It was a week after this, during which time there had been several false alarms of a big German attack, that one evening as they were about to turn in after having given a moving picture show an orderly came up to Blake.
"You and your two friends will report to Captain Black at four o'clock to-morrow morning," said the orderly.
"Why that hour?" asked Joe curiously.
"We're going over the top," was the answer. "You may get some pictures then."
Charles Anderson hastily consulted a small book he took from his pocket.
"What you doing?" asked Blake.
"Looking to see what time the sun rises. I want to see if there'll be light enough to make pictures. Yes," he went on, as he found what he wanted in the miniature almanac, "we ought to be able to get some shots."
The gray wreaths of a fog that had settled down in the night were being dispelled by the advance heralds of dawn in the shape of a few faint streaks of light when Blake and his chums, wearing their steel helmets and with the steel-protected cameras, started from the farmhouse where they were quartered to report to Captain Black.
"All ready, boys?" the captain called. "We're going over the top at five-seven—just as soon as the artillery puts down a barrage to clear the way for us. You're to get what pictures you can. I'll leave that part to you. But don't get ahead of the barrage fire—that is, if you want to come back," he added significantly.
"All right," answered Blake, in a low voice.