They were hard at work mending the damage done at daybreak by that messenger of hell. As I reached the spot, one of the boys remarked, "If that shell explodes before we get through, there will be no need of a grave for us." Very nearly fifteen hours had passed, however, since it had struck, and none of us felt there was any danger from that direction, as it was quite uncommon for any of them to burst if they had not done so within at least twelve hours, and I answered, "Oh, no, fellows, there is nothing to fear from it." I stepped to the back of the trench where the shell was imbedded in the parados and examined the spot. "I guess it is there for keeps," I said, and returned to work. In a few minutes one or two of the boys complained of thirst, and I volunteered to get water. I ran down the steps into my dugout, got Billy's water bottle and my own, and doubled down to the cook's dugout, filled them with drinking water, and was just starting back when the ground under me shook with an explosion, splinters coming from all directions, and one of them slightly wounding the cook. I thought at first Fritz had struck an ammunition depot, so tremendous was the roar. I grabbed the bottles and shot back to my party.

They did not need the water; they had been swept into eternity by the dead shell, and I was the sole surviving man of the thirteen-squad that I had taken into the line the night before.



CHAPTER XV

SATAN'S SHELLS AND SCENTED GAS

Prior to an attack in the morning, we cleaned up the gun and ammunition, getting everything in shape and retiring at 11:30. "Stand to!" was called at four o'clock, firing commenced at 4:30, and we worked our guns for two hours, during which time the boys went over, took three lines of trenches from Fritz and in a remarkably short time, hundreds of prisoners were turning into our lines without escort.

That night the prisoners were employed going up and down our lines carrying out wounded. I shall never forget the contented look on the faces of these captives as they worked inside our lines; they did everything required of them with a willingness and cheerfulness that at first seemed to be amazing. Most of them were young Bavarians and presented a very shabby appearance.

We then decreased our rate of fire, letting go one round every two minutes, giving us time to sit around and chat about the big surprise we had given Fritz and the success of our attack. Before giving the word to fire I would first warn the men, so they could look out for their eardrums, besides getting out of the way; we never fire unknowingly to any of the men as the concussion works a severe hardship on the ears. One of the boys was sitting on an ammunition box, leaning against the gun wheel, with his feet on a little fireplace that we had taken a chance on installing, thinking the fog was so thick Fritz would not notice the smoke. As usual, our ammunition was stationed in our rear. One fellow was squatting on the sand bags and leaning against the shells; I was sitting in seat three, between the gun wheel and the left side, while another was on seat four, also between the gun wheel and the gun on the right; another man was standing ready to put a shell in the muzzle.

"Fellows, are you ready?" I asked.

"All right."

"Fire!"

The next instant I felt my feet giving way from under me. The gun had blown off at the shield, the muzzle being blown to pieces, gas and fumes filled the air, the spokes were blown out of the wheels, splinters striking me on the feet and legs. I started to the front of the gun and fell on top of Graham.

"What happened?" he asked. "I don't know," I said. There were several pieces of tube lying about that looked like parts of a German shell. Graham yelled to know what had happened. "A German shell hit the gun," I said. He was then seized with shell shock and became uncontrollable. Park, who was leaning against the ammunition, was blown up, the shell having driven clean through his spine; the man loading the shell had a fragment driven clear through his stomach. The man leaning against the gun wheel was beheaded as cleanly as any king's executioner with his ax could do it, his head lying in the fireplace! The cartridge had exploded but the shell did not.

The trouble was caused by what is known as a "defective" shell.

I left the gun pit to help Graham over to the dressing station and I had a job on my hands; he was suffering from a bad attack of brain concussion. After attention a couple of Fritzies carried him to the rear.

Returning to the gun pit I found a state of wild confusion among the fellows as to what had really happened. On examination I found it was this defective shell; over to the right of the gun I picked up a chunk of it over a foot long.

Those who remained of our gun crew went that night to the wagon lines, spending a few days there while waiting for our gun to be replaced.

When our gun was replaced I started back from the wagon lines, carrying a piston rod of the buffer, with Downey assisting me. We were on horseback and getting into Labazell Valley, when a shell passed over our head so close that we felt the wind of it; it was accompanied by a great flare over to our right. The shell struck one of our ammunition dumps containing about 50,000 rounds of shells and other explosives, such as rifle grenades, Mills bombs, French mortar bombs, aerial torpedoes, high explosive shells, shrapnel shells, star and gas shells. The disaster resulting from this one single shell was almost inconceivable. It started a fire that gathered strength each second, for all the world like a prairie fire, and the scenic effect was that of a titanic fireworks exhibition. The moon was brightly shining in a clear sky, but the star shells shooting in the air and exploding with a constantly increasing rapidity, the blaze of artificial light quickly obtained ascendency over the mistress of the night; and the shrapnel shells, throwing their contents of danger in all directions, together with the hissing and roaring of all the other exploding missiles of death, formed a diapason of sound that makes one of those wonder-moments that come so seldom in a lifetime.

The reflection of the fire from the explosion was quickly observed by Fritz, and in short order he had his airplanes hovering overhead, and they too were dropping their bombs wherever human activities were noted. We hastily dismounted, tying our horses to the barbed-wire iron pickets in the side of the road, and rushed with a body of men, mostly wagon drivers whose wagons were stalled on the road in the congestion, over to do what we could to save the ammunition which is so badly needed at all times.

In the first rush toward the pile an explosion snuffed out the lives of thirty or forty of the men, knocking the rest of us off our feet like so many nine-pins, besides killing several of the horses on the road, and to add to the already indescribable chaos, several of the horses stampeded, racing blindly into barbed-wire entanglements and adding to the general destruction.

What with Fritz dropping bombs from his airplanes, our horses stampeding and screaming like wild things, and our own explosives bursting in every conceivable direction with a thousand different roars, the scene can be better imagined than described. We saved about 10,000 rounds out of that entire dump. For a distance of twenty miles the reflection of the fire extended, the rockets themselves being visible for a space of ten miles. I don't suppose since the world began was there ever a scene of such awful beauty; it was a bursting Vesuvius with the co-mingled radiant beauties of a thousand rainbows.

When there was nothing further that we could do, we regained our frightened mounts and resumed our journey. Such a road of confusion! The ground being wet, turning the chalky earth into white, the moving, wriggling vehicles of every kind and description afforded a magnificent target for the marksmen of the air and casualties here, there and everywhere along the road was the order of the night.

A short distance along, the sounds of battle in the air reached our ears, and looking up I saw two shadows passing between our eyes and moon, then two more. Suddenly our searchlights opened up, and there, in full view, were four planes, two British and two German, engaged in one of those struggles which practically forms the only feature in this war around which is thrown any of the elements of romance that appeals to all the instinct of a vivid imagination. It was a fair field and no favor. The battle had been on about three or four minutes when one of the British birds landed on Fritz, driving him down nose first. He could not regain control and he dashed headlong into the earth to destruction. Our fellow then rose and went to the assistance of his pal and they made short work of the second Taube.

