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diff --git a/31332-h/31332-h.htm b/31332-h/31332-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3664600 --- /dev/null +++ b/31332-h/31332-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10117 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Journal of Impressions in Belgium, by May Sinclair. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%;} + + .boxed {width: 60%; + border: solid; + margin-top: 5em; + text-align: center; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + padding-left: 0.5em; + padding-right: 0.5em;} + + .block {margin-left: 3%; + margin-right: 3%; + font-size: 90%;} + + .spaced {margin-top: 5em;} + + .sp {margin-left: -7em;} + + .spsp {margin-left: -7em; + margin-top: 5em;} + + .right {text-align: right;} + + .centerspread {text-align: center; + letter-spacing: 5em; + font-weight: bold;} + + .centerbold {text-align: center; + font-weight: bold;} + + .tbspace {margin-top: 3em;} + + .centerspaced {margin-top: 5em; + text-align: center;} + + .centerspaced2 {margin-top: 3em; + text-align: center;} + + .centerspacedbold {margin-top: 5em; + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold;} + + h1,h2 {text-align: center; + clear: both;} + + .ready {text-align: left; + margin-left: 20%;} + + .initial:first-letter {font-size: 180%; + font-weight: bold; + float: left; + line-height: 105%;} + + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + + .bold {font-weight: bold;} + + .big {font-size: 150%;} + + .poem {margin-left: 30%;} + + .sinclair {margin-left: 50%; + font-variant: small-caps;} + + .sign {margin-left: 15%;} + + .sinclair2 {margin-left: 65%;} + + hr {width: 25%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + right: 2%; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: right; + color: #5a5a5a;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .u {text-decoration: underline; + text-align: center; + margin-top: 5em;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; + text-align: center; + margin-top: 7em;} + + .figcenterns {margin: auto; + text-align: center;} + + /* Footnotes */ + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 0.9em;} + + .footnote .label {position: absolute; + right: 84%; + text-align: right;} + + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's A Journal of Impressions in Belgium, by May Sinclair + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Journal of Impressions in Belgium + +Author: May Sinclair + +Release Date: February 20, 2010 [EBook #31332] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMPRESSIONS IN BELGIUM *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Tamise Totterdell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="figcenterns"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="600" width="393" alt="Cover Image" /> +</p> + +<h1>A JOURNAL OF<br /> +IMPRESSIONS IN BELGIUM</h1> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/macmillan.png" width="200" height="66" alt="The MM Co." /> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS<br /> +ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO<br /> +<br /> +MACMILLAN & CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> +<br /> +LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA<br /> +MELBOURNE<br /> +<br /> +THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br /> +<br /> +TORONTO</p> + +<h1 class="spaced">A JOURNAL OF<br /> +IMPRESSIONS IN BELGIUM</h1> + +<p class="center"><span class="bold">BY<br /> +<span class="big">MAY SINCLAIR</span></span><br /> +Author of "The Three Sisters," "The Return of<br /> +The Prodigal," etc.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced"> +<img src="images/ny.png" height="28" width="100" alt="New York" /><br /> +<span class="big">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +1915</span><br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<p class="centerspaced"> +<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1915<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> MAY SINCLAIR<br /> +<br /> +Set up and electrotyped. Published, September, 1915</p> + +<h2 class="spaced">DEDICATION</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>To a Field Ambulance in Flanders</i>)</p> + +<p class="poem"> +I do not call you comrades,<br /> +You,<br /> +Who did what I only dreamed.<br /> +Though you have taken my dream,<br /> +And dressed yourselves in its beauty and its glory,<br /> +Your faces are turned aside as you pass by.<br /> +I am nothing to you,<br /> +For I have done no more than dream.<br /> +<br /> +Your faces are like the face of her whom you follow,<br /> +Danger,<br /> +The Beloved who looks backward as she runs, calling to her lovers,<br /> +The Huntress who flies before her quarry, trailing her lure.<br /> +She called to me from her battle-places,<br /> +She flung before me the curved lightning of her shells for a lure;<br /> +And when I came within sight of her,<br /> +She turned aside,<br /> +And hid her face from me.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But you she loved;<br /> +You she touched with her hand;<br /> +For you the white flames of her feet stayed in their running;<br /> +She kept you with her in her fields of Flanders,<br /> +Where you go,<br /> +Gathering your wounded from among her dead.<br /> +Grey night falls on your going and black night on your returning.<br /> +You go<br /> +Under the thunder of the guns, the shrapnel's rain and the curved lightning of the shells,<br /> +And where the high towers are broken,<br /> +And houses crack like the staves of a thin crate filled with fire;<br /> +Into the mixing smoke and dust of roof and walls torn asunder<br /> +You go;<br /> +And only my dream follows you.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That is why I do not speak of you,<br /> +Calling you by your names.<br /> +Your names are strung with the names of ruined and immortal cities,<br /> +Termonde and Antwerp, Dixmude and Ypres and Furnes,<br /> +Like jewels on one chain—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thus,<br /> +In the high places of Heaven,<br /> +They shall tell all your names.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span class="sinclair">May Sinclair.</span><br /> +March 8th, 1915.<br /> +</p> + +<h2 class="spaced">INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is a "Journal of Impressions," and it is nothing +more. It will not satisfy people who want accurate +and substantial information about Belgium, or +about the War, or about Field Ambulances and Hospital +Work, and do not want to see any of these things +"across a temperament." For the Solid Facts and +the Great Events they must go to such books as Mr. +E. A. Powell's "Fighting in Flanders," or Mr. Frank +Fox's "The Agony of Belgium," or Dr. H. S. Souttar's +"A Surgeon in Belgium," or "A Woman's Experiences +in the Great War," by Louise Mack.</p> + +<p>For many of these impressions I can claim only a +psychological accuracy; some were insubstantial to +the last degree, and very few were actually set down +there and then, on the spot, as I have set them down +here. This is only a Journal in so far as it is a record +of days, as faithful as I could make it in every detail, +and as direct as circumstances allowed. But circumstances +seldom <i>did</i> allow, and I was always behindhand +with my Journal—a week behind with the first +day of the seventeen, four months behind with the last.</p> + +<p>This was inevitable. For in the last week of the +Siege of Antwerp, when the wounded were being +brought into Ghent by hundreds, and when the fighting +came closer and closer to the city, and at the end, when +the Germans were driving you from Ghent to Bruges, +and from Bruges to Ostend and from Ostend to Dunkirk, +you could not sit down to write your impressions, +even if you were cold-blooded enough to want to. It +was as much as you could do to scribble the merest +note of what happened in your Day-Book.</p> + +<p>But when you had made fast each day with its note, +your impressions were safe, far safer than if you had +tried to record them in their flux as they came. However +far behind I might be with my Journal, it was +<i>kept</i>. It is not written "up," or round and about the +original notes in my Day-Book, it is simply written <i>out</i>. +Each day of the seventeen had its own quality and was +soaked in its own atmosphere; each had its own unique +and incorruptible memory, and the slight lapse of time, +so far from dulling or blurring that memory, crystallized +it and made it sharp and clean. And in writing +<i>out</i> I have been careful never to go behind or beyond +the day, never to add anything, but to leave each moment +as it was. I have set down the day's imperfect +or absurd impression, in all its imperfection or absurdity, +and the day's crude emotion in all its crudity, +rather than taint its reality with the discreet reflections +that came after.</p> + +<p>I make no apology for my many errors—where +they were discoverable I have corrected them in a footnote; +to this day I do not know how wildly wrong I +may have been about kilometres and the points of the +compass, and the positions of batteries and the movements +of armies; but there were other things of which +I was dead sure; and this record has at least the value +of a "human document."</p> + +<p class="tbspace">There is one question that I may be asked: "Why, +when you had the luck to go out with a Field Ambulance +Corps distinguished by its gallantry—why +in heaven's name have you not told the story of its +heroism?"</p> + +<p>Well—I have not told it for several excellent reasons. +When I set out to keep a Journal I pledged +myself to set down only what I had seen or felt, and +to avoid as far as possible the second-hand; and it was +my misfortune that I saw very little of the field-work +of the Corps. Besides, the Corps itself was then in its +infancy, and it is its infancy—its irrepressible, half-irresponsible, +whole engaging infancy—that I have +touched here. After those seventeen days at Ghent +it grew up in all conscience. It was at Furnes and +Dixmude and La Panne, after I had left it, that its +most memorable deeds were done.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> + +<p>And this story of the Corps is not mine to tell. Part +of it has been told already by Dr. Souttar, and part by +Mr. Philip Gibbs, and others. The rest is yet to come.</p> + +<p class="sign"> +<span class="sinclair2">M. S.</span><br /> +July 15th, 1915.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p> +<a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> See Postscript.</p> +</div> + +<h1 class="spaced">A JOURNAL OF<br /> +IMPRESSIONS IN BELGIUM</h1> + +<h2 class="spaced">A JOURNAL OF IMPRESSIONS<br /> +IN BELGIUM</h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">[<i>September 25th, 1914.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">After</span> the painful births and deaths of I don't +know how many committees, after six weeks' +struggling with something we imagined to be +Red Tape, which proved to be the combined egoism +of several persons all desperately anxious to "get +to the Front," and desperately afraid of somebody +else getting there too, and getting there first, we +are actually off. Impossible to describe the mysterious +processes by which we managed it. I think +the War Office kicked us out twice, and the Admiralty +once, though what we were doing with the +Admiralty I don't to this day understand. The +British Red Cross kicked us steadily all the time, +on general principles; the American snubbed us +rather badly; what the French said to us I don't remember, +and I can't think that we carried persistency +so far as to apply to the Russian and the Japanese. +Many of our scheme perished in their own +vagueness. Others, vivid and adventurous, were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +checked by the first encounter with the crass reality. +At one time, I remember, we were to have sent out +a detachment of stalwart Amazons in khaki breeches +who were to dash out on to the battle-field, reconnoitre, +and pick up the wounded and carry them +away slung over their saddles. The only difficulty +was to get the horses. But the author of the +scheme—who had bought her breeches—had allowed +for that. The horses were to be caught on +the battle-field; as the wounded and dead dropped +from their saddles the Amazons were to leap into +them and ride off. On this system "remounts" +were also to be supplied. Whenever a horse was +shot dead under its rider, an Amazon was to dash +up with another whose rider had been shot dead. +It was all perfectly simple and only needed a little +"organization." For four weeks the lure of the +battle-field kept our volunteers dancing round the +War Office and the Red Cross Societies, and for +four weeks their progress to the Front was frustrated +by Lord Kitchener. Some dropped off disheartened, +but others came on, and a regenerated +committee dealt with them. Finally the thing crystallized +into a Motor Ambulance Corps. An awful +sanity came over the committee, chastened by its +sufferings, and the volunteers, under pressure, definitely +renounced the battle-field.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +Then somebody said, "Let's help the Belgian +refugees." From that moment our course was +clear. Everybody was perfectly willing that we +should help the refugees, provided we relinquished +all claim on the wounded. The Belgian Legation +was enchanted. It gave passports to a small private +commission of inquiry under our Commandant +to go out to Belgium and send in a report. At Ostend +the commission of inquiry whittled itself down +to the one energetic person who had taken it out. +And before we knew where we were our Ambulance +Corps was accepted by the Belgian Red Cross.</p> + +<p>Only we had not got the ambulances.</p> + +<p>And though we had got some money, we had not +got enough. This was really our good luck, for it +saved us from buying the wrong kind of motor ambulance +car. But at first the blow staggered us. +Then, by some abrupt, incalculable turn of destiny, +the British Red Cross, which had kicked us so persistently, +came to our help and gave us all the ambulances +we wanted.</p> + +<p>And we are off.</p> + +<p>There are thirteen of us: The Commandant, +and Dr. Haynes and Dr. Bird under him; and Mrs. +Torrence, a trained nurse and midwife, who can +drive a motor car through anything, and take it to +bits and put it together again; Janet McNeil, also an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +expert motorist, and Ursula Dearmer and Mrs. +Lambert, Red Cross emergency nurses; Mr. Grierson, +Mr. Foster and Mr. Riley, stretcher-bearers, +and two chauffeurs and me. I don't know where I +come in. But they've called me the Secretary and +Reporter, which sounds very fine, and I am to keep +the accounts (Heaven help them!) and write the +Commandant's reports, and toss off articles for the +daily papers, to make a little money for the Corps. +We've got some already, raised by the Commandant's +Report and Appeal that we published in the +<i>Daily Telegraph</i> and <i>Daily Chronicle</i>. I shall never +forget how I sprinted down Fleet Street to get it +in in time, four days before we started.</p> + +<p>And we have landed at Ostend.</p> + +<p>I'll confess now that I dreaded Ostend more than +anything. We had been told that there were horrors +upon horrors in Ostend. Children were being +born in the streets, and the state of the bathing-machines +where the refugees lived was unspeakable. +I imagined the streets of Ostend crowded with +refugee women bearing children, and the Digue +covered with the horrific bathing-machines. On +the other hand, Ostend was said to be the safest +spot in Europe. No Germans there. No Zeppelins. +No bombs.