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