On April 1st, I heard at G.H.Q. that within a few days the French 9th and 16th Corps, which were in the Ypres area, were to be moved south. The British were to take over the line from the Belgian left near Bixschoote, and make a continuous British line from that point to the left of the main French front near the La BassÉe Canal. Events were to happen which prevented the completion of this plan—events due to a German initiative.

The days grew warmer, though rain fell with sufficient frequency to keep the fields deep with mud.

Rumours of a "push" could be heard everywhere. It was timed by most prophets for April 24th or 25th, though some declared it would develop by the 20th.

Many there were who scoffed at the idea of an advance. One story current at G.H.Q. told of a subaltern of an infantry battalion, which had long occupied the Ploegsteert trenches, who paid a visit to a brother officer in another division, which had been marooned in the Kemmel trenches for what had seemed an interminable period.

"You will notice," said the Kemmel man, "my men are planting daffodils on the parapets to hide 'em. We hope to have the line quite invisible in the course of time."

"Humph," replied he of Ploegsteert, "you are a lot of blooming optimists. My men have planted acorns in front of our ditch."

On April 3rd, Lord Kitchener came to Boulogne by torpedo-boat. On the next morning, Sunday, he landed, came through St. Omer, where he was joined by General French, and proceeded to Chantilly, where a conference with General Joffre was held. On the following day, Lord Kitchener and General French met General Foch at Amiens. A dash to St. Omer, where Sir John remained, then a rush to Boulogne, and England's War Minister was again aboard his torpedo-boat and speeding back toward Whitehall.

As news of this visit spread over the Army, rumour piled on rumour of the new "push" that was to accomplish such great results.

True, sinister minds attributed Kitchener's visits to the large loss in men and the small gain in ground of Neuve Chapelle, but they were greatly in the minority.

We obtained a copy of the Lille War Gazette, a newspaper published by the German Army in Lille, which contained many items of interest. Chief among them was an article by a Hun named Kaden, a lieutenant-colonel of a line regiment. The following is a translation of this article, which caused much comment:—

Some people laud the "thoroughness" of the German Army.

I wonder if they laud the "thoroughness" of its hate.

The Army under Sir John French was assuming considerable proportions early in April. In addition to the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th Divisions, the 27th and 28th, the Canadian Division and the Divisions of the Indian Corps, as well as the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Cavalry Divisions and the Indian Cavalry Division, were well seasoned. The North Midland, 2nd London and South Midland Territorial Divisions were "out," and fast gaining experience and a good reputation with it, while the Northumberland Territorial Division was on the way.

G.H.Q. information summaries in the early days of April said laconically, "Nothing to report on the British front," and were generally fairly correct.

On the 8th and 9th the roads leading from the Ypres district were filled with French troops moving southward. The veterans of the 9th Corps limped past, frost-bite having visited most of them during their long sojourn in the trenches of the Salient.

Lines of French guns ambled by, "75's," with their graceful light grey lines, were eminently business-like, their gunners clad in dark blue cape-overcoats that looked warm and comfortable.

The 1st Cavalry Division was given a new brigade, the 9th, which consisted of the 15th Hussars, 19th Lancers and the Warwickshire Territorial Battery.

Bumping over the bad roads at good speed meant frequent car trouble. I was fortunate to find Harold Smith, the Royal Automobile Club Engineer, one day at Boulogne, where he was superintending the installation of a first-class motor repair plant for the Red Cross Ambulances. Mieville, of the Red Cross, in whose hands were all matters pertaining to Red Cross motor vehicles, proved a good Samaritan. Between Mieville and Smith my decrepit car was given a new lease of life.

The Army Service Corps would have done well to have "co-opted" Smith and one or two more like him. His repair shop at Boulogne, when completed, was so far ahead of any repair park possessed by the Army in France that comparison made the Army shops look very bad indeed. Yet Smith's work was done in three weeks or less and a building of quite a temporary character utilised.

While I was in Boulogne an Army Service Corps captain came to Harold Smith and said: "I have been told to lay down a foundry, and unfortunately know nothing whatever about the bally thing. Do you happen to know anything about a foundry?"

"Well," replied Smith, "have a fairly good idea of what you will need. Suppose I draw up a specification of a foundry installation to-night and let you have it to-morrow?"

"Delighted," said the captain. "It would be good of you."

So Smith set to work, duly completed the specification, and turned it over to the A.S.C. man, who went away, quite happy, at once to put in the specification as it was handed to him. He admittedly had no knowledge as to its correctness and was quite satisfied to seek none.

I met Moore-Brabazon, of the Flying Corps, on the quay. With a few days' leave in his pocket, he was as happy as a sandboy.

"We had a chap rejoin us a day or so ago," said "Brab," "who had a remarkable story to tell. His name is Mapplebeck. He is an officer in the Liverpool Regiment, attached to the R.F.C.

"Not long ago, Mapplebeck was up alone on a scout near Lille, when his engine went wrong, and he had to make a descent. He knew he was well inside the German lines, but was shocked to see a couple of Huns, apparently doing sentry duty, not far from where he had planned to land.

