Individual heroism—Canadian tenacity—Before the battle—The civilian element—A wave of battle—New meaning of “Canada”—“Northern Lights”—The fighting paymaster—Major serves as lieutenant—Misfortunes of Hercule Barr£—“Runners”—A messenger’s apology— Swimming a moat—Rescue of wounded—Colonel Watson’s bravery—His leadership—His heroic deed —Dash of Major Dyer and Capt. Hilliam—Major Dyer shot—“I have crawled home”—Lieut. Whitehead’s endurance—Major King saves his guns— Corpl. Fisher, V.C.—The real Canadian officer—Some delusions in England—German tricks—Sergt. Richardson’s good sense—“No surrender!”—Corpl. Baker’s heroism—Bombs from the dead—Holding a position single-handed—The brothers Mclvor—Daring of Sergt.-Major Hall—Sergt. Ferris, Roadmender—Heroism of the sappers—Sergt. Ferris, Pathfinder—A sergeant in command—Brave deeds of Pte. Irving—He vanishes—Absurdities in tragedy—Germans murder wounded—Doctors under fire—The professional manner—Red hours—Plight of refugees—Canadian colony in London—Unofficial inquiries—Canada’s destiny.

“It is by presence of mind in untried emergencies that the native metal of a man is tested.”—Lowell.

In a battle of the extent and diversity of Ypres, there naturally arose innumerable acts of individual heroism, to which reference could not be made in the course of the narrative of the engagement without disturbing its military balance as a whole.

I therefore propose to deal with a few of these incidents now, as they form a record of unsurpassed valour and tenacity of which every Canadian must be proud.

Quite apart, however, from incidents which occur in the actual fighting, there is a time immediately before a battle, and a time immediately after it, which provide a wealth of human interest too poignant to be overlooked. Our vision, narrowed a little by direct concentration on the progress of the engagement, and our ears dulled a little by the din of the conflict, we are prone to overlook the fact that this war is waged amid scenes only a short time ago devoted to the various avocations of peace, and that on the Western Front, especially, the armies of the Allies are oftentimes inextricably mixed with the civilian element and the civilian population.

A wave of battle is like a wave of the sea. While it advances, one is only conscious of its rush and roar, only concerned to measure how far it may advance. As it ebbs, the known landmarks show again, and we have leisure to gather observations of comrades who were borne backwards or forwards on the flood.

The wave that fell on us round Ypres has baptised the Dominion into nationhood—the mere written word, “Canada,” glows now with a new meaning before all the civilised world. Canada has proved herself, and not unworthily; but those who survive of the men who have won us our world-right to pride, are too busy to trouble their heads about history. That may come in days of peace. The main outlines of the battle have been dealt with already. We know what troops took part in it and how they bore themselves, but the thousand vivid and intimate episodes, seen between two blasts of gunfire, or recounted by men met by chance in some temporary shelter, can never all be told. Yet they are too characteristic in their unconsciousness to be left without an attempt at a record; so I give a little handful from a great harvest.

In the days before the battle, when the Canadians lived for the most part in and about Sailly, whence one saw, as I have already written, the German trench-flares like Northern Lights on the horizon, Honorary Captain C. T. Costigan, of Calgary, was the paymaster, and lived, as the paymaster must, decently remote from the firing line. Then came the attack that proved Canada; and the German flares advanced, and advanced, till they no longer resembled flickering auroras, but the sizzling electric arc-lights of a great city. Captain Costigan locked up his pay-chest and abolished his office with the words : “ There is no paymaster.” Next, sinking his rank as honorary captain, he applied for work in the trenches, and went off, a second lieutenant of the ioth Canadians, who needed officers. He was seen no more until Monday morning, when he returned to search for his office, which had been moved to a cellar at the rear and was, at the moment, in charge of a sergeant. But he had only returned to inveigle some officer with a gift for accounts into the pay-mastership. This arranged, he sped back to his adopted Battalion. He was not the only one of his department who served as a combatant on that day.

[Captain Costigan has now combative rank in the 10th Battalion, and is acting as Brigade Bombing Officer.]