That is the only time I have ever witnessed a scene of that kind under those circumstances, and it is a rare occurrence indeed that one has the privilege of seeing such a struggle with such a background.

We were now among the batteries; to the right and left of us the guns had commenced speaking to the German roads, and the ammunition dumps there, in retaliation for the destruction of our gun-food; the anti-aircraft guns were also getting into the chorus, together with the pom-poms, and the whole swelled into a mighty chorus of sound that filled every crack and crevice in the air, making one feel as if he were inhaling sound rather than ozone.

As we neared Pozieres a 9.02 howitzer gun on our left fired a shell that exploded in the gun and blew the gun and crew in all directions. The shell also started some ammunition going that was lying about and it was under the greatest difficulty that the men, whose lives were not lost in the first explosion, managed to get away. The men were trying to manhandle the remainder of the guns of the battery and we jumped off our horses, fastened them to an old wagon lying in the ditch, and headed over to lend a hand. With much tugging and perspiring we saved three of the guns.

Explosions of these tremendous projectiles were deafening in the extreme, and here there were two or three of them exploding at once in our immediate neighborhood.

Again we mounted on our way to Pozieres and, when reaching our journey's end, Fritzie began pumping in his crying shells; these are the kind that draw copious tears, inflame the eyes and make things generally disagreeable. We had not brought our goggles and suffered from a temporary spell of blindness; we had not had any trouble from this particular kind of visitor for some time and had not bothered to keep our glasses with us. Groping along, blinking my eyes to get a little gleam of light, I stumbled across four or five dead horses and was nearly thrown from my horse.

I warned Downey, who was behind me, and he avoided the trouble, but we had to keep a tight rein on our thoroughly frightened animals. It was impossible to get them past the dead horses until some others went by and then, leading them by the bridle, we got by.

Traffic was now fearfully congested on account of some tanks that were taking cover in the sunken road for their attack in the morning, and a shower of shells dropping here and there along the road did not add to our comfort. We passed through Courcelette Valley and came to a small bridge crossing a trench; this particular bridge was the subject of hot shellfire, as it was the only point where traffic could cross for about a mile to the right or left, and Fritz was well aware of the fact. When half-way across, a shell exploded, killing my horse, and the animal rolled over with me on its back, twisting my leg. For a while I thought my number was up; in a few moments I was able to get up behind Downey.

We had reached the end of our journey, got to the gun, delivered the piston rod and reported to the Captain. He instructed us to stay there for the night and told Downey to tie up his horse in one of the German gun pits; then Downey was ordered to go on S.O.S. sentry duty. He had our sincere sympathy, for the rest of us were just breaking into the little old game for the balance of the night (morning).

In the middle of the game Downey came running in. "Say, fellows, there's a hell of a smell out here,—something sweet, never smelt it before, don't know what it is." "It's gas," I yelled, "the new kind! Get on your masks!"

We adjusted our protectors and made for the entrance. Downey began to be overcome by the fumes and I took over sentry; the warning gas horns were booming up and down the line like a deep-throated buzzing,—a most unearthly and weird sound.

The gas shells were now dropping plenteously round about and one of my pals, Dory, was instructed to assist me in relighting our lamps, as they were growing dim; these are our feed lamps that are lit every night with candles and placed, one for each gun, about 50 feet in front, and on these lights the sights are trained, so that it is vital to keep them burning all night long.

We rapidly commenced replacing the burnt-out candles, and just then we heard the warning roar of a coming shell, but before it burst I heard a splash; it was Dory taking a header into a shell hole full of water; I threw myself flat. In adjusting our lamps we had to remove our gas helmets, and after waiting some time for the expected explosion and hearing none, I looked up; white fumes were rising from the ground at about the spot the shell had entered; there had been no explosion of splinters.

This particular shell is very thin, is fired with great velocity, and when meeting resistance it breaks and cracks and the white gas fumes like steam come floating out. "What do you think of that, Grant!" from Dory in the shell hole; "I thought the blankety-blank was a Jack Johnson." His thought had cost him a soaking and the reflex action of his thought was strongly in evidence during the balance of our watch.

The remainder of our lonely duty was not enhanced in pleasure by the contemplation of scores of stretcher bearers carrying out men who had been caught unprepared by the gas and who were choking and suffocating from its effects.

So earnestly pernicious is the gas device as a fighting weapon that it is a matter of common talk among the boys that Fritz, when he invented his contrivance, must have been in direct communication with his Satanic Majesty.

Working tooth and nail to smother the Hun, and he in turn working might and main to smother us, was the order of the day continuously throughout the campaign on the Somme, and a few nights following the happening above, Dory and myself were on S.O.S. sentry.

About 3:00 o'clock A.M. the messages from Germany started coming and our replies were mailed back as fast as the postal authorities at the guns could handle the matter; in fact, throughout our campaign on the Somme we mailed our replies and our additional messages so rapidly and so effectively, that nine times out of ten Fritzie's working force was swamped.

On this A.M. his shells were gas which glazed the feed lamps and the sight of the lenses, as well as accumulating in the inside of the gun muzzle, making it necessary to swab out the muzzle of the gun before using, as otherwise it would rust badly, which would result in putting the gun out of commission in short order. The fire developed into a first-class artillery duel, our battery and nine others answering ten German batteries. The net result of the duel was two of Fritzie's guns put out of business.

Before long our lamps on the sandbags, by which we got our light to see to work the guns, were knocked off by an explosion and we were in darkness; following that, the springs in the buffer of my gun were broken, making it necessary to put it back in place by hand. Each time the gun is fired it recoils and is brought back to place by the hydraulic buffer containing the spring; but we had to perform this work in the darkness by hand. The coals of Hades were now coming in heavier each moment, because heavier caliber pieces had opened up on us, and we were getting the worst of it; our weightier sisters must take a hand at the game, and we kept up our end of the argument until this could be done.

It was Dory's duty to reload the gun and push it forward in place for position, each time yelling "Ready!" One time the gun was shoved into place and the man on the right,—Dory was on the left—gave the "Ready!" and I fired. The darkness was still thick and I could not see that Dory was pushing up on the gun with all his might, to bring it into place when I fired, and the recoil drove him back into the corner against a pile of ammunition, smashing his arm. We assisted him, and one of the fellows volunteered to go with him to the dressing station, but Dory was game to the core; he was one of the most happy-go-lucky boys I ever met. "Hell! I will make it myself. Stay here while the fun is on. I wish to God I could stay too!"

We renewed our duel, but the heavier caliber shells were commencing to tell; number 3 gun was struck and part of the crew wiped out. Our telephonist 'phoned headquarters for the weightier women to get busy, telling them of our plight, and inside six minutes the ladies of larger girth, the 9.02 howitzers, started debating the question with Fritzie so vigorously that inside of thirty minutes not a single reply was to be had from their guns.

