, 1915, the writer, in company with Major Rankin, saw the
Germans launch their first gas attack near St. Julien upon the section
of the line held by the French colonial troops and the first Canadian
division.

This book was written primarily for the purpose of recording this as
well as some of the other experiences of the first Canadian division
as seen from the unusual angle of a scientist, in the course of 18,000
miles of travel in the front line area. It had the secondary object of
giving the average reader some insight into what goes on behind the
lines, and the means employed to maintain the health and efficiency of
the British and Canadian soldiers in the field.

No attempt has been made to deal with the work of the real fighting
men on land and in the air; others far better qualified than I are
doing that.

If the book has no other merit, it has, at least, that of being
literally true.

ON THE FRINGE OF THE GREAT FIGHT

CHAPTER I.

ON THE ROAD TO A GREAT ADVENTURE.

It began with a wish. That takes me back to a pleasant day in early
August, 1914, and a verandah at Ravenscrag, Muskoka--a broad, cool,
verandah overlooking dancing dark waters. A light breeze stirred the
leaves and gently wafted to us the smell of the pines and the woods,
mingled with the sweet odours of the scented geranium, verbena, and
nicotine in the rock-girt garden. But my mind was far removed from the
peacefulness of my immediate surroundings: the newspaper I held in my
hand was filled with kaleidoscopic descriptions of the great European
tumult. Unconsciously I voiced aloud the thought that was uppermost in
my mind: "I would gladly give ten years of my life if I could serve my
country in this war." "Do not say that," warned my hostess, looking up
from her magazine, "for everything comes to you on a wish," and
nothing more was said of the matter at the time.

That day was a very quiet one with our little house-party. We made our
usual launch trip through the lakes but nobody talked much. Each was
busy with his own thoughts, wondering what England could do in the
great emergency. Could she, or could she not, save France from the
invading hosts of Germany? And deeper in each mind was the unspoken
fear, "Perhaps it is already too late to save France--perhaps, even
now, the question is 'Can England save herself?'" The great
depression in men's minds during those early days of the war when the
bottom seemed to have dropped