it was the scene of
untold tragedies, such as he had never dreamt of before. Around him
was the smoke of burning villages. Homesteads, which a few months
before had been peaceful and prosperous, were now laid waste by the
grim horrors of war. Mile after mile of fair country-side were made a
vast cemetery. Every man fought his duel to the death. These men had
no personal enmity against each other, and yet they rejoiced to see the
enemy fall.

As Bob thought of it all, even in the midst of the fever of war which
possessed him, he became almost mad. Those Germans in whose camp he
had been, were, many of them, brave, patient, kindly men. They had
their homes and their loved ones just as the English and the French
had. They had left behind them sweethearts, wives, children, just as
our men had; but because they were overruled by a vast military system,
which had at its head the German Emperor, all this had taken place.

To this man, his own ambition was everything. What cared he for the
lives of a million men, as long as his power could be extended and his
ambitions, satisfied?

France was in the way of his advancement, therefore France must be
crushed.

England was his great rival, and therefore England must be swept aside.

Germany must be a World Power, and nothing must stop her in fulfilling
her destiny. To this end he had made the country a great war-camp, and
for this the gospel of war had been preached. Mercy--love--brotherly
kindness--peace, must all be sacrificed for the overwhelming ambitions
and vain-glory of this man and his followers; this caused hell to be
let loose upon earth.

That was why he and millions of others were fighting; that was why tens
of thousands of the flower of young English manhood; as well as the
best life of France, were being crushed in the dust. That was why
homes were being made desolate--hearts broken.

Still the carnage went on; still fire and flame; still the boom of
cannon; the groanings of dying men. Fight, fight; slay, slay, and no
quarter.

Towards the evening of the fourth day after Bob's escape from the
German lines, came a cry which had become almost familiar to him, and
he found himself with his company making a bayonet charge on the enemy.

To a distant spectator, not knowing the meaning of the war, this charge
must have seemed like some mad Bedlam let loose. Strong men lunging,
stabbing, fighting, with only death in their hearts--and this was war!