All this has to do with war only as it suggests one reason why the British soldier has met his master in the art of war in South Africa. The training that makes a fighting man, if not a soldier, is hunting where the snapping of a twig or the approach on the wrong wind means the loss of the prey. Guns and gunning are for the rich alone in England, and the class that makes up the rank and file of the army never have a firearm in their hands until they enlist. It cannot be expected, therefore, that they can become sufficiently proficient in its use to cope successfully in equal numbers with men who have handled rifles since childhood. Not even the London police carry firearms of any sort. The soldier is taught to load and shoot, and learns his marksmanship at the target ranges; but he might as well be taught pigeon-shooting in a street gallery with a .22 calibre rifle. Target practice and firing in action are different games, and the latter can be learned only by actual practice if the instinct is not present. When the British forces were landing at Beira, in Portuguese East Africa, to make their march into Rhodesia, there was a company of volunteers belonging to “Carrington’s Horse,” already entrained and ready to start for the front. In conversation with one of the men I found that they were from Edinburgh, and that the name of their company was the “Edinburgh Sharpshooters.” Merely from curiosity I asked what qualifications were required to join their organization of sharpshooters, and whether they had to make any particular score.