</p> + +<p>And we found the bathing-machines planted out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +several miles from the town, almost invisible specks +on a vanishing shore-line. The refugees we met +walking about the streets of Ostend were in fairly +good case and bore themselves bravely. But the +town had been bombarded the night before and our +hotel had been the object of very special attentions. +We chose it (the "Terminus") because it lay close +to the landing-stage and saved us the trouble of +going into the town to look for quarters. It was +under the same roof as the railway station, where +we proposed to leave our ambulance cars and heavy +luggage. And we had no difficulty whatever in getting +rooms for the whole thirteen of us. There was +no sort of competition for rooms in that hotel. +I said to myself, "If Ostend ever is bombarded, +this railway station will be the first to suffer. And +the hotel and the railway station are one." And +when I was shown into a bedroom with glass windows +all along its inner wall and a fine glass front +looking out on to the platforms under the immense +glass roof of the station, I said, "If this hotel +is ever bombarded, what fun it will be for the person +who sleeps in this bed between these glass windows."</p> + +<p>We were all rather tired and hungry as we met +for dinner at seven o'clock. And when we were +told that all lights would be put out in the town<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +at eight-thirty we only thought that a municipality +which was receiving all the refugees in Belgium +must practise <i>some</i> economy, and that, anyway, an +hour and a half was enough for anybody to dine +in; and we hoped that the Commandant, who had +gone to call on the English chaplain at the Grand +Hôtel Littoral, would find his way back again to +the peaceful and commodious shelter of the "Terminus."</p> + +<p>He did find his way back, at seven-thirty, just +in time to give us a chance of clearing out, if we +chose to take it. The English chaplain, it seemed, +was surprised and dismayed at our idea of a suitable +hotel, and he implored us to fly, instantly, before +a bomb burst in among us (this was the first +we had heard of the bombardment of the night before). +The Commandant put it to us as we sat +there: Whether would we leave that dining-room +at once and pack our baggage all over again, and +bundle out, and go hunting for rooms all through +Ostend with the lights out, and perhaps fall into the +harbour; or stay where we were and risk the off-chance +of a bomb? And we were all very tired and +hungry, and we had only got to the soup, and we +had seen (and smelt) the harbour, so we said we'd +stay where we were and risk it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>And we stayed. A Taube hovered over us and +never dropped its bomb.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Saturday, 26th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> we compared notes the next morning we +found that we had all gone soundly to sleep, too +tired to take the Taube seriously, all except our two +chauffeurs, who were downright annoyed because no +bomb had entered their bedroom. Then we all went +out and looked at the little hole in the roof of the +fish market, and the big hole in the hotel garden, +and thought of bombs as curious natural phenomena +that never had and never would have any intimate +connection with <i>us</i>.</p> + +<p>And for five weeks, ever since I knew that I must +certainly go out with this expedition, I had been +living in black funk; in shameful and appalling +terror. Every night before I went to sleep I saw +an interminable spectacle of horrors: trunks without +heads, heads without trunks, limbs tangled in +intestines, corpses by every roadside, murders, mutilations, +my friends shot dead before my eyes. +Nothing I shall ever see will be more ghastly than +the things I have seen. And yet, before a possibly-to-be-bombarded +Ostend this strange visualizing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +process ceases, and I see nothing and feel nothing. +Absolutely nothing; until suddenly the Commandant +announces that he is going into the town, by himself, +to <i>buy a hat</i>, and I get my first experience of +real terror.</p> + +<p>For the hats that the Commandant buys when he +is by himself—there are no words for them.</p> + +<p>This morning the Corps begins to realize its need +of discipline. First of all, our chauffeurs have disappeared +and can nowhere be found. The motor +ambulances languish in inactivity on Cockerill's +Wharf. We find one chauffeur and set him to keep +guard over a tin of petrol. We <i>know</i> the ambulances +can't start till heaven knows when, and +so, first Mrs. Lambert, our emergency nurse, then, +I regret to say, our Secretary and Reporter make +off and sneak into the Cathedral. We are only ten +minutes, but still we are away, and Mrs. Torrence, +our trained nurse, is ready for us when we come +back. We are accused bitterly of sight-seeing. +(We had betrayed the inherent levity of our nature +the day before, on the boat, when we looked at the +sunset.) Then the Secretary and Reporter, utterly +intractable, wanders forth ostensibly to look for the +Commandant, who has disappeared, but really to +get a sight of the motor ambulances on Cockerill's +Wharf. And Mrs. Torrence is ready again for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +Secretary, convicted now of sight-seeing. And I +have seen no Commandant, and no motor ambulances +and no wharf. (Unbearable thought, that I +may never, absolutely never, see Cockerill's Wharf!) +It is really awful this time, because the President of +the Belgian Red Cross is waiting to get the thirteen +of us to the Town Hall to have our passports <i>visés</i>. +And the Commandant is rounding up his Corps, and +Ursula Dearmer is heaven knows where, and Mrs. +Lambert only somewhere in the middle distance, +and Mrs. Torrence's beautiful eyes are blazing at +the slip-sloppiness of it all. Things were very +different at the —— Hospital, where she was +trained.</p> + +<p>Only the President remains imperturbable.</p> + +<p>For, after all this fuming and fretting, the President +isn't quite ready himself, or perhaps the Town +Hall isn't ready, and we all stroll about the streets +of Ostend for half an hour. And the Commandant +goes off by himself, to buy that hat.</p> + +<p>It is a terrible half-hour. But after all, he comes +back without it, judging it better to bear the ills he +has.</p> + +<p>Very leisurely, and with an immense consumption +of time, we stroll and get photographed for our passports. +Then on to the Town Hall, and then to the +Military Depôt for our <i>Laissez-passer</i>, and then to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +the Hôtel Terminus for lunch. And at one-thirty +we are off.</p> + +<p>Whatever happens, whatever we see and suffer, +nothing can take from us that run from Ostend to +Ghent.</p> + +<p>We go along a straight, flat highway of grey +stones, through flat, green fields and between thin +lines of trees—tall and slender and delicate trees. +There are no hedges. Only here and there a row +of poplars or pollard willows is flung out as a screen +against the open sky. This country is formed for +the very expression of peace. The straight flat +roads, the straight flat fields and straight tall trees +stand still in an immense quiet and serenity. We +pass low Flemish houses with white walls and red +roofs. Their green doors and shutters are tall and +slender like the trees, the colours vivid as if the +paint had been laid on yesterday. It is all unspeakably +beautiful and it comes to me with the natural, +inevitable shock and ecstasy of beauty. I am going +straight into the horror of war. For all I know +it may be anywhere, here, behind this sentry; or +there, beyond that line of willows. I don't know. +I don't care. I cannot realize it. All that I can +see or feel at the moment is this beauty. I look +and look, so that I may remember it.</p> + +<p>Is it possible that I am enjoying myself?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>I dare not tell Mrs. Torrence. I dare not tell +any of the others. They seem to me inspired with +an austere sense of duty, a terrible integrity. They +know what they are here for. To me it is incredible +that I should be here.</p> + +<p>I am in Car 1., sitting beside Tom, the chauffeur; +Mrs. Torrence is on the other side of me. Tom +disapproves of these Flemish roads. He cannot see +that they are beautiful. They will play the devil +with his tyres.</p> + +<p>I am reminded unpleasantly that our Daimler is +not a touring car but a motor ambulance and that +these roads will jolt the wounded most abominably.</p> + +<p>There are straggling troops on the road now. +At the nearest village all the inhabitants turn out +to cheer us. They cry out "<i>Les Anglais!</i>" and +laugh for joy. Perhaps they think that if the British +Red Cross has come the British Army can't +be far behind. But when they hear that we are +Belgian Red Cross they are gladder than ever. +They press round us. It is wonderful to them that +we should have come all the way from England +"<i>pour les Belges!</i>" Somehow the beauty of the +landscape dies before these crowding, pressing faces.</p> + +<p>We pass through Bruges without seeing it. I +have no recollection whatever of having seen the +Belfry. We see nothing but the Canal (where we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +halt to take in petrol) and more villages, more faces. +And more troops.</p> + +<p>Half-way between Bruges and Ghent an embankment +thrown up on each side of the road tells of +possible patrols and casual shooting. It is the first +visible intimation that the enemy may be anywhere.</p> + +<p>A curious excitement comes to you. I suppose +it is excitement, though it doesn't feel like it. You +have been drunk, very slightly drunk with the speed +of the car. But now you are sober. Your heart +beats quietly, steadily, but with a little creeping, +mounting thrill in the beat. The sensation is distinctly +pleasurable. You say to yourself, "It is +coming. Now—or the next minute—perhaps at +the end of the road." You have one moment of +regret. "After all, it would be a pity if it came too +soon, before we'd even begun our job." But the +thrill, mounting steadily, overtakes the regret. It +is only a little thrill, so far (for you don't really +believe that there is any danger), but you can imagine +the thing growing, growing steadily, till it becomes +ecstasy. Not that you imagine anything at +the moment. At the moment you are no longer an +observing, reflecting being; you have ceased to be +aware of yourself; you exist only in that quiet, +steady thrill that is so unlike any excitement that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +you have ever known. Presently you get used to +it. "What a fool I should have been if I hadn't +come. I wouldn't have missed this run for the +world."</p> + +<p>I forget myself so far as to say this to Mrs. Torrence. +My voice doesn't sound at all like the stern +voice of duty. It is the voice of somebody enjoying +herself. I am behaving exactly as I behaved +this morning at Ostend; and cannot possibly hope +for any sympathy from Mrs. Torrence.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Torrence has unbent a little. She has +in fact been unbending gradually ever since we left +Ostend. There is a softer light in her beautiful +eyes. For she is not only a trained nurse but an +expert motorist; and a Daimler is a Daimler even +when it's an ambulance car. From time to time +remarks of a severely technical nature are exchanged +between her and Tom. Still, up till now, nothing +has passed to indicate any flagging in the relentless +spirit of the —— Hospital.</p> + +<p>The next minute I hear that the desire of Mrs. +Torrence's heart is to get into the greatest possible +danger—and to get out of it.</p> + +<p>The greatest possible danger is to fall into the +hands of the Uhlans. I feel that I should be very +glad indeed to get out of it, but that I'm not by +any means so keen on getting in. I say so. I con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>fess +frankly that I'm afraid of Uhlans, particularly +when they're drunk.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Torrence is not afraid of anything. +There is no German living, drunk or sober, who +could break her spirit. Nothing dims for her that +shining vision of the greatest possible danger. She +does not know what fear is.</p> + +<p>I conceive an adoration for Mrs. Torrence, and +a corresponding distaste for myself. For I do +know what fear is. And in spite of the little +steadily-mounting thrill, I remember distinctly those +five weeks of frightful anticipation when I knew +that I must go out to the War; the going to bed, +night after night, drugged with horror, black horror +that creeps like poison through your nerves; the +falling asleep and forgetting it; the waking, morning +after morning, with an energetic and lucid brain +that throws out a dozen war pictures to the minute +like a ghastly cinema show, till horror becomes terror; +the hunger for breakfast; the queer, almost +uncanny revival of courage that follows its satisfaction; +the driving will that strengthens as the day +goes on and slackens its hold at evening. I remember +one evening very near the end; the Sunday +evening when the Commandant dropped in, after he +had come back from Belgium. We were stirring +soup over the gas stove in the scullery—you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +couldn't imagine a more peaceful scene—when he +said, "They are bringing up the heavy siege guns +from Namur, and there is going to be a terrific +bombardment of Antwerp, and I think it will be +very interesting for you to see it." I remember +replying with passionate sincerity that I would +rather die than see it; that if I could nurse the +wounded I would face any bombardment you please +to name; but to go and look on and make copy out +of the sufferings I cannot help—I couldn't and +I wouldn't, and that was flat. And I wasn't a journalist +any more than I was a trained nurse.</p> + +<p>I can still see the form of the Commandant rising +up on the other side of the scullery stove, and in his +pained, uncomprehending gaze and in the words +he utters I imagine a challenge. It is as if he said, +"Of course, if you're <i>afraid</i>"—(haven't I told him +that I <i>am</i> afraid?).</p> + +<p>The gage is thrown down on the scullery floor. +I pick it up. And that is why I am here on this +singular adventure.</p> + +<p>Thus, for the next three kilometres, I meditate on +my cowardice. It is all over as if it had never been, +but how can I tell that it won't come back again? +I can only hope that when the Uhlans appear I +shall behave decently. And this place that we have +come to is Ecloo. We are not very far from Ghent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>A church spire, a few roofs rising above trees. +Then many roofs all together. Then the beautiful +grey-white foreign city.