iterated by the
artillery. He withdrew his undefeated troops from the fragments of the
field fortifications, and the hearts of his men were as completely
unbroken as the parapets of his trenches were completely broken." Much
more was said in official despatches about the fine spectacular heroism
of other officers of lower rank. Currie, the most picturesque physique
on the West front, was no man for mere gallantry. Poor dashing Mercer,
beloved of the ranks, later paid the penalty for the sort of bravery
that inspires troops but does not win battles. Currie was no coward.
But he was cautious. The Scot in him preordained that he might be a
necessity higher up. He just flung his left flank around south and
hung on. We read on in the official record:

"Monday morning broke bright and clear and found the Canadians behind
the firing line. But this day too was to bring its anxieties. The
attack was still pressed, and it became necessary to ask Brigadier
General Currie whether he could not once more call on his shrunken
Brigade. 'The men are tired,' this indomitable soldier replied, 'but
they are ready and glad to go again to the trenches.' And so, once
more a hero leading heroes, the general marched back the men of the 2nd
Brigade, reduced to a quarter of its strength, to the very apex of the
line as it existed at that moment."

Five months later a party of Canadian newspapermen visited the Canadian
front when one of them wrote concerning Major-General Currie:

"English officers spoke of him with a curious mixture of enthusiasm and
reserve as though he were some new sort of being. It was everybody's
secret that this big, husky Canadian with the baby pink face and the
blue eyes and the slow, smooth, bellowing voice was to be in command of
the Second Canadian Division just then being organized. . . . No place
except Canada produces such voices as Currie's, or such tremendous
easy-moving bodies. He met the newspapermen with a smile and a great
outstretched hand. The gesture was something like that of a popular
preacher shaking hands with the children on their way out of church.
But the voice was the great thing. It seemed to come from illimitable
depths. It suggested at once poise and unlimited balance. Cool
judgment that could never be upset. Officers who saw Brigade
Headquarters being strafed and who saw the roof blown in over Currie's
head whispered among themselves that would be the last of Currie. But