Evidently the order to move had been passed along the line just after they parted from their new-found friends, for, like a great serpent, the column of khaki-clad territorials was passing along the road, a battery of field guns in the van and another bringing up the rear. It was an inspiring spectacle. No wonder the two American boys felt their hearts beat with aroused sentiments. At the same time Jack shook his head sadly as he went on to say: “How many of them will never go back again to the homes they have left over in old England? War may seem glorious to those who look on, but it is terrible. Already we’ve seen some of the destruction that follows in its track, and I reckon that before we cross the Atlantic again we’ll have our fill of its horrors.” Truer words were never spoken. When Jack Maxfield said this he meant it only in a general way. He could not have possibly foreseen what a wide stretch of territory their search for Frank Turner would cover, and what amazing scenes they were fated to gaze upon before the end came. Once more the chums trudged forward. Amos was feeling quite “chipper” as he called it, and there was certainly good cause for this high hope. They had accidentally run across what seemed to be a strong clue, and the uncertainty of the past was being relieved. Jack, on his part, was figuring out what he might get through the hands of the censor in his next letter home. It was Jack’s avowed intention to become a newspaper man when he entered the business world, and already he had shown great aptitude along the line. The descriptions he sent over to a paper which he had arranged to represent while abroad were graphic and thrilling. His pen pictures of conditions as he saw them gave an accurate view of the situation. Although the stern military censor might blue pencil all names, he could not destroy the vivid word painting as set down by Jack. Besides this, Jack had contrived a clever little dodge whereby he hoped to snap off some stirring pictures. His camera was the smallest ever designed, but it had an expensive lens, and that meant more than half the battle. Jack had it concealed, and so arranged matters that he could press the bulb and snap off a minute picture without any one being the wiser; and after being developed this could be enlarged to any size required. No doubt, eventually, that clever little contrivance would get him into what Amos called a “peck of trouble.” It would doubtless be confiscated, but Jack hoped he might be able to secure a series of views well worth working for, ere that catastrophe came about. As they walked on, the boys were continually coming upon fresh works of recent strenuous warfare. The army of invasion had held stubbornly to this region, and an unexpected drive on the part of the reinforced British had carried the Germans back some five miles or so to where they had prepared a second line of wonderful trenches.