"Stand down!"—and cleaning our guns, gun pits and carrying ammunition, busied us. In the midst of our work a dizziness seized my head, accompanied with a choking in the throat and lungs, and before I could cry out or warn my pals, I dropped. I had unconsciously imbibed the potion when I removed my mask to relight the feed lamps, and it is one of the peculiar effects of this dose that it is some time after its inhalation that the harmfulness becomes apparent;—so it was with me. I was lifted onto a stretcher and carried to the dressing station near what is known as the Sunken Road. The ground around the station was dotted with men suffering from attacks of a similar nature; there were 56 of us in all.

The doctor's examination was brief,—"Gas," and I was laid alongside my brothers in misery. We were ordered to keep absolutely quiet and on no account to leave our stretchers; but while lying there the unwelcome messages from the German guns began coming in our neighborhood; and the ever terrifying sound of their explosions brought the nerves of the men, already on edge, over the border line of reason, and a number of them struggled up from their cots and started running away, forgetting or ignoring the doctor's orders. The poor fellows paid dearly for it; some of them dropped in their tracks, dying, where they dropped; some died after they were brought back to the station, and some gave up the ghost when in England they lost the last remaining tissue of their lungs, due to the effect of their running. "I mustn't budge!" I kept repeating to myself, for my own nerves were at the jumping-off point and I thought the veins in my head would burst if I had to endure those explosion-roars another minute. Happily they ceased as suddenly as they began.

There is no kind of suffering endured in the battle front that has such a horror for the men as the gas; it is that fighting for breath that takes the life out of a fellow, and, God! how it chokes. Out of that bunch of 56 gassed men, only six came out whole.

The following week we were ordered to leave the Somme. Although I felt in the mood for sticking it as long as I had the strength to keep going, yet I must confess the order filled my soul with a gratitude that was unspeakable. I had been in the Somme campaign three months, and when our guns swept into position at Martinsaart, my weight was 171; when I left, I tipped the scales at 145. The men who had been with the guns there and who know what it is to work 24 hours in the day for many days in the week, rarely during the three months experiencing the refreshing rest of a consecutive two hours' sleep, and working like veritable demons during every waking moment, either at the guns or cleaning the ammunition, or carrying the ammunition into place,—they will understand what it means to lose 25 pounds in weight on the Somme.

My uniform was in rags and saturated so thickly with grease and dirt that for many days it was one of my pet recreations to take a knife and scoop it by the bladeful out of the khaki cloth. And my skin! What a hide! The combination of cleaning and repairing guns, working them constantly, driving horses, observation work, together with the gas, my body was saturated with a mixture that took weeks to extract.

The cut-up-ground, pock-marked with shell holes as closely as the cells in a honeycomb, was of course carefully noted by Fritzie's aerial observers, and they were naturally led to believe that it would be physically impossible for our batteries to be relieved,—that is, to retire and another battery take our place. But we camouflaged. Under cover of a fog we worked like beavers for a day and a night, filling in shell holes, and made fairly decent roads under the conditions, and one fine morning, still under the friendly shelter of the fog, leaving our ammunition behind, we pulled out the gun; the entire Canadian Division retired and were relieved by the English Tommies.

As we were going out we passed their batteries coming in and it was heartening indeed to hear the compliments and praises that were showered upon us by the lads of England, although we had not done a single thing that they could not have done and done just as well as we, and maybe better.

In some places where our guns were stationed the ground conditions made it absolutely impossible to remove them for the time; in such cases the Imperial batteries left their guns at the horse lines and took over the Canadian guns, the Canadian gunners taking their pets instead. This occasioned a real and heartfelt loss to both Canadian gunners and Imperial boys who had to change over their pets, because every gunner learns to acquire a real affection for his mistress, as he terms the gun, and with many of the men it was like losing a good horse or a dog to whom they had become sincerely and warmly attached, the attachment being born of weeks and months of the most arduous trial and test.

We reached the wagon lines with our guns still intact and we felt as safe as if we were back in our beloved Dominion. We were going back of the lines, and the scene of breaking camp in our preparations for returning to the rear was picturesque in the extreme. Bonfires made of refuse and waste material for which we had no further use were burning everywhere; men were hurrying hither and thither; and through it all you could hear the steady digging, shoveling and pounding of the German prisoners who were repairing the roads their own guns mangled. I felt a large measure of satisfaction at seeing them working as hard as they could go, restoring at least that much of their destructiveness; they will never, they can never replace the wantonness, the frightfulness, of which they have been the inspired tool in this the struggle of their lords and masters for the earth's control.

Night and day for three days we traveled on our batteries, arriving at a place called Camblain-Chatillon, a small town in a mining valley. Here we were billeted in barns, but the inhabitants hearing that we were Canadians who had been operating on the Somme, came out en masse to greet us and give us of their best. We were invited to their homes, and their larders were placed at our disposal; a large bath made of granite—a splendid outfit used by the miners of the town, was thrown open to us, and it is needless to say we reveled in the luxury of a plunge as quickly as we could tumble in. How we needed it! I had not known a bath during all the time I was on the Somme and lousiness was part and parcel of my make-up. I was so accustomed to it, however, that it had long ceased to cause me more than a passing thought; there were too many other things to think about during that session. But once relieved from the tension of the daily struggle to save life, as well as take it, the desire to become normal, decent, cleanly human beings took possession of every man of us, and we wallowed in the bath until we could once more look other respectable citizens in the face.

In this haven of rest and retirement we luxuriated for two weeks, then moved into action on the Lens-Arras road. We placed our guns on the side of the road, digging our trails in the edge of the cobble stone pavement as a trail block, to hold the guns steady when firing. Chicken wire on top, covered with grass and brushwood, completed the scenic protection.

Our work was the well-known ruse of a night raid in preparation for the attack on Vimy Ridge, and carried out for the purpose of keeping the Germans guessing as to where the next drive would be driven.

Leaving four men and the telephonist with the guns that night, we went to Anges, half a mile from the gun position, to our billets; this was an old French chateau, and comfortable beyond expression. As the foes of our anatomies had again attacked in mass formation, this time we were annoyed to a degree. Procuring creolin, we rubbed it on our bodies pure; it should have been adulterated. During the night the natural perspiration of our bodies caused the vermin grease to work through the pores, and excessive stinging and smarting was the outcome. One fellow awoke with a grunt of impatience and then a snort of anger, as a sense of the stinging brought him to a realization of his discomfort; then another, and another, until the entire bunch was in a fine frenzy, fanning our bodies and running into the night air for relief. My carcass was on fire and I wished to heaven I had left the lice alone; they could not at least have prevented my sleeping. I determined for the future, as against this cure, I would keep the curse. I felt as if I were suffering from a severe sunburn over every inch of my body.



In the midst of our misery "Stand to!" was sounded, necessitating the dropping of all our skin troubles and skedaddling to get to the guns. We ran across an open field that had been converted into a graveyard after the French drove the Germans over on to Vimy Ridge, but there was no thought of sacrilege in our minds as we raced pell-mell over the grave-filled land; there never is but one thought in our minds; we are, every man of us, souls with but a single thought when "Stand to!" sounds. We reached the guns practically in the nude, and fastening the sights and scratching my hide at the same time kept me fairly busy.

