A piece of the same shell struck Lieutenant Shoenberger, my signalling officer, who stood close beside me, and he fell. He said never a word, but in a trice had his knife out, cut off his puttee and looked at his ankle. The bone was broken. Before I could give him a hand he had his first aid bandage out and tied up the wound himself. I offered to send a man with him to the dressing station a quarter of a mile back, but he said he would crawl down on his hands and knees all right and that every man would be needed in the trenches. He was quite cool and collected and did not show any sign of fear. I felt very sorry for him.

Nearly a century ago Admiral Lord Cochrane, a man of wonderful scientific knowledge, advanced a project to the British Government for a terrible and unseen agent which could be used against an enemy, and which was so destructive and powerful it would render their armies helpless. That secret was asphyxiating gas. His plan was on the field of battle when the wind was favorable to build large fires with tar and damp straw behind which an attack could be prepared. Then sulphur was to be thrown on these burning piles so as to produce gas, which blowing over the enemy would render them helpless. This would not produce a poisonous gas. It would only be an asphyxiating gas that would knock a man out for a while. Still the British had refused to use this secret.

In 1913 German scientists at the German Headquarters Staff had experimented with sulphur, chlorine and bromine fumes. They reported on sulphur gas: "This gas thus produced acts as an irritant on the lungs and eyes, and thence it is adapted to render the enemy incapable of resistance, but is not poisonous, and in that way its use in war is not contrary to international right." They had in view Article 23 of the rules of conducting hostilities promulgated by the second Hague Conference to which they had subscribed, which specifically prohibits "the use of poisons and poisonous arms" and "the use of arms, projectiles and material destined to produce useless suffering." The Germans could have used sulphur gas just as well as chlorine gas, but sulphur was not poisonous, and would not kill; chlorine and bromine would.

We had just learned that they were using red phosphorus in their shells, and that any particle of that chemical that got into a wound would set up gangrene from which hundreds of soldiers died in terrible agony. We had surmised that they were in the habit of dipping their rifle bullets in red phosphorus solution because where they struck the men's clothing they invariably started even the wool clothing burning. That was the case at St. Julien Wood where, according to the stories brought back by the men, they had foully crucified a sergeant belonging to our brigade on a barn door. He belonged to our bombing section.

The sun was shining a red rim on the horizon in the east. The sickly green clouds of the gas appeared denser in some places than others. The wind was just right for the infernal curtain that gradually drew over the trenches. The thickest pall was blown against the right of our line between McGregor's company and the left of the 8th Battalion, where there was an open space protected only by a small trench and barbed wire. Of those on our right hardly a man was left to tell the tale.

All those who stuck to the trench and did not use wet bandoliers or handkerchiefs died. Some tried to get out, only to fall stricken with the deadly vapor before they had gone many yards. Among these was Lieut. Taylor, an Oxford scholar, one of the best athletes in the First Division. He won out of the trench only to die on the Gravenstafel Ridge. Company Sergeant-Major Hermitage and his brother Sergeant Hermitage were stricken down also but managed to crawl out. The latter lost the use of his vocal chords for some time. They were burned with the fatal gas. Lieutenant Mavor, who was in this section, fell, but they managed to get him out before he succumbed. Some of the men fell back to the left to a communicating trench which they held till the German infantry attack came when they rallied to the parapets and drove the Germans out with their bayonets.

A very dense cloud of gas was directed against the centre of our line and Captain McLaren was one of the first to fall. Some of his men succeeded in getting him out. For days his life was despaired of, and his lungs were scarred for ever. Lieutenant Maxwell Scott, of Abbotsford, kindred of the great Sir Walter, author of Waverley, one of the finest officers in our battalion, fell from the effects of the fumes. They succeeded in getting him out also. His life was dispaired of.

The only thing the soldiers had to stave off the poisonous gas were their wet handkerchiefs or wet bandoliers where they happened to have them. Pads and masks were not then known or issued.

My lungs were sore for months from the gas we got at the village of St. Julien and here, which was a second dose.

When the German attack came many of the men had fallen. Others were too weak to fight, but there were still some left and they counter attacked and drove the Germans out of the trenches with the bayonet. The fighting was very strenuous while it lasted. It was a case of butt or point whichever came handiest. I noticed a number of men straggling back through on our right and went over to see what was the trouble, thinking that they were retiring without orders. I found, however, they were all badly gassed and wounded so they could be of no further help. Those who were able to shoot were halted and put into the supporting trenches, over which the Germans were putting a curtain of fire filled with asphyxiating gasses which smelled like ten thousand "camphor balls turned loose," as one man said, as he turned sick with the gas and smell.

When the Germans were driven off they again turned their guns and rifles on the brave few who were hanging on. Captain McGregor went down with a wound in the head, but he still kept on using his rifle till a second bullet laid him low. Lieutenant Langmuir, revolver in hand, fell after he had killed eight of the foe. He had more than evened the score at the head of his platoon. Smith and Macdonald fought like lions. Again and again they charged the Germans with the bayonet. Lieutenant Bath, a quiet and mild mannered youth, greatly distinguished himself. Captain McKessock was operating his machine guns like mad. One of the guns he turned over to "Rolly" Carmichael, the tallest man in the regiment, a daredevil who did not know the meaning of fear. With a wound in his shoulder McKessock took one gun out of the forward line, mounted it in rear of a ruin about two hundred feet behind its original position and began ripping holes through the German ranks that were appalling. He was finally overcome from loss of blood. Major Osborne, badly gassed, fought on with a wound in the shoulder till a bullet caught him in the face. He was put into a communication trench from which he directed his men.

The line held against the first attack. Although the Germans broke through in several places they were driven back and paid a fearful price for their daring.

The gasses rolled to the supporting trenches and made life unbearable. The pungent smell was awful. Shells and rifle fire were forgotten in the scorching livid breath of the chlorine. Scores of men died where they stood. Some tried to crawl away. The bearers brought some out from the front line, but when I examined their pulses I found them dead. Poor fellows, their features were distorted and their faces livid. Blood-tainted froth clung to their lips. Their skins were mottled blue and white. They were a heartbreaking sight to behold.

Chlorine gas killed! No wonder the poor ignorant Turcos fled. But the indomitable "Red Watch" held on.

The sun rose from a lurid red sea in the east. It was now daylight and five German aeroplanes of the Albatross pattern rose in the German lines and started boldly across our territory. Our machine guns spoke against the flying observer, and I knew that Captain McKessock's guns had still a few kicks left. The stream of wounded and gassed men continued. Many of them could hardly make their way along on their hands and knees. The gas affected some of them so they did not recognize anyone. They afterwards fancied they had been in the front line for days.

The poisonous gasses affected the brain as well as the lungs. Then we realized the full enormity of the gas attack of the enemy. It was not a gas that would knock a man out that they were giving us, but a poisonous gas that would kill.

It was half past six o'clock before the German infantry again tried to force our redoubts.

The gas, shell fire, enfilading fire and machine gun fire they fancied had again done their work, and they ventured out of their trenches and charged against the centre of our line. They broke through between some redoubts in Captain McLaren's line, but the men rallied and drove them out again with the bayonet. The "chop chop" of the Ross rifle told us that there was still plenty of fight in the front line.

The Royal Highlanders on our left and the "Buffs" were attacked at the same time. The German machine guns in the farmhouse were playing havoc with the men in the shallow "dig ins" which they had made the previous night, but the Highlanders held on like grim death. Shells filled with asphyxiating gas were fired at us, and whole squads of men in the supporting trenches were wiped out at each salvo, which consisted usually of four huge shells.

A message from Major Osborne stated that there was a possibility of a shortage of ammunition and he asked for orders and supports. I was sorry to have to tell him that the 48th were to "hold on to the last, and if ammunition gave out to use the bayonet, to hold the redoubts to the end. If the Germans broke through to drive them out with the bayonet."

Orders were issued that the wounded were to get first aid, but were not to be carried out. We needed every rifle and man, and could no longer spare stretcher bearers.

Help was expected, but it was just as dangerous to retire as to hold the forts. We were holding the enemy back and any minute the British might come.

I do not know whether my message got through to him, but I do know that he and his fellow officers carried out the orders.

The Automatic Colt 45, which all the Canadian officers carried, is a good weapon at close quarters. Its bullet would stop an ox, but there is a limit to the rounds that can be fired. In a hard close scuffle, there is nothing like a stout rifle and a long sharp bayonet. I picked one up that had been dropped by a wounded man. It was an excellent weapon, better at close quarters than my claymore. The knowledge learned in the old Toronto Fencing Club of how to lunge and parry was to stand me in good stead during that awful morning. The arme blanche is not to be despised, and when you are at it hand to hand you are relieved from shell fire.

