April twenty-third was one of the blackest days in the annals of Canadian
history in this war, and again it was one of the most glorious. That day we
were given the task of retaking the greater part of the trenches which the
Turco troops had lost the day preceding.

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