We worked the guns for an hour; then "Ammunition up!" was the order for the rest of the night. We were not allowed to return to our billets as another attack was expected. At 5:30 the first snowstorm of the winter swept over the land. The ground was fairly firm from the preceding frost, and in a short time the country was resting underneath a mantle of beautiful purity. With the enthusiastic ardor of a lot of school boys, we grabbed up the beautiful element in our hands and an old time snowball fight took place. Then the "Stand to!" of the morning was given.

Our objective this time was to cut channels through the wire about 15 to 20 feet wide, to permit the infantry to pass. This work is effected by means of shrapnel shells that cut the wire into little strands, then high explosives are used to root out the remaining posts. When we had accomplished our purpose and made everything ready for the charge, "Stand down!" was sounded. The infantry took up the program and dashed over and through the gaps we had made. They cleaned up the first line, then on to the second, smashing their guns, trench mortars and trenches, bombed the dugouts, destroyed their rations and sent back over 1800 prisoners. What I call a fair morning's work!

Now, as I have heretofore said, the objects most easily seen by an airplane are white and black and the surface of the earth being covered with a mantle of snow, naturally the things that the keen-sighted airbirds would first look for would be dark-colored.

The snow around our battery by this time had been thoroughly melted by the heat from our guns—as a matter of fact, the guns were steaming—and one of our Sergeants, knowing how easily discernible our pieces would be to the enemy airbirds, began gathering snow and spreading it all over the places where it had melted. He was working hard throwing the snow immediately in front of my gun when another "Stand to!" came. Let me repeat, if I have not already made it entirely clear, that when this most imperative order is sounded, there is only one thought in the mind of every man of the battery, to get our message off as quickly as human power can send it; and throughout every stage of the world's work that we are doing over there, there is no time when the bodies of men are entirely free of bruises received in collision with one another in the absorbing endeavor of every man to respond. This will account for the lamentable accident that occurred at this time.

The Sergeant, unthinkingly, after "Stand to!" was sounded, went on in his earnest endeavor to camouflage the battery with the snow. Now it so happened that at the identical time that the Sergeant was so engaged, a kiltie battalion was making its way to the trenches on a foot path, running diagonally across the front of the guns. In obedience to the command to fire, the crew speeded to their respective guns, jammed back the levers and the missiles started on their journey of destruction. The shell from our gun in front of which the Sergeant was working killed him before he knew what had happened and, as luck or the devil would have it, the shell was a premature; it exploded at the point of the muzzle and its 365 shrapnel pellets, each traveling at the rate of 2200 feet per second muzzle velocity, and which when exploded assume the shape of a gigantic fan, shot death and destruction into the kiltie battalion in front. Sixty of the kilties paid with their lives the price of this premature shell, including the Sergeant. For a hundred yards in every direction the heads, arms and legs of the Scotch fighting men were strewn all over the ground. It was one of those terrible things that is a matter for the deepest concern and regret, and yet cannot be helped.

We were next ordered back to the wagon lines at Camblain-Chatillon, arriving there on the evening of the 23rd of December, and preparations for Christmas dinner were uppermost in the mind of every man. We were delighted by a visit from the town authorities who asked us if we would like to use the schoolhouse for our celebration and that we were most heartily welcome to it, which offer we were most heartily glad to accept, and the authorities proceeded at once to decorate the schoolhouse in true holiday fashion, evergreens and lanterns filling every nook and corner of the large room. The tables, of course, we supplied ourselves.

For turkey we had a French pig purchased from a farmer for 300 francs, each man chipping in three francs; new carrots, Irish potatoes, boiled onions, cranberry sauce, the latter supplied by a large-hearted French lady in the town, made up the accompaniment of the "Turkey." For dessert we had a speech from Major Wright, congratulating us on our work in the Somme. In a few well-chosen words he told us how we had lost over 60 per cent of our men, counting the reinforcements, and that it was a matter of sincere gratitude to every man of us that we were there to enjoy the bounteous Christmas cheer.



CHAPTER XVI

BEFORE VIMY

In the course of ten days we arrived at Bully-Grenay, situated in the very heart of the mining district, three mines being located in the town itself. We were still working on the Vimy Ridge proposition. At no time in France were our quarters more comfortable than here; each gun of my battery was stationed in the cellar of a private house on the outskirts of the town from which the civilians had been shelled, and at night in the midst of a game of cards, or engaged in our letter writing, or reading, when we got the "S.O.S." signal, the lanyard was at my hand and I had only to pull the rope. Our quarters were heated by coal purchased direct from the mine and furnished to us at ten cents per bag. Every mine in this place was worked only at night, the smoke of the industry indicating to Fritz where to plant his shells; therefore, the entire coal mining was done during the hours of sleep.

The Huns were making a most determined effort to get possession of Bully-Grenay and these most valuable coal mines, and they were anxiously looking forward to the time when they could attack successfully, and knowing how vital to us it was to get out this coal, they concentrated their efforts through the daytime on the mine shafts in an effort to destroy them; but having no smoke signals to guide their fire, their efforts generally were futile.

A notable instance of the spirit controlling our ideas of warfare was splendidly illustrated in this particular sector. Among the captured French mines that the Germans were working was one in close proximity to a church, of whose existence they took particular pains to let us know; and the church, in addition to being used as a protection for the mine, was also used as a camouflage for one of their batteries, the guns being placed immediately in front of it. It is repugnant to the very soul of a British soldier to level his gun at a church, so Fritz was able to get away with his camouflage.

On the morning of the third day of our visit here we were treated to another superb example of kultur. The school children were playing in the school yard and Fritz dropped a shell in their midst, killing and wounding several, following it up by two others that smashed the schoolhouse. A panic followed among the teachers and children, and the only thing we could do at the time was to stand there and watch the devilishness. Some of the men of an infantry battalion who were billeted on the outskirts of the town, rushed to the school and carried out the wounded and dead. If Fritz could have seen and heard the maddened fury of those rescuers as they carried out the maimed and bleeding little ones, his first thought would have been to have given them as wide a berth as possible; but when they did meet,—God help them!

At 1:00 o'clock in the morning Fritz opened up with gas shells, smothering the civilian population, and the people who were running out of the town, choking and suffocating, brought to my mind a most vivid recollection of the city of Ypres. How can I describe the agony, the despair on the faces of the inoffending citizens who were having their homes blasted to bits, their lungs choked with suffocation, separated from their loved ones in the wild scramble of the night for shelter and safety! Any place, anywhere but there!

Donning our helmets we got to our guns and waited for orders, which we presently received. I never worked with more love and energy than I did that night, and never did I spit more liberally on each individual shell as it was shoved into place for departure. Inside of twenty minutes Fritzie decided that the pastime of shelling Bully-Grenay with gas shells was not as funny as it was cracked up to be; he broke off short and quick.

