He had learned that,
under such fire, a man's first duty was to drop flat on his face, to
push up a tiny breastwork of earth and to fire from behind that
slender shelter. England could not afford to send her sons over seas
for the sake of having them slaughtered by needless obedience to the
laws of martial good form. Fighting a nation of hunters, they too
must adopt the methods of the hunt. And, most of all, Captain Frazer
had learned the imperative need of mounted riflemen. Two months
before, while lying up at Durban until his wrist had healed from a
Mauser bullet, he had come into close contact with the Marquis of
Tullibardine. As a result of that contact, January had found Captain
Frazer in Cape Town, ready to take command of the newly enlisted
Scottish Horse.
Now, as he looked over his force at Piquetberg Road, he was
congratulating himself that his men were fit for service, very fit.
Frazer knew something of men. Experience had assured him that these
men were worth training and his months of service under the great
Field Marshal had taught him that an officer could be a man among
his men, yet lose not one jot of his dignity. Accordingly, Frazer
set himself to the task in band.
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