"The two Germans ran toward the machine as it came down, each grabbing hold of the left wing. The biplane tossed and rolled and pitched about as it came to rest. Mapplebeck tumbled out on the right side, dived head first through a thick hedge a few feet distant, and ran hot-foot down a deep ditch that led to a cross-hedge not far away.

"He lost no time in dodging through the further hedge, and was off like a hare down another ditch. The Huns must have taken the wrong turning when pursuing him, as he got clear away and hid in a dwelling till night.

"Obtaining some peasant clothing, Mapplebeck made his way into Lille. Though the town was full of Germans, his disguise was so good he was not bothered in any way. Finding a loyal French business man, Mapplebeck cashed a London cheque, for which he received French notes bearing a German stamp. With these he bought a suit of clothing, and started to tramp the road to Belgium.

"He reached Belgium safely, kept on, and eventually crossed the Dutch border. Obtaining passage to London, he at once went to Farnborough and reported. There he was given a new machine which was ready to come to France. He lost no time in bringing it across the channel and reporting for duty, just as though nothing unusual had happened.

"One by one we obtained from him the details of his experiences. He was mightily modest about it all, and laughed at the idea that he had done anything that was the least bit out of the ordinary."

On April 17th the 2nd Cavalry Division held a horse show at Vieux Berquin. The horses and the riding were worthy of the best that Dublin or Olympia could produce.

Sunday, the 18th, I had set aside for a joy-ride. Running to St. Omer, I picked up Major St. Leger, of the Irish Guards, Assistant Camp Commandant, and then called at a farm near Meteren, where the 9th Lancers' Headquarters were billeted.

Beale-Browne, "Bimbo" Reynolds, Rex Benson and Alex Graham, were out enjoying the perfect morning, but we luckily found Captain "Algy" Court, of the 9th, who had been in the hospital when the Brigade was at Ypres, and thus missed seeing the Salient. This made him the more keen to have a look at the famous Menin Road. Calling at General Mullens's headquarters at Godawaersvelde, in the hope of annexing "Rattle" Barrett, "Jeff" Hornby or Romer Williams, but finding the Brigade Staff absent to a man, we pushed on to Poperinghe, where we procured a very passable luncheon in a crowded hotel.

Finally we reached Ypres, ran through it, and out on the Menin Road toward Hooge. Court was very anxious to run on to Hooge, but I had been told a car could be seen by the Huns as it approached that delectable spot, and I therefore counselled discretion. "Algy" pressed hard for a visit to Hooge itself, saying he was most eager to inspect the "trenches to the south of the road." St. Leger wavered, but finally agreed with me that to "run into one" when joy-riding would look bad, so we satisfied ourselves with watching the bursting shells from a safe distance.

Only a few weeks later, "Algy" Court was killed in those very trenches to the south of the Menin Road at Hooge, when the 9th Lancers, badly gassed and heavily attacked on front and left flank—all but outflanked, in fact—held on gallantly during a day of the fiercest of fighting, and saved the line.

While we were on Menin Road little groups of wounded Tommies came past. A Canadian Staff officer told us the K.O.S.B.'s, and the West Kents had rushed a German position on a hill in front of Zillebeke, after our engineers had exploded a mine under it. About 200 yards of enemy trench had been taken, and fifteen prisoners, including two officers, captured. From them it was learned that at least 150 Huns, most of whom must have been killed, were in the destroyed trench.

"The K.O.S.B.'s and the West Kents," said the Canadian, "are hanging on to the captured area, in spite of continual heavy counter-attacks by the Germans. We had just had a message from our chaps asking for help to hold on."

As he spoke a roar burst forth on the line not far away, seeming to me to come from a point just south of Cavan's House. For fifteen minutes Hun howitzer shells fell in scores on the luckless area of the successful advance. The air reverberated with the crashes of the huge shells, which fell in such rapid succession one could not count them.

After we left Ypres, we heard still another fierce deluge of shell-fire fall on that spot late in the afternoon.

Such was the commencement of the fight for Hill 60, near Verbranden Molen, which was to be contested bitterly for many a day, costing thousands of casualties to friend and foe. The next day, the 19th, the Germans tried to win back the position at the point of the bayonet, and succeeded in gaining a foot-hold on the southern slope of the hill, only to lose it after a hand to hand fight that afternoon.

The Huns also gave Ypres and the Menin Road a heavy shelling for an hour on the 19th, just twenty-four hours too late to catch our "joy party." The day of our visit was the last one that found the Menin Road a safe place, for daily thereafter the 17-inch shells were busy with the terrible work that was to end in the utter devastation of Ypres—work which was to continue for the rest of April, through May, and well into June, with but little respite.

A couple of days later the West Surreys had a fight for Hill 60 that nearly swept away the battalion. The Germans brought up some field guns and hammered away at our parapets at close range. When the West Surreys came out, after gallantly holding the position until relieved, a subaltern was the senior officer left in command. The "Princess Pat's," too, were to leave the majority of their officers there. Hill 60 took toll of all but a remnant of that regiment.