In the two weeks following we were at Estari Chic, another Vimy Ridge position. Here we were stationed at the horse lines. While there, an order was issued that we could not buy bread from the civilian population for the reason that our military authorities considered the rations we were getting were sufficient for all our needs. The shop-keepers were quite willing to sell any soldier, however, and we were more than anxious to get his bread if we could safely do so. The manner in which we disobeyed orders was as follows: The bake-shop was about half-a-mile from our billet and we had to pass several policemen on the way down; two fellows would stand outside the building while I went inside and purchased the bread, and if policemen were seen coming, the man nearest to the officer would give the signal and I would duck off into an alley-way and up the back streets into the billet, and it would not be long before my outpost would join me; then the jam would be produced and in short order the delicious French bread and jam would be winding its way down into our voracious stomachs.

We left this point for Camblain-le-Abbeau for another nip at the ridge from that angle, pulled into the wagon lines for two days and then got into action on the Lens-Arras road. We laid the guns on the side of the road, camouflaging them in the usual fashion. We were the first battalion to arrive, but within four days 100 or more batteries were there. Our work here was to cut the wire in preparation for one of the usual raids, to blind Fritz and keep him guessing where the drive was to be launched. We performed our work flawlessly, the boys of the infantry going over through the gaps we had made and capturing several machine guns and prisoners.

On the second day following, the Captain asked me to go into the trenches to assist him in observation work. We found after inspection that the point we wanted to get our data upon could not be obtained from the low-lying trenches, and the Captain, wondering where we had best go, happened to get his fancy settled on a mine shaft. "We will go up there, Grant," he said, and together we made our way to the spot. The climb to the top was no easy matter, and when we got there we set about making ourselves as comfortable as possible. As soon as we had our apparatus working, the Captain commenced registering the cemetery, the tombstones of which were being carried away by Fritz to place around his dugouts. The Captain flashed the necessary information and in ten minutes they were pretty thoroughly shot up.

The Captain then directed his attention to a trench digging party, sent his compliments to the guns—would they kindly take care of the trench digging party, which they did. Then we were spotted; in a few seconds we were the recipients of a blast of machine-gun fire; a minenwerfer dropped at the foot of the mine shaft, blowing the entire corner away, and it became very evident the place was ours no longer, and we started for the bottom.

In going down it was necessary for me to execute a sort of slide, as I had to hang on with my hands while my feet were going down, and the Captain, in his naturally human haste to get to a place of safety, inadvertently trod on my fingers.

"For God's sake, Captain," I yelled, "get off my fingers!"

"Take your damned fingers out of my way!" replied the Captain.

"How can I? Your foot is on them!" He eased up a bit and I was able to release my mangled fingers, but Lord! he weighed about 200 pounds.

Now Captain Black was a man who was absolutely afraid of nothing in human shape; his fighting spirit is unbeatable; every man in the battery can testify to his absolute fearlessness, and I am glad to lend my humble testament to his unquestionable bravery. However, in going down the shaft the shots were coming thick and fast, and it was the most natural thing in the world for him to tread on my fingers in his desire to avoid the sniping shell or machine-gun bullet, but my fingers were sadly in need of repair by the time we got to the bottom.

When we reached the foot we got into the shell hole blasted out by the minenwerfer that had torn the corner of the shaft away. We had not yet completed our observations and Cap decided he would try the top of the slag heap. To the top we crawled, placing our periscope and telephone in position, and were nicely settled and doing good work, the Captain congratulating himself audibly on his bright thought in selecting this spot, when his congratulations were cut short by a shell smashing the periscope glass, followed by a minenwerfer striking the bottom of the slag heap, making another huge excavation and causing the slag at the top to roll down from under us, taking us with it. But the Cap was not to be driven away so easily. "Come on, Grant, let's try it again," and up we went again, and again another large shell at the bottom of the pile caused a cave-in, and down we rolled. Still the Captain had not enough, and up we went a third time. The same thing happened again, the shells tearing away a large hole at the bottom of the slag heap, causing the slag on which we were standing to give way and carrying us to the bottom. By this time the shells were showering the entire place and Captain Black reluctantly decided that it was no go, and we gave it up.

It was during the stay of my battery on the Lens-Arras road, during the Vimy Ridge preparation, that I again personally encountered Fritz in the form of his spy system. One night after the guns had been oiled and prepared for their next job, and we were all busy cleaning up the ammunition for the work in hand, I was accosted by a couple of British officers, a Captain and a Major.

"Sergeant, would you kindly help us to a drink of water?" said the Major. "Certainly, sir," I answered, saluting; "if you will wait here a moment I will get it for you."

"Thank you," they replied, and I went for the water. Returning I found the Major with one of our shells in his hand and the Captain examining the gun.

"She's a beauty, Sergeant," said the Captain.

"Yes, sir," I smilingly answered, "and she is just as good as she is beautiful,—never kicks or falters."

"By Jove!" laughed the Major, "that's a good one. How many messages did you send them last night, Sergeant?"

"None, sir."

"You don't say! Why I thought I heard you firing. Where is your battery operating?"

"Oh, we just sent off a few rounds at the crossroads."

"She seems to have been doing her bit today all right."

While conversing with the Major, I noticed the Captain talking with one of my men about the gun sight and, hastily excusing myself to the Major, I went over to him. "Pardon me for interrupting. Billy, you had better go over to the Major and tell him the gun is ready at once for inspection."

Billy excused himself to the Captain and started off. The officers then prepared to leave.

"Won't you wait a moment, sir, and see the Major? He will be right over."

"Well, we will see him on our way back. We're in a kind of a hurry, Sergeant." And they bade me good night and left.

There was something told me that all was not well with these men, but the suspicion had not become sufficiently rooted in my head to find expression, and, consequently, I said nothing at the time.

The very next morning after inspection, orders were read and in the instructions were explicit descriptions of two British officers who were German agents and who were making the rounds of the lines, picking up information wherever they could, and commanding all ranks to be on the lookout and arrest them on sight, shooting them if they resisted, and offering a prize of ten pounds to the man who succeeded in effecting their arrest. "Good Lord!" I thought. "What a miss!" If my wits had been properly working, I would have been ten pounds the richer, together with a four-weeks' leave of absence.

These audacious agents had visited all sections and doubtless had acquired a store of general information, and headquarters urged a most rigorous search for them. The following night they were spotted in a French estaminet, by a bunch of sharp-eyed Tommies, and, as luck would have it, the men were chatting about the ten-pound prize for capturing these same fellows, and their mouths were watering at the picture that each one of them was painting of what he would do if he only had the prize.

"I'll tell 'e what it is," said one, "if my blinkers falls on them chaps I'll wet the whole damned outfit!"

As they entered, the soldier's eye went over the room and lit on the very men in question, seated by themselves in a little side room of the inn. In a low tone he communicated his thought to his companions. "Blime me, I'll eat your mother-in-law if there ain't our meat!" There was about 20 in the bunch, and they did not waste time in consultation. At once they were in the anteroom, confronting these men.

"What do you want?" gruffly asked the Major.

"We have to come to tell you, sir, that the O.C. wants to see you and the Captain at once."

"All right, tell your O.C. we will be over directly."

"'E wants you now, sir."

"Well, didn't you hear me say we'd be over there shortly?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, damn you, tell him so, and I'll see that you are taken care of for your impertinence."

