or fight to a finish. How about shelling our women’s laager, hospital and convent? Never mind, poor old Mafeking is going to come out on top after all. I wish we had Labby here, I guess he would sing another tune. We’d make him do duty as a trench dummy out at the brickfields. I wonder how he would like his pals the Boers throwing hand-dynamite grenades at him.
The runners this morning also brought the news of Colesberg's surrender, and that it was Dordrecht not Colesberg that had been taken at the point of the bayonet.
Since the above news two other runners have come in from Polfontein, Transvaal, and they tell us that Joubert11 has also surrendered, but this is too good to believe, I think they must have got mixed up with the news re Cronje. They also say the Boers intend leaving on the 9th, that is tomorrow, but before going they intend giving us a heavy shelling and a lot of fighting so as to cover their retreat. Tomorrow will show us how much truth there is in their statements.
The enemy let fly Big Ben at us at about seven this morning, but did no damage. But all day they have given us a rest with the exception of continual sniping. If only that big gun was away we should have quite a good time of it, especially hunting up rations, etc.
It really does seem funny what little notice anybody now takes of Mausers, 5-pounders, 7-pounders, or any other pounders excepting Big Ben, and yet I can well remember at the commencement of the siege how the idea of shells of any sort coming made many squirm, including of course myself, and dive down their rat-holes or cellars, but now only the firing-bell of the long ’un makes us hop down, to come up again smiling immediately after she’s ''bumped”.