Honorary Captain McGregor, of British Columbia, for example, had been paymaster in the Canadian Scottish, 16th Battalion. He, too, armed with a cane and a revolver, went forward at his own desire to hand-to-hand fighting in the wood where he was killed, fighting gallantly to the last.

The case of Major Guthrie, of New Brunswick, is somewhat similar. He was Major of the 12th Battalion, still in England, but was then at the front in some legal-military capacity connected with courts-martial. He, like Captain Costigan, had asked the General that Friday morning for a commission in the sorely tried 10th. There was some hesitation, since Guthrie as a major might quite possibly find himself in command of what was left of the 10th if, and when, he found it. “I'll go as a lieutenant, of course,” said he; and as a lieutenant he went.

The grim practical jokifig of Fate is illustrated by the adventures of Major Hercule Barre—a young French Canadian who fought well and spoke English imperfectly. He had been ordered to get to his company in haste, and on the way (it was dark) met some British officers, who promptly declared him a spy. The more he protested, the more certain they were that his speech betrayed him. So they had him back to the nearest Headquarters, where he was identified by a brother officer, and started off afresh— only to be held up a second time by some cyclists, who treated him precisely as the British officers had done. Once again he reached Headquarters; once more the officer, who had identified him before, guaranteed his good faith; and for the third time Barre set out. This time it was a bullet that stopped him. He dragged himself to the side of the road and waited for help. Someone came at last, and he hailed. “Who is it?" said a voice. “I, Barre!” he cried. “What, you, Barre? What do you want this time?” It was the officer who had twice identified him within the last hour. “Stretcher-bearers,” said Barre. His friend in need summoned a stretcher-bearer, and Barre was borne off—to tell the tale against himself afterwards.

[During the progress of the battle Major Guthrie was, after all, compelled to take command of the 10th after two commanding officers had been killed and a third had been wounded. He led his Battalion with wisdom and great gallantry.]

There were many others who fell by the way in the discharge of their duty. Lieut.-Colonel Currie, commanding the 48th Highlanders, 15th Battalion, had his telephone communication with his men in the trenches cut by shrapnel. He therefore moved his Battalion Headquarters into the reserve trenches, and took with him there a little band of “runners” to keep him in touch with the Brigade Headquarters, a couple of miles in the rear. A “runner” is a man on foot who, at every risk, must bear the message entrusted to him to its destination over ground crossharrowed by shellfire and, possibly, in the enemy’s occupation. One such runner was despatched, and was no more heard of until, days after the battle, the Lieut.-Colonel received a note from him in hospital. It ran: “My dear Colonel Currie,—I am so sorry that you will be annoyed with me for not bringing back a receipt for the message which you sent to Headquarters by me. I delivered the message all right, but on the way back with a receipt, I was hurt by a shell, and I am taking this first opportunity of letting you know that the message was delivered. I am afraid that you will be angry with me. I am now in hospital.—Yours truly, (Sgd.) M. K. Kerr.” It is characteristic of the Colonel, and our country, that he should always refer to the private as M. K. Kerr; and, from the English point of view, equally characteristic that M. K. Kerr’s report should begin: “My dear Colonel Currie.” And it marks the tone of the whole Battalion, that only two hundred men and two officers should have come unscathed out of the battle.

And here is a story of a Brigade Headquarters that lived in a house surrounded by a moat over which there was only one road. On Thursday the enemy’s artillery found the house, and later on, as the rush came, their rifle fire found it also. The staff went on with its work till the end of the week, when incendiary shells set the place alight and they were forced to move. The road being impassable on account of shrapnel, they swam the moat, but one of them was badly wounded, and for him swimming was out of the question. Captain Scrimger, medical officer attached to the Royal Montreal Regiment, protected the wounded man with his own body against the shrapnel that was coming through the naked rafters, and carried him out of the blazing house into the open. [For this action Captain Scrimger was awarded the V.C.] Two of the staff, Brig.-General Hughes (then Brigade Major of the 3rd Infantry Brigade) and Lieut. Thompson (then Assistant Adjutant, Royal Montreal Regiment) re-swam the moat and, waiting for a lull in the shell fire, got the wounded man across the road on to a stretcher and into a dressing station, after which they went on with their official duties.