"I don't mean to be impertinent, sir, but I'm here to see that you come and come now."

Like a flash both men drew their revolvers, but before they had a chance to use them, the entire bunch was on top of them, and it was a somewhat mussed up Major and Captain that appeared before the O.C. at the headquarters of the Tommies who sleuthed them. The intuition of the soldier proved correct; with absolute certainty he had falconed his prey and the prize was his.

And he was as good as his word. What that bunch didn't have to eat and drink while the money lasted wasn't purchaseable at the front.



CHAPTER XVII

VIMY

With Vimy Ridge in the possession of the Germans, their access for observation placed us at a decided disadvantage; the Lens-Arras, the Mont St. Eloi road—all vital feeding routes for our system—were absolutely open to his inspection at all hours of the day or night; there was no movement along these channels of communication of either men, guns, ammunition, supplies of any kind, of which they were not fully cognizant. So it will be seen that the possession of this elevation was of wonderful advantage to the side holding it.

One of the chief gains to be derived from its possession was the control of the vast coal mines of Lens, one of the richest coal producing sections in France, and the benefit of which has been in German hands since the gray rush first went through. And the possession of the output of these mines gave Fritz a priceless advantage over us. His overlooking position also made it impossible for us to work in the daytime the few coal mines that we had; neither could we supply our guns with the necessary ammunition during the hours of daylight; and further, the possession of this vantage point would release for duty elsewhere a tremendous number of men whose presence there was unavoidable, because of the control he had over the valley and the surrounding country. So, when the chief command decided to take the ridge, they went about the job in a manner thoroughly characteristic of the Scotch commander, Sir Douglas Haig, and his thoroughness was well borne out by the results.

For the space of a month prior to the drive, every hour of the darkness was used to get guns, ammunition and supplies into place; all night long the traffic on the roads was so congested that going faster than a walk with any conveyance, over any part of the channels of communication, was simply out of the question; but when day broke it was imperative that not a single conveyance of any kind be in sight on any road.

Do not imagine, however, that we were free to work as long as the shelter of night lasted; in the artificial light furnished by the flares, Fritz did a lot of damage. On one single night during this work of preparation on the Mont St. Eloi road alone, 156 horses were killed; and on all through roads, each night that the stage was being set for the production of the first scene, casualties were had with deadly regularity.

When everything was in place and the curtain ready to be drawn up, 1400 batteries were in a position along the Lens-Arras road and valley, standing wheel to wheel, many of them brought to bear over roads that had been specially constructed for their conveyance, as regular routes were not usable for them and a road one-and-a-half-miles long, made out of three-inch thick planking, was placed ready for use in three days' time, together with a narrow-gauge railroad, for rushing up ammunition and taking back wounded men. This road and narrow-gauge railway took a short cut across the valley and proved a godsend in relieving the congestion on the regular road, and was of inestimable value in achieving our end.

On the 2nd day of April, 1917, stage manager Haig ordered the curtain raised and, with its raising, vengeance was let loose. Gaps 20 to 30 feet wide were blasted in the barbed wire; some of the mine shafts about Lens were flattened and destroyed; Fritzie's supply roads were rained upon with a steady hail of hell night and day, preventing the entrance to his trenches not only of ammunition, but also of food, and prevented the withdrawal of any men from his lines; his ammunition dumps were set ablaze, the fires from them lighting up the whole country-side for miles around. In the air the efficiency of our preparatory work was equally demonstrated. A new type of flier winged his way back and forth over the sausage-fed warriors, and the ability of our birds to hold the line in the Heavens was amply demonstrated, one British airman, on the 28th of March, five days before the battle began, downing three German eagles in quick succession. Spellbound I watched the magnificent work of this flier.

Far up as the eye could reach, six British planes in battle formation, the leader of the squad about three hundred yards in advance, four others in a row, the sixth three hundred yards in the rear, winged their way. Suddenly, the rear bird shot downward, volplaning and looping the loop with as much abandon as if he were in an exhibition park. I quickly discerned the object of his lightning-like descent. Hovering over our trenches were three German vultures. As he dropped, Fritz volleyed at him with his anti-aircraft mouthpieces, but failed to land. The bird kept on his downward plunge until he reached his objective, and as he dove into the vultures, our anti-aircraft guns, which had been endeavoring to wing the German birds, ceased fire and all eyes were turned heavenward. With bated breath we watched and waited the outcome.

The Fritzies spread out in circle formation, with a view to surrounding it, each a little higher than the other. With a lightning-like swoop the British bird, getting right in front of it and turning sharply, let fly his machine gun in rapid fire, Fritz answering energetically. In less than three minutes' time, a distinct wabbling was noticeable and the British sparrow, seeing that his work there was done, turned his attention to the others. His work was surely done; Fritz continued to wabble and then plunged in a deadly drop until he got to the Lens-Arras road, where he made a desperate attempt to alight on the highway; but he got tangled up in the trees, his wings being smashed and remaining in the branches, the body of the plane shooting down into a deep ditch and embedding itself and its two occupants in the mud. They were dead. A tremendous cheer greeted this victory over the first opponent. The other two airmen followed our bird, volleying at him as they flew. With a quick motion he turned upside down, swooping for the bird on his upper left, and continued to chase and fight him in this position. The other German bird was off to one side, put-put-put-put-ing! for all he was worth, but his bullets were wasted by reason of the upside down position. In a run of another 500 yards the work of our lad was finished, his machine gun having done the trick; and Fritz and his pilot being killed, the machine dashed rudderless to the ground, nose first.

There remained but one. Our bird again got on top, but there was no fight left in Fritz; he scooted for a hundred yards in the direction of home, but was winged while running, part of his left wing dropping off. The rest was easy; his machine became unmanageable, an explosive bullet smashed into his petrol tank and he dropped in flames.

The entire ceremony of sending the three German chickens to their eternal hen-coop did not take ten minutes. As each bird fell to its death, the entire valley resounded with wild cheering; and when the last foe fell, the cheering wave of sound was followed by a tiger in the shape of a volley from every rifle—in fact, everything that would shoot, except the big guns.

Our bird then executed his stunt of victory, looping the loop several times over Fritzie's trenches, and the spirit of Fritz was amply exemplified by the thousand times ten thousand shots which were leveled at the air king to bring him down. He bore a charmed life; although his plane was perforated with machine-gun bullets, none touched a vital spot.

But, suddenly, from out the clouds swooped a German swallow in a frenzied attack to retrieve the disgrace. He had all the advantage of position, and a great fear filled my heart that our champion might not long enjoy the fruits of his victory. However, when about 400 yards above our bird, our watchful boys at the Archee guns (the anti-aircraft guns, so nicknamed because of their peculiar explosive sound) opened on him, and with the third shot, off flopped his fish tail. He dove in a wabble to the ground and, in his descent, his petrol tank was struck by one of our explosive bullets. When it reached the ground in No Man's Land, it was a mass of flames.

For seven days, every hour of the night and day, the mighty chorus of 1400 batteries rose and swelled unceasingly in a vast concourse of sound.

