he appearance of being a
wipe-out. I ordered my crew to beat it for the dugout, staying behind a
moment or two to set the sight and fasten the lanyard to blow up the gun
if needed. They started out of the gun pit, taking the turn to the
right, along the path to the dugout, which was fairly well sheltered by
big trees. I finished my work in a minute or two and took the turn to
the left. When I reached the dugout the O.C. inquired where the men
were.

"They ought to be here, sir; they left ahead of me. I will go at once
and find them."

"I'll go with you." And we started through the trees. The dugout was
only about forty yards in the rear of the gun pit and half way there we
came across my crew lying underneath a huge tree, dead. It had been
rooted from the ground, hurled in the air with the same ease as a toy
balloon and dropped on the men. The hole torn in the ground at the root
was big enough to swallow a horse and cart. Of the five members of my
crew four were dead; the remaining man, Bill Clark, had fourteen wounds
in one side of his body from splinters of the tree.

I took him to the dressing station, where his wounds were dressed. As
soon as he recovered consciousness he asked what had happened, and when
I told him that his pals, including his bosom chum, Jim Chandler, had
all been killed, he again lapsed into unconsciousness. He was later
taken to the hospital, where, after a nine-months' battle with the Grim
Reaper hovering constantly over his bed, he at last regained some of his
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 chateau,
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
Ge