On April 24th Colonel Watson, who was editor of the Quebec Chronicle before he took command of the 2nd Battalion, was called on to perform as difficult and dangerous a task as fell to the lot of any commander during all these difficult and bloody days. The operation was most ably carried out, and Colonel Watson crowned his success, in the midst of what appeared to be defeat, with a deed of personal heroism which, but for his rank, would most assuredly have won for him the Victoria Cross. It may be said at once that Colonel Watson proved himself the bravest of the brave.

About noon, the General Officer Commanding the 3rd Brigade telephoned to Colonel Watson to ask whether, in his opinion, the line of which he was in charge, could still be held. Colonel Watson, though the position was precarious, said that he could still hold on; and he was then instructed to regard as cancelled an order which had been telegraphed to him to retire.

Matters, however, grew worse, and at two o’clock the General Officer Commanding sent Colonel Watson a peremptory order to fall back at once. Unfortunately, this message was not received until about a quarter to three, when the position had become desperate.

The Battalion, apart from many dead, had by this time upwards of 150 wounded, and the Colonel first saw to the removal of all these. Then, leaving his Battalion Headquarters,he went up to the frontline, in order that he might give, in person, his instructions to his company commanders to retire. When he reached the front line, Colonel Watson made the most careful dispositions so as to avoid, even at that terrible moment, any excuse for disorder and undue haste in the course of the most perilous and intricate manoeuvre which had now to' be carried out. He began by sending back all details, such as signallers and pioneers, and then proceeded to get the companies out of the trenches, one by one—first the company on the left, then the centre company, and, lastly, the company on the right.

It was from the angle of a shattered house, which had been used as a dressing station, that Colonel Watson and Colonel Rogers, the second in command of the Battalion, watched the retirement of the three companies, together with details of the 14th Battalion, which had been attached to them since the morning. The men were in extended order, and as they passed the officers the enemy’s fire was very heavy, and men fell like wheat before a scythe.

When the last company was well on its way to safety, the two officers, after a brief consultation, decided that it would be best for them to take separate routes back to the Battalion Headquarters line. The reason for this was simple and poignant —it increased the chances of one of them getting through; not, for that matter, that either had very much hope of escaping the enemy’s pitiless fire. They never expected to see each other again, and they shook hands in farewell before they dashed out on their separate ways, which lay through a spray of bullets and flying shrapnel. When he had gone about 300 yards, Colonel Watson paused for a moment under the cover of a tree to watch the further retirement of the company he was following. It was at this moment that he noticed one of his officers, Lieut. A. H. Hugill, lying on the ground about sixty yards to the left, in the direction of the enemy’s attack. Without a moment’s hesitation, Colonel Watson went back to him, thinking that he was wounded; but on asking him what was the matter, Lieut. Hugill told him that he had simply been compelled to rest and recover his breath before he could make another rush.

Almost at the same moment, Private Wilson, also of the 2nd Battalion, was passing near by when he was shot through the leg. The man was so close at hand that Colonel Watson felt impelled to endeavour to rescue him, and suggested to Lieut. Hugill that, between them, they might be able to carry the wounded man back over the eight or nine hundred yards—nearly half a mile—which still separated them from a place of comparative safety. Lieut. Hugill immediately agreed, whereupon Colonel Watson knelt down, and got Wilson on to his back, and carried him several hundred yards until the original Battalion Headquarters was reached; and all the time that Colonel Watson staggered along with his load the air was alive with bullets, which grew thicker and thicker, as the enemy was now rapidly advancing.

The various companies had already retired beyond what had been the Battalion Headquarters, so that Colonel Watson and Lieut. Hugill had no opportunity of calling for aid. They rested for a few minutes and then started off once more, and between them they managed to get the wounded private across the 700 yards of fire-swept ground which still had to be covered. But, in spite of the fact that the ground was ploughed up with shells all round them during their desperate and heroic retreat, Colonel Watson and Lieutenant Hugill retrieved their man in safety.

What, again, could be more thrilling than the story of the dash of Major H. M. Dyer, a farmer from Manitoba, and Captain (now Lieut.-Col. 25th Battalion) Edward Hilliam, a fruit farmer from British Columbia, when in the face of almost certain death, after the trench telephones were disabled, they set out to order the retirement of a battalion on the point of being overwhelmed!

