ay of trenches I had seen
since we came to Flanders. Behind the ditch rows of crosses, black and
white, stood up a few feet away, ghastly reminders in the half
darkness of the toll that had been paid to take and hold the trenches.
The defenders here were buried where thy fell.

Earlier in the day I went down to the front line and had leisure to
examine the commandant's headquarters, which had been held by our
gallant French Allies since November, 1914. It was a dugout in the
rear of a ruined windmill, and contained several pigmy rooms. There
was a room for the signallers, another for the adjutant and one for
the commandant. The French officers had left behind them excellent
maps of the German position showing their trenches, also panoramic
sketches showing the roads, villages and houses opposite, with
compass points. These sketches were the work of their gunners. No
wonder the 75's were so deadly. Their efficacy is in their recoil and
the "graze" fuze they use. Their high explosive shells strike the
ground, bound in the air and burst about thirty feet forward from
where they strike. In this way they form a curtain of fire filled with
splinters of steel, over the German trenches.

I turned a copy of the panoramic sketch over to Major MacDougall of
the Toronto Battery, when he went into the loft of a ruined house some
distance away to check up his guns as they fired on the Poelcapelle
road in front of us.

I slipped quietly into a fire trench on the forward slope of the ridge
to observe the guns at work also. I had sent word down to Major
Osborne in the forward trenches to clear the men out of the redoubts
on either side of the road so that if a shell fell short it would not
hurt anyone. The Canadian "observing officers" were always very
careful in "registering," as they called it. They began by sending
their shots well over the German parapets, and gradually coming
closer, instead of firing a shell short, another long and dividing.

While we were observing the Germans replied to our guns, and very
nearly got Major MacDougall. Poor chap, he was subsequently
assassinated by a German spy or sniper behind in billets. His clothing
was stolen and worn by the assassin who was caught and suffered the
death penalty.

Major Marshall came along to see what was going on and stood for a
minute at the head of my trench. The Germans spotted his Glengarry and
began shelling my trench with "Jack Johnsons," and Major Marshall had
t