</p> + +<p>As we run through the streets we are followed +by cyclists; cyclists issue from every side-street and +pour into our road; cyclists rise up out of the ground +to follow us. We don't realize all at once that +it is the ambulance they are following. Bowing +low like racers over their handle-bars, they shoot +past us; they slacken pace and keep alongside, they +shoot ahead; the cyclists are most fearfully excited. +It dawns on us that they are escorting us; that they +are racing each other; that they are bringing the +news of our arrival to the town. They behave as +if we were the vanguard of the British Army.</p> + +<p>We pass the old Military Hospital—<i>Hôpital +Militaire</i> No. I.—and presently arrive at the Flandria +Palace Hotel, which is <i>Hôpital Militaire</i> No. +II. The cyclists wheel off, scatter and disappear. +The crowd in the Place gathers round the porch of +the hotel to look at the English Ambulance.</p> + +<p>We enter. We are received by various officials +and presented to Madame F., the head of the Red +Cross nursing staff. There is some confusion, and +Mrs. Torrence finds herself introduced as the Secretary +of the English Committee. Successfully concealed +behind the broadest back in the Corps, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +belongs to Mr. Grierson, I have time to realize how +funny we all are. Everybody in the hospital is in +uniform, of course. The nurses of the Belgian Red +Cross wear white linen overalls with the brassard +on one sleeve, and the Red Cross on the breasts of +their overalls, and over their foreheads on the front +of their white linen veils. The men wear military +or semi-military uniforms. We had never agreed +as to our uniform, and some of us had had no time +to get it, if we had agreed. Assembled in the vestibule, +we look more like a party of refugees, or the +cast of a Barrie play, than a field ambulance corps. +Mr. Grierson, the Chaplain, alone wears complete +khaki, in which he is indistinguishable from any +Tommy. The Commandant, obeying some mysterious +inspiration, has left his khaki suit behind. He +wears a Norfolk jacket and one of his hats. Mr. +Foster in plain clothes, with a satchel slung over his +shoulders, has the air of an inquiring tourist. Mrs. +Torrence and Janet McNeil in short khaki tunics, +khaki putties, and round Jaeger caps, and very thick +coats over all, strapped in with leather belts, look +as if they were about to sail on an Arctic expedition; +I was told to wear dark blue serge, and I +wear it accordingly; Ursula Dearmer and Mrs. +Lambert are in normal clothes. But the amiable +officials and the angelic Belgian ladies behave as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +if there was nothing in the least odd about our appearance. +They remember only that we are English +and that it is now six o'clock and that we have +had no tea. They conceive this to be the most deplorable +fate that can overtake the English, and +they hurry us into the great kitchen to a round table, +loaded with cake and bread-and-butter and enormous +bowls of tea. The angelic beings in white +veils wait on us. We are hungry and we think (a +pardonable error) that this meal is hospital supper; +after which some work will surely be found for us +to do.</p> + +<p>We are shown to our quarters on the third floor. +We expect two bare dormitories with rows of hard +beds, which we are prepared to make ourselves, besides +sweeping the dormitories, and we find a fine +suite of rooms—a mess-room, bedrooms, dressing-rooms, +bathrooms—and hospital orderlies for our +<i>valets de chambre</i>.</p> + +<p>We unpack, sit round the mess-room and wait +for orders. Perhaps we may all be sent down into +the kitchen to wash up. Personally, I hope we shall +be, for washing up is a thing I can do both quickly +and well. It is now seven o'clock.</p> + +<p>At half-past we are sent down into the kitchen, +not to wash up, but, if you will believe it, to dine. +And more hospital orderlies wait on us at dinner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>The desire of our hearts is to do <i>something</i>, if +it is only to black the boots of the angelic beings. +But no, there is nothing for us to do. To-morrow, +perhaps, the doctors and stretcher-bearers will be +busy. We hear that only five wounded have been +brought into the hospital to-day. They have no +ambulance cars, and ours will be badly needed—to-morrow. +But to-night, no.</p> + +<p>We go out into the town, to the Hôtel de la Poste, +and sit outside the café and drink black coffee in +despair. We find our chauffeurs doing the same +thing. Then we go back to our sumptuous hotel +and so, dejectedly, to bed. Aeroplanes hover above +us all night.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Sunday, 27th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> hang about waiting for orders. They may +come at any moment. Meanwhile this place grows +incredible and fantastic. Now it is an hotel and +now it is a military hospital; its two aspects shift +and merge into each other with a dream-like effect. +It is a huge building of extravagant design, wearing +its turrets, its balconies, its very roofs, like so much +decoration. The gilded legend, "Flandria Palace +Hotel," glitters across the immense white façade. +But the Red Cross flag flies from the front and from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +the corners of the turrets and from the balconies of +the long flank facing south. You arrive under a +fan-like porch that covers the smooth slope of the +approach. You enter your hotel through mahogany +revolving doors. A colossal Flora stands by the +lift at the foot of the big staircase. Unaware that +this is no festival of flowers, the poor stupid thing +leans forward, smiling, and holds out her garland +to the wounded as they are carried past. Nobody +takes any notice of her. The great hall of the hotel +has been stripped bare. All draperies and ornaments +have disappeared. The proprietor has disappeared, +or goes about disguised as a Red Cross +officer. The grey mosaic of floors and stairs is +cleared of rugs and carpeting; the reading-room is +now a secretarial bureau; the billiard-room is an +operating theatre; the great dining-hall and the reception-rooms +and the bedrooms are wards. The +army of waiters and valets and chambermaids has +gone, and everywhere there are surgeons, ambulance +men, hospital orderlies and the Belgian nurses with +their white overalls and red crosses. And in every +corridor and on every staircase and in every room +there is a mixed odour, bitter and sweet and penetrating, +of antiseptics and of ether. When the ambulance +cars come up from the railway stations and +the battle-fields, the last inappropriate detail, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +mahogany revolving doors, will disappear, so that +the wounded may be carried through on their +stretchers.</p> + +<p>I confess to a slight, persistent fear of <i>seeing</i> +these wounded whom I cannot help. It is not very +active, it has left off visualizing the horror of +bloody bandages and mangled bodies. But it's +there; it waits for me in every corridor and at the +turn of every stair, and it makes me loathe myself.</p> + +<p>We have news this morning of a battle at Alost, +a town about fifteen kilometres south-east of Ghent. +The Belgians are moving forty thousand men from +Antwerp towards Ghent, and heavy fighting is expected +near the town. If we are not in the thick +of it, we are on the edge of the thick.</p> + +<p>They have just told us an awful thing. Two +wounded men were left lying out on the battle-field +all night after yesterday's fighting. The military +ambulances did not fetch them. Our ambulance +was not sent out. There are all sorts of formalities +to be observed before it can go. We haven't got +our military passes yet. And our English Red +Cross brassards are no use. We must have Belgian +ones stamped with the Government stamp. And +these things take time.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile we, who have still the appearance of +a disorganized Cook's tourist party, are beginning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +to realize each other, the first step to realizing ourselves. +We have come from heaven knows where +to live together here heaven knows for how long. +The Commandant and I are friends; Mrs. Torrence +and Janet McNeil are friends; Dr. Haynes and Dr. +Bird are evidently friends; our chauffeurs, Bert and +Tom, are bound to fraternize professionally; we and +they are all right; but these pairs were only known +to each other a week or two ago, and some of the +thirteen never met at all till yesterday. An unknown +fourteenth is coming to-day. We are five +women and nine men. You might wonder how, for +all social purposes, we are to sort ourselves? But +the idea, sternly emphasized by Mrs. Torrence, is +that we have no social purposes. We are neither +more nor less than a strictly official and absolutely +impersonal body, held together, not by the ordinary +affinities of men and women, but by a common devotion +and a common aim. Differences, if any +should exist, will be sunk in the interest of the community. +Probabilities that rule all human intercourse, +as we have hitherto known it, will be temporarily +suspended in our case. But we shall gain +more than we lose. Insignificant as individuals, as +a corps we share the honour and prestige of the +Military Authority under which we work. We +have visions of a relentless discipline commanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +and controlling us. A cold glory hovers over the +Commandant as the vehicle of this transcendent +power.</p> + +<p>When the Power has its way with us it will take +no count of friendships or affinities. It will set precedence +at naught. It will say to itself, "Here are +two field ambulance cars and fourteen people. Five +out of these fourteen are women, and what the devil +are they doing in a field ambulance?" And it will +appoint two surgeons, who will also serve as +stretcher-bearers, to each car; it will set our trained +nurse, Mrs. Torrence, in command of the untrained +nurses in one of the wards of the Military Hospital +No. II.; the Hospital itself will find suitable feminine +tasks for Ursula Dearmer and Mrs. Lambert; +while Janet McNeil and the Secretary will be told +off to work among the refugees. And until more +stretcher-bearers are wanted the rest of us will be +nowhere. If nothing can be found for our women +in the Hospital they will be sent home.</p> + +<p>It seems inconceivable that the Power, if it is +anything like Lord Kitchener, can decide otherwise.</p> + +<p>Odd how the War changes us. I, who abhor and +resist authority, who hardly know how I am to bring +myself to obey my friend the Commandant, am enamoured +of this Power and utterly submissive. I +realize with something like a thrill that we are in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +a military hospital under military orders; and that +my irrelevant former self, with all that it has desired +or done, must henceforth cease (perhaps irrevocably) +to exist. I contemplate its extinction +with equanimity. I remember that one of my +brothers was a Captain in the Gunners, that another +of them fought as a volunteer in the first Boer War; +that my uncle, Captain Hind, of the Bengal Fusiliers, +fought in the Mutiny and in the Crimean War, and +his son at Chitral, and that I have one nephew in +Kitchener's Army and one in the West Lancashire +Hussars; and that three generations of solid sugar-planters +and ship-owners cannot separate me from +my forefathers, who seem to have been fighting all +the time. (At the moment I have forgotten my +five weeks' blue funk.)</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence's desire for discipline is not more +sincere than mine. Meanwhile the hand that is to +lick us into shape hovers over us and does not fall. +We wait expectantly in the mess-room which is to +contain us.</p> + +<p>It was once the sitting-room of a fine suite. A +diminutive vestibule divides it from the corridor. +You enter through double doors with muffed glass +panes in a wooden partition opposite the wide +French windows opening on the balcony. A pale +blond light from the south fills the room. Its walls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +are bare except for a map of Belgium, faced by a +print from one of the illustrated papers representing +the King and Queen of the Belgians. Of its +original furnishings only a few cane chairs and a +settee remain. These are set back round the walls +and in the window. Long tables with marble tops, +brought up from what was once the hotel restaurant, +enclose three sides of a hollow square, like this:</p> + +<p class="figcenterns"> +<img src="images/table.png" width="300" height="151" alt="Table Diagram" /></p> + +<p>Round these we group ourselves thus: the Commandant +in the middle of the top table in the window, +between Mrs. Torrence and Ursula Dearmer; +Dr. Haynes and Dr. Bird, on the other side of Ursula +Dearmer; the chauffeurs, Tom and Bert, round the +corner at the right-hand side table; I am round the +other corner at the left-hand side table, by Mrs. +Torrence, and Janet McNeil is on my right, and on +hers are Mrs. Lambert and Mr. Foster and the +Chaplain. Mr. Riley sits alone on the inside opposite +Mrs. Torrence.</p> + +<p>This rather quiet and very serious person interests +me. He doesn't say anything, and you wonder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +what sort of consciousness goes on under the close-cropped, +boyish, black velvet hair. Nature has left +his features a bit unfinished, the further to baffle +you.</p> + +<p>All these people are interesting, intensely interesting +and baffling, as men and women are bound to +be who have come from heaven knows where to +face heaven knows what. Most of them are quite +innocently unaware. They do not know that they +are interesting, or baffling either. They do not +know, and it has not occurred to them to wonder, +how they are going to affect each other or how they +are going to behave. Nobody, you would say, is +going to affect the Commandant. When he is not +dashing up and down, driven by his mysterious +energy, he stands apart in remote and dreamy isolation. +His eyes, when they are not darting brilliantly +in pursuit of the person or the thing he needs, +stand apart too in a blank, blue purity, undarkened +by any perception of the details that may accumulate +under his innocent nose. He has called this corps +into being, gathered these strange men and women +up with a sweep of his wing and swept them almost +violently together. He doesn't know how any of +us are going to behave. He has taken for granted, +with his naïve and heart-rending trust in the beauty +of human nature, that we are all going to behave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +beautifully. He is absorbed in his scheme. Each +one of us fits into it at some point, and if there is +anything in us left over it is not, at the moment, +his concern.</p> + +<p>Yet he himself has margins about him and a +mysterious hinterland not to be confined or accounted +for by any scheme. He alone of us has the +air, buoyant, restless, and a little vague, of being in +for some tremendous but wholly visionary adventure.</p> + +<p>When I look at him I wonder again what this +particular adventure is going to do to him, and +whether he has, even now, any vivid sense of the +things that are about to happen. I remember that +evening in my scullery, and how he talked about the +German siege-guns as if they were details in some +unreal scene, the most interesting part, say, of a +successful cinematograph show.</p> + +<p>But they are really bringing up those siege-guns +from Namur.