With Rimington 
 
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Title: With Rimington 
Author: L. March Phillipps 
Release Date: February 21, 2005 [EBook #15131] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH 
RIMINGTON *** 
 
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Garrett Alley, and the Online 
Distributed Proofreading Team. 
 
WITH RIMINGTON 
BY 
L. MARCH PHILLIPPS 
LATE CAPTAIN IN RIMINGTON'S GUIDES 
 
SECOND IMPRESSION 
 
LONDON 
EDWARD ARNOLD 
37 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1902 
All rights reserved 
 
DEDICATION 
_This book is dedicated to the memory of my friend Lieutenant 
Gustavus Coulson, D.S.O., of the King's Own Scottish Borderers, who 
fell at Lambrechtfontein on May 19, 1901._ 
_The Colonel in command writes that in that action Lieutenant Coulson 
rallied some men and saved a gun from falling into the enemy's hands. 
He lost his life in bringing off a wounded man from under the enemy's 
fire. For this deed, the last of many deeds as brave, he was 
recommended for the Victoria Cross._ 
_I knew him from his childhood, and on the march from Lindley to 
Pretoria, and thence far south to Basutoland, we often rode together, 
and talked of West Country sport and his Devonshire home and faces 
that we both knew and loved there._ 
_A keen soldier, a cheery comrade, and a brave and kindly English 
gentleman, he stands, it seems to me, the very type of those gallant 
boys who in this South African war have died for England_. 
 
PREFACE 
These letters were written without any idea of publication, and it was 
not until I had been home some months that suggestions from one or 
two sources caused me to think of printing them. They appear much as 
they were written, except that sometimes several letters dealing with 
the same event have been thrown into one; and occasionally a few 
words have been added to fill up gaps. In no case have I been wise after 
the event, or put in prophecies which had already come off. 
The parts in inverted commas are extracts from note-books which I 
used to carry about in my pocket, and these passages I have left just as 
they were jotted down, thinking that such snap-shots of passing scenes 
might have an interest of their own. 
It is unlucky from a descriptive point of view that the big actions and 
fine effects should all have occurred during the first part of the war, 
leaving the dulness and monotony for the later stages. During the last
six months of my service it was not my chance to see any important 
action, though slight skirmishing was constant, and I find therefore 
nothing in the later letters of a very exciting nature. 
Such as they are, however, these letters contain a quite faithful account 
of things that happened under my own eyes throughout the chief stages 
of the western campaign. During the early part of the war many things 
happened that were splendid to see and that it gave me great pleasure to 
write about. During the later stages nothing particularly splendid 
occurred, though the patience and endurance of our men were in their 
way fine; but some things happened which were, as we say, regrettable; 
and these things also are in their turn briefly described. 
L.M.P. 
15 BURY STREET, ST. JAMES'S, S.W. 
 
CONTENTS 
LETTER PAGE 
I. ORANGE RIVER CAMP 1 
II. BELMONT 8 
III. GRASPAN 15 
IV. MODDER RIVER 22 
V. THE 4.7 30 
VI. MAGERSFONTEIN 34 
VII. A RECONNAISSANCE 43 
VIII. SCOUTING ON THE MODDER 49 
IX. THE ADVANCE 59 
X. RELIEF OF KIMBERLEY 63 
XI. PAARDEBERG--THE BOMBARDMENT 73 
XII. PAARDEBERG--THE SURRENDER 77 
XIII. POPLAR GROVE 83 
XIV. BLOEMFONTEIN 89 
XV. MODDER REVISITED 97 
XVI. JUSTIFICATION OF THE WAR 104 
XVII. THE MARCH NORTH 112 
XVIII. PRETORIA 126 
XIX. THE MARCH SOUTH 139 
XX. PRINSLOO'S SURRENDER--I 151 
XXI. PRINSLOO'S SURRENDER--II 165
XXII. FIGHTING AND TREKKING 173 
XXIII. WRITTEN FROM HOSPITAL 185 
XXIV. FIGHTING AND FARM-BURNING 192 
XXV. THE SITUATION 205 
XXVI. PLAIN MISTER! 217 
 
WITH RIMINGTON 
 
LETTER I 
ORANGE RIVER CAMP 
ORANGE RIVER, November 18, 1899. 
The sun is just rising on Orange River Camp. Our tents are pitched on 
the slopes of white sand, soft and deep, into which you sink at every 
step, that stretch down to the river, dotted with a few scraggy 
thorn-trees. There are men round me, sleeping about on the sand, rolled 
in their dark brown blankets, like corpses laid out, covered from head 
to foot, with the tight folds drawn over their feet    
    
		
	
	
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