across the Kerrserlaere Zonnebeke road for our
trenches a short distance east, a devilish machine gun again got after
me and followed me to the shelter of the dugout in which a number of
the wounded had been placed. As I entered the door of the dugout half
a dozen bullets pattered on the timber prop of the low doorway not a
foot from my head. After seeing to the comfort of the wounded I
started back along the trench, and my old friend the "German gunner"
again took a crack at me. He certainly had it in for me that day. He
caught a sergeant of the Royal Montreals a few feet away from me and
he fell, shot in the spine. But a Merciful hand protected me. My hour
had not come.

The companies of the 13th, 14th and 7th on our left were hanging on
to their trenches like demons. The men in our forward trenches,
subjected to a torrent of shot and shell after driving the enemy back
and losing half their number, were still fighting valiantly. From a
sap at the rim of the ridge I could see our torn trenches still
occupied by a few intrepid men. I could hear the "chop chop" of the
rifles as they drove off the Germans, who had now resorted to open
formation to try and win our forward trench. Six ranks deep the German
marines had come on to take our trenches. We did not know at first
that we were opposed to the German Navy but we were. The marines had
been brought down from the fleet to take our trenches and see some
fighting. They paid a good price for their curiosity. One of our
machine guns is credited with putting over four hundred of them out of
business.

Behind the German position I could see the fields filled with great
masses of troops formed up ready to be launched against us. God help
the heroes that day in the forward lines! Few of them would return to
Toronto or the green plains of Canada. I did not know then that the
German Emperor was standing on the slope behind Poelcapelle watching
his hosts trying to break through the thin Canadian line. Every time
the foe fell back discomfited they turned the full fury of their
thousands of guns on our front line. Volleys of shells fell in rapid
succession along the thin French parapets. One would think that no
human creature could live in the tremendous blasts and the showers of
steel fragments from the high explosive shells that flew screaming
through the air in every direction like mad things.

But the bond of an iron discipline still held the Canadians, not a
sound came from