At ten-thirty I reported to the orderly room to attend Scotty's trial.
The Major was in his appointed place and in due course the guard marched
in with the prisoner. His ammunition pouches and cap had been removed
and he stood to attention as well as the contour of his legs and the
thickness of his yellow streak permitted. Still I could not help
remembering what he had done at Mons; there was no doubt about that
because I had seen his scar and I knew that the ranks of the Seaforth
Highlanders had never held a coward; and I mentally concluded that he
must really have been suffering from shell shock or he would never have
left his post as he did, and I sincerely hoped that he would in some way
get through. The evidence was short and conclusive and the verdict was
curt and decisive:--"held in close confinement for general field court
martial at Steenwercke, May 12." And Scotty was led out looking as if he
hadn't a friend in the world; there was very little sympathy for him
from anyone.

The same evidence was repeated at the field court martial trial, but the
twinkle in Scotty's eye must have reached the heart of the commanding
officer for he was ordered deported to England, pending dishonorable
discharge. There he was sent to the military camp at Shorncliffe, put
under open arrest and utilized around the camp in a number of ways for
over a year.

That afternoon Colonel Morrison sent for me. "Grant, run to Colonel
Curry and find out how strong the Forty-eighth Highlanders and the Third
Brigade are, and how soon he can get the men together for attack."
"Yes, sir," and I started. I was running along the top of the canal bank
in broad daylight and in the open, expecting every second that one of
the missiles from the shower that was pattering the ground everywhere
would get me. In that race through that bullet-swept zone I felt a