We dropped "Algy" Court at his billets, then hastened to St. Omer, where a good dinner was awaiting us. St. Leger's mess was always a cheery one, having among its members Surgeon-General O'Donnell, Colonel Cummings, of the R.A.M.C., Colonel Warren, of the Army Post Office, and Colonel Thresher, the Camp Commandant. That night Colonel Father Keating and Captain Father Rawlinson were fellow-guests, two greatly beloved "Padres," in either of whom was sufficient subtle merriment and quiet humour to cheer up a whole corps of pessimists.

A captured German order gave rather gruesome details of a liquid-fire thrower of sorts, intended, so the order said, for fighting in streets and houses.

The German official report accused the British at Hill 60 of using shells containing poisonous fumes.

Odd forerunners, these, in the light of subsequent events, for on Friday, April 23rd, came the first German gas attack.

The 23rd dawned bright and clear, a perfect spring morning. Soon after daybreak word came that the Germans had broken the French line between Bixschoote and Langemarck. The 1st Cavalry Division was ordered to concentrate between Ecke and Godawaersvelde, preparatory to being sent up in support.

The Germans had sprung their first gas attack in the grey of dawn, launching the asphyxiating fumes at a portion of the allied line held by the 78th French Reservist Division.

The success of the new manoeuvre had been extraordinary. That it far exceeded the most sanguine hopes of the Germans was clear from the fact that very few troops were available to take advantage of so great a hole in the allied line. No German cavalry was sufficiently near at hand to be utilised. That this point was brought well home to the Huns was made clear to us within very few hours afterward, for before the second gas attack the Germans had moved up a couple of corps of cavalry to a point within call.

But the opportunity had passed. Gas, when its use was unexpected, its effect multiplied by ignorance as to what it really was, and vague conjecture as to what it might be, and gas when our troops were expecting it and had been warned as to its objects and dangers, were very different propositions.

That the German gas attacks were for some time most demoralising, and often locally successful, was not to be denied; but some part of the line invariably held, and made the local enemy gain of less importance. Respirators assisted men to stay in their trenches in spite of the coming of the noxious fumes. Of far more value was the gradual realisation on the part of the men that gas could be withstood, and might or might not envelope them in sufficient quantity to produce a deadly effect.

Those French reservists who first were wrapped in the strange greenish-yellow mist that left them gasping for air and dying of strangulation, were not to be too greatly condemned for the general scamper that ensued. Under the circumstances, the indefinable and inexplicable horror would very likely have torn the line from the grasp of the most seasoned troops of either the French or British armies. Later I saw battalions of English veterans in utter demoralization by the coming of the gas, and it was many a day before the sight of a gas cloud failed to bring great terror to many a soldier who had to face it.

By ten o'clock on the morning of the 23rd the situation seemed most serious. Back from the Bixschoote-Langemarck line the French had come to the line of the canal that leads south from Steenstraate to Ypres. At a point not far from Boesinghe the Huns had actually crossed to the west bank of the canal, were at the very doors of Boesinghe, and had taken Het-Sas and Lizerne to the north. Lizerne was well to the west of the canal, and on the main Dixmude-Ypres road.

Messages that reached the 1st Cavalry Division, explaining the situation, were addressed to the Cavalry Corps, Indian Cavalry, 2nd Army, and the new Northumbrian Territorial Division. All these units were to be engaged on that front before many days had passed.

General De Lisle ran to 5th Corps Headquarters in Poperinghe before eleven o'clock. We passed battalion after battalion of the North Country Terriers along the road, trudging sturdily Ypreswards, or lying in the fields for a breather.

Ambulances were continually arriving in Poperinghe, full of wounded and gassed Tommies.

I met Major Moore, of the Canadian Division, who told me the Canadians had been "at it hard." Another Canadian acquaintance, a wounded officer, came past, and told me something of the situation.

The Canadians had won laurels that morning by an action which showed clearly the great military value of individual initiative in the private soldier. That is the quality that made British generals think the Australian and New Zealand soldiers who were lost at the Dardanelles the finest men that had yet been produced in the great world-war.

In dug-outs in front of Wieltje and west of St. Julien, some of the Canadians were unaware of the gas attack until the Germans had driven the French well back and come on after them to such close quarters that the grey lines were clearly visible to the surprised Canadian eyes.

Grabbing rifles and ammunition pouches, with no time for company or battalion formation, officers and men rushed toward the advancing lines of Huns, and seeking such cover as could be found, opened a fierce fire at short range. The natural, inborn individual fighting spirit of men raised in the open—men to whose hands a rifle was no stranger—met the situation with such instinctive cohesion of action that the Huns were driven back and the line saved.

A 5th Corps Staff officer told us the Canadians had actually saved the day and had established, during the early hours of the morning, a crescent-shaped line from the Canal south-east of Boesinghe to a point just north of St. Julien, the crescent bending southward as the line crossed the Ypres-Langemarck road. From this line they were gradually being forced south by heavy German attacks.

From one to two o'clock our Divisional Headquarters waited by the roadside in the western edge of Poperinghe while our three brigades came up, preparatory to a move toward the scene of battle.