It was on April 25th that the position of the 5th Canadian Battalion on the Gravenstafel Ridge became untenable; but the men in the fire trench did not entertain any thought of retirement. The telephones between Headquarters and the trench were disabled, the wires having been cut again and again by the enemy’s shell fire. General Currie saw the immediate need of sending a positive order to the Battalion to fall back, and Major Dyer and Captain Hilliam, both of the 5th Battalion, undertook to carry up the word to the fire trench. Each received a copy of the order, for nothing but a written order signed by their Brigade Commander would bring the men out. The two officers advanced with an interval of about twenty yards between them, for one or other of them had to get through. They were soon on the bald hilltop, where there were no trenches and no cover of any description. Machine gun and rifle fire swept the ground. They reached a little patch of mustard, and laughed to each other at the thought of using these frail plants as cover. Still unhit, they reached a region of shell holes, great and small. These holes pitted the ground, irregularly, some being only five yards apart, others ten or twelve; but to the officers, each hole in their line of advance meant a little haven of dead ground, and a brief breathing space. So they went forward, scrambling and dodging in and out of the pits. When within 100 yards of our trench, Captain Hilliam fell, shot through the side, and rolled into a ditch. Major Dyer went on, and was shot through the chest when within a few yards of the trench. He delivered the message, and what was left of the Battalion fell back. Men who went to the ditch to assist Captain Hilliam, found only a piece of board, on which the wounded officer had written with clay, “I have crawled home.” It only remains to add that both these officers returned to duty with their Battalion after convalescence.

Though these two officers gave a very fine example of active courage, it would be hard to find a more remarkable illustration of passive endurance, nobly borne, than that afforded by Lieut. E. A. Whitehead on April 24th. On that day, Captain Victor Currie, with Lieut. Whitehead and Lieut, (now Captain) W. D. Adams, was holding a company of the 14th (Royal Montreal) Battalion, on the salient of which both flanks were exposed to a merciless fire. At 5 a.m. that morning, Lieut. Whitehead was shot in the foot, but he remained in command of his platoon with the bullet still in his ankle-bone until three o’clock in the afternoon, when he swooned from pain and fatigue. It is sad to record that Sergeant Arundel, who tried to lift Lieut. Whitehead from the trench, was shot and instantly killed.

On the previous day, the men of No. 2 Company of the same Battalion had assisted Major (now Lieut.-Colonel) W. B. M. King, of the Canadian Field Artillery, to perform one of the most astonishing and daring feats of the campaign. With superb audacity Major King kept his guns in an advanced position, where he deliberately awaited the approach of the Germans till they were within 200 yards. Then, after he had fired his guns into the massed ranks of the enemy, he succeeded, with the assistance of the infantry, in getting the guns away. It was during the course of this part of the action that Lance-Corporal Fred Fisher, of the 13th Battalion, won his V.C., but lost his life. Being in charge of a machine gun, he took it forward to cover the extrication of Major King’s battery. All the four men of his gun crew were shot down, but he obtained the services of four men of the 14th Battalion, and continued to work his gun until the battery was clear.

No sooner were Major King’s men in safety than Fisher pushed still further forward to reinforce our front line, but while getting his men into position in the face of a combined fire of shrapnel, machine guns, and rifles, he was shot dead.

And here, I would say, that over and above the pleasure it naturally gives a Canadian to record the splendid heroism of his fellow-countrymen, the occasion has provided me with the welcome opportunity of dissipating a delusion which at the outset prevailed in England as to the capacity of our officers. At the beginning of the war it was a common saying in the British Army—I have never been able to trace the saying to its source—that the Canadian troops were the finest in the world, but that they carried their officers as mascots.

Nothing could be further from the truth; and nothing more ridiculous, as the brilliant records of the war service of many of these officers amply proves. For ingenuity and daring in attack, for skill and resource in extricating their men from positions where disaster seemed inevitable, their ability as regimental officers has only been equalled in this war by the experienced officers of the first Expeditionary Force. As for bravery, for heroic devotion and self-sacrifice, to compile a full record of their incomparable deeds, would require a chapter many times the length of this whole volume. From generals down, they have shown the world that, for sheer valour, Canadian officers can proudly take their place beside any in the world, while they have afforded an example and inspiration to their men which have done much to make the splendid story of the Canadians in France and Flanders what it is.

