As they came out from the undergrowth they discovered before them for a distance of half a mile or more numerous clumps of men in khaki. They had started fires and were evidently trying to heat up something so as to take away their hunger, as well as warm themselves up, for the day was a raw and chilly one.
Jack quickly picked out the officers’ mess. There was no display of swords, no gaudy trimmings as in the old days when men fought hand to hand. Bitter experience had shown the British leaders that in these days of Maxims and sharpshooters the object of the enemy was always to mark down those in command, so as to leave the brigades without officers, and render them less dangerous in a charge.
“That’s where we want to head,” he told Amos, as he changed his course slightly. “Unless I’m away off my base these must be what they call territorials over in England. They are trained all right, but have yet to smell their first burnt powder. If you find your brother at all, it’s going to be among this class of recruits.”
“They see us and are pointing this way,” remarked Amos. “I guess they wonder who and what we are. I’ve fastened that little American flag to my hat, Jack; it ought to do the business for us, I should think.”
“Yes, actions speak louder than words they say, and Old Glory generally carries the respect of all nations. But between you and me, Amos, I don’t seem to fancy that commanding officer any too well. He looks too puffed up with a sense of his own importance. Before he’s been in the trenches three days he’s apt to get a lot of that conceit knocked out of him, or perhaps be punctured by a German bullet.”
“I hope he’ll wear better than he looks,” muttered Amos, who was feeling very much the same as his companion did about the appearance of the stout commanding officer. “There are a whole lot of questions I’d like to get answered; a man of so much consequence wouldn’t condescend to accommodate me, I’m afraid.”
They soon arrived at a point where they were met by a detail of khaki-clad soldiers. To the non-commissioned officer in charge of these, Jack addressed himself.
“We want to speak with the colonel in charge of the column,” he said, simply.
“I have orders to bring you before him, so keep going right along,” the sergeant told him in reply, being apparently a brusque man, and, as Amos said, “without any frills.”
There were fully a dozen officers about the fire where a hot luncheon was being prepared. Amos secretly admitted to himself that closer inspection did not seem to impress him any more favorably with the colonel. He looked as though he suspected them from the start of being clever German spies.