We lay, my own battalion, easily a mile and a half from the German trench which was to be our objective.  About six o’clock in the morning we set out very cautiously, with Major Kirkpatrick in command.  C and D Companies were leading, with a platoon or two of B Company following, comprising in all about seven hundred and fifty men.  At first we thought the advance would be comparatively easy, but when we entered the village of St. Julien, the German coal boxes were falling all around us.  So far our casualties were light.

To the left of the village we formed in field skirmishing order—­about five paces apart—­but before the formation of five successive lines or waves was completed, each man was easily eight paces away from his nearest mate instead of five.  We were told that our objective was an enemy trench system about four hundred yards in length.

It is impossible to convey in words the feeling of a man in such a situation as this.  Apparently none of us actually realized the significance of what we were about to undertake.  Probably it was because we were no longer in the trenches, and because we had been out and in the open all the night before.

We stood there waiting.  Overhead there was the continuous “Crack, crack, crack!” of enemy machine gun and other bullets.  It was evident that we had already traversed a mile of our way, and that only half a mile lay ahead of us.  The enemy bullets were flying high.  I heard no command; I do not think any command was given in words, but of a sudden we heard a “Click!” to the left.  No one even glanced in the direction.  Every man fixed his bayonet.  The man on the extreme left had fixed his, the “Click” had warned his comrades eight paces away, and the ominous sound, ominous for Hans and Fritz, “Click, click, click!” ran along the lines.

The advance had started.  In front were our officers, every one of them from junior to senior, well ahead of their men.  A wave of the hand, a quarter right turn, one long blast of the whistle and we were off.  We made mad rushes of fifty or sixty yards at a time, then down we would go.  No place to seek cover, only to hug Mother Earth.

Our lads were falling pretty fast; our officers even faster.  To my left Slim Johnstone got his; ahead of me I saw Billy King go down.  I heard some one yell out that Lieutenant Smith had dropped.  In the next platoon Lieutenant Kirkpatrick fell dead.  A gallant lad, this; he fell leading his men and with a word of cheer on his lips.

We were about two hundred yards from the enemy’s trench and my estimation is that easily one-third of our fighting men were gone.  Easily eighty per cent. of our officers were out of the immediate game.  Right in front of our eyes our captain—­Captain Straight—­fell.  As he went down he blew two short blasts on his whistle, which was the signal to hug the earth once more.  And we dropped.

The officers and men who had been hit had begun their weary crawl back to the dressing station; that is, all of them who were able to make the effort.  We saw that Captain Straight made no attempt to move.  Some of us crept up to his side.