I afterwards gave the rifle to Sergeant Coe, the bravest of many brave men, who carried it when he fell at the head of his platoon in the immortal charge on the orchard at Festubert.

About nine o 'clock the German aeroplanes again came along and took another good look at our position. A white flare was dropped over the bit of trench held by Major Marshall, a platoon of forty odd men with a machine gun and crew, that had again and again raked the German trenches. About twenty howitzers immediately opened fire on that unfortunate trench, and how any of them escaped was a mystery, for they seemed to get the range to a dot. Company Sergeant-Major Vernon, one of my best non-commissioned officers, had his head completely blown off with a piece of shell. Sergeant Angus Ferguson, veteran of India, Egypt and Africa, was shot in the arm and leg. He was left for dead. Later the diabolical Huns captured him, and on his raising an objection to having his leg amputated gave him his choice of that or being shot. They amputated his leg above the knee without even administering an anaesthetic, but he lived to return to Toronto and tell the tale.

A number of the machine gunners were killed and wounded. Lieutenant Dansereau, my adjutant, was struck in the head with a piece of shell and everyone thought he was finished. Word was brought to me to that effect, and I felt as if I had lost my own son. Sergeant Flood of the machine gun section stood by his piece as long as possible, but finally a shell smashed the mount and this piece of trench became untenable. The pitiful remnant of the platoon, now consisting of seven men with Major Marshall, had to find a place to the right of the supporting trenches where they kept on fighting. The Germans had broken through on our left and were trying to force our supporting trenches.

Major Marshall and the few that were left with him spotted a platoon of the enemy advancing in their front about one hundred feet away, led by a man who they thought carried a white flag. He wore a blue coat and looked like a French soldier. They thought at first that it was a bunch of Turcos or of Germans wanting to surrender. They opened fire, and the man with the white disk turned and started running back and they saw that the other side of the disk bore the ominous black cross. He was a marker for their artillery. He did not run far. Marshall had a rifle and bayonet and knew how to use them. On our left Lieutenant Colonel Burland of Montreal took charge of the 14th and fought rifle in hand. He greatly distinguished himself.

All this time a miserable Hun was playing on our trenches from the left rear with a machine gun.

Between our forward position and St. Julien, a short distance northwest of the Poelcapelle Road, a number of farm buildings had been seized by the Germans when the Turcos fled the first night, and they had placed their Maxims in the upper windows and were trying their level best all the time to get us in the back.



CHAPTER XXV

ALL THAT WAS LEFT OF THEM

"Look out!" called Lt.-Colonel Burland of Montreal to me.

"You make the hair stand up on my head. That 'blighter' has followed you up and down with his machine gun all morning, and it is a mystery to me how he manages to miss you."

"Well, you're a machine gunner too, and you know he traverses the Maxim after me by patting it on the cheek. I just step short two paces and he goes on."

This answer brought a roar of laughter from the grim warriors in the trenches. The sorry part of it was that that "blighter" in trying to get me had shot several other men.

All morning long the Germans had been trying to take St. Julien. The German artillery south of Zonnebeke sent a storm of shell, raking the rear of the trenches held by our troops from end to end with high explosives. In front of the trenches machine guns hidden in barns and houses ripped the top of the parapets of the hastily-formed trenches held by the Toronto Regiment.

Here Lieutenant "Bill" Jarvis of Toronto died the death of a hero. Medland, another of the Toronto boys much loved by his men, was hit. They were in a trench that was very much exposed which formed the connecting link between the battalion which held the wood north of brigade headquarters and the line of the 3rd Brigade before St. Julien.

"Bill" Jarvis, as he was affectionately known by all ranks in his battalion, had been struck the day before with splinters of shrapnel in the ankle. He was not disabled, and instead of going to the hospital he tied his emergency bandage over his wounds and "carried on." With a half dozen men he was ordered to clear a bunch of German snipers out of a house. When he got there he had only one man left, but the job was done and thoroughly done at that. Fearless to a fault, up and down the line he went during the night of Friday and Saturday morning. He was cut across the chest with a fragment of shell and had a bullet wound through his shoulder, still he refused to leave. Finally he sat down in his trench never to rise again. During the night he had carried a number of wounded to the dressing station but neglected to have his own wounds dressed. He fought as gallantly as his ancestors fought at Chippewa and Lundy's lane. A stern sense of duty kept him in the trenches when he should have been in the hospital. He gave his life for others. There was mourning among the sailing fraternity in Toronto, and Ridley College, Canada, half masted its flag in memory of the famous Cadet Captain who gave his life so freely on the Plains of Flanders.

All day long the tide of battle surged back and forward along the front line of trenches. Dearly the Germans were made to pay for every foot of frontage. Again and again they charged and were driven back. Then the hell of shell fire would be redoubled and preparation made for a fresh attack. With only a few guns in support it was very difficult to hold our own. When would the supporting troops and artillery come? For two days and two nights we had fought against odds of at least ten to one in men and fifty to one in artillery. The tragic monotony of it all was awful, but the honor of the Empire rested in our hands and it was our duty to play the game to the last man. Every few moments the shell fire and machine guns of the enemy would claim a victim.

Two brave men, Sergeant Coe and Private M.J. O'Connor, signallers, went into the machine gun trench, which was on our extreme left behind a hedge, to bring out Captain Dansereau's body. I also told them to bring back any papers which were left in the shelled and ruined dugout. Through the hurricane of shot and shell that tore the earth up in all directions they made their way. When they returned they told me that the bit of trench was almost filled with dead but they could not find my adjutant. When they went to the dugout to get my papers they found it wrecked and the maps and papers gone. Then I knew that my adjutant must have recovered consciousness sufficiently to get my papers, among them some maps, and that he must have got out, badly wounded as he was. He was the fourth officer of my staff to be wounded, and Major Marshall and Dr. MacKenzie were the only two left of our headquarters staff.

Early that morning while we were in the midst of some very strenuous fighting a message came down from headquarters to the effect that it had been reported that the "48th Battalion had been gassed and compelled to retire." The "fusser" and liar lives even on the battlefield. This story had been told by some runaway to give an excuse for his own cowardice.

I sent a message back that this report was untrue. Our telephone lines and telephone station had been blown up by a "coal box," so we had to depend upon runners to get messages through. One of these, Pte. M.R. Kerr, later on sent me a message from the hospital to the effect that he had taken a message through for me but had been struck by a shell on his way back with the receipt and had to be taken to the hospital. He apologised for not returning to report the message delivered. I recommend him for the D.C.M.

The left flank sections of the 8th had been gassed when the Germans tried to get through between that battalion and ours. Some of their supports had come to their assistance and had driven the enemy back and reconstituted the line. They were supported by a remnant of the gallant 10th. In the early morning of Saturday this undaunted battalion had been withdrawn from St. Julien Wood where they had earned undying glory. After rallying about two hundred and seventy men they marched down to our assistance but were diverted to our right. We heard shortly after noon through runners that two battalions of British troops, the Yorks and Durhams, were on their way down to assist us in a counter attack, but these corps did not arrive until later in the afternoon. They were raw troops only out that day from England. In coming down to Fortuyn they came in open order and the German "curtain of fire" took heavy toll.



After the first attack the Germans settled down to a steady diet of shelling and machine gun fire. I noticed men coming back to both flanks of our supporting trenches, so I went over to rally them and put those that were not incapacitated in with the few of our platoons that were left. In the rear of the right flank of the 7th I saw some men gathered behind a ruined house at a place we called Enfiladed crossroads and went over to see who they were. The moment I stepped out of my trench a German machine gunner got after me and I could hear the "swish swish" of the bullets a few feet in front of me. I realized that death was very near, so I stepped short and let him get his range a little ahead of me. His gun followed me for a hundred yards. I found Captain Victor Currie there trying to get the wounded away from the dressing station. Major Odlum, with a few of the remnant of the brave 7th, came along. Some of his men who were gassed were coming back and he was getting a trifle alarmed about his front companies as the enemy were launching attack after attack on St. Julien on his left. I told him to tell his companies to hang on till the last on the left and at the same time to take all the stragglers and put them into the trenches in rear of his left company as support. The ground on his right which I had crossed was badly enfiladed. Lieut.-Colonel Burland came along, having put all the men he could muster into our supporting trenches. He had been struck on the chest with a spent fragment of a "coal box" which had bowled him over, but he was still full of fight. When I started back across the Kerrserlaere Zonnebeke road for our trenches a short distance east, a devilish machine gun again got after me and followed me to the shelter of the dugout in which a number of the wounded had been placed. As I entered the door of the dugout half a dozen bullets pattered on the timber prop of the low doorway not a foot from my head. After seeing to the comfort of the wounded I started back along the trench, and my old friend the "German gunner" again took a crack at me. He certainly had it in for me that day. He caught a sergeant of the Royal Montreals a few feet away from me and he fell, shot in the spine. But a Merciful hand protected me. My hour had not come.

