THE YPRES TIMES
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As a matter of fact I did not, but I made no comment so he continuedThe
seconds of the Spaniard called upon me and on behalf of their principal challenged me
to a duel."
Great Scott I exxlaimed, What did you do, kick them out?
No, I acceptedI was forced to, but I stipulated that the weapons should be
pistols, and to this they agreed. On arriving at the field at daybreak next morning
with my seconds, I found my opponent waiting eagerly to wipe out the insult he con
sidered he had sustained at my hands. The arrangements for the duel were quite
simple. We were instructed to stand back to back, take five paces forward, and at
the command onetwothree, turn round and fire."
Well," I said, what happened, did you kill your man?
Yes," he repliedand he hesitatedbut I forgot to wait for the three
That has been my one regret and the skeleton in my cupboard for forty long years."
Good Lord I murmured.
Perhaps nothing, except my meeting with one of the assassins of the Archduke
Francis Ferdinand, the deed that precipitated the war, impressed me so much as the
story told me by Scotty Smith that night on the stoop at Zwart Modder.
The twinkling of the fires, the shadowy forms flitting aboutsome saddling their
mounts, other packing their equipment. The cries of the native drivers as they
hastened to inspan the transport wagons, the occasional neigh of a horse eager to be
off and lastly the soft voice of old Scotty, telling me how in a moment of panic, some
forty years earlier, he had saved his life at the expense of his honour. I have often
thought that when he is called upon to meet his Maker and account for his many mis
demeanours the real regret expressed that night will count heavily in his favour and
perhaps earn for the old man some remission of his sins.
It is a great tribute to the sense of proportion of our race that the actions we
regret most in our lives are nearly always those in which we have failed to play the
game." So it was with old Scotty the Scoutan adventurer, a fighter, an outcast front
his class, a man with a price in his head, but to the end, alwaysA MAN.
Before I could enquire how he got away after the incident narrated, the order came
to march, and I was never able to get the old man to discuss the matter again.
Our scouts who had been in touch with the enemy had come in post haste to report
that the Germans were only five miles away moving South towards our line of retreat.
It is needless to say that we did not delay, but treked with the greatest expedition.
Boer War veterans and those who have been fortunate enough to take part in night
marches with mounted troops know that it has a charm of its own-V-a wonderful charm.
For myself I enjoyed every moment of that retreat. The rhythmic beat of the horses'
feet upon the road, the champing of the bits, the rattle of the wagons, the subdued
murmur of the men's voices, are as music to the ears of those who have experienced
them.
I remember thinking how lucky we were to be there rather than in the water and
blood drenched trenches of Flanders. By forced marching we arrived safely at Cynidas
at daybreak the following morning. The mobility of the Germans was hampered by
having to drag their guns along roads, with sand three or four inches deep. On finding
we had escaped, they turned back across the border without attacking our position,
which at Cynidas was a very strong one.
I have since heard that my old friend Scotty died some years ago. May his soul
rest in peace.
Published by the kind permission of Dr. A. Cecil Alport, M.D., Author of The Lighter Side of the War
(published by Messrs. Hutchinson Co.)
