When we took our position in the front line trenches in Belgium, we relieved the Twenty-sixth Canadian Battalion. The Twenty-sixth belonged to the Second division, and had seen real service during the battle of Hooge and in what is now termed the third battle of Ypres, which occurred in June, 1916. The organization was made up almost exclusively of French Canadians from Quebec, and it was as fine a fighting force as we had shown the Fritzes, despite the fact that men of their race, as developments have proved, are not strongly loyal to Canada and Britain. Individually, the men of this French Canadian battalion were splendid soldiers and the organization could be criticized on one score only. In the heat of action it could not be kept in control. On one occasion when it went in, in broad daylight, to relieve another battalion, the men didn’t stop at the fire trench. They went right on “over the top,” without orders, and, as a result, were badly cut up. Time and again the men of this battalion crossed “No Man’s Land” at night, without orders and without even asking consent, just to have a scrimmage with “the beloved enemy.” Once, when ordered to take two lines of trenches, they did so in the most soldierly fashion, but, seeing red, kept on going as if their orders were to continue to Berlin. On this occasion they charged right into their barrage fire and lost scores of their men, struck down by British shells. It has been said often of all the Canadians that they go the limit, without hesitation. There was a time when the “Bing Boys”--the Canadians were so called because this title of a London musical comedy was suggested by the fact that their commander was General Byng--were ordered to take no prisoners, this order being issued after two of their men were found crucified. A Canadian private, having penetrated a German trench with an attacking party, encountered a German who threw up his hands and said: “Mercy, Kamerade. I have a wife and five children at home.” “You’re mistaken,” replied the Canadian. “You have a widow and five orphans at home.” And, very shortly, he had. Scouts from the Twenty-sixth battalion had come back to the villages of Dinkiebusch and Renninghelst to tell us how glad they were to see us and to show us the way in. As we proceeded overland, before reaching the communication trenches at the front, these scouts paid us the hospitable attentions due strangers. That is, one of them leading a platoon would say: “Next two hundred yards in machine gun range. Keep quiet, don’t run, and be ready to drop quick if you are warned.” There was one scout to each platoon, and we followed him, single file, most of the time along roads or well-worn paths, but sometimes through thickets and ragged fields. Every now and then the scout would yell at us to drop, and down we’d go on our stomachs while, away off in the distance we could hear the “put-put” of machine guns--the first sound of hostile firing that had ever reached our ears.