But if the deeds of the commissioned officers have been splendid, the exploits of the non-commissioned officers and men have been not less so. The narrative of the Division consists of story after story of coolness in danger, incentive daring, and unflinching courage which has never been surpassed.

Take, for instance, the story of Sergeant J. Richardson, of the 2nd Canadian Battalion. It is a tale of how shrewd common sense defeated the wiles of the enemy. On April 23rd Richardson was on the, extreme left of our line in command of a half-platoon, when the words, “ Lieutenant Scott orders you to surrender/’ were passed to him. He knew that there were three company commanders in the line between himself and Lieutenant Scott, and, therefore, correctly concluded that the order had nothing to do with any officer of his regiment, but was of German origin. He not only ignored the order, but discredited it with his men by passing back “No surrender!” It is impossible to say how much ground, and how many lives, the sergeant saved that day by his lively suspicion of German methods, his quick thought, and his absolute faith in the sense and courage of his officers. Sergeant Richardson belongs to Coburg, Ontario, and is a veteran of the South African War.

Of a different order of courage was Corporal H. Baker, of the 10th Battalion. After the attack on the Wood and the occupation of a part of the German trench by the 10th Canadian Battalion, on the night of April 22nd-23rd, Corporal Baker, with sixteen bomb-throwers, moved to the left along the German line, bombing the enemy out of the trench. The Germans checked Baker’s advance with bombs and rifle fire and put nine of his men out of action during the night. The enemy then established a redoubt by digging a cross-trench. Corporal Baker and the six other survivors of his party maintained a position within ten yards of the redoubt throughout the remaining hours of the night. Early in the morning of the 23rd the Germans received a fresh supply of bombs and renewed their efforts to dislodge the little party of Canadians. They threw over Baker, who was closer in to their position than the others of his party, and killed his six companions. Alone among the dead, with the menace of death hemming him in, Baker collected bombs from the still shapes behind him, and threw them into the enemy’s redoubt. He threw with coolness and accuracy, and slackened the German fire. He held his position within ten yards of the cross-trench all day and all night, and returned to his Battalion just before the dawn of the 24th, over the bodies of dead and wounded men who had fallen before the rain of bombs and rifle grenades.

And now we come to the story of two brothers, Privates N. and J. Mclvor, who were stretcher-bearers, of whom much is expected as a matter of course. On April 24th, they were attached to the 5th Battalion (which held a position on the Graven-stafel Ridge), and carried Major Sanderman, of their battalion, from the bombarded cross-roads back to the dressing station over open fire-raked country. Major Sanderman had been hit by shrapnel, and died soon after reaching the dressing station. Four days later, on April 28th, when the 5th Battalion was in rear of the Yser Canal, the two Mclvors volunteered to attempt a rescue of the wounded from the Battalion dressing station beyond Fortuin. They discovered the station to be in the enemy’s hands, and J. Mclvor was severely wounded.

Nor can one dwell without pride on the case of Company Sergeant-Major F. W. Hall, V.C. During the night of April 23rd-24th the 8th Battalion took over a line of trenches from the 15th Battalion. Close in rear of the Canadian position at this point ran a high bank fully exposed to the fire of the enemy; and while crossing this bank to occupy the trench, several men of the 8th Battalion were wounded. During the early morning of Saturday, the 24th, Company Sergeant-Major F. W. Hall brought two of these wounded into the trench. A few hours later, at about 9 a.m., groans of suffering drew attention to another wounded man in the high ground behind the position. Corporal Payne went back for him, but was wounded. Private Rogerson next attempted the rescue, and was also wounded. Then Sergeant-Major Hall made the attempt. He reached his objective without accident, though under heavy fire from the German trenches in front. This was deliberate, aimed fire, delivered in broad daylight. He managed to get his helpless comrade into position on his back, but in raising himself a little to survey the ground over which he had to return to shelter, he was shot fairly through the head and instantly killed. The man for whom he had given his life was also killed.

