Our battalion moved off from billets early on Sunday evening and marched to our part of the line where we were to go over. It was one o'clock in the morning before I had my platoon in position in their jumping-off trench, and we stood there in mud to our waists all night waiting for the eventful hour.

I can never describe my feelings as I stood there waiting for the moment to come. At a certain hour our artillery was all to open on Fritz's front line and we were to jump out and advance near as possible, ready to rush his front line when our artillery fire raised. About fifteen minutes before the time set, I took two water bottles of rum and gave each of the men a good swallow, for it was bitter cold standing in the mud all night. Then I stood with watch in hand, waiting, waiting!

Precisely on the moment the most wonderful artillery barrage ever known in the history of the world started. Hundreds, thousands of big guns, from 18-pounders to 15-inch guns opened at the same second. Imagine 15-inch guns firing from miles behind the line and throwing each of them about 1,100 pounds of explosives. The very earth rocked, and the noise and thunder was awful and maddening. Then I jumped over the top and called to the boys to come on. I had gone about 15 yards when I felt a stinging sensation and looking down saw a trickle of blood on my left hand. A Heinie machine gun had got me. At the same time a sergeant just to my right crumpled up in a heap, riddled with machine gun bullets. How lucky I was

I dived into a shell hole and got my arm tied up a bit. A wounded man came along and I helped to bandage him up in return for his helping me to tie my own up. By that time our company was ahead of me, into Fritz's front line and following our barrage on to the second line. By this time the German artillery was throwing everything they had at our old front line and in No Man's Land to harass our support coming up. . . In one place where the trench had been blown in and it was very arrow, I came on a poor fellow lengthwise of the trench and everyone had been tramping right over him till he was almost buried in the mud. Of course he was dead so I suppose it didn't inconvenience him any. In another place I came on one of my own company lying with both legs blown off at the knees, but still alive and conscious. I stopped and talked to him a few minutes. Scenes like this are not uncommon in war.

I will tell you more of my experiences in next letter. I may say just here that the Canadians "got there" anyway and showed they could fight as well as anyone and a little better than Heinie. We had him beat to a "farewell".