</p> + +<p>And the Commandant has brought four women +with him besides me. I confess I was appalled +when I first knew that they would be brought.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence, perhaps—for she is in love with +danger,<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and she is of the kind whom no power,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +military or otherwise, can keep back from their desired +destiny.</p> + +<p>But why little Janet McNeil?<a name="FNanchor_2_3" id="FNanchor_2_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_3" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> She is the youngest +of us, an eighteen-year-old child who has followed +Mrs. Torrence, and will follow her if she +walks straight into the German trenches. She sits +beside me on my right, ready for anything, all her +delicate Highland beauty bundled up in the kit of +a little Arctic explorer, utterly determined, utterly +impassive. Her small face, under the woolly cap +that defies the North Pole, is nearly always grave; +but it has a sudden smile that is adorable.</p> + +<p>And the youngest but one, Ursula Dearmer, who +can't be so much older—Mr. Riley's gloom and +the Commandant's hinterland are nothing to the +mystery of this young girl. She looks as if she +were not yet perfectly awake, as if it would take +considerably more than the siege-guns of Namur +to rouse her. She moves about slowly, as if she +were in no sort of hurry for the adventure. She +has slow-moving eyes, with sleepy, drooping eyelids +that blink at you. She has a rather sleepy, rather +drooping nose. Her shoulders droop; her small +head droops, slightly, half the time. If she were +not so slender she would be rather like a pretty dor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>mouse +half-recovering from its torpor. You insist +on the determination of her little thrust-out underlip, +only to be contradicted by her gentle and +delicately-retreating chin.</p> + +<p>In our committee-room, among a band of turbulent +female volunteers, all clamouring for the firing-line, +Ursula Dearmer, dressed very simply, rather +like a senior school-girl, and accompanied by her +mother, had a most engaging air of submission and +docility. If anybody breaks out into bravura it +will not be Ursula Dearmer.</p> + +<p>This thought consoles me when I think of the +last solemn scenes in that committee-room and of +the pledges, the frightfully sacred pledges, I gave +to Ursula Dearmer's mother. As a result of this +responsibility I see myself told off to the dreary +duty of conducting Ursula Dearmer back to Dover +at the moment when things begin to be really thick +and thrilling. And I deplore the Commandant's +indiscriminate hospitality to volunteers.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lambert (she must surely be the next youngest) +you can think of with less agitation, in spite +of her youth, her charming eyes and the recklessly +extravagant quantity of her golden hair. For she +is an American citizen, and she has a husband (also +an American citizen) in Ghent, and her husband has +a high-speed motor-car, and if the Germans should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +ever advance upon this city he can be relied upon to +take her out of it before they can possibly get in. +Besides, even in the German lines American citizens +are safe.</p> + +<p>We are all suffering a slight tension. The men, +who can see no reason why the ambulance should +not have been sent out last night, are restless and +abstracted and impatient for the order to get up and +go. No wonder. They have been waiting five +weeks for their chance.</p> + +<p>There is Dr. Haynes, whose large dark head and +heavy shoulders look as if they sustained the whole +weight of an intolerable world. His features, designed +for sensuous composure, brood in a sad and +sulky resignation to the boredom of delay.</p> + +<p>His friend, Dr. Bird, the young man with the +head of an enormous cherub and the hair of a blond +baby, hair that <i>will</i> fall in a shining lock on his +pink forehead, Dr. Bird has an air of boisterous +preparation, as if the ambulance were a picnic party +and he was responsible for the champagne.</p> + +<p>Mr. Foster, the inquiring tourist, looks a little +anxious, as if he were preoccupied with the train +he's got to catch.</p> + +<p>Bert, the chauffeur, sits tight with the grim assurance +of a man who knows that the expedition +cannot start without him. The chauffeur Tom has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +an expressive face. Every minute it becomes more +vivid with humorous, contemptuous, indignant protest. +It says plainly: "Well, this is about the rottenest +show I ever was let in for. Bar none. Call +yourself a field ambulance? Garn! And if you +<i>are</i> a field ambulance, who but a blanky fool would +have hit upon this old blankety haunt of peace. It'll +be the 'Ague Conference next!"</p> + +<p>But it is on the Chaplain, Mr. Grierson, that the +strain is telling most. It shows in his pale and +prominent blue eyes, and in a slight whiteness about +his high cheek-bones. In his valiant khaki he has +more than any of us the air of being on the eve. +He is visibly bracing himself to a stupendous effort. +He smokes a cigarette with ostentatious nonchalance. +We all think we know these symptoms. +We turn our eyes away, considerately, from Mr. +Grierson. Which of us can say that when our turn +comes the thought of danger will not spoil our +breakfast?</p> + +<p>The poor boy squares his shoulders. He is white +now round the edges of his lips. But he is going +through with it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he speaks.</p> + +<p>"I shall hold Matins in this room at ten o'clock +every Sunday morning. If any of you like to attend +you may."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>There is a terrible silence. None of us look at +each other. None of us look at Mr. Grierson.</p> + +<p>Presently Mrs. Torrence is heard protesting that +we haven't come here for Matins; that this is a +mess-room and not a private chapel; and that Matins +are against all military discipline.</p> + +<p>"I shall hold Matins all the same," says Mr. +Grierson. His voice is thick and jerky. "And if +anybody likes to attend, they can. That's all I've +got to say."</p> + +<p>He gets up. He faces the batteries of unholy +and unsympathetic eyes. He throws away the end +of his cigarette with a gesture of superb defiance.</p> + +<p>He has gone through with it. He has faced the +fire. He has come out, not quite victorious, but +with his hero's honour unstained.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me awful that none of us should +want his Matins. I should like, personally, to see +him through with them. I could face the hostile +eyes. But what I cannot face is the ceremony itself. +My <i>moral</i> was spoiled with too many ceremonies +in my youth; ceremonies that lacked all +beauty and sincerity and dignity. And though I am +convinced of the beauty and sincerity and dignity +of Mr. Grierson's soul I cannot kneel down with +him and take part in the performance of his prayer. +Prayer is either the Supreme Illusion, or the Su<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>preme +Act, the pure and naked surrender to Reality, +and attended by such sacredness and shyness that +you can accomplish it only when alone or lost in a +multitude that prays.</p> + +<p>But why is there no Victoria Cross for moral +courage?</p> + +<p>(Dr. Wilson has come. He looks clever and +nice.)</p> + +<p>Our restlessness increases.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>11 a.m.</i>]</p> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">have</span> seen one of them. As I went downstairs +this morning, two men carrying a stretcher crossed +the landing below. I saw the outline of the +wounded body under the blanket, and the head laid +back on the pillow.</p> + +<p>It is impossible, it is inconceivable, that I should +have been afraid of seeing this. It is as if the +wounded man himself absolved me from the memory +and the reproach of fear.</p> + +<p>I stood by the stair-rail to let them pass. There +was some difficulty about turning at the stair-head. +Mr. Riley was there. He came forward and took +one end of the stretcher and turned it. He was +very quiet and very gentle. You could see that he +did the right thing by instinct. And I saw his face, +and knew what had brought him here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>And here on the first landing is another wounded. +His face is deformed by an abscess from a bullet +in his mouth. It gives him a terrible look, half +savage, wholly suffering. He sits there and cannot +speak.</p> + +<p>Mr. Riley is the only one of us who has found +anything to do. So presently we go out to get our +military passes. We stroll miserably about the +town, oppressed with a sense of our futility. We +buy cigarettes for the convalescents.</p> + +<p>And at noon no orders have come for us.</p> + +<p>They come just as we are sitting down to lunch. +Our ambulance car is to go to Alost at once. The +Commandant is arrested in the act of cutting bread. +Dr. Bird is arrested in the act of eating it. We +are all arrested in our several acts. As if they had +been criminal acts, we desist suddenly. The men +get up and look at each other. It is clear that they +cannot all go. Mr. Grierson looks at the Commandant. +His face is a little white and strained, +as it was this morning when he announced Matins +for ten o'clock.</p> + +<p>The Commandant looks at Dr. Bird and tells him +that he may go if he likes. His tone is admirably +casual; it conveys no sense of the magnificence of +his renunciation. He looks also at Mr. Grierson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +and Mr. Foster. The lot of honour falls upon these +three.</p> + +<p>They set out, still with their air of a youthful +picnic party. Dr. Bird is more than ever the boisterous +young man in charge of the champagne.</p> + +<p>I am contented so long as Ursula Dearmer and +Mrs. Lambert and Mrs. Torrence and Janet McNeil +and the Commandant do not go yet. To anybody +who knows the Commandant he is bound to be a +prominent figure in the terrible moving pictures +made by fear. Smitten by some great idea, he +dashes out of cover as the shrapnel is falling. He +wanders, wrapped in a happy dream, into the enemies' +trenches. He mingles with their lines of +communication as I have seen him mingle with the +traffic at the junction of Chandos Street and the +Strand. If you were to inform him of a patrol of +Uhlans coming down the road, he would only say, +"I see no Uhlans," and continue in their direction. +It is inconceivable to his optimism that he should +encounter Uhlans in a world so obviously made for +peace and righteousness.</p> + +<p>So that it is a relief to see somebody else (whom +I do not know quite so well) going first. Time +enough to be jumpy when the Commandant and the +women go forth on the perilous adventure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>That is all very well. But I am jumpy all the +same. By the mere fact that they are going out +first Mr. Grierson and Mr. Foster have suddenly +become dear and sacred. Their lives, their persons, +their very clothes—Dr. Bird's cheerful face, which +is so like an overgrown cherub's, his blond, gold +lock of infantile hair, Mr. Grierson's pale eyes that +foresee danger, his not too well fitting khaki coat—have +acquired suddenly a priceless value, the +value of things long seen and long admired. It is +as if I had known them all my life; as if life will +be unendurable if they do not come back safe.</p> + +<p>It is not very endurable now. Of all the things +that can happen to a woman on a field ambulance, +the worst is to stay behind. To stay behind with +nothing in the world to do but to devise a variety +of dreadful deaths for Tom, the chauffeur, and Dr. +Bird and Mr. Grierson and Mr. Foster. To know +nothing except that Alost is being bombarded and +that it is to Alost that they are going.</p> + +<p>And the others who have been left behind are +hanging about in gloom, disgusted with their fate. +Mrs. Torrence and Janet McNeil are beginning to +ask themselves what they are here for. To go +through the wards is only to be in the way of the +angelic beings with red crosses on their breasts and +foreheads who are already somewhat in each other's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +way. Mrs. Torrence and the others do, however, +go into the wards and talk to the wounded and cheer +them up. I sit in the deserted mess-room, and look +at the lunch that Tom and Dr. Bird and Mr. Grierson +should have eaten and were obliged to leave +behind. I would give anything to be able to go +round the wards and cheer the wounded up. I wonder +whether there is anything I could conceivably +do for the wounded that would not bore them inexpressibly +if I were to do it. I frame sentence +after sentence in strange and abominable French, +and each, apart from its own inherent absurdity, +seems a mockery of the wounded. You cannot go +to an immortal hero and grin at him and say <i>Comment +allez-vous?</i> and expect him to be cheered up, +especially when you know yourself to be one of a +long procession of women who have done the same.</p> + +<p>I abandon myself to my malady of self-distrust.</p> + +<p>It is at its worst when Jean and Max, the convalescent +orderlies, come in to remove the ruins of +our mess. They are pathetic and adorable with +their close-cropped heads in the pallor of their convalescence +(Jean is attired in a suit of yellowish +linen and Max in striped flannels). Jean's pallor +is decorated (there is no other word for it) with +blue-grey eyes, black eyebrows, black eyelashes and +a little black moustache. He is martial and ardent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +and alert. But the pallor of Max is unredeemed; it +is morbid and profound. It has invaded his whole +being. His eyelids and his small sensitive mouth +are involved; and his round dark eyes have the +queer grey look of some lamentable wonder and +amazement. But neither horror nor discipline have +spoiled his engaging air—the air of a very young +<i>collégien</i> who has broken loose and got into this +Military Hospital by mistake.</p> + +<p>I do not know whether intuition is a French or +Belgian gift. Jean and Max are not Belgian but +French, and they have it to a marvellous degree. +They seemed to know in an instant what was the +matter with the English lady; and they set about +curing the malady. I have seldom seen such perfect +tact and gentleness as was then displayed by those +two hospital orderlies, Max and Jean. They had +been wounded not so very long ago. But they +think nothing of that. They intimate that if I insist +on helping them with their plates and dishes they +will be wounded, and more severely, in their honour.</p> + +<p>We converse.</p> + +<p>It is in conversation that they are most adorable. +They gaze at you with candid, innocent eyes; not +a quiver of a lip or an eyelash betrays to you the +outrageous quality of your French. The behaviour +of your sentences would cause a scandal in a private<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +boarding school for young ladies, it is so fantastically +incorrect. But Max and Jean receive each +phrase with an imperturbable and charming gravity. +By the subtlest suggestion of manner they assure +you that you speak with fluency and distinction, +that yours is a very perfect French. Only their +severe attentiveness warns you of the strain you are +putting on them.