For this gallant deed Sergeant-Major Hall was awarded a posthumous V.C. He was originally from Belfast, but his Canadian home was in Winnipeg. He joined the 8th Battalion at Valcartier, Quebec, in August, 1914, as a private.

Sergeant C. B. Ferris, of the 2nd Field Company of the Canadian Engineers, proved in the face of the enemy that he could keep a road repaired faster than they could destroy it by shell fire. From April 25th to the 29th, the road between Fortuin and the Yser Canal was under the constant hammer of German shells. It was of vital importance to the Canadian and British troops in the neighbourhood that this road should be kept open for all manner of transportation, and Captain Irving, commanding the 2nd Field Company, Canadian Engineers, sent a party under Sergeant Ferris and Corporal Rhodes to keep the highway in repair. Every shell-hole in the road-bed had to be filled with bricks brought up in wagons from the nearest ruined houses; and at times it seemed as if the German artillery would succeed in making new holes faster than the little party of Canadian Engineers could fill in the old ones. Sergeant Ferris and his men stuck to their task day and night, amid the dust and splinters and shock of bursting shells, and their work of reconstruction was more rapid than the enemy’s work of destruction. They kept the road open.

On a moonlit night, a month later, the Roadmender developed the talents of a Pathfinder, when the 2nd Field Company of the Canadian Engineers was ordered to link up a trench in the Canadian front line with the attempted advance of a British division on our left, and establish a defensive flank. A pre-arranged signal was given, indicating that the advance had reached, and was holding, a point where the connection was to be made. In response, Sapper Quin attempted to carry through the tape, to mark the line for digging the linking trench, under a heavy fire of shells, machine guns, and rifles. He did not return, and Sapper Connan went out and failed to come back; and neither of these men has been seen or heard of since. Then Sapper Low made an attempt to carry the tape across, and failed to return. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sergeant Ferris sprang over the parapet in the face of the most severe fire, and, with the tape in one hand and revolver in the other, cautiously crawled in the direction of the flaring signal.

Midway, he stumbled upon the wire entanglements of a German redoubt fairly on the line which his section had thought to dig. He followed the wire entanglements of this redoubt completely round, and for a time was exposed to rifle and machine gun fire from three sides. At this moment he was severely wounded through the lungs, but he persisted in his effort. He found out that a mistake had been made and that the attack had not reached the point indicated, and staggered back to make his report, bringing Sapper Low with him. Sergeant Ferris’s information was eagerly listened to by Lieut. Matthewson and Sergeant-Major Chetwynd, who was present as a volunteer. Sergeant-Major Chetwynd quickly realised the nature of the difficulty, and, encouraged by Lieut. Matthewson, he rallied the detachment and led it to another point from which he successfully laid the line under very heavy fire from the German trenches.

Now we come to the story of Private Irving, one of General Turner’s subordinate staff, who went out to do as brave a deed as a man might endeavour, but never returned. Irving had been up for forty-eight hours helping to feed the wounded as they were brought in to Brigade Headquarters, which had been turned into a temporary dressing station, when he heard that a huge poplar tree had fallen across the road and was holding up the ambulance wagons.

Though utterly weary, he at once offered to go out and cut the tree in pieces and drag it from the path at the tail of an ambulance wagon.

Irving set forth with the ambulance, but, on nearing the place of which he was in search, left it, and went forward on foot along the road, which was being swept by heavy artillery fire and a cross rifle fire. And then, even as, axe in hand, he tramped up this road, with shells bursting all around him and bullets whistling past him, he disappeared as completely as though the night had swallowed him up! General Turner, who appreciated the gallant work Irving had set out to do, himself had all the lists of the Field Force checked over to see if he had been brought in wounded. But Irving was never traced. He is missing to this day—a strange and brave little mystery of this great war.

In another portion of the field Sergeant W. Swindells, of the 7th Battalion, when all the company officers had become casualties, and the remnant of the company left their trench under stress of terrific fire, rallied them and took them back; but this again is only one instance in a record for cool daring which was later built up at Festubert and Givenchy. Swindells comes from Kamloops, and before the war was a rancher on Vancouver Island.

