At times during a battle a body of comrades seem to act together as one man. Their spirit and discipline are so good and they each forget themselves so completely in the effort of the fight that the foe cannot stand before them. When a brave effort of this special kind is made, Crosses are not granted, but the name of the battle is worked on the flag or colours of the regiment.

Never was such a distinction better earned than by the Canadians at Ypres.

In the spring of 1915, the Germans were making desperate efforts to get to Calais, as a step on the road to London. They were so eager to get there that they began to use poison gas against our men and their friends, the French and Belgians.

The Canadians were among the first to feel the effects of that horrible, choking, blinding gas. The use of it gave the Germans an advantage at first; and it seemed likely, for a time, that they would be able to make a way through the British lines. It was the Canadians who stepped into the gap and helped to save Calais. The people of Britain and the Empire can never forget that splendid service.

At another time there was a desperate fight in a wood near Ypres from which the Canadian Scottish drove the Germans one moonlight night. The story, as told by an officer, forms another fine page in the history of the British Army. Here it is:—

“It was just a few minutes before midnight when we got to a hollow which was about 300 yards from the wood. The moon came out now and then, but we could have done without her, for farm buildings were blazing all round. The fire from the Germans in the wood had now ceased, and we had a spell of silence that could be felt.

“Whispered orders were given to fix bayonets and were obeyed in a flash. Our coats, packs, and everything were dropped and we advanced in light order. When we reached a low ridge in full view of the wood, a storm of fire was loosed upon us from the undergrowth skirting the wood. At once the word was given to charge, and on we rushed, cheering, yelling, and shouting, straight for the foe.

“At first they fired too high, and our losses were small. Then some of our men began to drop, and the whole front line seemed to melt away, only to be instantly closed up again. Cheering and yelling, we jumped over the bodies of the wounded and tore on. Of the Germans with the machine-guns not one escaped, but those inside the wood stood up to us in fine style.

“The struggle became a dreadful hand-to-hand conflict; we fought in clumps and batches, and the living struggled over the bodies of the dead and dying. At the height of the conflict, while we were steadily driving the Germans before us, the moon burst out. The clashing bayonets flashed like quicksilver, and faces were lit up as if by limelight.

“Sweeping on, we came upon lines of trenches, which had been hastily made and could not be well defended. All who held out were bayoneted; those who gave in were sent to the rear.”

The officer spoke modestly as all British heroes do; but no words could convey a full idea of the desperate character of the fighting on that moonlight night. The Canadians knew perfectly well what depended upon them in that frantic struggle round about the poor battered town of Ypres; and they nobly performed the duty laid upon them.

Remember that these men were not fighting, directly at least, for the safety of their own homes, which were thousands of miles away in peaceful Canada; nor for their wives and children, mothers, or sweethearts, who had sent them out so bravely from their homes in the western land. They might have stayed at home, and no one would have had any right to call them slackers or shirkers.

But they did not stay at home. The “Old Grey Mother” of them all was in danger—the Britain to whom it was their pride to belong. So they came racing across the seas as quick as steam could bring them; and after some months of training in the Old Country, they went out to fight and win and die.