</p> + +<p>Max lingered long after Jean had departed to his +kitchen. And presently he gave up his secret. He +is a student, and they took him from his College +(his course unfinished) to fight for his country. +When the War broke out his mother went mad +with the horror of it. He told me this quite simply, +as if he were relating a common incident of war-time. +Then, with a little air of mystery, he signed +to me to follow him along the corridor. He stopped +at a closed door and showed me a name inscribed +in thick ornamental Gothic characters on a card +tacked to the panel:</p> + +<p class="figcenterns"> +<img src="images/prosper.png" width="200" height="38" alt="Prosper Panne." /> +</p> + +<p>Max is not his real name. It is the name that +Prosper Panne has taken to disguise himself while +he is a servant. Prosper Panne—<i>il est écrivain, +journaliste</i>. He writes for the Paris papers. He +looked at me with his amazed, pathetic eyes, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +pointed with a finger to his breast to assure me that +he is he, Prosper Panne.</p> + +<p>And in the end I asked him whether it would bore +the wounded frightfully if I took them some cigarettes? +(I laid in cigarettes this morning as a provision +for this desolate afternoon.)</p> + +<p>And—dear Prosper Panne—so thoroughly did +he understand my malady, that he himself escorted +me. It is as if he knew the <i>peur sacré</i> that restrains +me from flinging myself into the presence of the +wounded. Soft-footed and graceful, turning now +and then with his instinct of protection, the orderly +glides before me, smoothing the way between my +shyness and this dreaded majesty of suffering.</p> + +<p>I followed him (with my cigarettes in my hand +and my heart in my mouth) into the big ward on the +ground floor.</p> + +<p>I don't want to describe that ward, or the effect +of those rows upon rows of beds, those rows upon +rows of bound and bandaged bodies, the intensity +of physical anguish suggested by sheer force of +multiplication, by the diminishing perspective of the +beds, by the clear light and nakedness of the great +hall that sets these repeated units of torture in a +world apart, a world of insufferable space and agonizing +time, ruled by some inhuman mathematics +and given over to pure transcendent pain. A suf<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>ficiently +large ward full of wounded really does +leave an impression very like that. But the one +true thing about this impression is its transcendence. +It is utterly removed from and unlike anything that +you have experienced before. From the moment +that the doors have closed behind you, you are in +another world, and under its strange impact you +are given new senses and a new soul. If there is +horror here you are not aware of it as horror. Before +these multiplied forms of anguish what you +feel—if there be anything of <i>you</i> left to feel—is +not pity, because it is so near to adoration.</p> + +<p>If you are tired of the burden and malady of +self, go into one of these great wards and you will +find instant release. You and the sum of your little +consciousness are not things that matter any more. +The lowest and the least of these wounded Belgians +is of supreme importance and infinite significance. +You, who were once afraid of them and of their +wounds, may think that you would suffer for them +now, gladly; but you are not allowed to suffer; you +are marvellously and mercilessly let off. In this +sudden deliverance from yourself you have received +the ultimate absolution, and their torment is your +peace.</p> + +<p>In the big ward very few of the men were +well enough to smoke. So we went to the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +wards where the convalescents are, Max leading.</p> + +<p>I do not think that Max has received absolution +yet. It is quite evident that he is proud of his <i>entrée</i> +into this place and of his intimacy with the wounded, +of his rôle of interpreter.</p> + +<p>But how perfectly he does it! He has no Flemish, +but through his subtle gestures even the poor +Flamand, who has no French, understands what I +want to say to him and can't. He turns this modest +presentation of cigarettes into a high social function, +a trifle ambitious, perhaps, but triumphantly +achieved.</p> + +<p>All that was over by about three o'clock, when +the sanctuary cast us out, and Max went back to +his empty kitchen and became Prosper Panne again, +and remembered that his mother was mad; and I +went to the empty mess-room and became my miserable +self and remembered that the Field Ambulance +was still out, God knows where.</p> + +<p>The mess-room windows look south over the railway +lines towards the country where the fighting is. +From the balcony you can see the lines where the +troop trains run, going north-west and south-east. +The Station, the Post Office, the Telegraph and +Telephone Offices are here, all in one long red-brick +building that bounds one side of the <i>Place</i>. It +stands at right angles to the Flandria and stretches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +along opposite its flank. It has a flat roof with a +crenelated parapet. Grass grows on the roof. No +guns are mounted there, for Ghent is an open city. +But in German tactics bombardment by aeroplane +doesn't seem to count, and our situation is more +provocative now than the Terminus Hotel at Ostend.</p> + +<p>Beyond the straight black railway lines are miles +upon miles of flat open country, green fields and +rows of poplars, and little woods, and here and there +a low rise dark with trees. Under our windows the +white street runs south-eastward, and along it scouting +cars and cycling corps rush to the fighting lines, +and military motor-cars hurry impatiently, carrying +Belgian staff officers; the ammunition wagons lumber +along, and the troops march in a long file, to +disappear round the turn of the road. That is +where the others have gone, and I'd give everything +I possess to go with them.</p> + +<p>They have come back, incredibly safe, and have +brought in four wounded.</p> + +<p>There was a large crowd gathered in the <i>Place</i> +to see them come, a crowd that has nothing to do +and that lives from hour to hour on this spectacle +of the wounded. Intense excitement this time, for +one of the four wounded is a German. He was +lying on a stretcher. No sooner had they drawn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +him out of the ambulance than they put him back +again. (No Germans are taken in at our Hospital; +they are all sent to the old <i>Hôpital Militaire</i> No. I.) +He thrust up his poor hand and grabbed the hanging +strap to raise himself a little in his stretcher, +and I saw him. He was ruddy and handsome. +His thick blond hair stood up stiff from his forehead. +His little blond moustache was turned up and +twisted fiercely like the Kaiser's. The crowd booed +at him as he lay there. His was a terrible pathos, +unlike any other. He was so defiant and so helpless. +And there's another emotion gone by the +board. You simply could not hate him.</p> + +<p>Later in the evening both cars were sent out, +Car No. 1 with the Commandant and, if you will +believe it, Ursula Dearmer. Heavens! What can +the Military Power be thinking of? Car No. 2 took +Dr. Wilson and Mrs. Torrence. The Military +Power, I suppose, has ordained this too. And when +I think of Mrs. Torrence's dream of getting into +the greatest possible danger, I am glad that the +Commandant is with Ursula Dearmer. We pledged +our words, he and I, that danger and Ursula Dearmer +should never meet.</p> + +<p>They all come back, impossibly safe. They are +rather like children after the party, too excited to +give a lucid and coherent tale of what they've done.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +My ambulance Day-Book stores the stuff from +which reports and newspaper articles are to be made. +I note that Car No. 1 has brought three wounded to +Hospital I., and that Car No. 2 has brought four +wounded to Hospital II., also that a dum-dum +bullet has been found in the hand of one of the +three. There is a considerable stir among the surgeons +over this bullet. They are vaguely gratified +at its being found in our hospital and not the other.</p> + +<p>Little Janet McNeil and Mr. Riley and all the +others who were left behind have gone to bed in +hopeless gloom. Even the bullet hasn't roused them +beyond the first tense moment.</p> + +<p>I ask for ink, and dear Max has given me all his +in his own ink-pot.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Monday, 28th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have been here a hundred years.</p> + +<p>Car No. 1 went out at eight-thirty this morning, +with the Commandant and Dr. Bird and Ursula +Dearmer and Mr. Grierson and a Belgian Red Cross +guide. With Tom, the chauffeur, that makes six. +Tom's face, as he sees this party swarming on his +car, is expressive of tumultuous passions. Disgust +predominates.</p> + +<p>Their clothes seem stranger than ever by contrast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +with the severe military khaki of the car. Dr. Bird +has added to his civilian costume a Belgian forage +cap with a red tassel that hangs over his forehead. +It was given to him yesterday by way of homage to +his courage and his personal charm. But it makes +him horribly vulnerable. The Chaplain, standing +out from the rest of the Corps in complete khaki, +is an even more inevitable mark for bullets. Tom +stares at everybody with eyes of violent inquiry. +He still evidently wants to know whether we call +ourselves a field ambulance. He starts his car with +movements of exasperation and despair. We are to +judge what his sense of discipline must be since he +consents to drive the thing at all.</p> + +<p>The Commandant affects not to see Tom. Perhaps +he really doesn't see him.</p> + +<p>It is just as well that he can't see Mrs. Torrence, +or Janet McNeil or Mr. Riley or Dr. Haynes. +They are overpowered by this tragedy of being left +behind. Under it the discipline of the —— Hospital +breaks down. The eighteen-year-old child is +threatening to commit suicide or else go home. She +regards the two acts as equivalent. Mr. Riley's +gloom is now so awful that he will not speak when +he is spoken to. He looks at me with dumb hostility, +as if he thought that I had something to do +with it. Dr. Haynes's melancholy is even more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +heart-rending, because it is gentle and unexpressed.</p> + +<p>I try to console them. I point out that it is a +question of arithmetic. There are only two cars +and there are fourteen of us. Fourteen into two +won't go, even if you don't count the wounded. +And, after all, we haven't been here two days. But +it is no good. We have been here a hundred years, +and we have done nothing. There isn't anything +to do. There are not enough wounded to go round. +We turn our eyes with longing towards Antwerp, +so soon to be battered by the siege-guns from +Namur.</p> + +<p>And Bert, poor Bert! he has crawled into Ambulance +Car No. 2 where it stands outside in the +hospital yard, and he has hidden himself under the +hood.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lambert is a little sad, too. But we are +none of us very sorry for Mrs. Lambert. We have +gathered that her husband is a journalist, and that +he is special correspondent at the front for some +American paper. He has a motor-car which we assume +rashly to be the property of his paper. He is +always dashing off to the firing-line in it, and Mrs. +Lambert is always at liberty to go with him. She +is mistaken if she thinks that her sorrow is in any +way comparable with ours.</p> + +<p>But if there are not enough wounded to go round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +in Ghent, there are more refugees than Ghent can +deal with. They are pouring in by all the roads +from Alost and Termonde. Every train disgorges +multitudes of them into the <i>Place</i>.</p> + +<p>This morning I went to the Matron, Madame F., +and told her I wasn't much good, but I'd be glad +if she could give me some work. I said I supposed +there was some to be done among the refugees.</p> + +<p>Work? Among the refugees? They could employ +whole armies of us. There are thousands of +refugees at the Palais des Fêtes. I had better go +there and see what is being done. Madame will +give me an introduction to her sister-in-law, Madame +F., the Présidente of the Comité des Dames, and +to her niece, Mademoiselle F., who will take me to +the Palais.</p> + +<p>And Madame adds that there will soon be work +for all of us in the Hospital. Yes: even for the +untrained.</p> + +<p>Life is once more bearable.</p> + +<p>But the others won't believe it. They say there +are three hundred nurses in the hospital.</p> + +<p>And the fact remains that we have two young +surgeons cooling their heels in the corridors, and +a fully-trained nurse tearing her hair out, while the +young girl, Ursula Dearmer, takes the field.</p> + +<p>And I think of the poor little dreamy, guileless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +Commandant in his conspicuous car, and I smile at +her in secret, thanking Heaven that it's Ursula +Dearmer and not Mrs. Torrence who is at his side.</p> + +<p>The ambulance has come back from Alost with +two or three wounded and some refugees. The +Commandant is visibly elated, elated out of all proportion +to the work actually done. Ursula Dearmer +is not elated in the very least, but she is wide-awake. +Her docility has vanished with her torpor. She and +the Commandant both look as if something extremely +agreeable had happened to them at Alost. +But they are reticent. We gather that Ursula +Dearmer has been working with the nuns in the Convent +at Alost, where the wounded were taken before +the ambulance cars removed them to Ghent. It +sounded very safe.</p> + +<p>But the Commandant dashed into my room after +luncheon. His face was radiant, almost ecstatic. +He was like a child who has rushed in to tell you +how ripping the pantomime was.</p> + +<p>"We've been <i>under fire</i>!"</p> + +<p>But I was very angry. Coldly and quietly +angry. I felt like that when I was ten years old +and piloting my mother through the thick of the +traffic between Guildhall and the Bank, and she +broke from me and was all but run over. I don't +quite know what I said to him, but I think I said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +he ought to be ashamed of himself. For it seems +that Ursula Dearmer was with him.</p> + +<p>I remembered how Ursula Dearmer's mother had +come to me in the committee-room and asked me +how near we proposed to go to the firing-line, and +whether her daughter would be in any danger, and +how I said, first of all, that there wasn't any use +pretending that there wouldn't be danger, and that +the chances were—and how the Commandant had +intervened at that moment to assure her that danger +there would be none. With a finger on the map of +France and Belgium he traced the probable, the inevitable, +course of the campaign; and in light, casual +tones which allayed all anxiety, he explained how, as +the Germans advanced upon any point, we should +retire upon our base. As for the actual field-work, +with one gesture he swept the whole battle-line into +the distance, and you saw it as an infinitely receding +tide that left its wrack strewn on a place of peace +where the ambulance wandered at its will, secure +from danger. The whole thing was done with such +compelling and convincing enthusiasm that Ursula +Dearmer's mother adopted more and more the humble +attitude of a mere woman who has failed to +grasp the conditions of modern warfare. Ursula +Dearmer herself looked more docile than ever, +though a little bored, and very sleepy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>And I remembered how when it was all over +Ursula Dearmer's mother implored me, if there <i>was</i> +any danger, to see that Ursula Dearmer was sent +home, and how I promised that whatever happened +Ursula Dearmer would be safe, clinching it with a +frightfully sacred inner vow, and saying to myself +at the same time what a terrible nuisance this young +girl is going to be. I saw myself at the moment of +parting, standing on the hearthrug, stiff as a poker +with resolution, and saying solemnly, "I'll keep +my word!"