The companies of the 13th, 14th and 7th on our left were hanging on to their trenches like demons. The men in our forward trenches, subjected to a torrent of shot and shell after driving the enemy back and losing half their number, were still fighting valiantly. From a sap at the rim of the ridge I could see our torn trenches still occupied by a few intrepid men. I could hear the "chop chop" of the rifles as they drove off the Germans, who had now resorted to open formation to try and win our forward trench. Six ranks deep the German marines had come on to take our trenches. We did not know at first that we were opposed to the German Navy but we were. The marines had been brought down from the fleet to take our trenches and see some fighting. They paid a good price for their curiosity. One of our machine guns is credited with putting over four hundred of them out of business.

Behind the German position I could see the fields filled with great masses of troops formed up ready to be launched against us. God help the heroes that day in the forward lines! Few of them would return to Toronto or the green plains of Canada. I did not know then that the German Emperor was standing on the slope behind Poelcapelle watching his hosts trying to break through the thin Canadian line. Every time the foe fell back discomfited they turned the full fury of their thousands of guns on our front line. Volleys of shells fell in rapid succession along the thin French parapets. One would think that no human creature could live in the tremendous blasts and the showers of steel fragments from the high explosive shells that flew screaming through the air in every direction like mad things.

But the bond of an iron discipline still held the Canadians, not a sound came from the tortured trenches. When the guns were turned upon the parapets and a perfect deluge of bullets would rip through the sandbags and send the clay clattering down the osiers of the hurdles and willow gabions, there would come no response from the Canadian trenches, not a shot would be fired. Plucking up courage the Huns, with much hesitation, would emerge from their "funk holes," as our men called their trenches, port arms and start across the "devil's strip," hoping that the whirlwind of shells had despatched the last of the "white devils" from Canada. But no! They would only make about ten yards when the "warning whistles" of the dauntless Canadians would sound, and then the roar of rapid fire would rise. It was not for idle pastime our men had practised night and day with dummy cartridges going through the motions of loading and firing. The attacking lines would fall in whole sections, in many cases one bullet killing two or three men. The rifle fire of the Canadian marksmen was exceedingly deadly. Every bullet found a billet. Groans and cries from the dying and wounded Germans would reach us. We could hear distinctly the hoarse shouts of their officers as they ordered "Vorwarts, Vorwarts, Schneller," while the poor unfortunate privates dismayed by the deadly blast would groan "nein, nein." Then we would hear "Wir sollen Ihr lehren Ihre Canadian Schwein! Uns Neuve Chapelle, zu sagen." "We'll teach you Canadian swine to boast about Neuve Chapelle."

Then like one man they would turn and dash madly back to their parapets, leaving the trampled clay of the devil's strip heaped with writhing figures of wounded and dead.

Again and again we scanned the fields in the direction of Fortuyn to see if help was coming. If this process of attrition continued much longer there would be no front line. Meanwhile the German guns searched every foot of ground behind the crest of the Gravenstafel ridge. Every inch of ground that could afford a particle of protection, or was not quite visible, was torn to pieces with their "hi-ex" shells.

"Why are they throwing away so much good ammunition?" my men would ask me.

I knew but did not say anything. On account of the brave way in which our forward lines were fighting, the Germans fancied we had thousands of men in support. If they only knew they could have steam-rollered us. It is part of the game of war to impose on the enemy and we were carrying out that tradition. It was the biggest bluff Canada ever played.

About noon the Germans began blowing the troops out of the trenches on the right of our supports. I went down again with Lieut. Colonel Burland to the enfiladed crossroads to see what troops were there, and to learn if any word had come through from headquarters. I stopped at the field dressing station and ordered them to get the wounded away as quickly as possible as the enemy were shelling their quarters, evidently with the intention of destroying them. I met Major D.M. Ormond of the 10th who had retired some of the men on his left. He was asked to put his men back into the trenches below the crest of the ridge and hang on. He wanted us to go back with him but that was impossible. He was under the orders of the 2nd Brigade. I told him to direct any of his men who were slightly wounded, but still able to fight, to a line of trenches east of Hennebeke Creek, my idea being that the Germans were having such a tough time with the forward lines that as long as they suspected the crest was held they would not come on. Any troops seen going back to the crest would be taken for reinforcements. I knew that there must be an observation station not far from the German "machine gunner" that was following me and that this station would warn the enemy in our front that we still held the ridge in considerable strength.

This theory proved to be correct, for the supporting trenches then held by us on the ridge were taken over and held by the British troops for days afterwards.

It was late in the afternoon when the din and rifle fire in our front trenches ceased. Not a man came back, so I knew that every one had stood to his post until overwhelmed. About the same time, five o'clock, a blood-stained order reached me to retire the remnant to the Divisional Reserve trenches. By this time the relieving troops could be seen advancing in open order a short distance away. The Germans were still attacking the line held by the Seventh on our left along the Poelcapelle road. I watched them attack in open order at about three paces interval through a turnip field, the officer following behind with a drawn sword. Every time they reached the margin of the turnip patch, which had not been dug up and which was producing a perfect miniature forest of seed shoots, our guns and the 7th rifles would open on them and they would run back for cover. Again and again they persisted until finally the artillery ceased to fire.

As ordered I sent Major Marshall back to the headquarters trenches with what was left of the supporting platoons, some seventy men, and taking several scouts with me we endeavored to convey the order to retire along the line of front trenches. We were fired on and three of my scouts were hit. It will be remembered that the forward line extended about a thousand yards and consisted of a series of redoubts.

A wounded man told us that the redoubts at the east of the line, which had been surrounded by hordes of Saxons and marines for a long time, had been rushed when the ammunition ran out. Our men fought to the end with their bayonets.

The scouts sent down to the right were fired upon and only one of them returned. The Germans fired on Sergeant Coe and myself and tried to intercept us, but some of them would not intercept anybody any more. We got away with whole skins. Not a man or an officer in the redoubts remained unwounded when they were taken prisoner. Those who were not hit had been weakened with gas. It is no disgrace to be wounded and taken prisoner in a rear guard action.

Help was now coming in some strength and the situation was saved. I could see battalion after battalion coming down the Fortuyn road in extended order, and I knew that in a short time there would be an advance of these troops north-easterly towards the Poelcapelle road, closing the dangerous space held by the remnant of the 7th Battalion and taking over our supporting trenches and the crest of the gap along the Gravenstafel ridge to the 8th Batt.

The first troops to arrive were the Suffolks and the 12th London Regiment. A few German sharpshooters had crawled through the forward lines and were firing from the crest in two places. On our left the valiant 13th fought in their shallow fire trenches to the last man. Two companies of the 7th hung on to their trenches at the Poelcapelle road until they were overwhelmed by the onrush of Prussians, Saxons and Marine battalions that surrounded them on all sides. The company of "Buffs" that was in support behind the extreme right of the 13th was wiped out. I sent runner after runner along the front trenches but they were fired on and two of them failed to return. I could still hear the row and fighting in front of St. Julien, and the machine guns were going fiercely. I was the last man back. I had borne a charmed life all day, and certainly had a lot to be thankful for.

As we started out for St. Julien I sent some runners ahead of me to notify Captains Alexander and Cory to break off and retire to general headquarters line of trenches as soon as the British troops took over from them. The messengers came back and reported that the village was in the possession of the enemy and that they had been fired upon. Only an hour before I had received a message from Captain Alexander telling me that they were having a pretty tough time, that they were glad to know that I was still safe and that help would be very welcome.

We made several attempts to get into St. Julien but found the Germans held it in considerable force. It was some days later that we learned that Alexander and Cory and a devoted few had held on to the trenches at the northeast angle of the village, although surrounded all that night and part of the next day, Sunday.