That hour of inaction was crammed with scenes that told of the heavy fighting ahead of us. Lyne-Stephens, convoying a couple of dozen of the splendid Du Cros ambulances, full to overflowing with shattered men, hurried past en route for Hazebrouck. As a hospital train of twelve coaches, every available corner containing a wounded Tommy, steamed west, scores of motor omnibuses hurried eastward toward the sound of the guns, every khaki-coloured 'bus with its complement of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Terriers of the North Midland Division. Refugees laden with cardboard boxes, pushing loaded bicycles or pulling-carts groaning under tall piles of household effects, added to the road's congestion. Detachments of infantry marching on, guns rattling up, ammunition trains urging their claims to special facilities for a clear road, added to the mÊlÉe.

Over this highway, jammed with two lines of traffic bound in each direction, the 1st Cavalry Division and its transport pushed its way, through Poperinghe, where railway trains were debouching long lines of blue-clad French regulars, and then on along the road toward Elverdinghe, to the eastward.

General de Lisle went first to Woesten, which we found full of French territorial troops. Shells had fallen in the village during the morning, but none were bursting near when we arrived.

We started down the road toward Elverdinghe but had not gone far when Bang! bang! just in front, then the whirr of shrapnel bullets, the sharp crack as they struck the pavÉ a few yards ahead, and spurts of dirt and dust, told us that the roadway was receiving attention at the hands of the Boche gunners.

I pulled the car up sharply, and as I did so two more shrapnel burst a few feet above the road in front of us, the missiles from the exploding shells singing past and striking all about with nasty smacks, as if in boasting evidence of a creditable amount of velocity and precision.

One regiment of our Division was assigned duty as a reserve for the Belgian left, which was not far north of us. Another regiment was to act as reserve for the French in front of us. The remainder of the Division was a sort of general reserve, to be utilised wherever and whenever necessity arose.

A run to Elverdinghe showed that it had been heavily shelled, the church being riddled with great holes. Our line was pushed to the east of the town. An ambulance driver who had been left in Elverdinghe told me he was sure "someone will get it in this hole soon," and he proved to be no bad prophet.

As dark closed we learned that the Canadians' line had been forced back, but the support line had held firm as a rock, and our men were counter-attacking most gallantly as the day ended. The rumph! rumph! of the howitzer shells increased in frequency, the cannonade swelling in volume as the night came.

A good sized chÂteau between Poperinghe and Elverdinghe housed our Headquarters Staff for the night.

A run to Cassel at daybreak was a maddening experience, the road from Steenvoorde to Poperinghe being packed and jammed with all manner of horse and motor transport. A big five-ton lorry belonging to the Canadians had broken down as it was being turned in the narrow roadway. Result, an immovable barrier across the pavÉ.

If ever in my life I longed to tamper with a job that was "none of my business," I did so on that 24th of April. Organisation of the traffic on that congested road could have been so easily done with a dozen assistants, and hours saved to all users of the road.

Thousands of light French camions were waiting at Cassel for train-load after train-load of French troops from Arras. The 9th Corps, which had so few days previously left Ypres, after a sojourn of there of many months, was being hurried back as fast as steam and petrol could bring it.

That morning I was given a message for General de Lisle from the French Corps Commander, to the effect that the British Cavalry was required in the front line.

Temporary divisional headquarters had been established at the fourth kilometre stone on the Elverdinghe road, to allow messages from regiments or brigades easily to find it.

When I arrived with the message I transmitted it to Major Fitzgerald, then set off to seek de Lisle, who, "Fitz" said, was making a tour of the line, and could be found either in Woesten or Elverdinghe.

I chose the latter objective. The way was lined by great black French Spahis, clad in variegated garb and wondrous head gear, for the first couple of kilometres. As we approached Elverdinghe, all signs of life vanished. An odd stillness brooded over the immediate vicinity, a sort of local lull in the maelstrom of sound the shell-bursts were making and had made throughout the night, a couple of miles to the eastward.

A half instinctive pause in the edge of the village, and a moment spent in tense listening, gave me an uncanny feeling of solitude. As I stood, undecided whether to push on into the town or circle back for Woesten, the silence was mashed to reverberating atoms by an 8-in. howitzer shell, which fell not far from the town.

Bang! rumph! r-r-r-rumph! Bang! Shrapnel and high explosive seemed to come together.

Another and another shell followed, then a blinding crash as I was turning my car and a shell burst in the square not far away, showering bits of shell and dÉbris over me.

The pieces slap-slapped resoundingly against the metal panels of the car, and one good-sized stone was hurled against my back.

As I raced away to safety towards Poperinghe, the shells still came into the village and around it, and followed the road at my back, urging me on.

Shortly afterwards I saw Captain Bertram Neame, the Adjutant of the 18th Hussars, who had been wounded in the right hand and arm by one of the shells.

"An aeroplane marked with red, white and blue rings, but evidently a German flying false colours, circled round over the battery near us," said Neame, "and half a dozen German shrapnel fell there at once. Then the 'plane circled over the farm containing 18th Headquarters, and another farm which was sheltering most of A Squadron. Immediately afterwards shells poured into the two farms, and several of the men were hit."

Months after I read the diary of Captain T. O. Thompson, of the R.A.M.C., who was attached to the 18th Hussars.

All things considered, I was lucky to get out of Elverdinghe unhurt that morning.