</p> + +<p>And here was the Commandant informing me +with glee that a shell had fallen and burst at Ursula +Dearmer's feet.</p> + +<p>He was so pleased, and with such innocent and +childlike pleasure, that I hadn't the heart to tell him +that there wasn't much resemblance between those +spaces of naked peace behind the receding battle-line +and the narrow streets of a bombarded village. I +only said that I should write to Ursula Dearmer's +mother and ask her to release me from my promise. +He said I would do nothing of the kind. I said I +would. And I did. And the poor Commandant +left me, somewhat dashed, and not at all pleased +with me.</p> + +<p>It seems that the shell burst, not exactly at Ursula +Dearmer's feet, but ten yards away from her. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +came romping down the street with immense impetus +and determination; and it is not said of Ursula +Dearmer that she was much less coy in the encounter. +She took to shell-fire "like a duck to water."</p> + +<p>Dr. Bird told us this. Ursula Dearmer herself +was modest, and claimed no sort of intimacy with +the shell that waked her up. She was as nice as +possible about it. But all the same, into the whole +Corps (that part of it that had been left behind) +there has crept a sneaking envy of her luck. I feel +it myself. And if <i>I</i> feel it, what must Mrs. Torrence +and Janet feel?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lambert, anyhow, has had nothing to complain +of so far. Her husband took her to Alost in +his motor-car; I mean the motor-car which is the +property of his paper.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon Mademoiselle F. called to take +me to the Palais des Fêtes. We stopped at a shop +on the way to buy the Belgian Red Cross uniform—the +white linen overall and veil—which you +must wear if you work among the refugees there.</p> + +<p>Madame F. is very kind and very tired. She has +been working here since early morning for weeks +on end. They are short of volunteers for the service +of the evening meals, and I am to work at the +tables for three hours, from six to nine <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> This +is settled, and a young Red Cross volunteer takes me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +over the Palais. It is an immense building, rather +like Olympia. It stands away from the town in +open grounds like the Botanical Gardens, Regent's +Park. It is where the great Annual Shows were +held and the vast civic entertainments given. Miles +of country round Ghent are given up to market-gardening. +There are whole fields of begonias out +here, brilliant and vivid in the sun. They will never +be sold, never gathered, never shown in the Palais +des Fêtes. It is the peasants, the men and women +who tilled these fields, and their children that are +being shown here, in the splendid and wonderful +place where they never set foot before.</p> + +<p>There are four thousand of them lying on straw +in the outer hall, in a space larger than Olympia. +They are laid out in rows all round the four walls, +and on every foot of ground between; men, women +and children together, packed so tight that there is +barely standing-room between any two of them. +Here and there a family huddles up close, trying to +put a few inches between it and the rest; some have +hollowed out a place in the straw or piled a barrier +of straw between themselves and their neighbours, +in a piteous attempt at privacy; some have dragged +their own bedding with them and are lodged in comparative +comfort. But these are the very few. +The most part are utterly destitute, and utterly aban<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>doned +to their destitution. They are broken with +fatigue. They have stumbled and dropped no matter +where, no matter beside whom. None turns +from his neighbour; none scorns or hates or loathes +his fellow. The rigidly righteous <i>bourgeoise</i> lies in +the straw breast to breast with the harlot of the +village slum, and her innocent daughter back to back +with the parish drunkard. Nothing matters. +Nothing will ever matter any more.</p> + +<p>They tell you that when darkness comes down +on all this there is hell. But you do not believe it. +You can see nothing sordid and nothing ugly here. +The scale is too vast. Your mind refuses this coupling +of infamy with transcendent sorrow. It rejects +all images but the one image of desolation which is +final and supreme. It is as if these forms had no +stability and no significance of their own; as if they +were locked together in one immense body and +stirred or slept as one.</p> + +<p>Two or three figures mount guard over this litter +of prostrate forms. They are old men and old +women seated on chairs. They sit upright and immobile, +with their hands folded on their knees. +Some of them have fallen asleep where they sit. +They are all rigid in an attitude of resignation. +They have the dignity of figures that will endure, +like that, for ever. They are Flamands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>This place is terribly still. There is hardly any +rustling of the straw. Only here and there the cry +of a child fretting for sleep or for its mother's +breast. These people do not speak to each other. +Half of them are sound asleep, fixed in the posture +they took when they dropped into the straw. The +others are drowsed with weariness, stupefied with +sorrow. On all these thousands of faces there is a +mortal apathy. Their ruin is complete. They have +been stripped bare of the means of life and of all +likeness to living things. They do not speak. +They do not think. They do not, for the moment, +feel. In all the four thousand—except for the +child crying yonder—there is not one tear.</p> + +<p>And you who look at them cannot speak or think +or feel either, and you have not one tear. A path +has been cleared through the straw from door to +door down the middle of the immense hall, a narrower +track goes all round it in front of the litters +that are ranged under the walls, and you are taken +through and round the Show. You are to see it +all. The dear little Belgian lady, your guide, will +not let you miss anything. "<i>Regardez, Mademoiselle, +ces deux petites filles. Qu'elles sont jolies, +les pauvres petites.</i>" "<i>Voici deux jeunes mariés, +qui dorment. Regardez l'homme; il tient encore la +main de sa femme.</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>You look. Yes. They are asleep. He is really +holding her hand. "<i>Et ces quatre petits enfants +qui ont perdu leur père et leur mère. C'est triste, +n'est-ce pas, Mademoiselle?</i>"</p> + +<p>And you say, "<i>Oui, Mademoiselle. C'est bien +triste.</i>"</p> + +<p>But you don't mean it. You don't feel it. You +don't know whether it is "<i>triste</i>" or not. You are +not sure that "<i>triste</i>" is the word for it. There are +no words for it, because there are no ideas for it. +It is a sorrow that transcends all sorrow that you +have ever known. You have a sort of idea that perhaps, +if you can ever feel again, this sight will be +worse to remember than it is to see. You can't believe +what you see; you are stunned, stupefied, as if +you yourself had been crushed and numbed in the +same catastrophe. Only now and then a face upturned +(a face that your guide hasn't pointed out +to you) surging out of this incredible welter of +faces and forms, smites you with pity, and you +feel as if you had received a lacerating wound in +sleep.</p> + +<p>Little things strike you, though. Already you are +forgetting the faces of the two little girls and of +the young husband and wife holding each other's +hands, and of the four little children who have lost +their father and mother, but you notice the little dog,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +the yellow-brown mongrel terrier, that absurd little +dog which belongs to all nations and all countries. +He has obtained possession of the warm centre of a +pile of straw and is curled up on it fast asleep. And +the Flemish family who brought him, who carried +him in turn for miles rather than leave him to the +Germans, they cannot stretch themselves on the +straw because of him. They have propped themselves +up as best they may all round him, and they +cannot sleep, they are too uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>More thousands than there is room for in the +straw are fed three times a day in the inner hall, +leading out of this dreadful dormitory. All round +the inner hall and on the upper story off the gallery +are rooms for washing and dressing the children +and for bandaging sore feet and attending to the +wounded. For there are many wounded among +the refugees. This part of the Palais is also a hospital, +with separate wards for men, for women and +children and for special cases.</p> + +<p>Late in the evening M. P—— took the whole +Corps to see the Palais des Fêtes, and I went again. +By night I suppose it is even more "<i>triste</i>" than it +was by day. In the darkness the gardens have +taken on some malign mystery and have given it to +the multitudes that move there, that turn in the +winding paths among ghostly flowers and bushes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +that approach and recede and approach in the darkness +of the lawns. Blurred by the darkness and +diminished to the barest indications of humanity, +their forms are more piteous and forlorn than ever; +their faces, thrown up by the darkness, more awful +in their blankness and their pallor. The scene, +drenched in darkness, is unearthly and unintelligible. +You cannot account for it in saying to yourself that +these are the refugees, and everybody knows what +a refugee is; that there is War—and everybody +knows what war is—in Belgium; and that these +people have been shelled out of their homes and are +here at the Palais des Fêtes, because there is no +other place for them, and the kind citizens of Ghent +have undertaken to house and feed them here. +That doesn't make it one bit more credible or bring +you nearer to the secret of these forms. You who +are compelled to move with them in the sinister darkness +are more than ever under the spell that forbids +you and them to feel. You are deadened now to +the touch of the incarnate.</p> + +<p>On the edge of the lawn, near the door of the +Palais, some ghostly roses are growing on a ghostly +tree. Your guide, M. P——, pauses to tell you +their names and kind. It seems that they are +rare.</p> + +<p>Several hundred more refugees have come into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +the Palais since the afternoon. They have had to +pack them a little closer in the straw. Eight thousand +were fed this evening in the inner hall.</p> + +<p>In the crush I get separated from M. P—— and +from the Corps. I see some of them in the distance, +the Commandant and Ursula Dearmer and Mrs. +Lambert and M. P——. I do not feel as if I belonged +to them any more. I belong so much to the +stunned sleepers in the straw who cannot feel.</p> + +<p>Nice Dr. Wilson comes across to me and we go +round together, looking at the sleepers. He says +that nothing he has seen of the War has moved him +so much as this sight. He wishes that the Kaiser +could be brought here to see what he has done. And +I find myself clenching my hands tight till it hurts, +not to suppress my feelings—for I feel nothing—but +because I am afraid that kind Dr. Wilson is +going to talk. At the same time, I would rather +he didn't leave me just yet. There is a sort of comfort +and protection in being with somebody who +isn't callous, who can really feel.</p> + +<p>But Dr. Wilson isn't very fluent, and presently he +leaves off talking, too.</p> + +<p>Near the door we pass the family with the little +yellow-brown dog. All day the little dog slept in +their place. And now that they are trying to sleep +he will not let them. The little dog is wide awake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +and walking all over them. And when you think +what it must have cost to bring him—</p> + +<p><i>C'est triste, n'est-ce pas?</i></p> + +<p>As we left the gardens M. P—— gathered two +ghostly roses, the last left on their tree, and gave +one to Mrs. Lambert and one to me. I felt something +rather like a pang then. Heaven knows why, +for such a little thing.</p> + +<p>Conference in our mess-room. M. ——, the +Belgian Red Cross guide who goes out with our +ambulances, is there. He is very serious and important. +The Commandant calls us to come and hear +what he has to say. It seems it had been arranged +that one of our cars should be sent to-morrow morning +to Termonde to bring back refugees. But M. +—— does not think that car will ever start. He +says that the Germans are now within a few miles +of Ghent, and may be expected to occupy it to-morrow +morning, and that instead of going to Termonde +to-morrow we had very much better pack up and retreat +to Bruges to-night. There are ten thousand +Germans ready to march into Ghent.</p> + +<p>M. —— is weighed down by the thought of his +ten thousand Germans. But the Commandant is +not weighed down a bit. On the contrary, a pleasant +exaltation comes upon him. It comes upon the +whole Corps, it comes even upon me. We refuse to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +believe in his ten thousand Germans. M. —— himself +cannot swear to them. We refuse to pack up. +We refuse to retreat to Bruges to-night. Time +enough for agitation in the morning. We prefer to +go to bed. M. —— shrugs his shoulders, as much +as to say that he has done his duty and if we are all +murdered in our beds it isn't his fault.</p> + +<p>Does M. —— really believe in the advance of the +ten thousand? His face is inscrutable.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Tuesday, 29th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">No</span> Germans in Ghent. No Germans reported +near Ghent.</p> + +<p>Madame F. and her daughter smile at the idea +of the Germans coming into Ghent. They will +never come, and if they do come they will only take +a little food and go out again. They will never do +any harm to Ghent. Namur and Liége and Brussels, +if you like, and Malines, and Louvain, and +Termonde and Antwerp (perhaps); but Ghent—why +should they? It is Antwerp they are making +for, not Ghent.</p> + +<p>And Madame represents the mind of the average +Gantois. It is placid, incredulous, stolidly at ease, +superbly inhospitable to disagreeable ideas. No +Gantois can conceive that what has been done to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +citizens of Termonde would be done to him. <i>C'est +triste</i>—what has been done to the citizens of Termonde, +but it doesn't shake his belief in the immunity +of Ghent.