On Sunday morning the British troops about daylight launched an attack to recover St. Julien. Four battalions, the Royal Irish Fusiliers, the Dublin Fusiliers, the Seaforth Highlanders and the Warwicks, with the Northumberland brigade in support, tried to retake the village. They found the remnant of the garrison very much alive in the northwest corner although surrounded by the Germans. They, however, failed to carry the village and save the Canadian garrison.

The 48th had suffered terrible losses along with the other battalions of the 3rd Brigade. The question may be asked why did we hang on. Why did not the Canadians retire when they found the Germans were in such force and determined to take their trenches? Instead they stuck to their redoubts and did not budge. They fought back to back when surrounded and refused to give up, driving the enemy back scores of times, until only about 100 of the 800 in our forward trenches were able to raise a rifle. They had lived up to the best traditions of a Highland Regiment. Had we retired, or had the corps at the angle which connected us retired, Canada would have been disgraced forever.

General Alderson, a couple of weeks later, after he had reviewed the whole situation answered all critics by issuing a general order to all the Canadians from which I quote.

"I think it is possible that you do not, all of you, quite realize that if we had retired on the evening of the 22nd April, when our Allies fell back before the gas and left our left flank quite open, the whole of the 27th and 28th Divisions would probably have been cut off, certainly they would not have got away a gun or a vehicle of any kind and probably not more than half the infantry. This is what our Commander-in-Chief meant when he telegraphed as he did that 'The Canadians had saved the situation.' My lads, if ever men had a right to be proud in this world you have.

"I know my military history pretty well, and I cannot think of an instance, especially when the cleverness and determination of the enemy is taken into account, in which troops were placed in such a difficult position. Nor can I think of an instance in which so much depended on the standing fast of one division.

"You will remember the last time I spoke to you, just before you went into the trenches at Sailly, now over two months ago, I told you about my old regiment, the E. West Kents, having gained a reputation for not budging from their trenches, no matter how heavily they were attacked. I said I was quite sure that in a short time the Army out here would be saying the same of you. I little thought, we none of us thought, how soon those words would come true. But now here, to-day, not only the Army here, but all Canada, all England and all the Empire are saying it of you."

The Canadians held their trenches like the West Kents. The German papers subsequently said that they (the Canadians) fought till their ammunition was gone, then they fought with their bayonets, and still unconquerable they died in the trenches they had dug. Every writer on this battle has given them unstinted praise.

The manner in which they held their trenches fighting to the last with small groups of men, taught a new lesson in tactics to the Allies which later on bore fruit at Verdun.



CHAPTER XXVI

DIGGING IN WITH GENERAL SNOW

"Kar-r-umph!!! Bang!! Puff!!

"Kar-r-umph!!! Bang!! Puff!!

"Kar-r-umph!!! Bang!! Puff!!

"Guess the Germans are handing us the wrong bill of fare this morning. Coffee and iron rations," said Sergeant Coe as he bent over and took a look into the tin basin on the Flemish stove in the kitchen of one of our billets, where we were both striving to get hot water for some tea.

Three "coal boxes" had landed in succession in the upper storey of the house with a great rattle of tile, and as each one exploded huge puffs of black smoke and cinders flew out of the cracks in the stove, turning the water in the basin into a black decoction not unlike coffee.

We started a fresh fire. Sergeant Coe calmly remarked that lightning never struck twice in the same place. He was right.

Major Marshall had met me at dusk, in the rear of St. Julien village to tell me that he had sent the men into headquarter trenches at Wiltje under Sergeant "Jock" Thomson, and that he could not find out anything about Captains Alexander and Cory.

No officer in the division was more conscientious in his work and duty than Captain Alexander. Every man in his company worshipped him. He was absolutely fearless and always wore a pleasant smile when the danger was greatest. For his gallant defence of St. Julien, on my recommendation he was subsequently decorated with the Military Cross, although he had been made a prisoner of war. Capt. Cory, also on my recommendation, got his promotion to major.

On the way out I had passed a number of British regiments in extended order advancing to try to restore the lines for which we had fought so dearly. Seeing them going forward under shell fire in extended order told me at once they were green troops. When I reached Fortuyn I saw a battery of our artillery loaded and hooked up in the shelter of some farm buildings ready to withdraw.

I was then sent for to report to a British Aide-de-Camp in a "dugout" what the situation at Gravenstafel Ridge was. I told him briefly that my front trenches had been blown up, that I had retired all that was left of my supports,—some seventy all told,—on orders from Canadian Headquarters,—and that the British troops could easily make good our supporting trenches below the crest of the ridge without any difficulty.

After this I left the "report centre" and was passing through a territorial regiment which was advancing in open order when a man called out from the ranks, "Is that you, Colonel Currie?" I recognized him at once, and he asked me how his brother was. I knew them both well in Canada. I was sorry to have to tell him that his brother, who was with my regiment, was missing, either dead, wounded or a prisoner. He told me he had been rejected in Canada for being undersized and that he had gone to England and joined a territorial regiment. Their battalion had only just arrived from England and they were getting their baptism of fire. Truly the world is very small.

It was dusk when Major Marshall and I got back and we could not locate our contingent among the mixed units that were snatching a wink of sleep in the reserve trenches. We had partaken of very little food ourselves for about forty-eight hours, so we found our way back to our old billets in the outskirts of Ypres to get some bully beef and biscuits.

The shelling still continued. Every minute a shell would break close by and pieces would rattle against the wall of the house. I arranged that Major Marshall was to go in the morning and gather up the men in the reserve trenches and get them together, while I went to look up any stragglers in the city and send them forward. I was also to find the transport, which had been shelled out of their quarters at Ypres, and arranged with them to send food to us that evening. I then wrapped myself in my cloak and fell asleep on the floor to the weird sound of the German shells passing overhead.

The next day was Sunday, but no peal of bells was heard that morning calling the worshippers to early mass in the churches at Ypres. The civil population had fled. If there were bells ringing their notes were drowned by the fierce explosives that were following each other through the crooked streets in rapid succession. When old Vauban fashioned the moats and ramparts he never imagined they would be bombarded with seventeen inch shells from guns that had a range of twenty-four miles.

I was up by four o'clock. Major Marshall snatched a hasty breakfast and started so as to be in the trenches when the men "stood to." Coe, my signallers, and runners, all that were left of them, tried to get some breakfast when we were interrupted by the "coal boxes" just referred to. We persisted, however, and finally got the tea. Then we sallied out to see if any of our strays or wounded had reached Ypres.

We found that our transports and quartermaster stores had been pretty badly smashed up, and that what was left of them had been moved back about a quarter of a mile from the canal. It was absolutely necessary that they should refit at once and get rations down to us that night, so we went up to the stone bridge on the canal which we had crossed so gaily a few days before with ribbons and tartans flying.

From a couple of sentries that had been left at the lock by their regiments when they marched into action, we were informed that a few of our men who were slightly "gassed" had gone back to the transports. I made my way back, leaving the guard on the bridge. At the transport headquarters I found some thirty-five men who had been partially gassed. They were sent back to the headquarters trenches.

I learned that our division had been badly cut up, but that the Canadians were given credit for having saved the situation.

Our transport and quartermaster stores and baggage had been terribly shelled in their quarters at Ypres. On the way out a shell had exploded in front of our mess-cart occupied by Captain Mabee, the paymaster, and had killed the horse and smashed the rig. The gas fumes had overcome the plucky paymaster and he had to be sent to the hospital.

What had happened to Major MacKenzie, our surgeon, no one seemed to know. The last seen of him he was giving aid to stricken men in a house in the outskirts of St. Julien. We afterwards learned that for twelve days and nights he had served in the forward dressing station. Three times he had been shelled at the dressing station. The annals of the British medical service can show no better service, heroism or devotion to duty. He was the soul of honor and efficiency.

As soon as I had finished reorganizing what was left of the transport and given instructions about rationing I went down to the headquarters line of trenches. The arrangements made for the rationing of our remnant kept the brigade from starving. Capt. Duguid drew double rations for 1,000 men every day and sent them in to us every night by by-paths and by mule pack.

My battalion got these rations. Sergeant-Major "Soldier Grant" had been badly wounded in the leg, and Quartermaster Sergeant Keith, a very brave and well-trained soldier, took his place. Keith had left an excellent position in Canada and a wife and several small children to follow the pipes. He had fought in the Camerons in Egypt and South Africa and was a splendid soldier.

