cruple 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?

Nevertheless, the deed had filled the German with inexpressible
disgust.

And suddenly, in this evening hour among the blossoming heather, within
view of the ruined village now fast becoming indistinguishable in the
twilight, the recollection of that nearly dry river-bed on the frontier
of the Transvaal Republic drove in upon his mind clearly and definitely
all the terrors of war: men falling upon each other like ra