I found General de Lisle as he was returning from Woesten with Captain Nicholson; I then ran to Woesten with a message for General Briggs.

General de Lisle was faced with the fact that he was acting as reserve to the British left, and therefore suggested to the French commander that the French reserves should first be used, and the British cavalry only called upon to occupy the front French line when no further French reserves were available, a suggestion of which the French General at once saw the wisdom.

Returning from Woesten, Nicholson and I found we must make a dÉtour, as the narrow country road was completely blocked by French horse transport.

Dashing into Poperinghe at high speed we were surprised to see the townsfolk running hither and thither in great fright and confusion. Six great shells had been thrown the long distance from the enemy line and landed in the town. They had come but a couple of minutes before, a scared Belgian told us.

I lost no time, swinging through the square and out on the Elverdinghe road at high speed. No sooner were we clear of the centre of the town than Hun shells screamed wickedly over us on their way toward the railway station, exploding not far behind us with tremendous concussion. Guns of large calibre were being used by the Germans.

First Cavalry Division Headquarters was moved from the kilometre stone to an estaminet near by, as the inhabitants had brought up two great wagons and decamped therein with bag and baggage.

Tales of Canadian prowess and fine work by the 13th Infantry Brigade, which was sent to their support, were mingled with conflicting reports of the number of guns captured by the Germans. First, the loss of a couple of dozen was admitted by the French. Before a week had passed we knew the number actually taken by the Germans was much greater.

Ypres, we heard, had been so heavily shelled the day before that the entire town had been evacuated.

All the morning I watched ambulances full of wounded French soldiers en route for Poperinghe, file past war-worn batteries of "75's," pushing toward the front. The begrimed French gunners, with their cheery faces, seemed to know the esteem in which we held them and their splendid guns, and to be keen to get into action and stem the advance of the Germans, which was slowly but steadily surging towards us though our men were fighting hard every inch of the way.

The Belgian refugees poured back, forced off the road by the lorries, ambulances and guns. Slight mothers with numerous progeny, one, or sometimes two, of the lesser units in arms, toiled by. Each person, young or old, capable of carrying a load, bore heavy burdens. Bicycles with huge bundles balanced on the saddle, were pushed westward haltingly, as road-space permitted. One lad passed on crutches, flanked by two grand-dames carrying blue buckets crammed tight with portions of the family wardrobe.

Most of the faces of the refugees bore a stolid, matter-of-fact expression. Some were quite cheerful. Many seemed stoically numbed to all feeling. The strong wind tossed their unwieldy bundles, and they stumbled awkwardly out of the path of hurrying traffic, their feet bruised against the loose stones that edged the pavÉ. Tired, dirty, buffeted by the gale, with strained and aching muscles and broken feet, fleeing from death or worse, and in their flight abandoning their worldly all, I wondered there were not more signs of heart-sickness and despair on their thin faces.

Shells screamed over us and ploughed great holes in the British aviation park east of Poperinghe. After the first half dozen of such visitors, the Flying Corps packed up and took its departure for safer quarters.

A wounded Canadian said the 2nd and 3rd Canadian Brigades in front of us were wiped out as a fighting force. Their trenches, he told us had been literally blown to bits. A counter-attack by the Canadians, the 13th Brigade and the French 45th Division on their left, had started well, but failed to achieve much. German batteries and machine guns greatly outnumbered ours and were taking heavy toll as the battle surged backwards and forwards.

Before the day was over the French reported that they had recaptured Lizerne.

Night closed with an increasing din from the arms of all sorts and calibres on our front, never to cease for the whole night through.

I was sent after dark to G.H.Q. at St. Omer, a journey that meant many a long hour of tedious waiting in the midst of the tangled skein of traffic along the way.

Returning at daybreak on Sunday, the 25th, I planned a round-about route from Steenvoorde to Poperinghe, circling well north of the main road. I had travelled but a few kilometres when I found the narrow, muddy road in front of me completely blocked by a train of French lorries, laden with troops. Some of the vehicles were mired, and the block bid fair to be immovable for hours. By sheer luck I stopped opposite a farmyard, in which I turned the car, and not far back gained a cross-road. A mile beyond the route was rendered absolutely impassable by two detachments of British transport, which had met face to face on a road barely wide enough for one.

"We have been here a divil of a toime," said a cheery Irish driver at the rear of the column, "and from the look of it beyant there, we'll be slapin' here in the mud this night."

Nothing daunted, I turned, pushed by willing hands when deep mud made assistance necessary, and headed the other way. But fate was unkind. Again I found the road barricaded, this time by two signal lorries that had, like me, tried a dÉtour. One had skidded sideways and stuck fast. The other was trying to pull his fellow back on to the roadway. Disheartened, I soon tired of what threatened to be a long wait, and returned toward Steenvoorde. A new convoy of French troop-lorries closed this avenue of escape, but after an hour of floundering through almost impassable lanes, I reached Abele, on the main road, and was soon thereafter in Poperinghe.

Truly an ounce of prevention in the way of road organisation and route selection by some competent authority would have been worth many pounds of the condemnation poured forth with volubility by all road users in those days of tiresome traffic tangles.