Lieutenant Frank Gibson, son of Sir John Gibson of Hamilton, Canada, was in the clearing hospital at Poperinghe suffering from a wound in his leg, which it will be remembered he received at Ypres, when he heard from some of our wounded men that the battalion had been badly cut up and the officers gone. He left his cot, evaded the surgeons and came down five miles to the transports. Nothing would do but he must accompany me back to the trenches. Never did a young man show greater devotion to duty and forgetfulness of self than did Lieut. Frank Gibson. I asked him if he felt able to take over the duties of adjutant and signalling officer and he immediately consented to do so. He was one of six graduates of the Royal Military College that held commands in our battalion. He later lost his life at Givenchy. Captain Perry, although badly shaken with the gas and the terrific explosions and fighting at Hill 60, insisted also on accompanying me. We proceeded to the trenches which ran in front of the headquarters of the 3rd Brigade, but owing to the fact that this line was subject to the most intense rifle and cannon fire all day it was very difficult for us to assemble the scattered Highlanders.

During the day the Germans bombarded the headquarters of General Turner, V.C., of our brigade close by. Huge shells fell in the house, and the shock from the explosion and the effects of the gas had knocked out Staff Captain Pope. The gasses acted on him, and many others, like chloroform, so that for a time he lost his reasoning power and appeared to be delirious. He had to be carried away. Captain Harold Macdonald, one of the staff captains of our brigade, was struck with pieces of shell and narrowly escaped with his life. He was literally filled with splinters. One in the cheek, one in the eye, one in the shoulder, the right lung and in the neck. His wounds were dressed by Captain Scrimger of the 14th Battalion. They managed with considerable difficulty to get him out of the burning building, and for this action Scrimger won his V.C.

General Turner, V.C., and Lt.-Colonel Garnet Hughes had to move their headquarters to a dugout close to the burning building. They had clung tenaciously to this building which was in the fighting area and only about six hundred yards south of St. Julien Wood. General Turner had borne the brunt of the fighting from the evening of the 22nd. He had not had a moment's rest night or day, all the troops along the broken section having been placed under his command.

On Sunday evening General Alderson was superseded by General Plumer.

At dusk we succeeded in gathering together most of our men that were about brigade headquarters. Major Marshall had a detachment in the trenches south of the storm-swept St. Julien Wood at Wiltje. When we reached the much-shelled village we found General Hull in charge and Colonel Burland and Colonel Loomis in a house on the north side of the road waiting for orders. The Third Brigade Sergeant-Major soon brought orders to the effect that the remnant of the 3rd Brigade was to march out by way of La Bryke.

During the morning and afternoon a number of attacks had been launched by the British against the village of St. Julien. The stalwart Irish and Highland Regiments had forced their way a number of times into the blood-soaked streets of the village, only to be driven out again with a murderous machine gun and howitzer fire. There was not much of the place left. Every house had been set on fire and the pavements were a shambles. Highlanders, Irish Fusiliers, Canadians and Huns had fought it out in the crooked streets hand to hand. As the shades of evening fell over the scene the German still held his ground, but our artillery had come up in increasing numbers and were raining deadly gusts of shrapnel over the tile and pavements, making it impossible for any creature to live in the place.

We learned that fragments of the 2nd Canadian Brigade still held their trenches near Gravenstafel Ridge, that the valiant Suffolks were still in part of our supporting trenches, and that the Hun had made no progress along the line of the Poelcapelle Road east of St. Julien. The Red Watch had not held in vain. The Hun was just as far away from Ypres and Calais as ever.

We waited until long after midnight for General Turner, V.C., and his staff, and when they did not appear we decided something must have happened to them. Silently in Indian file the brigade slipped quietly through Wieltje, led by one of my signallers, Sergeant Calder, who knew every hedge, ditch and by-way in the Ypres salient. It had been the custom, and a good one, with our signallers, as soon as we got into a new area to bicycle and walk all over it so that they could readily find their way about in the dark. Sergeant Calder took us as straight as a gunbarrel across fields and ditches to the stone road that ran from the unfortunate headquarters of the 3rd Brigade which we could still see was a lurid mass of flames in the distance. We gave General Turner and Col. Hughes up for lost.

Along each hedge we passed we were halted by English "Tommies" who, busy as moles, were digging in. The Germans would find that a tough crop had grown up during the night in the shell-stricken field of the Ypres salient.

Every minute or so there would be a burst of rifle fire along the German lines. They were beginning to show "nerves" and signs of exhaustion. They had paid a terrific price so far for the few blood-soaked acres they had won.

As we reached La Bryke we met at the crossroads two British staff officers on horseback who wanted to know the way to Wieltje and General Hull's Headquarters there. One of them was Brigadier-General Riddell, who was killed a few hours later not far from St. Julien at the head of the brave Northumberland Brigade. He was shot through the head while personally conducting an attack to recover St. Julien.

When we reached La Bryke we found that Captain Duguid, our quartermaster, had fortunately brought down double rations for a complete battalion. This enabled us to ration the whole brigade. He had done the same thing on the Friday night previous. The transports of the other battalions had been all shot up, but Captain Duguid had used mules as pack animals. We waited for several hours for orders and the General did not turn up. The Brigade Sergeant-Major, who had brought us his orders, said he would remain at La Bryke and notify the General if he should come while we went back to the transport to spend the few hours of darkness left. It was necessary for us to go through and past the bridges over the canal before daylight, otherwise we would be spotted by aeroplanes and shelled.

It was dawn when the tired battalions made their way into the field in which all that was left of the transports of the four battalions was packed. They had hot soup ready and it was a case of bivouac on the green grass with the heavens as a blanket.

Very soon afterwards General Turner, V.C., and Lt.-Colonel Hughes, his staff officer, arrived. They both warmly congratulated me on sticking it out at the hot corner. General Turner, V.C., told me that the Canadians had been given credit for saving the situation, and that my battalion, though it had been almost wiped out, had not died in vain. He was completely worn out, so I gave him and his officers a place under a piece of tarpaulin after they had had something to eat. They had not had any rest or sleep since Thursday morning, and in a few minutes everyone was fast asleep except the transport men.

I had not been in the Land of Nod half an hour when I was roused by the trample of a horse and the voice of a horseman enquiring for me. I was up in an instant and found a staff officer looking for General Turner. I refused at first to awaken him unless the matter was urgent, but when I was assured that it was, I roused him and he opened his message. It was an order to take the brigade back immediately to La Bryke to go into support of the Lahore division under General Snow, which was to attack that afternoon together with some French troops.

The men were all dead tired and sound asleep on the ground. They had not had any sleep since the previous Thursday night, and now they were to be roused to go at it again, digging in with General Snow.



Rations and ammunitions were issued and off we started. We crossed the Yperlee Canal by a foot bridge and climbed the steep slope once more into the deadly salient. As we passed down to the bridges in Indian file several of our men were struck by shrapnel bullets. When we crossed over the canal we were led to the west of La Brique and halted in a ditch, where we promptly dug in. The Indian guns were in front of us. About an hour after, just as we were well dug in, we were again moved further east and put in behind some hedges and some more Indian batteries. Again we dug in, making a good job of it. The troops in front of us were apparently attacking and the din of the shell and rifle fire became terrific. We all thought we would be at it again in a few minutes, and the men began tightening up their puttees and looking to their rifles and ammunition. Some began eating their rations, for as one poor fellow said they might as well enjoy them because they might not need any more after a few minutes.

The attack in our front died away and pretty soon another order came and we started down behind hedges and ditches back to Wiltje. The Germans were shelling the village for all they were worth and the church was burning, so we gave it a wide berth and slipped in behind the village and proceeded to dig in again. Every few minutes the Huns would start shelling Wiltje and we would come into their "Zone of influence." The shells that missed the roofs of the houses from the north would pitch over into our lines and we had to duck and count ten when we heard them coming.

While we were being jolly well shelled in these trenches an incident occurred which was of extraordinary interest. I remember reading when I was a boy how at the siege of Toulon, while Napoleon was dictating a message to a young soldier named Lannes a British shell struck the parapet and threw sand all over them and also on the written message. The writer coolly shook the sand off the paper, remarking that they would not need any sand to blot the ink. This soldier showed such bravery that he subsequently became a Marshal of the Empire. That afternoon after we were dug in I was dictating a message to Sergeant Venner of my signalling staff who had his telephone in a "dig in" alongside of mine. He was half way through when a big "coal box" shell exploded a few feet away emitting a terrible stench, a cross between marsh gas and camphor balls.

