said a word
about the gas to any of the men that night.

We passed through Weiltje where all was stir and commotion, and the
dressing stations were already full, and then we deployed into the
fields on a rise in the ground near St. Julien. By this time, our men
had become aware of the gas, because, although the German attack had
been made a good many hours before, the poisonous fumes still clung
about the fields and made us cough. Our men were halted along the
field and sat down waiting for orders. The crack of thousands of
rifles and the savage roar of artillery were incessant, and the German
flare-lights round the salient appeared to encircle us. There was a
hurried consultation of officers and then the orders were given to the
different companies. An officer who was killed that night came down
and told us that the Germans were in the wood which we could see
before us at some distance in the moonlight, and that a house from
which we saw gleams of light was held by German machine guns. The men
were told that they had to take the wood at the point of the bayonet
and were not to fire, as the 10th Battalion would be in front of them.
I passed down the line and told them that they had a chance to do a
bigger thing for Canada that night than had ever been done before. (p. 062)
"It's a great day for Canada, boys." I said. The words afterwards
became a watchword, for the men said that whenever I told them that,
it meant that half of them were going to be killed. The battalion rose
and fixed bayonets and stood ready for the command to charge. It was a
thrilling moment, for we were in the midst of one of the decisive
battles of the war. A shrapnel burst just as the men moved off and a
man dropped in the rear rank. I went over to him and found he was
bleeding in the neck. I bound him up and then taking his kit, which he
was loath to lose, was helping him to walk towards the dressing
station when I saw what I thought were sandbags in the moonlight. I
called out, "Is anybody there?" A voice replied, "Yes, Sir, there is a
dying man here." I went over and there I found two stretcher-bearers
beside a young fellow called Duffy, who was unconscious. He had been
struck by a piece of shrapnel in the head and his brain was protruding.
Duffy was a well-known athlete and had won the Marathon race. We tried
to lift him, but with his equipment on he was too heavy, so I sent off
the wounded man to Wieltje with one of the stretcher-bearers who