Our headquarters moved to an estaminet just outside Woesten.

I learned, on arrival, that at midnight word had come from the French Commander, General Putz, whose headquarters were but a few hundred yards distant, to the effect that a mistake had been made in a previous report, and Lizerne was still in the hands of the enemy.

The roads were filled with French troops moving up, and relieved reservists coming back, while battery on battery of grey "75's" wheeled past.

"I don't know where they are going to put any more guns," said Budworth, our Divisional C.R.A., "the whole country round is stiff with 'em now."

Fresson, the French liaison officer attached to the 1st Cavalry Division, sought at French headquarters an explanation of the situation on the extreme French left, where the Belgian right joined it.

"Lizerne was attacked by French and Belgians, and Pilkem by French only," said Fresson, on his return. "The mix-up in the report was due to the Belgians. The story of Lizerne is indefinite, except that the Germans were not driven out, as reported. As to the Pilkem attack, this failed utterly, due to wire, machine-guns, and general concentration by the enemy of the position they had captured.

"A further attack," continued Fresson, "is to be made this morning at 10.30., when the Pilkem ridge is to be again stormed."

The Pilkem ridge was east of our part of the front, not far distant from the canal itself. The sounds of battle from the line facing it were continually in our ears.

General Smith-Dorrien drove by. One of his Staff told me that at ten o'clock on the night before (Saturday night) 200 Canadians were still in St. Julien, though the line had been pressed back, leaving the little band cut off and surrounded by Germans. All night they had fought on, and were still fighting.

Some of our men had gotten up sufficiently close to hear the Huns call out to the gallant Canadians in a lull in the firing: "Surrender, Canadians! We are around you! You have no chance!"

"See you damned first! Come and get us," was the answer sent back in the night by a clear young Canadian voice, and Bedlam was again let loose.

That was the spirit of the men that Canada sent to France to fight for the Empire.

On the Sunday morning, said the Staff officer, a determined effort was being made to relieve what remained of the gallant 200.

All our attacks that day and those of the French as well failed. Lizerne remained in enemy hands, and the last of the heroic two hundred Canadians had evidently fallen in St. Julien before night, for all sounds of firing from that direction ceased. Strive as they would, our troops had been unable to reach and succour them, though costly efforts were not wanting. Weeks and months afterwards anxious ones waited for word from some of that noble little band in St. Julien, but no word ever came from German hospital or prison camp. They had fought on to the last man, to the bitter end!

At night the Germans attacked Broodseinde, east of Zonnebeke, with great ferocity, but were driven back by our 5th Corps troops.

What was left of the Canadian 2nd Brigade was holding Gravenstafel, just north of Zonnebeke, and not far to the south-west of Passchendaele. The Huns poured mass on mass against the depleted ranks of the Canadians, who were compelled to fall back, evacuating Gravenstafel, but stubbornly disputing every foot of ground lost.

The night of Sunday, the 25th, closed in, with little in the situation to cheer us, except the knowledge that the entire vicinity of the Ypres Salient and the line to the north of it was crowded with fresh French and British troops and battery on battery of guns.

By Monday night the London Sunday papers had reached us.

What was our surprise to see that the London press was greatly cheered by the meagre French and British official reports, and united in condemning the German official reports, which were flatly characterised as lying inventions.

The German official reports were, as a matter of fact, in that particular instance, more correct than either the French or British official reports.

The French report declared Lizerne and Het-Sas to have been taken from the Huns. The Huns had never been driven out of either town.

The British report was vaguely optimistic, evidently bent on minimising the German gains. It was so worded that 999 men out of 1,000 would understand from it that most of the ground lost on the 23rd and the days immediately following had been won back from the enemy. Certain it was that no one would gain the idea from the British official report that the Huns had been steadily forcing our line back, that our counter-attacks had failed, and that the Ypres Salient was then so threatened that no one but a madman would deny that further reconstruction of our line around Ypres, involving the giving up of a large section of our front line had become a military necessity, to be performed at the earliest moment such a manoeuvre could be carried out. Indeed, the section of our line to be abandoned must needs be far greater than that the enemy had won by his surprise gas attack against the French.

I do not wish to give the impression from the foregoing that the German reports were, as a rule, more correct than French or British official pronunciamientos. I think they were by no means so to be described. In matters of fact, as to captures of men or guns, or details as to bits of line lost or won, the Hun official reports were less often incorrect than some might think. Now and then, when dealing with some matter of conjecture, such as an estimate of our casualties, they were absurdly wide of the mark. The average French official report might err slightly as regarded detail, but was in the main most dependable. Our chief quarrel with the official reports as issued by the War Office to the British Press was that they were at times subject to more than one interpretation. Escaping actual inaccuracy, they did not always convey the impression at Home warranted by the facts at the Front.

On the morning of the 26th I ran toward Wieltje, and obtained details of the exact position of the lines.

The French left touched the Belgian right along the Yser-Ypres Canal north of Lizerne, where the German line was pushed to its further western point. The French line ran close to Het-Sas and crossed to the east of the canal a few hundred yards south of Boesinghe.

At a point a couple of thousand yards east of the canal the British left joined the extreme French right.