The smell was overpowering. Venner dropped his pencil and clapped his hands to his face saying, "Wait a minute, Colonel, the smell of that shell makes my head ache." I looked at him and saw he had turned very pale. Looking more closely I noticed blood trickling down the side of his face between his fingers. I snatched his Glengarry off his head and sure enough a jagged piece of shell had cut through the Glengarry and ripped a gash in his scalp about two inches long.

I pulled the piece of steel out and said, "No wonder the shell makes your head ache! You are wounded."

In a trice I had my scissors out, and cutting the hair away from the wound I put some iodine into the cut, Corporal Pyke, his assistant, helped to bind Sergeant Venner's wound with his first aid bandage. After he was fixed up he pulled out his book to finish the message, but I ordered him to clear out and go back to the dressing station. To my amazement he dissented.

"Not a bit of it, sir," he boldly replied, for the first time in his life disobeying my orders.

"Go on, sir, please, and finish the message." "I am all right."

I was so surprised that I finished the message and he stoutly refused to go to the hospital and worked on the signal wires till the battalion was permanently relieved a week or so later. I recommended him for a decoration, also a few other brave officers and men who did not get them.



CHAPTER XXVII

TWELVE GLORIOUS DAYS

"They've got me in the back, Colonel! My poor wife and children!"

This was the startled exclamation of one of my men who occupied a "digin" about ten feet from mine. He turned pale.

The Germans were shelling us with high explosive shells from the north rim of the salient. Huge "coal boxes," coming from the direction of Pilken, were falling in the village of Wiltje on our front. With a twang like a giant steel bow a shrapnel shell had burst overhead. They had commenced to spray us in the back with shrapnel from the direction of Hill 60, and one of the bullets that pattered like hail on our clay parapets had struck him.

I had ordered all the men to keep on their overcoats, as the stout woollen cloth of the Canadian great coats will stop the German shrapnel bullets and a lot of high explosive splinters, American experts to the contrary. The thick overcoat and the pack is the next best thing to a coat of mail.

Sergeant Lewis and I jumped out and pulled him out on to the banquette of his trench and in a minute had the overcoat and jacket off him. His shirt followed and there, sunk into the flesh of his back about half an inch from his spine and almost half an inch deep, was the black shrapnel bullet. I picked it out with my pen-knife and handed it to him with a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

"There's the bullet. You're worth a dozen dead men yet," I said.

The look of relief on his face was worth seeing.

"Will you let me have the bullet as a souvenir?" I asked.

"Yes, Colonel."

He was not the only man relieved.

We dressed the wound with iodine and put a pad and a piece of plaster over it. He put on his clothes and I told him to go back to the dressing station, but he refused and kept on fighting.

We held the narrow trenches all afternoon and evening. Fierce fighting was going on all around us and we spent a very disagreeable night dug in in Mother earth.

My men endeavored in every way possible to make me comfortable. Sergt. Coe requisitioned a long bolster pillow from a ruined estament in Wiltje for me to sleep on. Another man brought in a few fresh eggs that some Flemish hens had laid in a henhouse in the outskirts of the village. The occupants of Wiltje had all disappeared. Some of them were dead in their cellars, which were not proof against the high explosive shells.

Towards dawn in spite of the lurid glare of bursting shells and the roaring of the flames in the burning houses, the Flemish roosters crowed lustily, typifying the Belgian as well as the French nation.

Dawn came at last but it brought no cessation of the terrible artillery fire. The fighting along the line to the north still continued. The British troops were holding their own and dealing lusty blows at the enemy.

This was the situation as outlined by Corporal Pyke, one of my signalling staff who had gone away to the right to see what was going on in the old "hot corner." A British Division had taken up the supporting trenches of the 2nd Canadian Brigade along the crest of the Gravenstafel Ridge. They had our supporting trenches east of Hennebeke Creek along the Kerrselaer Zonnebeke highway to the ruined houses at Enfiladed crossroads where I had met Captain Victor Currie and the officers of the 7th and 8th Battalions.

The 2nd Brigade, all that was left of them, had been kept hard at it in this section and were still in reserve behind the 28th Division. The line of the 28th Division ran thus from Gravenstafel to Fortuyn, which was still held by us, and along west to where the headquarters trenches crossed the St. Julien-Ypres Road at Vanenberghem, from thence almost due west to a part of the Yperlee Canal near Zwaante. The east bank of the canal was held by the French and Belgians. The Germans had crossed the canal the night of the 22nd at Lizerne and had been driven back at the point of the bayonet by our allies.

Strung along from Gravenstafel Ridge in the following order were the following British Battalions: The Hants, the Rifle Brigade, the 12th London, the Suffolks, the Northumberland Fusiliers, five battalions, the 5th Durhams, the Somersets, the E. Yorks, the Yorkshire, two battalions, two battalions of Yorks and Durhams, the 5th S. Lancasters, the 1st R. Lancasters, the Lancaster Fusiliers, the Essex, the 1st Irish, the Monmouths, the 2nd West Riding, the London, the Royal Kents.

General Hull commanded the 1st R. Warwicks, the 2nd Seaforth Highlanders, the 1st and 2nd Fusiliers, the 2nd Dublin Fusiliers, the 7th Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders.

Colonel Geddes' detachment held the line from our old general headquarters to where they linked up with the French troops who were coming up in some strength. The 1st Canadian Brigade was back west of the canal, protecting Brielen, while our brigade was again south of Wieltje.

All the Canadian troops had fought with great valor and had lost over half the effectives of each battalion. It was my misfortune that I could not chronicle the many deeds of individual bravery performed by my countrymen. I could only describe what was taking place in my own vicinity and in my own corps.

The shelling continued all day of the 27th. There was a chilly wind blowing but the sun shone very brightly. I had a fairly comfortable section of trench and tried to snatch a wink of sleep in the bottom of it during the afternoon. I had not been sleeping long when General Turner, V.C., our brigadier, came up and I made room for him alongside of me. His dugout a couple of hundred yards in the rear of us had been hit several times by German shells and he had a very narrow escape. When he jumped in alongside of me he picked up several spent splinters of shell that had fallen on my greatcoat as I slept. He laughingly remarked that everybody said I bore a charmed life and the shells never bothered me, so as his dugout had become untenable he had come up where he could find a quiet "restful" place.

He informed me that since the battle began on the 22nd he had seen and sustained more rifle and shell fire than had been his lot during the whole South African campaign. He and his hardworking chief, Lt.-Colonel Hughes, had not had any rest since the previous Thursday.

Sergt. Coe made the General comfortable in the bottom of the trench beside me, and in a few minutes he was sound asleep with the shells still beating their infernal tatoo in the heavens over us.

A number of French troops had come up and so had the gallant Lahore Division consisting of Indian troops, and they had attacked the Germans and driven them back some distance towards Pilken.

No jauntier soldier ever trode the plains of Flanders than the brave Ghurkas. Short and swarthy with that peculiar elastic step and well set-up figure which can only be obtained by a rigorous course of physical setting up drill of the old style with "thumbs behind the seams of the trousers," the Ghurkas are in a class by themselves. Their battalions are led by pipe bands. The weird music of the Highland Glens seems to have the same potency with the Indian Highlanders that it has with the Scottish and Canadian. In a charge at close quarters the Ghurka uses a peculiar shaped knife with a blade as heavy as a butcher's cleaver and keen as a razor. Like the Highland Pipers who play

"Mo dhith mo dhith gun tri lamhan Da laimh 'sa phiob 's laimh 'sa chlaidheamh."

"My loss, my loss, without three hands Two for my pipes and one for my sword,"

the Ghurka bewails his great loss, also that he has not three hands, two for the pipes and one for his "crookie."

That evening orders came through that we were to march out again and we followed the old line along the hedges and ditches back to our transport. We found that our transport had been moved further back to a field on the Ypres Poperinghe Road to avoid shelling. We were all thoroughly done out when we arrived and we had a good sleep.

Next morning we had roll call and counted our losses. It was the saddest moment in the history of our regiment.

The "roll call" showed killed, wounded and missing, seventeen officers and six hundred and seventy-four men, a fearful total of six hundred and ninety-one out of a battalion of nine hundred and twelve effectives. Seven officers and one hundred and fifty-seven men, all of them gassed and wounded, were taken prisoners. The rest had paid the price of Empire. As the wounded I had sometimes pitied had always said, "That is what we came here for," but it was very hard to be reconciled to the loss of the flower of the regiment. Of all our officers only Major Marshall and myself were left unhurt. How we escaped the Lord alone knows. His mercy was very great. How jealous we had all been of the lives of the men. What care we had all bestowed on their drill, their discipline, their health and equipment. We were all a happy family, no quarrelling, no disputes either among the officers or men. Everyone tried to live up to the best traditions of the old Highland Regiments that oftentimes went through campaigns without a crime. When we reached France not a dozen men in the battalion had entries on their conduct sheets. We all fondly hoped that our efficiency, our courage and power would be reserved for some great day when we would march triumphantly through the German trenches, charging with our bayonets and clearing the road to Brussels, the Rhine, and Berlin.

