ose as to jar
all the saints and apostles from their niches and send them crashing
to the floor, but did no other damage.

This same thing happened to us once when we were sleeping in the
convent school at Voormezeele, when all the statues on the walls were
hurled down upon us by a large shell which struck the building.

The boys used to take these sacred effigies and place them on graves
of their dead friends. We were not a very religious bunch but I
suppose they thought it might help some--at any rate it proved their
good intentions and I never interfered to stop it.

For several days the fighting continued furiously, the Canadians
recovering some of the lost ground, including most of Sanctuary Wood,
and then things settled down to the old "siege operation." During this
time we had many opportunities to watch the splendid work of the men
of the ammunition columns taking shells up to the batteries in broad
daylight and within plain view of the enemy lines. It was one of the
most inspiring sights I have ever witnessed and brought back memories
of pictures I had seen of artillery going into action in the old days.

Down the road they would come, on the dead gallop, drivers standing in
their stirrups, waving their whips and shouting at the horses, while
the limbers bounded crazily over the shell-torn road, the men holding
on for dear life and the shells bursting with a continuous roar all
about them. It was the sight of a lifetime, and whenever they came
past our men would spring out of the trenches and cheer as though mad.
Time after time they made the trip and the escapes of some were
miraculous. A few were hit, wagons smashed and horses and men killed
or wounded, but not many, considering the number of chances they took.

The stories of heroism during that first day's fighting equal anything
in history. Batteries were shot down to a man but continued working
the guns to the last. One artilleryman, the last of his gun squad,
after having one arm shot off at the elbow, continued to load and
fire. Then a shell blew off about a foot of the muzzle of the gun but
he still kept it going. He was found, lying dead across his gun and a
trail of clotted blood showed where he had gone back and forth to the
ammunition recess, bringing up shells. One member of the crew
remained alive long enough to tell the story.

In another place, in Sanctuary Wood, were two guns known as "sacrifice
guns," as they were intended to cover a ce