From that junction our line ran eastward through Fortuin, a village half a mile south of St. Julien, then north-east toward Gravenstafel, then south-east to Broodseinde.

At two o'clock that afternoon a grand attack was planned, all along that east-and-west line.

The 13th Brigade was on the left; two companies of the Rifle Brigade and the East Kents came next; five battalions of the 10th Brigade and a battalion in reserve were near Fortuin; on their right was the 11th Brigade; east of them were the York and Durham Territorial Brigades. The Northumbrian Territorial Division was in the Wieltje area in reserve, and the Lahore Division was coming up to the north of Verlorenhoek, on the right of the Northumberland Terriers.

Our forces, to be sent forward in attack, numbered over two score battalions, say, 40,000 men.

The Canadians had been withdrawn from the Salient to take stock of their battered remnants and fill their ranks with reserves from England. They had been tried in the fire and could be proud of having gained the name of one of the most brilliant fighting contingents that had been seen on the British front since the commencement of the War.

The French were again to attack the Pilkem ridge at two o'clock, when the British line, between four and five miles long, was to push vigorously northward in a desperate attempt to drive the Huns from the ground gained by gas attack three days before.

Our share in the show was small. The following order was issued to the brigades:

"At two p.m. to-day the French will attack Lizerne and Het-Sas. The 1st Cavalry Division are ordered to support the left flank of the French, acting in reserve. The Division will be saddled up by two p.m. and the horses of the 1st Cavalry Brigade collected in the area south-west of Woesten. By two p.m. the 1st Cavalry Brigade will assemble, dismounted, north of the Woesten-Oostoleteren road, about the nineteenth kilometre stone, ready to support in the direction of Pypegaale, if required. The 2nd and 9th Brigades will remain in their present positions, ready to support the 1st Cavalry Brigade dismounted."

This gave vague promise of a bit of fun, as Pypegaale was only a mile from the coveted Lizerne, to which the Huns were holding so doggedly.

But our participation in the mill was only to take place in the event of the French attack ending in disaster or resulting in such extraordinary success that the Germans would be put to absolute rout.

The shells fell all about in those days, and rarely did I visit the support positions—which I did scores of times each day—when the air was not full of the droning shells of our own and the French batteries, pounding the enemy's positions on the canal.

Shell-fire; aeroplanes, British, French and German; anti-aircraft shells, both ours and those of the enemy, and passing troops and batteries became such common sights as the hours went by that one hardly bestowed on them a passing glance.

A Belgian woman was caught, near a battery position, flashing signals with a piece of bright tin to a Hun airman high overhead. The French took her away, one stout soldier to each arm, to summary execution.

Children were at play at the roadside. A dozen boys were engaged in a mock bombardment. A bottle served as the hostile town. Stones made good shells. All waited for the order, "Fire!" and then rained shots at the target with a will. Now and then one of the children would say, "Rumph! rumph!" mockingly, as a Black Maria fell near enough to jar them, but for the most part they paid scant attention to the fierce cannonade in progress all about.

In a field by the road a man was ploughing stolidly. A woman was hanging her washing on the line, singing as she worked. A 13-pounder anti-aircraft shell buried itself a few yards away, but she evinced no interest in it, and did not even allow its coming to interrupt her song.

Artillery work in modern warfare is carefully organised. It was difficult to realise in the midst of such an inferno of shell-fire that every gunner, who was so hard at work in those April days, had some definite objective when launching shells enemy-ward.

Major Budworth was directed to conduct the artillery attack on Lizerne. In other words, the guns of H and I Batteries of the Royal Horse Artillery were to pave the way for the French infantry attack.

General Putz was anxious to retake Lizerne and Steenstraate as well. The latter town was on the canal, a few hundred yards east of Lizerne, and astride the Dixmude-Ypres highway, along which German reserves, to meet the attack on Lizerne, must be brought.

Budworth placed the batteries near Woesten, about 3,000 yards from Lizerne, which was surrounded by country so flat and so dotted with groups of trees that artillery observation was difficult.

A couple of gunners were sent into the French front trenches at 11.30 a.m. to observe the range-finding shots.

The Lizerne attack had been timed for 2.30 p.m. All watches had been most carefully synchronized. At 12.15 p.m., to the very second, H Battery fired three shots, then, after an interval, three shots more. Five minutes after the second trio had been sent Hun-ward, I Battery also fired six shots in groups of three. The observation officers on reconnaissance 'phoned back to the batteries from the French line, and gave minute details as to errors in range of the dozen shells, adding such information as would allow a more correct setting of the timing-fuses.

Errors in direction at such range—3,000 to 4,000 yards make an ideal range for the British 13-pounder and 18-pounder field-guns—were rare, in view of the fact that our gunners were provided with accurate large scale maps from which the range could be splendidly laid.

To get the guns closer to the enemy than 3,000 yards made it possible that the gunners might be subjected to hostile rifle fire, if the line should be forced back slightly. At such close range as 2,000 yards so low a trajectory was necessary that cover was rarely possible. Further, the supplying of ammunition to the guns was, under such circumstances, a most difficult problem. If an artillery commander could place his field-guns within 3,000 yards of the enemy position he considered himself fortunate.