Very similar was the action of Sergeant-Major P. Flinter, of the 2nd Battalion, who displayed conspicuous gallantry at Langemarck on April 23rd while in command of a platoon on the left flank of the Battalion. This position was under exceptionally heavy gun and rifle fire, and his pure daring and bravery were such an inspiration to the men under his command, that they withstood successfully all attacks upon them. He was wounded in the head, but gallantly cheered his men to renewed attack. By fortunate observation he discovered an enemy bomb depot in the woods near at hand, and concentrating all available fire on it, managed to blow it up. Throughout his service at the front his example has been an inspiration to all ranks.

It is difficult, where all men were brave, to select individual cases of extreme courage, but it would be wrong to close this record without mentioning Lance-Corporal F. Williams, of the 3rd Canadian Battalion, and Private J. K. Young, of the 2nd Battalion. On April 25th, near St. Julien, Williams volunteered to go out with Captain J. H. Lyne-Evans from the shelter of a farm and bring in Captain Gerrard Muntz, who lay wounded in a small hollow several hundred yards away. The rescue, which was carried out in broad daylight and in the midst of a heavy rifle and machine gun fire, was successful, though Captain Muntz died of his wounds five days later. Again, at Festubert, just a month later, Williams displayed great courage and resourcefulness in keeping good the wires for communication between the signal station and other centres. The area was under continuous enemy rifle and shell fire, and the repairs had to be made under other adverse conditions.

Indeed, the Canadian non-commissioned officers have proved beyond all doubt their capacity to take the places of commissioned officers who have been shot down.

Private Young was “mentioned” for handling his machine gun so well that it was mainly through his efforts the German attack on the 2nd Battalion was repulsed on April 24th. Later, at Givenchy, on June 15th, he refused to leave his guns even when he was wounded, and pluckily remained until the action was over.

These are but a few of a hundred other deeds, done on the spur of the moment, of which there will never be any memorial except the moment’s cheer or the moment’s laughter from those who had time to observe. A man can be both heroic and absurd in the same act, and human nature under strain always leans to the comic. What follows is not at all comic, although it made men laugh at the time. In one of the many isolated bits of night work which had to be undertaken, it happened that a German detachment was cut off by one of ours and its situation became hopeless. There was something like a gasp as the enemy realised this, and then a silence broken by a voice crying, in unmistakable German-American accents, “ Have a heart! ” The detachment had just recovered a dressing station which had been abandoned a few hours before, and there they had found the bodies of their comrades with their wounds dressed—dead of fresh wounds by the bayonet! It is unfortunate that the Canadians’ first serious experience of the enemy should have included asphyxiation by gas and the murder of wounded and unconscious men, because Canadians, more even than the British, have been accustomed to Germans in their midst, and till lately have looked upon them as good citizens. Now they will tell their children that they were mistaken, and the end of that war may well be generations distant.

The supply of ammunition and medical attendance continued unbroken and unconcerned through all the phases of the Ypres engagement. The ammunition columns waited for hour after hour at their stated points, ready to distribute supplies as needed.

Their business was to stay where they could be found, and if the shrapnel caught them when lined up by the roadside, that was part of the business too. They stuck it out the livelong days and nights, coming up full and going away empty with no more fuss than is made by delivery wagons on Drummond Street. The doctors had the distraction of incessant work, and it was curious to see how they took their professional manner into the field. Half the cities and towns in the Dominion might have identified their own doctors under the official uniforms as far as they could have seen them. Though they were working at high pressure, they were unmistakably the same men. Some were as polite as though each poor, mangled case represented (which it might well have done) the love and hopes of wealthy and well-known families. Others employed the same little phrases of encouragement, and the same tricks of tone and gesture, at the beginning and end of their operations, as their hospitals have known for years.

Others, again, switched off from English to French-Canadian fatois as the cases changed under their hands; but not one of them had a thought to waste on anything outside the cases. Their professional habit seemed to enwrap them like an armoured belt, to protect them from all consciousness of the hurricanes of death all round. This is difficult to explain to anybody who has not seen a doctor’s face pucker with a slight impatience when one side of his temporary field ambulance dressing station is knocked out by the blast of a shell, and he must wait until someone finds an electric torch to show him where his patient lies. It would be inadequate to call such men heroic.