Promptly at ten minutes past five, on the morning of the seventh day, the word having passed from end to end of the lines, the men were up and over. A mine that had been prepared in the Ridge by our engineers was exploded, the shock rocking every German trench in the valley, killing several thousand men and wounding twice as many more. The first and second lines were taken without any trouble, and over we went into the third. Some opposition was here met, but quickly overcome. The program was repeated until the entire six lines of German trenches were in Canadian hands, and late in the afternoon we were masters of the Ridge.

The personal comfort to the men taking a stroll through the streets of Arras, after the Ridge was in our possession, had to be seen to be appreciated. Heretofore such a thing as a pleasure walk or shopping tour was out of the question, as the sniping was continuous, and the only way now for Fritz to snipe the town was with his heavy naval pieces, six or seven miles off, and as these visitors are a hundred times scarcer than the callers from the short range boys, the peace and quiet of our fellows were correspondingly increased one hundred fold.

No need now was there to hide our work in and around the coal mines, the precious element being taken out of the bowels of bountiful nature in as large abundance as was required; our hungry guns can now be supplied with all the grub they require in any hour of the twenty-four; our wagon lines moved forward behind the Ridge to a place of perfect security; several army corps were released for service in other parts of the lines, and the city of Lens, honeycombed with German soldiers, is practically bottled up, they not daring to retreat, and it being impossible for them to advance. But the over-weaning advantage of this movement and the reduction of this obstacle is the tremendous impetus that will be given our forces when the waves of the great drive that is in contemplation sweep the gray-clad hordes of Huns from the land of Sunny France. From a military point of view, it can be stated that our success here was of far-reaching importance.



CHAPTER XVIII

BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY

I spent the two nights following at the wagon lines, taking a much-needed rest, and after my first night's sleep there I sought out a spot in a grassy nook, as far away from the road and bustle of the lines as I could safely go, and lay at full length on the green sward; I felt as if I wanted to lie there forever, without even exerting myself to think. As the sun was setting, I awoke from my day dream, and my stomach felt the call of the cookhouse.

On the day following, one of my chums, Mulhall and myself were ordered to go to the line, gathering up the horses that were wounded or had fallen out through exhaustion. Our errand of mercy to the dumb animals had to be done on horseback, and, with the roads still under observation, it was dangerous for more than two men to go together.

We corralled several of the poor beasts, and their condition of suffering in many instances smote me with a kind of remorse; I couldn't help feeling that we humans were responsible for the pain and misery of these most useful animals that bounteous nature had put upon earth for our comfort and help. We placed them in the ruins of a barn, made them as comfortable as we could, and left them with a supply of water; for feed they had to wait.

It is with much pleasure that I can commend the splendid work in connection with caring for these wounded and sick horses that is being done at the front by the societies organized for that purpose. The amount of suffering alleviated in this, the noblest animal of all, would be ample justification for the work done; but the economic advantage derived in addition makes the object of the societies most worthy in character. Two of the horses that were only slightly wounded I pulled to the line, and as they were inclined to lie down at every step of the way, the condition of my arms when I reached my destination may be imagined; every nerve and muscle from the shoulder down was aching.

When we got to the line, Fritz was retaliating on the Ridge and a heavy bombardment was in progress; our guns were vigorously answering, and over we ran to the gun pit, getting into the game with both feet. After an hour's hard drubbing, I took occasion to step over and see a man whose friendship I had never ceased to curry—the cook, and I was just swallowing the first mouthful of the fruits of my friendship when my joy was rudely interrupted by an orderly.—"The Major wants to see you, Grant." Over I went, wondering what was up, and ransacking my noodle for some breach of discipline of which I might have been guilty.

"Did you want to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Grant," smiled the Major; two officers were standing by and they beamed on me in a fashion that made me think my future mother-in-law had gone on a long journey. "Listen carefully, Grant," said the Major, as he started to read something. I paid strict attention and I could scarcely believe my ears as the true import of the communication commenced to dawn upon me;—the G.O.C. had granted me a furlough and I was instructed to return to Canada immediately on a three-months' leave of absence. I was walking on air for a few minutes, and it was quite some little time before I could make myself really believe I wasn't dreaming.

I lost no time in bidding my pals good-bye, and when I had convinced them that it was an actual fact, the gun Sergeant said, "Fellows, Grant's going; we'll give him the best we've got; ten rounds of gun fire. Ready! Fire!" and ten ear-drum splitters clove the air. I had no cotton in my ears and the effects of that farewell stayed with me several minutes after I left. I then went to say good-bye to the man whose friendship I had always nursed, my good friend the cook. He urged me to wait while he fixed me up the feed of my life, as he expressed it, and you can understand the state of my feelings when I tell you that I refused his bounty. I never did such a thing in my life!

I turned to go and found myself face to face with the Major. "What the hell are you hanging around here for? Didn't I tell you to beat it to the wagon lines before you got hit? Do you think your horseshoe luck is going to stay with you forever? While you have got your furlough in your hand, beat it!"

I hastened my steps. On the way I passed the burial party who were laying to their last rest the men who had fallen the night before, and as I glanced at the faces of the boys who would never again see their beloved Canadian homes, tears, for the first time in many long months, welled up into my eyes.

I doubled from there to a battery in the rear to say farewell to my cousin Hughie, and while going from pit to pit in his battery, looking for him, the guns were speaking as fast as they could, and retaliation from Germany was blasting its way through the air. Right at this moment the Major's warning was most beautifully exemplified; a splinter struck me in the cheek, flooring me and knocking out two teeth in the upper left jaw. When I recovered my balance, the diligence I exercised in getting away from the scene of activity would have satisfied even the Major; besides, I was doubly anxious that he should not know of my mishap, as he would be bound to twit me unmercifully.

Holding my jaw, I made my way carefully to one of the horses I had brought up, mounted, and kicked the poor brute in the ribs every step of the way back to the wagon line. My feelings of sympathy for the animal were completely submerged in the feeling in my jaw, my haste to get to a dressing station, and home. For fear it would reach the Major's ears, I told the doctor at the dressing station that the horse had kicked me. He washed and dressed it with a bandage, but just before getting to the wagon lines I removed it.

Here I had another hard time convincing the fellows that I was off for home, but when they saw me go to the paymaster and draw 50 francs, they were constrained to believe that there must be something in it, and I was the recipient of hearty congratulations and well wishes. Forty of the francs went for champagne and eats; I felt that this might be the last time I would have the opportunity to enjoy the company of many of them.

I departed next morning in the mess cart, and just before leaving I had another send-off;—the entire wagon lines paraded and gave me a parting cheer. Again the tears!

I arrived at Bethune, boarded a French civilian train and traveled for five hours, reaching a junction point where, in company with a number of wounded men who were able to walk, I boarded a box car.