But our day came differently to what we expected. Still we did our duty. Had we come to grief through any blunder or fault of mine or any of our officers there might have been cause for regret and heartburnings. Our orders were very simple—to hold the trenches at all costs until relieved. We carried out these orders and held the line. When finally ordered out we left nearly four hundred dead in the trenches.

Often during our days and marches in Flanders, in admiration of the men of my regiment and the other gallant men of the First Canadian Division, there would recur to me the words spoken at St. Helene by Napoleon of the men of the Army of Italy:

"Another libeller says that I conquered Italy with a few thousand galley slaves. Now the fact is that probably so fine an army never had existed before. More than half of them were men of education, the sons of merchants, of lawyers, of physicians, of the better order of farmer and bourgeoise. Two thirds of them knew how to write and were capable of being made officers. Indeed in the regiment it would have puzzled me to decide who were the most deserving subjects, or who best merited promotion, as they were all so good. Oh! that all my armies had been the same."

A new form of "casualty" had been written into the records of the hospitals and dressing stations, "suffering from" and "died of gas poisoning."

If there is a law of compensation which evens up injustice, if there is an avenging Deity, then the German nation is doomed to die and be forgotten. Cowardly methods of attack will ultimately sap the vigor and courage of their men, and they will curse the day when their ruler wrote them into the history of the ages as a race of cowardly poisoners, unfit even to stand alongside of the Red Indians or the savages of the Soudan.

The tortures inflicted by savages of burning and flaying alive are not comparable to the torture of burning lungs with tissues seared as with a red hot iron. The agony which often ended in gangrene of the lungs was worse than a thousand deaths from pneumonia and the suffering is very long drawn out.

I know whereof I speak as to the torture of scorched lungs, and my case, I am thankful to say, was not as severe as many of them.

On the 28th all the Canadians were west of the canal having a little rest which was enlivened constantly by salvos of high explosive shells sent by the Germans into our vicinity. Every village and farm building for miles back were being shelled.

In the evening we were ordered to prepare to go back into action again. We started out at dusk and followed the familiar paths back down to the engineers' pontoon bridge and then along up the highway in the rear of La Bryke. We were shelled and several men hit with shrapnel while we waited for some transports to get out of our way on the west side of the canal.

When we got to the east and began climbing the slope we were halted again while a battery passed us on the way out. The battery looked very weird against the skyline as they came down the roadway and passed us. The feet of their horses and the waggon wheels were muffled, and they appeared for all the world like the ghostly horsemen out of some old world tale.

We met some English soldiers who told us that the gallant Col. Geddes, who had taken charge of this section and whose corps was the first to come to our aid as we were trying to stop the first mad onrush of the Germans, had been killed in the morning by a shell that entered his headquarters.

We turned to the left and steered straight north to a point in support of the French troops who were in position on the east bank of the Canal opposite Brielen. Further along the road we found some transports and a French Battery stuck. A huge German shell had fallen in the road at this point and blown a crater in which a good sized house could easily have hidden. The hedge had to be cut to allow of a passage, and it took some engineering to get this tangle straightened out. After a little manoeuvring we found our trenches, and as the Germans began shelling the highway immediately in our rear, following the transport waggons along the road, it did not take us long to dig in. Some one remarked that the Germans have underground telephones along the roadways.

That morning our base company, under Captain Musgrove and Lieutenant Muir, reached us. A few days later at Festubert Musgrove was to lose an arm and Lieutenant Muir was to be killed. They were full of ginger and cheered us up considerably.

During the night we consolidated our trenches. The shelling continued all the next day. Thousands of French troops continued to arrive and it looked very much as if a general offensive was going to be organized against the Germans on our front.

On the evening of the 29th we moved into trenches at Number Four Pontoon Bridge and remained there until the 4th of May. Day and night the shelling continued. Many stirring and some even humorous incidents occurred during these twelve glorious days of fighting.



CHAPTER XXVIII

WINNING ANOTHER CHAMPIONSHIP

"Jump down into the trench quick, Colonel! That shell may explode," called Captain Musgrove.

"What shell?" I enquired, as I had not heard any "whispering Willy" arriving, but something seemed to have covered my clothes suddenly with mud and splinters of wood and bark.

"Look up over your head. It is a wonder it did not stun you. And please do move out of there for a while at least, for fear it may be still alive."

I glanced up at the pollard willow over head, against which I had been leaning to steady my field glasses as I watched our artillery "strafe" the Germans who were attacking the Ghurkas. Captain Musgrove stood by my side when the shell arrived. It struck the hard red clay about twelve feet directly in front of me, plowed up the earth about three feet and turning upwards entered the tree directly over my head. The shell, which was a large one from a four-inch howitzer, entered the willow bole, burying itself in the soft wood all but about half an inch of the base.

These shells are fused with what are called detonating fuses that burst when the shell touches anything. It should have exploded when it struck the ground in front of us. If it had we would have had about one chance in a thousand. Again, when it struck the tree it should have blown up. The "kickback" would have certainly killed or wounded us both. But a Merciful Providence caused that shell not to function.

I climbed down into the trench. Next day when the Germans were quieter, Colonel Leckie photographed us. It was a marvellous escape.

On the evening of the 29th we had moved a short distance to our left and again dug in in four lines in rear of the French and as guard over Pontoon Bridge No. 4. The canal here passed north between high banks and a schooner, that had doubtless plied between the North Sea ports and Ypres, had been sunk in the middle of the canal and furnished a pier for the bridge which the engineers had perfected.

Along the banks of the canal were shelters and places where previous troops had "dug in" and the place looked like a huge rabbit warren.

Our batteries were in action along the banks and they were very skilfully hidden. I looked them up and found some old friends from Ottawa, Lieut. Colonel Morrison, the commandant, amongst them.

We had tried to preserve the Belgian buildings in the same condition as we found them as much as possible, but since the Germans were setting fire to all the barns with thatched roofs we decided to annex some straw from the roofs to put in the bottom of our trenches.

The trenches in our front were being unmercifully shelled by the Germans all the time, and about three times a day the Germans and the French would exchange front trenches. Divisions of French troops kept coming up. They carried on in the most casual way. The cooks took soup down to the front line trenches in broad day. They did not seem to care for shot or shell.

The French always moved in single file with men about three yards distance. We learned to like and admire them. They are great soldiers.

The Germans would shell the French troops out of their trenches and then charge and take the low parapets which the French built. After a short rest the French would fix their terrible long four-cornered bayonets which they call there knitting needles, charge the enemy and recover their parapets again. This game of see-saw went on for several days.

The second morning we were at the bridge a handsome well set-up French officer came past our lines and stopped to chat. He wore the gold medal of honor given by the Czar which he had won a few weeks previously for conspicuous bravery. He was very proud of it. We all envied him his good luck. He went on up to the front line. About an hour later he passed us again, lying in an ambulance hand cart very severely wounded. Poor fellow, he was in a bad way but still cheerful.

When the Germans got tired shelling the French they would start in and give it to us. Three and four shells would follow in close succession. They would search up and down the fields and hedges with their guns showering shells on everything within their range.

The gallant 16th Canadian Scottish were dug in about fifty yards in front of us. Colonel Leckie was in a dugout at the extreme left, and alongside of him was another dugout in which were some of his staff. A large German shell fell in the staff dugout during the night, completely obliterating all traces of four men who were sleeping in it at the time. A part of Lt.-Colonel Leckie's dugout was torn off at the same time and he had a very narrow escape.

The same night while I was dozing in my "digin" I was awakened by heavy breathing on my right as if a man was dying. It was pitch dark, so I called the sentry and told him some one was hurt.

Sergeant Miller, who was close at hand, jumped up and with an electric torch we started to search the line to find out who was wounded. In the second digin on my right we found Corporal Kells very nearly gone. A large five-inch shell had fallen in his "digin," slicing a large piece of flesh off the calf of his leg and stunning him. Fortunately the shell had not exploded. He had almost bled to death when the peculiar heavy breathing of a man suffering from bleeding attracted my attention. We bound him up and had him taken back to the dressing station. He subsequently died from the shock.