Each soul of those engaged—and Canada threw in all she had on the ground—will take away in his mind pictures that time can never wipe out. For some the memory of that struggle in the wood where the guns were will stand out clearest in the raw primitiveness of its fighting. Others will recall only struggles among rubbish heaps that once were villages; some wall-end or market square, inestimably valuable for a few red hours, and then a useless and disregarded charnel-house. Very many will think most of the profiles of bare fields over which men moved in silence from piles of stacked overcoats and equipment towards the trench where they knew the fire was waiting that would sweep them away. There was one such attack in which six thousand troops, of whom not more than a third were Canadians, made a charge. Each little company in the space felt itself alone in the world. It is so with all bodies and all individuals in war. Only when night fell did the same picture reveal itself to all. Then it was war as the prints and pictures in our houses at home show it—the horizon lighted all round by the flame of burning villages, and the German flares pitching and curving like the comets which are supposed to attend the death of kings. Morning light broke up all the connections, and we were each alone once more—horribly visible or hidden.

During the bombardment refugees fled back from the villages while shrapnel fell along the roads they took. Amidst all the horrors of this war there was nothing more heartrending than the misery of these helpless victims. They met our supports and reserves coming up, and pressed aside from the paves to give them room. They had packed what they could carry on their own backs and the backs of their horses and cows, while prudent men hired out dog teams; for one noticed the same busied dogs passing and repassing up and down the line, tugging hard in front of the low-wheeled little carts. Invalids, palsied old men and women swathed in pillows and bolstered up by the affectionate care of their middle-aged children, struggled in the procession. Their fear had overcome their infirmities, and they had been dragged away swiftly as might be from that death which Time itself would have dealt them in a little while.

Then, as you know, we buried our dead; the records began to be made, and the terrible cables started to work on the list of names for home. There is in London a colony of Canadians who have come across to be a little nearer to their nearest. They suffer the common lot, and live from hour to hour in the hotels and lodging-houses, where every guest and servant is as concerned as they. Life is harder for them than for the English, because they are not among their own surroundings, and France is very far off.

The colony is divided now, as the English have been since war began, into three classes—those who know the worst, those who fear it, and those who for the time being have escaped any blow, and are therefore at liberty to help the others. The cables from the west are alive with appeals, and as information is gathered it is flashed back to Canada. A voice calls out of a remote township, asking for news of a certain name. It has no claim on the receiver, who may have been, perhaps, his deadly rival in the little old days. But it calls, and must be answered. Who has had news of this name? Add it to your list that you carry about and consult with your friends; and when you have made sure of your own beloved, in your grief or your joy, remember to mention this name. Somebody identifies it as having come from his own town—son of the minister or the lawyer. He was probably with comrades from the same neighbourhood, and that at least will be a clue. Meantime a soothing cable must carry the message that inquiries are being pursued. There are men in hospitals back from the trenches who may perhaps recall or remember him, or be able to refer one to other wounded men. The unofficial inquiry spreads and ramifies through all sorts of unofficial channels, till at last some sure word can be sent of the place of his death, or the nature of his wound, or the date on which he was missing, or the moment when he was last seen going forward. The voice ceases. Others take its place— clear, curt, businesslike, or, as the broken words tell, distracted with grief. The Canadian colony does its best to deal with them all, and their inquiries cut across those of the English, and sorrows and griefs are exchanged. It is all one family now, so closely knit by blood that sympathy and service are taken for granted. “Your case may be mine to-morrow,” people say to each other. “My time, and what inquiries I can make, are at your disposal if you will only tell me your need and your name.”

The grief that we suffer is more new to us than to the English, who have paid the heavy tolls of Mons, the retreat, the battle of Neuve Chapelle, and the first attack on Ypres, and, like ourselves, have prepared and are preparing men to fill the gaps; but through their grief and ours runs the unbreakable pride of a race that has called itself Imperial before it knew what Empire signified, or had proved itself within its 'own memory by long and open-handed sacrifice. In that pride we are full partners, and through the din and confusion of battle Canada perceives how all that has gone before was but fit preparation for the destiny upon which she enters and the history which she opens from this hour.