The train was traveling at a funereal pace and the weather turned sharply cold; neither the wounded nor the well men, with one exception, had any blankets; the exception had seven blankets that he monopolized, refusing to share an inch of them with anyone. Such unparalleled hoggishness and meanness never went unpunished at the front, and I resolved that he would be no exception to the rule. In order to take the chill off ourselves, we jumped off the train every chance we got, gathering up some coal, until we had accumulated enough to make a fair-sized fire, which we kindled on the floor of the car; it was necessary to shove the burning coals here and there over the surface to avoid burning a hole through it. At one point I noticed a horse-car filled with straw bedding for the animals, and the train going here at a snail's pace enabled me to jump off and chuck an armful of the straw into our car; I did this with my friend of the blankets in mind. I threw the damp straw on top of the live coals and in a few minutes or less the car was filled with rank, reeking smoke that fairly made the eyes water. Up jumped the blanket monopolist, rushed to the window for a breath of air, and while inhaling the ozone I chucked his blankets out of the car door. When he returned to his nest, which was a nest no longer, he swore several swears, both large and small, but he was forced to fare like the rest of us,—on the bare boards.

All this time the pain in my jaw was gradually getting worse. A swelling had started and I was feeling a little the worse for wear.

It was morning when we reached Abbeville Station, where we were to wait until night before being able to resume our journey. Here there was a horrible mass of dead horses—about 500 in all—lying in the railroad yards; they had died in the cars on the way back for treatment. It was a fearsome sight.

In an hour or so my face was commencing to throb violently, and I hunted up the nearest dressing station, which was a casualty clearing station, and addressed myself to the nurse.

"What's the matter, Canada?" she asked, looking at my jaw.

"Why, I got hit, nurse."

"I can plainly see that, but what makes it that color? It looks like gangrene! Come in and see the doctor."

He examined me and found there was a piece left sticking there; I would have to be operated on at once, he said, and there was no time lost getting down to business. He extracted a small splinter.

"See that this man is put to bed at once; gangrene has just started."

When I got off the table my face was so bound up in bandages that only my nose and one eye were visible.

"Go to bed, now," said the nurse. "Oh, no, I can't," I said; "I have got to leave at once."

"No, no, you mustn't do anything of the kind; you must go to bed at once and have the closest care for some weeks." She fixed up a cot for me in the station and I went to bed. After lying there for three hours I asked her if I might go up to the station and get my kit, that I had some valuable souvenirs I didn't want to lose, and that I would like to present her with some of them. She let me go, and at the station I saw some box cars going through. Grabbing my kit, I slung myself aboard and reached a station by nightfall, where I got off and waited for the through train, which finally came along. The fellows on board with whom I had become acquainted on the way down, told me the hospital orderly was searching for me high and low.

After another wearisome day aboard those unspeakable box-cars, I reached the base. My jaw, although not throbbing so fiercely, was still painfully troublesome, and I sought out one of the hospitals and had to swallow the unwelcome news that the condition of my face was such that it would be necessary to luxuriate in a hospital bed for a week or ten days, which I did.

The kindness of the nurses was beyond praise, and the efforts for the wounded men left nothing to be desired; there was absolutely every provision for the health and well-being of the men. The wonderful organization of the British Red Cross and its workings in this war will go down through the pages of history as the one spot in the nation's management of the campaign that is absolutely flawless.

At the end of ten days I was permitted to leave the hospital, with the understanding that I would take good care of myself and report daily for dressing. I then went to the Y.M.C.A., making my home there for three or four days, and here, also the treatment accorded me was most praiseworthy; the provision made for the men's recreation will remain a lasting tribute to this most beneficial organization.

I left the boys for England, embarking on board ship at 5:00 o'clock in the evening, leaving about an hour later. On the way over submarines were reported in the channel, but my horseshoe luck was still with me, and I made the tight little isle in safety next morning. I arrived at Southampton the latter part of May. My first errand in England was to report to the O.C. at Camp Shorncliffe. Then I made haste to look up my brother Billy, who was in the hospital 200 miles away. On my way to the camp I happened to meet a pal of Billy's, and was delighted to learn that he was well and out of hospital, fully recovered from his wound in the thigh, and in a few minutes' time we were gripping hands.

I never before realized the large measure of affection in our hearts for each other as I did on that morning. It seemed as if we had both been through the Valley of the Shadow and had been led safely through by an all-wise and bountiful Father.

In due time I embarked at Liverpool, on board the Mistress of the Seas, the S.S. Olympic, the largest passenger boat afloat. For three days we lay in the channel, awaiting our escort, four torpedo boat destroyers, and, finally, as the wheel of the mighty leviathan commenced churning the waters, I knew we were really off for home!

In starting, we followed the course mapped out for us by three or four of the little channel pilot boats that threaded their way through the maize of mines placed in the water there, and by night time we were on the bosom of the Atlantic.

The following day was quiet, nothing happened to interrupt the usual monotony of an ocean voyage, but that night at 9:15 the ship from stem to stern was thrown into a turmoil of excitement by the firing of a gun and the terrifying word—"Submarine!" The boat was darkened, not a light showing, and everyone was rushing from their cabins in a mad state for life belts, utterly ignoring the rigid command not to leave their portholes open and expose the lights of the vessel. It was worse than confusion confounded!

I had been appointed one of provo N.C.O.'s, and my duty was to see that everybody was supplied with a lifebelt, wear it at all times except when going to bed, and then they were ordered to have them at hand in case of emergency. Although some of the people obeyed the instructions to the letter, even going so far as to sleep in them, many others neglected the order.

Some idea of the sense of responsibility on the Captain and his crew can be had when I state that 1400 women and children on board were in his absolute care and keeping. Everything possible was done to calm the frantic people; nothing could convince them that that single shot had sunk the sub. But so indeed it was! The steady nerve and unfailing aim of the gunner had done the trick, and there was no more danger to be feared from that particular snake of the sea. The gunner was an old man-o'-war's man and was completely overwhelmed by the grateful and heartfelt thanks of the passengers, he, in his native modesty, apparently thinking he hadn't done any more than he ought to have done,—which indeed was very true. But if he had missed!

There was only one sad mishap throughout the entire excitement. A woman, losing her head and trying to climb into a lifeboat, before she was ordered to do so, and carrying her baby in her arms at the time, as she was clambering up the rail of the vessel to get into the boat, let her baby slip from her arms into the dark waters below. With a frenzied scream, she seemed as if about to throw herself after her little one, but strong hands caught her and prevented.

In spite of the watchful eyes of the four escorts plowing along at each corner of the vessel, and signaling constantly, never for a moment during the time we were in the submarine zone did the ship cease its zigzagging course, and lookouts were stationed on every point of the boat from which observations could be had.

The trip was made in perfect safety and I arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, five and a half days from the time I left Liverpool.

At last I was on the train for home! I commenced to count the minutes on the last lap of my journey, and no blushing young girl, making her debut, was any more excited than I was when the iron horse choo-chooed into the station at Ottawa two days later. As fast as a taxi could make the trip without violating the rigors of the law against speeding, I dashed homeward. I had sent no word ahead to my people, as I wanted to give them a complete surprise and I succeeded most admirably, my favorite sister fainting as I entered the door.

THE END