Budworth was compelled to use shrapnel, as the 13-pounders at the Front at that time had not been provided with high explosive shell, although it had been repeatedly promised. Had high explosive shell been available, one battery would have sent it hurtling against the walls and houses in the little village of Lizerne and the Germans hiding behind them. The other battery would have simultaneously swept the streets and open spaces with shrapnel. With no high explosive, the only alternative was to use long fuses in the shrapnel, which then burst on percussion against the buildings behind which the Huns were sheltering.

The observation from the front line was chiefly valuable as a guide to the timing of the shrapnel that was to be used to scatter the hundreds of bullets over the open spaces. A 13-pounder shrapnel contained about 285 bullets, an 18-pounder, 365. The timing fuses burst none too accurately, at best. Atmospheric conditions frequently affected the burning of the fuses, and even the heating of the gun as it went into action sometimes did so.

H and I Batteries, having obtained the desired information from their observers as to the range and timing of their twelve shells, waited patiently until half past two o'clock.

At that hour, 400 shells were fired into Lizerne. For the first five minutes each battery fired four rounds per minute, then came a two-minute interval. For the next five minutes every one of the twelve guns in the two batteries fired five shots per minute. A second lull of two minutes was followed by still more rapid fire for another five minutes, six rounds per sixty seconds blazing forth from each of the dozen field-pieces, seventy-two shells per minute falling in the village. Thus they continued, the spasm of firing and the brief interval of stillness alternating, until the 400 shells had been fired.

That the work of the Horse Artillery was well done was apparent from the result. Its efficiency was confirmed later by captured Germans wounded in Lizerne, who termed the place "Hell itself" while the initial bombardment was in progress.

But the work of the guns was by no means ended. The salvo died down at the appointed time. The French Colonial Zouaves rushed forward, bayonets in hand, with wild cries, and then the gunners were set to their task.

They fired another 400 rounds at the road from Steenstraate to Lizerne, a second road leading to Lizerne from the south-east, and a third road connecting the two. These three roads were the avenues most likely to be utilized by the Huns for bringing up reinforcements to meet the attack. "Searching" the roads and a couple of special points, one just back of a rise of ground, where it seemed possible reinforcements might be gathered, kept the gunners hard at work.

Shrapnel rained over such spots, bursting from twenty to thirty feet above ground, and spreading death all about.

Watching the two batteries in action gave me a high opinion of their abilities. Nothing in modern warfare was so fascinating a study as that of guns in action.

France, with her faith pinned to low trajectory and high muzzle velocity as exemplified in her wonderful "75's," and Germany's gun-religion, centring on weight of shell, made a formidable contrast.

The making of a field-piece was ever a compromise between those two schools—a gun firing a light shell straight and fast, or a gun in which speed and direct line were sacrificed to gain weight of projectile.

A 35-pound howitzer shell and an 18-pounder shrapnel, such as that fired by the British field artillery, were sent on their mission of death from guns of practically the same weight. Thus greatly did an increase in muzzle velocity mean a corresponding increase in avoirdupois.

Thirty-eight hundredweight was generally agreed by gun-experts the world over to be the weight permissible for field pieces; this limit being imposed by questions of mobility and transport.

It was to gain those assets so great to the French military mind, low trajectory and high muzzle velocity, that the weight of the "75" shell was dropped to 15 pounds.

Howitzer against field-gun, with high explosive shell for both, was German practice against French practice. As one who became very tired of the continuous rain of big German howitzer shells, I must confess a wholesome respect for Hun theory in relation to questions of modern artillery. But no German gun, light or heavy, could, to my mind, compare with the wonderful "75."

A return to General Putz's headquarters found the French staff in possession of a report from the Front, to the effect that the Algerian Brigade had taken Lizerne, held all the trenches on the west side of the canal, and were preparing to cross the canal at Lizerne and Het-Sas.

Later developments showed the French officers in the fighting line had again been optimistic to a point of inaccuracy in reporting Lizerne captured. The next day it was discovered that the Germans still held two houses on the western edge of canal, and had "dug themselves in" in an entrenched bridge-head on the canal bank. The French troops were in a semicircle, 300 yards distant, and were bringing up, under cover of the night, "75's" on either side of the miniature German fort, and preparing to batter it down by high-explosive shells fired at point-blank range.

The 1st Cavalry Division left the reserve line before Lizerne was finally wholly clear of Germans.

All day the din of battle on the long front had been maddening. Ear-drums became tuned to it for a time. But periods of acute sensitiveness would recur, in which the sound seemed to beat against one's brain with a dull ache, punctuated with sharp pain from the constant concussion.

An evening message from 5th Corps Headquarters told of the failure of the great attack at 2 p.m., owing to gas fumes from the German trenches. A later attack had been organised, in which the Northumbrian Territorial Division had won from the enemy some trenches south-west of St. Julien, and then pushed on and captured St. Julien itself. The Manchesters, too, had taken some German trenches east of St. Julien.

But the good work was to be undone. That night the Huns won back St. Julien, and by daybreak on the 27th the line was practically where it had been twenty-four hours earlier, in spite of sad losses.

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