not poisonous, and would not kill; chlorine and bromine
would.

We had just learned that they were using red phosphorus in their
shells, and that any particle of that chemical that got into a wound
would set up gangrene from which hundreds of soldiers died in terrible
agony. We had surmised that they were in the habit of dipping their
rifle bullets in red phosphorus solution because where they struck the
men's clothing they invariably started even the wool clothing burning.
That was the case at St. Julien Wood where, according to the stories
brought back by the men, they had foully crucified a sergeant
belonging to our brigade on a barn door. He belonged to our bombing
section.

The sun was shining a red rim on the horizon in the east. The sickly
green clouds of the gas appeared denser in some places than others.
The wind was just right for the infernal curtain that gradually drew
over the trenches. The thickest pall was blown against the right of
our line between McGregor's company and the left of the 8th Battalion,
where there was an open space protected only by a small trench and
barbed wire. Of those on our right hardly a man was left to tell the
tale.

All those who stuck to the trench and did not use wet bandoliers or
handkerchiefs died. Some tried to get out, only to fall stricken with
the deadly vapor before they had gone many yards. Among these was
Lieut. Taylor, an Oxford scholar, one of the best athletes in the
First Division. He won out of the trench only to die on the
Gravenstafel Ridge. Company Sergeant-Major Hermitage and his brother
Sergeant Hermitage were stricken down also but managed to crawl out.
The latter lost the use of his vocal chords for some time. They were
burned with the fatal gas. Lieutenant Mavor, who was in this section,
fell, but they managed to get him out before he succumbed. Some of the
men fell back to the left to a communicating trench which they held
till the German infantry attack came when they rallied to the parapets
and drove the Germans out with their bayonets.

A very dense cloud of gas was directed against the centre of our line
and Captain McLaren was one of the first to fall. Some of his men
succeeded in getting him out. For days his life was despaired of, and
his lungs were scarred for ever. Lieutenant Maxwell Scott, of
Abbotsford, kindred of the great Sir Walter, author of Waverley, one
of the finest officers in our battalion, fell from the effects of the
fumes. Th