My War Experiences in Two Continents | Page 7

the forts have fallen. Last
night we took provisions and water to the cellars, and made plans to get
the wounded taken there.
They say the town will be shelled to-morrow. All these last two days
bleeding men have been brought in. To-day three of them died, and I
suppose none of them was more than 23. We have to keep up all the
time and show a good face, and meals are quite cheery. To-day,
Tuesday, was our last chance of leaving, and only two went.
The guns boom by day as well as by night, and as each one is heard one
thinks of more bleeding, shattered men. It is calm, nice autumn weather;
the trees are yellow in the garden and the sky is blue, yet all the time
one listens to the cries of men in pain. To-night I meant to go out for a
little, but a nurse stopped me and asked me to sit by a dying man. Poor
fellow, he was twenty-one, and looked like some brigand chief, and he
smiled as he was dying. The horror of these two days will last always,
and there are many more such days to come. Everyone is behaving well,
and that is all I care about.
7 October.--It is a glorious morning: they will see well to kill each
other to-day.

The guns go all day and all night. They are so close that the earth
shakes with them. Last night in the infernal darkness we were turning
wounded men away from the door. There was no room for them even
on the floor. The Belgians scream terribly. Our own men suffer quite
quietly. One of them died to-day.
Day and night a stream of vehicles passes the gate. It never ceases.
Nearly all are motors, driven at a furious pace, and they sound horns all
the time. These are met by a stream of carts and old-fashioned vehicles
bringing in country people, who are flying to the coast. In Antwerp
to-day it was "sauve qui peut"! Nearly all the men are going--Mr. ----,
who has helped us, and Mr. ----, they are going to bicycle into Holland.
A surgeon (Belgian) has fled from his hospital, leaving seven hundred
beds, and there seem to be a great many deserters from the trenches.
[Page Heading: THE SITUATION GETS WORSE]
The news is still the same--"very bad"; sometimes I walk to the gate
and ask returning soldiers how the battle goes, but the answer never
varies. At lunch-time to-day firing ceased, and I heard it was because
the German guns were coming up. We got orders to send away all the
wounded who could possibly go, and we prepared beds in the cellars
for those who cannot be moved. The military authorities beg us to
remain as so many hospitals have been evacuated.
The wounded continue to come in. One sees one car in the endless
stream moving slowly (most of them fly with their officers sitting
upright, or with aeroplanes on long carriages), and one knows by the
pace that more wounded are coming. Inside one sees the horrible six
shelves behind the canvas curtain, and here and there a bound-up limb
or head. One of our men had his leg taken off to-day, and is doing well.
Nothing goes on much behind the scenes. The yells of the men are
plainly heard, and to-day, as I sat beside the lung man who was taking
so long to die, someone brought a sack to me, and said, "This is for the
leg." All the orderlies are on duty in the hospital now. We can spare no
one for rougher work. We can all bandage and wash patients. There are
wounded everywhere, even on straw beds on the platform of the hall.

Darkness seems to fall early, and it is the darkness that is so baffling.
At 5 p.m. we have to feed everyone while there is a little light, then the
groping about begins, and everyone falls over things. There is a clatter
of basins on the floor or an over-turned chair. Any sudden noise is
rather trying at present because of the booming of the guns. At 7 last
night they were much louder than before, with a sort of strange double
sound, and we were told that these were our "Long Toms," so we hope
that our Naval Brigade has come up.
We know very little of what is going on except when we run out and
ask some returning English soldiers for news. Yesterday it was always
the same reply "Very bad." One of the Marines told me that Winston
Churchill was "up and down the road amongst the shells," and I was
also told that he had given orders that Antwerp was not to