ped and asked me if I knew where
Canon Scott was. I said, "I'm the man", and he handed me a letter. It
turned out to be one from General Smith-Dorrien, asking me to allow
him to send a poem which I had written, called "On the Rue du Bois" to
"The Times." It was such a kind friendly letter that at once it
dispelled my sense of loneliness, and when Murdoch arrived and told me
that there was not a horse in the place at my disposal, I replied that
I did not mind so much now since I had the British General for a friend.
I left Murdoch to guard my goods and chattels and went off myself down
the road to the old Chateau and farmhouse. There I was lucky enough to
obtain a cart with three wheels. It was an extremely long and heavily
built vehicle and looked as if it dated from the 17th century. The
horse that was put into it looked as if it had been born about the
same period. The old man who held the solitary rein and sat over (p. 054)
the third wheel under the bow looked to be of almost equal antiquity.
It must have been about thirty feet from the tip of the old horse's
nose to the end of the cart. However I was glad to get any means of
transportation at all, so I followed the thing to the road where my
kit was waiting, Murdoch MacDonald put all my worldly possessions on
the equipage. They seemed to occupy very little room in the huge
structure. Murdoch, shouldering his rifle, followed it, and I, rather
ashamed of the grotesque appearance of my caravan, marched on as
quickly as I could in front, hoping to escape the ridicule which I
knew would be heaped upon me by all ranks of my beloved brigade. A man
we met told us that the battalion had gone to Steenvoorde, so thither
we made our way. On our arrival I was taken to the Chateau and kindly
treated by the laird and his family, who allowed me to spread out my
bed-roll on the dining room floor.

On the following morning an Imperial officer very kindly took me and
my kit to Ypres. There at the end of Yser Canal, I found a pleasant
billet in a large house belonging to a Mr. Vandervyver, who, with his
mother, gave me a kind reception and a most comfortably furnished
room. Later on, the units of our brigade arrived and I marched up with
the 14th Battalion to the village of Wieltje. Over it, though we knew
it not, hung the gloom of impending tragedy. Around it now cluster
memories of the bitter price in blood and anguish which we were soon
called upon to pay for the overthrow of tyra