With approximately only 100 rounds of ammunition, exposed to the heaviest shell fire, we waited until the enemy were sufficiently advanced to come under our “open sights” so that every round might count. So on they came until 600 yards separated us. The order came for us to retire. This Major McLeod ignored, but instead gave the word to open fire. The 7th Battalion charged at the same time, with the remnants of the Kilty Brigade. Round after round we poured into the still oncoming enemy until at last they were held and finally swept back through Langemarck wood. Three new positions were taken up by the Battery that night, and finally we were settled at Indian Hill, near Wieltje, and to the side of Potijze. What a hell-hole it was! Our casualties were fast mounting up, both among the personnel and horses, and unfortunately a number of these were deaths. On May 1st we took up a position on the banks of the Yser Canal, and remained there until the Division was withdrawn for reorganization at Hinges. On May 19th we were again, as part of the “Flying 7th Division” hustled into hot action at Festubert, and in the following month at Givenchy. It was at the latter place that a gun from the 6th Battery was placed in action in the front line trench, a “stunt” subsequently acknowledged by the General Officer Commanding. From the “Orchard Position” at Givenchy the Old 17th was sent into action at Neuve Eglise, where for a long time they enjoyed comparative peace, with only occasional casualties, and nothing more than “raiding” work, which was first commenced on this front, to relieve the monotony. It was while here that the 2nd and 3rd Divisions came over and the Canadians became an Army Corps. It was here, too, that we lost our Major. [Illustration: LT.-COL. G. H. MCLEOD.] Major McLeod was of the type of officer most beloved by the Canadian rank and file. Quick, alert, a thoroughly skilled Artillery Officer, he surely would have forced early recognition from headquarters had he been spared to attain it. Terrible was the blow to his “boys,” when his body was found in a small pond not many rods from the gun position. His was not even the glory of the death from bullet or shrapnel. Yet his duty had been well done, to his God, to his country, to his fellow officers and men. This brief outline of the Old 17th would be even more inadequate were the writer to omit this humble tribute to a dear friend and beloved Commanding Officer. Christmas, 1915, was spent at Neuve Eglise, and again we had to thank our officers for providing the usual Christmas trimmings. Conditions were not as they had been in England, and, unfortunately, many of the old faces were missing. Such were the fortunes of war, and we who had been raw recruits one short year before were beginning to look at things as philosophic veterans.