Casualties were terrible, and the wounded came past our corner in one stream; several of my own friends were amongst them, and two of them, who had come out with me, were killed just a few yards away.  This terrific cannonade continued until dawn, when things quietened down a little.  Every one’s nerves were on edge, and all of us were thoroughly tired out.  In every part of the trench lay numbers of dead bodies; in fact, to move about, one had to climb over them.  I sat down, dead beat, for some time on what I thought was a sandbag.  I discovered afterwards it was a dead body.

“Shortly afterwards we were relieved by another regiment, and in small parties of tens made our way back into Ypres.  This was done in daylight, and we were spotted and shelled by the Boches.  However, we were only too glad to get away from that ghastly hell, and literally tore along the hedges down past the reservoir into Ypres.  At the hospital, at the other end of the town, the remnants of the battalion were collected, and it was there that Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien spoke to us, congratulating our battalion on its stand the night before.  Worn out, we lined up and marched back along the road to Vlamertinghe, fondly imagining we were going back to our well-earned rest (as a matter of fact that was the programme), but we had not been in these huts more than half an hour when down the road from St. Julien there rushed one long column of transports, riderless horses, and wounded (mostly of the French Algerian regiments).  And everywhere was the cry, ‘The Boches have broken through!’

“Orders were soon forthcoming, and we turned out, loaded magazines, and marched off in the direction from which the Boches were supposed to be coming.  On our way up many dispatch riders passed, and each one had the same comforting message—­’The Canadians are holding them.’  We went no further, but received orders to dig ourselves in across the road, and that in the event of the Boches getting as far as this we were to hold them until the last man.  Fortunately the splendid Canadians had not only held their ground, but with terrible losses had pushed the enemy two or three miles back; had, in fact, practically regained all the ground lost.

“At nightfall we drew picks and shovels and made our way in the direction of St. Julien.  We got to the Yser Canal, and in crossing the bridge met the batch of wounded coming back.  This was not heartening, but certainly gave all of us a keener desire to get to grips.  On the side of the banks of the Yser we were formed into three waves and received instructions that we were going over in extended order to drive the Huns from the position.  But the Canadians had done so grandly that we were not needed until the following morning, when, in broad daylight, the remnants of the once whole battalion, in single file, made their way along the hedges, taking advantage of every possible cover, up to the