in which men were walking and the
sappers were at work. Some ladders enabled me to get up on the other
side and I had the joy of feeling that the Canadians had crossed the
great Canal du Nord. Our battalions were now moving up and I joined
them, avoiding a part of a field which the men told me was under the
fire of a machine-gun from the mill in Marquion. The country was open
and green. The day was fine, and once more we experienced the
satisfaction of taking possession of the enemy's territory. Before us
the ground rose in a gradual slope, and we did not know what might
meet us when we arrived at the top, but it was delightful to go with
the men feeling that every step was a gain. When we got to the top of
the rise, we had a splendid view of the country beyond. Before us, in
the distance running from right to left, lay the straight Arras-Cambrai
road with its rows of tall trees. Where we stood, there were a number
of deserted German trenches. Here the M.O. of the 3rd Battalion opened
up an aid post, and the chaplain went about looking for the wounded.
Our men went on down into the valley and got into some forward
trenches. I stayed on the hill looking at the wonderful scene through
my German glasses. On the left in a quarry beside the village of
Marquion, I saw two Germans manning a machine-gun. Our 3rd Brigade had
taken the place, and some Highlanders were walking on the edge of the
quarry just above the Huns, of whose presence they were unaware. I saw
the enemy suddenly hide themselves, having noticed the approach of the
Highlanders, but when the latter had passed the two Boches reappeared
and went on firing as before. It was not long before the German
artillery turned their guns on our hill and I told some men of the 2nd
Brigade, who were now coming forward, to take cover in the trench or
go in extended order. I had hardly uttered the words when a shell
burst, killing one man and wounding in the thigh the one to whom I was
talking. I went over to him and found that no artery had been cut, and
the chaplain of the 3rd Battalion got him carried off. Down in the (p. 311)
valley our advance had evidently been checked for a time. While I was
trying to see what the trouble was, a young officer, called Cope, of
the 8th Battalion came up to me. He was a splendid young fellow, and
looked so fresh and clean. He had lost a brother in the Battalion in
the early part of the war. I said, "How old are you, Cope?" He replied,
"I am