me up by asking if I wished to have any
letters written home. Before my inward eyes there began to flash visions
of a newspaper notice: "Died of wounds." But although a bit alarmed,
more by the attentions shown me than by my physical condition, the
thought of pegging-out never seriously entered my mind.

I spent four days at the hospital at St. Omer, and was then transferred
to Boulogne, together with a New Zealand sergeant who was in the same
plight as myself, and whom I later had the pleasure of meeting under
more favourable and happier conditions at dear old St. Dunstan's. At
Boulogne, I was given a thorough examination, and the doctors concluded
that an absolutely useless member of the body was an unnecessary burden
to the bearer, and so they removed what remained of my left eye. I was
still vainly hoping that my right eye, which was remote from my wound,
might recover its sight; but as the days crept by while the blackness of
night hung about me I grew alarmed, and one day I asked the O.C.
hospital why he was constantly lifting up my right eyelid. Truth to
tell, I was scared stiff with the thought that they were contemplating
removing my remaining eye, but I gave no outward sign of my fear. No
matter how "windy" one is, it would never do to let the other fellow
know it, at least not while you are wearing the uniform of the
Canadians. I, therefore, quickly followed my first question with the
inquiry if he thought he might yet get some daylight into my right eye.
"When?" he questioned. And, still clinging to the hope that I was not to
be forever in the dark, I replied, "In five, ten, fifteen, twenty-five
years; any time, so long as I get some light." In answer, he merely
patted me on the shoulder, saying: "Never mind, things are not always
quite so bad as they look." Then he moved away from my cot, and a moment
later I heard him talking in undertones to another officer. This
officer, whom he now brought to my bedside, proved to be Captain Towse,
the bravest man it has ever been my privilege to meet, and while I was
up the line I met many brave men who, where duty called, counted life
not at a pin's fee.

Captain Towse is a double V.C. It is hard enough to get the Cross
itself, and there are few men who dare even to dream of a bar to it. I
was now in personal touch with a man who, in distant Africa, during the
Great Boer War, with both eyes shot away, had gallantly stood firm,
urging his men to the charge. He came to