o paces
and he goes on."

This answer brought a roar of laughter from the grim warriors in the
trenches. The sorry part of it was that that "blighter" in trying to
get me had shot several other men.

All morning long the Germans had been trying to take St. Julien. The
German artillery south of Zonnebeke sent a storm of shell, raking the
rear of the trenches held by our troops from end to end with high
explosives. In front of the trenches machine guns hidden in barns and
houses ripped the top of the parapets of the hastily-formed trenches
held by the Toronto Regiment.

Here Lieutenant "Bill" Jarvis of Toronto died the death of a hero.
Medland, another of the Toronto boys much loved by his men, was hit.
They were in a trench that was very much exposed which formed the
connecting link between the battalion which held the wood north of
brigade headquarters and the line of the 3rd Brigade before St.
Julien.

"Bill" Jarvis, as he was affectionately known by all ranks in his
battalion, had been struck the day before with splinters of shrapnel
in the ankle. He was not disabled, and instead of going to the
hospital he tied his emergency bandage over his wounds and "carried
on." With a half dozen men he was ordered to clear a bunch of German
snipers out of a house. When he got there he had only one man left,
but the job was done and thoroughly done at that. Fearless to a fault,
up and down the line he went during the night of Friday and Saturday
morning. He was cut across the chest with a fragment of shell and had
a bullet wound through his shoulder, still he refused to leave.
Finally he sat down in his trench never to rise again. During the
night he had carried a number of wounded to the dressing station but
neglected to have his own wounds dressed. He fought as gallantly as
his ancestors fought at Chippewa and Lundy's lane. A stern sense of
duty kept him in the trenches when he should have been in the
hospital. He gave his life for others. There was mourning among the
sailing fraternity in Toronto, and Ridley College, Canada, half masted
its flag in memory of the famous Cadet Captain who gave his life so
freely on the Plains of Flanders.

All day long the tide of battle surged back and forward along the
front line of trenches. Dearly the Germans were made to pay for every
foot of frontage. Again and again they charged and were driven back.
Then the hell of shell fire would be redoubled and preparation made
for a fresh a