old-time health. But he will never again be on the firing line.

Every man was now weary, sore and thirsty, and my only grateful
recollection of that day's work was the O.C.'s command that we be given
an extra ration of rum. I am not a constitutional advocate of the brew
that glistens like gold, but that was one time when I thanked the good
Lord for that drink.

Information was conveyed to the wagon lines of the terrible toll that
had been exacted that day and the number of men that were needed to
replace the casualties. Our parson, hearing what was going on in front,
volunteered to come and officiate at the burial of the men that night,
and mounting his horse he started in company with Archie Meehan and a
small relief party.

In the meantime I had made my way back to the cellar of the château,
which we were using for a dugout, and the battery to our rear, an
Imperial battery, was firing when it received an "S.O.S." Suddenly a
German airplane hovered over the château, describing a half circle
behind the Imperial battery, spotting its flash, and immediately
wirelessing the location. Our observers, who were stationed at points on
either side, did not notice the manipulation of the airplane at the rear
of the battery. The "S.O.S." was accompanied by a burst of stars from
the Imperial British Infantry, the signal working its way down right
into the Canadian lines, where the ammunition was rapidly becoming
exhausted.

On account of the trees partially obscuring the flash of the guns of the
Imperial battery, the airship that the battery in the château saw did
not convey the exact information to the German batteries, and when they