</p> + +<p>Which makes M. ——'s behaviour all the more +mysterious. <i>Why</i> did he try to scare us so? Five +theories are tenable:</p> + +<p>(1.) M. —— did honestly believe that ten thousand +Germans would come in the morning and take +our ambulance prisoner. That is to say, he believed +what nobody else believed.</p> + +<p>(2.) M. —— was scared himself. He had no +desire to be taken quite so near the firing-line as the +English Ambulance seemed likely to take him; so +that the departure of the English Ambulance would +not be wholly disagreeable to M. ——. (This +theory is too far-fetched.)</p> + +<p>(3.) M. —— was the agent of the Military +Power, commissioned to test the nerve of the English +Ambulance. ("Stood fire, have they? Give +'em a <i>real</i> scare, and see how they behave.")</p> + +<p>(4.) M. —— is a psychologist and made this little +experiment on the English Ambulance himself.</p> + +<p>(5.) He is a humorist and was simply "pulling +its leg."</p> + +<p>The three last theories are plausible, but all five +collapse before the inscrutability of Monsieur's face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>Germans or no Germans, one ambulance car +started at five in the morning for Quatrecht, somewhere +between Ghent and Brussels, to fetch +wounded and refugees. The other went, later, to +Zele. I am not very clear as to who has gone with +them, but Mrs. Torrence, Mrs. Lambert, Janet McNeil +and Dr. Haynes and Mr. Riley have been left +behind.</p> + +<p>It is their third day of inactivity, and three months +of it could not have devastated them more. They +have touched the very bottom of suicidal gloom. +Three months hence their state of mind will no +doubt appear in all its absurdity, but at the moment +it is too piteous for words. When you think what +they were yesterday and the day before, there is no +language to express the crescendo of their despair. +I came upon Mr. Riley this morning, standing by +the window of the mess-room, and contemplating the +façade of the railway station. (It is making a pattern +on our brains.) I tried to soothe him. I said +it was hard lines—beastly hard lines—and told +him to cheer up—there'd be heaps for him to do +presently. And he turned from me like a man who +has just buried his first-born.</p> + +<p>Janet McNeil is even more heart-rending, sunk +in a chair with her hands stuck into the immense +pockets of her overcoat, her flawless and impassive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +face tilted forward as her head droops forlornly to +her breast. She is such a child that she can see +nothing beyond to-day, and yesterday and the day +before that. She is going back to-morrow. Her +valour and energy are frustrated and she is wounded +in her honour. She is conscious of the rottenness +of putting on a khaki tunic, and winding khaki putties +round and round her legs to hang about the Hospital +doing nothing. And she had to sell her motor +bicycle in order to come out. Not that that matters +in the least. What matters is that we are here, eating +Belgian food and quartered in a Belgian Military +Hospital, and "swanking" about with Belgian +Red Cross brassards (stamped) on our sleeves, and +doing nothing for the Belgians, doing nothing for +anybody. We are not justifying our existence. +We are frauds.</p> + +<p>I tell the poor child that she cannot possibly feel +as big a fraud as I do; that there was no earthly +reason why I should have come, and none whatever +why I should remain.</p> + +<p>And then, to my amazement, I learn that I am +envied. It's all right for me. My job is clearly +defined, and nobody can take it from me. I haven't +got to wind khaki putties round my legs for nothing.</p> + +<p>I should have thought that the child was making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +jokes at my expense but for the extreme purity and +candour of her gaze. Incredible that there should +exist an abasement profounder than my own. I +have hidden my tunic and breeches in my hold-all. +I dare not own to having brought them.</p> + +<p>Down in the vestibule I encounter Mrs. Torrence +in khaki. Mrs. Torrence yearning for her wounded. +Mrs. Torrence determined to get to her wounded +at any cost. She is not abased or dejected, but exalted, +rather. She is ready to go to the President +or to the Military Power itself, and demand her +wounded from them. Her beautiful eyes demand +them from Heaven itself.</p> + +<p>I cannot say there are not enough wounded to +go round, but I point out for the fifteenth time that +the trouble is there are not enough ambulance cars +to go round.</p> + +<p>But it is no use. It does not explain why Heaven +should have chosen Ursula Dearmer and caused +shells to bound in her direction, and have rejected +Mrs. Torrence. The Military Power that should +have ordered these things has abandoned us to the +caprice of Heaven.</p> + +<p>Of course if Mrs. Torrence was a saint she would +fold her hands and bow her superb little head before +the decrees of Heaven; but she is only a mortal +woman, born with the genius of succour and trained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +to the last point of efficiency; so she rages. The +tigress, robbed of her young, is not more furiously +inconsolable than Mrs. Torrence.</p> + +<p>It is not Ursula Dearmer's fault. She is innocent +of supplanting Mrs. Torrence. The thing simply +happened. More docile than determined, unhurrying +and uneager, and only half-awake, she +seems to have rolled into Car No. 1 with Heaven's +impetus behind her. Like the shell at Alost, it is +her luck.</p> + +<p>And on the rest of us our futility and frustration +weigh like lead. The good Belgian food has become +bitter in our mouths. When we took our miserable +walk through Ghent this morning we felt that +<i>l'Ambulance Anglaise</i> must be a mark for public +hatred and derision because of us. I declare I +hardly dare go into the shops with the Red Cross +brassard on my arm. I imagine sardonic raillery in +the eyes of every Belgian that I meet. We do not +think the authorities will stand it much longer; they +will fire us out of the <i>Hôpital Militaire</i> No. II.</p> + +<p>But no, the authorities do not fire us out. Impassive +in wisdom and foreknowledge, they smile +benignly on our agitation. They compliment the +English Ambulance on the work it has done already. +They convey the impression that but for the English +Ambulance the Belgian Army would be in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +bad way. Mademoiselle F. insists that the Hospital +will soon be overflowing with the wounded from +Antwerp and that she can find work even for me. +It is untrue that there are three hundred nurses in +the Hospital. There are only three hundred nurses in +all Belgium. They pile it on so that we are more +depressed than ever.</p> + +<p>Janet McNeil is convinced that they think we are +no good and that they are just being angels to us +because they are sorry for us.</p> + +<p>I break it to them very gently that I've volunteered +to serve at the tables at the Palais des Fêtes. +I feel as if I had sneaked into a remunerative job +while my comrades are starving.</p> + +<p>The Commandant is not quite as pleased as I +thought he would be to hear of my engagement at +the Palais des Fêtes. He says, "It is not your +work." I insist that my work is to do anything I +can do; and that if I cannot dress wounds I can at +least hand round bread and pour out coffee and wash +up dishes. It is true that I am Secretary and Reporter +and (for the time being) Treasurer to the +Ambulance, and that I carry its funds in a leather +purse belt round my body. Because I am the smallest +and weakest member of the Corps that is the +most unlikely place for the funds to be. It was imprudent, +to say the least of it, for the Chaplain in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +his khaki, to carry them, as he did, into the firing-line. +The belt, which fitted the Chaplain, hangs +about half a yard below my waist and is extremely +uncomfortable, but that is neither here nor there. +Keeping the Corps' accounts only takes two hours +and a half, even with Belgian and English money +mixed, and when I've added the same column of +figures ten times up and ten times down, to make +certain it's all right (I am no good at accounts, but +I know my weakness and guard against it, giving the +Corps the benefit of every doubt and making good +every deficit out of my private purse). Writing the +Day-Book—perhaps half an hour. The Commandant's +correspondence, when he has any, and +reporting to the British Red Cross Society, when +there is anything to report, another half-hour at the +outside; and there you have only three and a half +hours employed out of the twenty-four, even if I +balanced my accounts every day, and I don't.</p> + +<p>True that <i>The Daily Chronicle</i> promised to take +any articles that I might send them from the front, +but I haven't written any. You cannot write articles +for <i>The Daily Chronicle</i> out of nothing; at +least I can't.</p> + +<p>The Commandant finally yields to argument and +entreaty.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>I do not tell him that what I really want to do is +to go out with the Field Ambulance, and get beyond +the turn of that road.</p> + +<p>I know I haven't the ghost of a chance; I know +that if I had—as things stand at present—not being +a surgeon or a trained nurse, I wouldn't take it, +even to get there. And at the same time I know, +with a superior certainty, that this unlikely thing +will happen. This sense of certainty is not at all +uncommon, but it is, or seems, unintelligible. You +can only conceive it as a premonition of some unavoidable +event. It is as if something had been +looking for you, waiting for you, from all eternity +out here; something that you have been looking for; +and, when you are getting near, it begins calling to +you; it draws your heart out to it all day long. +You can give no account of it. All that you know +about it is that it is unique. It has nothing to do +with your ordinary curiosities and interests and +loves; nothing to do with the thirst for experience, +or for adventure, or for glory, or for the thrill. +You can't "get" anything out of it. It is something +hidden and secret and supremely urgent. Its +urgency, indeed, is so great that if you miss it you +will have missed reality itself.</p> + +<p>For me this uncanny anticipation is somehow connected +with the turn of the south-east road. I do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +not see how I am ever going to get there or anywhere +near there. But I am not uneasy or impatient +any more. There is no hurry. The thing, +whatever it is, will be irresistible, and if I don't go +out to find it, it will find me.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence has gone, Heaven knows where. +She has not been with the others at the Palais des +Fêtes. Janet McNeil and Mrs. Lambert have been +working there for five hours, serving meals to the +refugees. Ursula Dearmer with extreme docility +has been working all the afternoon with the nurses.</p> + +<p>It looks as if we were beginning to settle +down.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence has come back. The red German +pom-pom has gone from her cap and she wears the +badge of the Belgian Motor Cyclist Corps, black +wings on a white ground. Providence has rehabilitated +himself. He has abased our trained nurse and +expert motorist in order to exalt her. He fairly +flung her in the path of the Colonel of (I think) +the Belgian Motor Cyclist Corps at a moment when +the Colonel found himself in a jibbing motor-car +without a chauffeur. We gather that the Colonel +was becoming hectic with blasphemy when she appeared +and settled the little difficulty between him +and his car. She seems to have followed it up by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +driving him then and there straight up to the firing-line +to look for wounded.</p> + +<p>End of the adventure—she volunteered her services +as chauffeur to the Colonel and was accepted.</p> + +<p>The Commandant has received the news with imperturbable +optimism.</p> + +<p>As for her, she is appeased. She will realize her +valorous dream of "the greatest possible danger;" +and she will get to her wounded.</p> + +<p>The others have come back too. They have toiled +for five hours among the refugees.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>5.30.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is my turn now at the Palais des Fêtes.</p> + +<p>It took ages to get in. The dining-hall is narrower +than the sleeping-hall, but it extends beyond +it on one side where there is a large door opening +on the garden. But this door is closed to the public. +You can only reach the dining-hall by going through +the straw among the sleepers. And at this point the +Commandant's optimism has broken down. He +won't let you go in through the straw, and the clerk +who controls the entry won't let you go in through +the other door. You explain to the clerk that the +English Ambulance being quartered in a Military +Hospital, its rules are inviolable; it is not allowed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +expose itself to the horrors of the straw. The clerk +is not interested in the English Ambulance, he is +not impressed by the fact that it has volunteered its +priceless services to the Refugee Committee, and he +is contemptuous of the orders of its Commandant. +His business is to see that you go into the Palais +through <i>his</i> door and not through any other door. +And when you tell him that if he will not withdraw +his regulations the Ambulance will be compelled to +withdraw its services, he replies with delicious sarcasm, +"<i>Nous n'avons pas prévu ça</i>." +In the end you are referred to the Secretary in +his bureau. He grasps the situation and is urbanity +itself. Provided with a special permit bearing his +sacred signature, you are admitted by the other +door.</p> + +<p>Your passage to the <i>Vestiaire</i> takes you through +the infants' room and along the galleries past the +wards. The crowd of refugees is so great that beds +have been put up in the galleries. You take off your +outer garments and put on the Belgian Red Cross +uniform (you have realized by this time that your +charming white overall and veil are sanitary precautions).</p> + +<p>Coming down the wide wooden stairways you +have a full view of the Inner Hall. This enormous +oblong space below the galleries is the heart, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +fervid central <i>foyer</i> of the Palais des Fêtes. At +either end of it is an immense auditorium, tier above +tier of seats, rising towards the gallery floors. All +down each side of it, standards with triumphal devices +are tilted from the balustrade. Banners hang +from the rafters.</p> + +<p>And under them, down the whole length of the +hall from auditorium to auditorium, the tables are +set out. Bare wooden tables, one after another, +more tables than you can count.</p> + +<p>From the door of the sleeping-hall to each auditorium, +and from each auditorium down the line of +the tables a gangway is roped off for the passage of +the refugees.</p> + +<p>They say there are ten thousand five hundred here +to-night. Beyond the rope-line, along the inner hall, +more straw has been laid down to bed the overflow +from the outer hall. They come on in relays to be +fed. They are marshalled first into the seats of +each auditorium, where they sit like the spectators +of some monstrous festival and wait for their turn +at the tables.