Like the others he had lain in the high grass or behind a jutting rock, and had picked out his man; while beside him a twig would occasionally be snapped by a bullet, or splinters of stone strewn over him. This had been sharp, honest skirmishing, and he had had no scruple about doing as much injury to the English as possible. He never knew whether he had killed his man or merely wounded him. Either was possible; and did not war necessarily involve this?
At last, however, he had an experience that weighed more heavily on his mind.
It was near the Portuguese frontier on an open grassy expanse, somewhat resembling the heath by the practice-camp. They were hurrying onwards, hoping to reach neutral territory and escape capture by the English. Between them and the pursuing lancers lay only the deep channel of a river, whose waters lapped idly and languidly on the shore in the peaceful summer stillness.
An English officer came riding carelessly up to it, a fresh young lad. He had slung his carbine on his saddle, and was gaily flourishing a switch in the air and flicking at his brown leather gaiters. He was within speaking distance, his men were trotting far behind him.
Then one of the foreigners, a lean Irishman, reined in his flying steed. With a wild expression of hatred he raised his loaded weapon, took aim, and fired. The Englishman fell heavily backwards on his horse and plump into the shallow water.
The Irishman galloped up to Reimers' side. His ragged coat and brown weather-beaten face proclaimed the seasoned fighter.
"A good shot, mate!" he said. Reimers looked sideways at him and answered nothing.
The other waxed indignant, and began fiercely:
"Damn it, sir! Thirty years ago my father rented a farm in county Waterford that one of yon fellow's breed coveted. My father died in Philadelphia, with nothing but a torn shirt to his back and his bones coming through his skin. It's an old debt that I have just paid off!"
Reimers nodded in assent; he could do nothing else. The man was one of the many Fenians who had entered the ranks of the Boer army, instigated by the age-long hereditary hatred of Irishman for Englishman; from his point of view he was justified. This was warfare, and why had the young officer ridden ahead in that boyish, foolhardy way?