One morning about daylight I was wakened in my narrow cell by a lot of earth tumbling down on my face. I fancied a shell had fallen on my parapet, and after clearing the dirt out of my eyes and ears I lay awake listening to the seventeen-inch Austrian batteries which were shelling some place very heavily. The guns were apparently in a position not far from Pilken. I could hear the "Kerr-Rump" of four guns of a battery firing in rapid succession, then a pause, and I could hear the huge projectiles go roaring on their deadly mission till the sound ceased. I waited for the report so I could count the time to find out how far away they were ranging, but I noticed a very strange thing. I could hear no report from the explosion of the shell. Evidently it was falling too far away for me to hear it. A few days later we learned that they had been shelling Dunkirk, some twenty-odd miles away.

The second day we were at the bridge, the Germans were searching diligently for us with their shells when I was called to the telephone which was located in the next hole in the ground to mine. I found Corporal Pyke in charge of my wire. Pyke was a brave cheerful lad, a splendid operator and telephone expert. He was thoroughly posted in wireless work and used to rig up an attachment to our telephone by means of which he could read all the wireless messages that came over the wires from the ships of the Navy in the Channel to the naval batteries that were working behind our lines which were called the Admiral Churchill batteries. If there were any German wireless men in the neighborhood they could also get these messages. Pyke could hear the Germans working on their lines but could not get their code.

As I hopped over to see who wanted me, and crawled into the telephone hole in the ground a shell came whizzing past and ripped the earth from the parapet about a foot above Pyke's head. He never even ducked, but quite coolly remarked as he shook the dust off, "That sod is rather thin, Colonel. I guess it was only about six inches."

The urgent message that I was called to take was something to the effect that clean socks, underclothes and a bath would be ready for my battalion at a certain date.

I told headquarters to cut out commercial messages for a few days.

Our batteries were earning a great reputation for themselves. They were posted on the bank of the canal and alongside of them were some of the batteries of the Indian Division. Our guns were in action one evening when the major of one of the Indian batteries came along inspecting his observation wires. He watched the drivers of one of our batteries (Morrison's) take a limber of ammunition up to its guns through a perfect hailstorm of shells. He remarked to me that the Canadian gunners were magnificent, and that they did not have six drivers in the Indian Army that were as well trained and as good at their work as the Canadian boys who were driving the limber we were looking at. That was a high compliment from a regular officer as the Indian army knows its trade.

On the afternoon of the 28th, while the Germans were trying to destroy the Canadian batteries with heavy seventeen-inch shells, a German aeroplane came along flying low to check up the big gun practise. We were getting very tired of these German visitors so I ordered my battalion to fire on the flyer, using one thousand elevation and leading the birdman about five times his own length. In a few minutes we had the satisfaction of seeing him turn back with a tail of fire streaming from his gasoline tank. We had got his tank and he was on fire and trying hard to make the German lines. He fell in our lines and the aviator and observer were made prisoners.

Aeroplane activity in that section ceased for a time. The fighting, however, never let up night or day.

On the evening of May 2nd we were ordered to co-operate with British troops in our right who were heavily attacked with gas. There was a dull, heavy atmosphere and everything seemed favorable for the German poison plan. Our guns, however, were ready and they opened a fierce bombardment with shrapnel over the German trenches. It was here the shell incident described at the beginning of the chapter happened. A gentle shower came which dissipated the gas. Three times their infantry climbed out of their trenches and started to charge across the space intervening between the lines. The iron voices of the bursting shells blended into one note as the deadly spray of lead swept entire sections of them away. There was little left for the rifle fire to do.

The attack was beaten off easily. The German offensive for the moment was weakening. They had never fully recovered from the terrible punishment they had received during the first three days from the Canadians. They realized that a new element was barring the way to Calais and victory.

Canada had won many championships on the fields of sport, science, art and mechanics, and now another championship had been won on a sterner field, the field of battle in historic Flanders.



CHAPTER XXIX

AN APPRECIATION OF VALOR

During the night of the 3rd and 4th of May our brigade was withdrawn from the salient and marched to a bivouac west of the Chateau Trois Towers in which our Divisional Headquarters were located all through the battle.

As we marched through the park the day was breaking and the birds were singing more sweetly than I had ever heard them before, even in Canada. They did not feel any more pleased than the few that were left of the gallant "Red Watch" and the other battalions of the Third Canadian Brigade.

The larks were now beginning to build their nests, and strange to say they did not pay the slightest attention to the shelling. The lark we noticed several times would continue to soar and sing higher and higher, intoxicated with the joy of his own song until he came in the way of an exploding shell. Then the beautiful song would be cut short and all that would be left of the spring-time chorister would be a bunch of feathers in the field or on the roadway.

We stayed a day in bivouac and enjoyed a good rest. About noon General Plumer, under whose command we had fought the last days of the battle, came to see us to console us for our losses and to congratulate us upon our stand during the trying hours of the 22nd, 23rd and 24th. His sympathy and kindness will never be forgotten by the men who survived the terrible struggle that ended the great German drive and spring offensive of 1915.

That night we started for Bailleul and made a long, tiresome march along the stone roads. The night was dark as pitch, but we made good time and got to our billets at daybreak.

That afternoon General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien came to see us at our billets. He warmly congratulated me on the action at St. Julien and expressed much regret that so many good men were lost. At Cassel he had told us that the Canadians had brought him good luck in South Africa, and he felt sure they would distinguish themselves again under his command. His prophecy had come true. Nothing will destroy the confidence of the Canadian troops in the Chief of the Second Army. The hope expressed by every Canadian soldier who fought under him was that he would be their leader when they won their way across the Rhine.

The people throughout the Empire gave every evidence of their appreciation of the conduct of the Canadians. The press was loud in our praises and His Majesty the King was graciously pleased to send the following message to Field Marshal His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught;

"Congratulate you most warmly on the splendid and gallant way in which the Canadian Division fought during the last two days north of Ypres. Sir John French says their conduct was magnificent throughout. The Dominion will be justly proud."

"George"

His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught then sent the following message to the Minister of Militia for Canada:

"Canada has every reason to be proud of the gallantry of her sons who have nobly done their part in this great struggle for the liberties and honor of our Empire against the tyranny and injustice of Germany.

"As an English officer, I am proud of our Canadian comrades and feel that they have brought honor to the British Army as well as themselves, and that their heroic work will thrill the Dominion from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

"I deeply lament the long list of casualties and send our profound sympathy to every home which is plunged into sadness and sorrow by the tidings that reach us from hour to hour.

"Assuring you again of my heartfelt sympathy for the relations of all those Canadian officers, non-commissioned officers and men who fell so nobly on the field of battle. I am,

"(Signed) Arthur."

It has been impossible to describe the part the British troops played in this historic action which lasted over twelve days. Their valor was beyond question. This story deals with the Canadians and their British brothers did not begrudge them any glory which they may have received. The story of the British troops and their part in the fight will no doubt be written. I can testify to their incomparable valor. Braver men than those from London, Durham, Northumberland, and other parts of England who fought alongside of us never lived.

With reference to our comrades from the Indian Empire having fought alongside of them and seen their wounded and their dead, I can testify to their spirit of loyalty, their unquestioned bravery and all the qualities that are to be found in great soldiers.

The Empire contains no better men than the men of the Lahore Division and more particularly the Sir Hind Brigade, whose deeds have shed undying lustre upon the British Army. The lie factories that have been established by German gold, even in the heart of the Empire, have endeavored to cast doubt upon the relative value of the Indian troops and the troops from other parts of the Empire. There was no truth in these stories. The army in Flanders was equally good all round.

With a national system of military service, such as they have in France, there would be no qualms of patriotic consciences at home, and fewer lie factories.

The Canadians can also bear witness to the splendid conduct of the French troops and the French nation. Our conception of the French people derived from books, chiefly novels of a questionable nature, are entirely wrong. The French soldier is cool and intrepid and they "carry on" their work without the slightest "fuss." The pose of the nation is an inspiration and speaks of solidarity and resolve.

Many of our preconceived notions of them were shattered. The men and women in all classes of the French people are kind, industrious, very moral and deeply religious. They are not at all like the hysterical neurotic creatures of the yellow French novels.

France is the most democratic country in the world. Far more so than the United States or Canada where in most cases every family tries to establish a peculiar cast, a special creed and a select circle of society all its own.