</p> + +<p>This, the long procession of people streaming in +without haste, in perfect order and submission, is +heart-rending if you like. The immensity of the +crowd no longer overpowers you. The barriers +make it a steady procession, a credible spectacle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +You can take it in. It is the thin end of the wedge in +your heart. They come on so slowly that you can +count them as they come. They have sorted themselves +out. The fathers and the mothers are together, +they lead their little children by the hand or +push them gently before them. There is no anticipation +in their eyes; no eagerness and no impatience +in their bearing. They do not hustle each other or +scramble for their places. It is their silence and +submission that you cannot stand.</p> + +<p>For you have a moment of dreadful inactivity +after the setting of the tables for the <i>premier service</i>. +You have filled your bowls with black coffee; somebody +else has laid the slices of white bread on the +bare tables. You have nothing to do but stand still +and see them file in to the banquet. On the banners +and standards from the roof and balustrades the +Lion of Flanders ramps over their heads. And +somewhere in the back of your brain a song sings +itself to a tune that something in your brain wakes +up:</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Ils ne vont pas dompter<br /> +Le vieux lion de Flandres,<br /> +Tant que le lion a des dents,<br /> +Tant que le lion peut griffer.</i></p> + +<p>It is the song the Belgian soldiers sang as they +marched to battle in the first week of August. It +is only the end of September now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>And somebody standing beside you says: "<i>C'est +triste, n'est-ce pas?</i>"</p> + +<p>You cannot look any more.</p> + +<p>At the canteen the men are pouring out coffee +from enormous enamelled jugs into the small jugs +that the waitresses bring. This wastes your time +and cools the coffee. So you take a big jug from +the men. It seems to you no heavier than an ordinary +teapot. And you run with it. To carry the +largest possible jug at the swiftest possible pace is +your only chance of keeping sane. (It isn't till it +is all over that you hear the whisper of "<i>Anglaise!</i>" +and realize how very far from sane you must have +looked running round with your enormous jug.) +You can fill up the coffee bowls again—the little +bowls full, the big bowls only half full; there is +more than enough coffee to go round. But there is +no milk except for the babies. And when they ask +you for more bread there is not enough to go twice +round. The ration is now two slices of dry bread +and a bowl of black coffee three times a day. Till +yesterday there was an allowance of meat for soup +at the mid-day meal; to-day the army has commandeered +all the meat.</p> + +<p>But you needn't stand still any more. After the +first service the bowls have to be cleared from the +tables and washed and laid ready for the next.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +Round the great wooden tubs there is a frightful +competition. It is who can wash and dry and carry +back the quickest. You contend with brawny +Flemish women for the first dip into the tub and the +driest towel. Then you race round the tables with +your pile of crockery, and then with your jug, and +so on over and over again for three hours, till the last +relay is fed and the tables are deserted. You wash +up again and it is all over for you till six o'clock to-morrow +evening.</p> + +<p>You go back to your mess-room and a ten-o'clock +supper of cold coffee and sandwiches and Belgian +current loaf eaten with butter. And in a nightmare +afterwards Belgian refugees gather round you +and pluck at your sleeve and cry to you for more +bread: "<i>Une petite tranche de pain, s'il vous plaît, +mademoiselle!</i>"</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Wednesday, 30th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">No</span> Germans, nor sign of Germans yet.</p> + +<p>Fighting is reported at Saint Nicolas, between +Antwerp and Ghent. The Commandant has an +idea. He says that if the Belgian Army has to meet +the Germans at Saint Nicolas, so as to cut off their +advance on Antwerp, the base hospital must be removed +from Ghent to some centre or point which +will bring the Ambulance behind the Belgian lines.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +He thinks that working from Ghent would necessarily +bring it behind the German lines. This is +assuming that the Germans coming up from the +south-east will cut in between Saint Nicolas and +Ghent.</p> + +<p>He consults the President, who apparently thinks +that the base hospital will do very well where it is.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>2.30.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Torrence</span> brought her Colonel in to lunch. +He is battered and grizzled, but still a fine figure +in the dark-green uniform of the Motor Cyclist +Corps. He is very polite and gallant <i>à la belge</i> and +vows that he has taken on Mrs. Torrence <i>pour toujours, +pour la vie</i>! She diverts the flow of urbanity +adroitly.</p> + +<p>Except the Colonel nothing noteworthy seems to +have occurred to-day. The three hours at the Palais +des Fêtes were like the three hours last night.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Thursday, October 1st.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> really isn't safe for the Commandant to go out +with Ursula Dearmer. For her luck in the matter +of bombardments continues. (He might just as +well be with Mrs. Torrence.) They have been at +Termonde. What is more, it was Ursula Dearmer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +who got them through, in spite of the medical military +officer whose vigorous efforts stopped them at +the barrier. He seems at one point to have shown +weakness and given them leave to go on a little way +up the road; and the little way seems to have carried +them out of his sight and onward till they encountered +the Colonel (or it may have been a General) +in command. The Colonel (or the General) seems +to have broken down very badly, for the car and +Ursula Dearmer and the Commandant went on towards +Termonde. Young Haynes was with them +this time, and on the way they had picked up Mr. +G. L——, War Correspondent to the <i>Daily Mail</i> and +<i>Westminster</i>. They left the car behind somewhere +in a safe place where the fire from the machine-guns +couldn't reach it. There is a street or a road—I +can't make out whether it is inside or outside the +town; it leads straight to the bridge over the river, +which is about as wide there as the Thames at Westminster. +The bridge is the key to the position; it has +been blown up and built again several times in the +course of the War, and the Germans are now entrenched +beyond it. The road had been raked by +their <i>mitrailleuses</i> the day before.</p> + +<p>It seems to have struck the four simultaneously +that it would be quite a good thing to walk +down this road on the off-chance of the machine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>-guns +opening fire again. The tale told by the Commandant +evokes an awful vision of them walking +down it, four abreast, the Commandant and Mr. G. +L—— on the outside, fairly under shelter, and +Ursula Dearmer and young Haynes a little in front +of them down the middle, where the fire comes, when +it does come. This spectacle seems to have shaken +the Commandant in his view of bombarded towns +as suitable places of amusement for young girls. +Young Haynes ought to have known better. You +tell him that as long as the world endures young +Haynes will be young Haynes, and if there is danger +in the middle of the road, it is there that he will +walk by preference. And as no young woman of +modern times is going to let herself be outdone by +young Haynes, you must expect to find Ursula Dearmer +in the middle of the road too. You cannot suppress +this competitive heroism of young people. +The roots strike too deep down in human nature. +In the modern young man and woman competitive +heroism has completely forgotten its origin and is +now an end in itself.</p> + +<p>And if it comes to that—how about Alost?</p> + +<p>At the mention of Alost the Commandant's face +becomes childlike again in its utter simplicity and +innocence and candour. Alost was a very different +thing. Looking for shells at Alost, you understand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +was like looking for shells on the seashore. At +Alost Ursula Dearmer was in no sort of danger. +For at Alost she was under the Commandant's wing +(young Haynes hasn't got any wings, only legs to +walk into the line of fire on). He explains very +carefully that he took her under his wing <i>because</i> she +is a young girl and he feels responsible for her to her +mother.</p> + +<p>(Which, oddly enough, is just how <i>I</i> feel!)</p> + +<p>As for young Haynes, I suppose he would plead +that when he and Ursula Dearmer walked down the +middle of the road there was no firing.</p> + +<p>That seems to have been young Haynes's particular +good fortune. I have now a perfect obsession +of responsibility. I see, in one dreadful vision +after another, the things that must happen to Ursula +Dearmer under the Commandant's wing, and to +young Haynes and the Commandant under Ursula +Dearmer's.</p> + +<p>No wounded were found, this time, at Termonde.</p> + +<p>This little <i>contretemps</i> with the Commandant has +made me forget to record a far more notable event. +Mrs. Torrence brought young Lieutenant G—— in +to luncheon. He is the hero of the Belgian Motor +Cyclist Corps. He is said to have accounted for +nine Germans with his own rifle in one morning. +The Corps has already intimated that this is the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +well-defined specimen of a man it has yet seen in +Belgium. His dark-green uniform fits him exceedingly +well. He is tall and handsome. Drenched in +the glamour of the greatest possible danger, he gives +it off like a subtle essence. As he was led in he had +rather the air, the slightly awkward, puzzled and embarrassed +air, of being on show as a fine specimen of +a man. But it very soon wore off. In the absence +of the Commandant he sat in the Commandant's +place, so magnificent a figure that our mess, with +gaps at every table, looked like a banquet given in +his honour, a banquet whose guests had been decimated +by some catastrophe.</p> + +<p>Suddenly—whether it was the presence of the +Lieutenant or the absence of the Commandant, or +merely reaction from the strain of inactivity, I don't +know, but suddenly madness came upon our mess. +The mess-room was no longer a mess-room in a Military +Hospital, but a British school-room. Mrs. Torrence +had changed her woollen cap for a grey felt +wide-awake. She was no longer an Arctic explorer, +but the wild-western cowboy of British melodrama. +She was the first to go mad. One moment she was +seated decorously at the Lieutenant's right hand; the +next she was strolling round the tables with an air +of innocent abstraction, having armed herself in +secret with the little hard round rolls supplied by or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>der +of the Commandant. Each little roll became a +deadly <i>obus</i> in her hand. She turned. Her innocent +abstraction was intense as she poised herself to +aim.</p> + +<p>With a shout of laughter Dr. Bird ducked behind +the cover of his table-napkin.</p> + +<p>I had a sudden memory of Mrs. Torrence in command +of the party at Ostend, a figure of austere +duty, of inexorable propriety, rigid with the discipline +of the —— Hospital, restraining the criminal +levity of the Red Cross volunteer who would look +or dream of looking at Ostend Cathedral. Mrs. +Torrence, like a seven-year-old child meditating mischief, +like a baby panther at play, like a very young +and very engaging demon let loose, is looking at Dr. +Bird. He is not a Cathedral, but he suffered bombardment +all the same. She got his range with a +roll. She landed her shell in the very centre of his +waistcoat.</p> + +<p>Her madness entered into Dr. Bird. He replied +with a spirited fire which fell wide of her and battered +the mess-room door. The orderlies retreated +for shelter into the vestibule beyond. Jean was the +first to penetrate the line of fire. Max followed +him.</p> + +<p>Madness entered into Max. He ceased to be a +hospital orderly. He became Prosper Panne again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +the very young <i>collégien</i>, as he put down his dishes +and glided unobtrusively into the affair.</p> + +<p>And then the young Belgian Lieutenant went mad. +But he gave way by degrees. At first he sat up +straight and stiff with polite astonishment before the +spectacle of a British "rag." He paid the dubious +tribute of a weak giggle to the bombardment of Dr. +Bird. He was convulsed at the first performance of +Prosper Panne. In his final collapse he was rocking +to and fro and crowing with helpless, hysterical +laughter.</p> + +<p>For with the entrance of Prosper Panne the mess-room +became a scene at the <i>Folies Bergères</i>. There +was Mrs. Torrence, <i>première comédienne</i>, in the costume +of a wild-western cowboy; there was the young +Lieutenant himself, looking like a stage-lieutenant in +the dark-green uniform of the Belgian Motor Cyclist +Corps; and there was Prosper Panne. He began by +picking up Mrs. Torrence's brown leather motor +glove with its huge gauntlet, and examining it with +the deliciously foolish bewilderment of the accomplished +clown. After one or two failures, brilliantly +improvised, he fixed it firmly on his head. The huge +gauntlet, with its limp five fingers dangling over his +left ear, became a rakish képi with a five-pointed +flap. Max—I mean Prosper Panne—wore it +with an "<i>air impayable</i>." Out of his round, soft,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +putty-coloured face he made fifteen other faces in +rapid succession, all incomparably absurd. He lit a +cigarette and held it between his lower lip and his +chin. The effect was of a miraculous transformation +of those features, in which his upper lip disappeared +altogether, his lower lip took on its functions, +while his chin ceased to be a chin and became +a lower lip. With this achievement Prosper Panne +had his audience in the hollow of his hands. He +could do what he liked with it. He did. He +caused his motor-glove cap to fall from his head +as if by some mysterious movement of its own. +Then he went round the stalls and gravely and +earnestly removed all our hats. With an air more +and more "<i>impayable</i>" he wore each one of them +in turn—the grey felt wide-awake of the wild-western +cowboy, the knitted Jaeger head-gear of +the little Arctic explorer, the dark-blue military cap +with the red tassel assumed by Dr. Bird, even the +green cap with the winged symbol of the young +Belgian officer. By this time the young Belgian +officer was so entirely the thrall of Prosper Panne +that he didn't turn a hair.</p> + +<p>Flushed with success, Max rose to his top-notch. +Moving slowly towards the open door (centre) +with his back to his audience and his head turned +towards it over his left shoulder, by some extraor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>dinary +dislocation of his hip-joints, he achieved +the immemorial salutation of the <i>Folies Bergères</i>—the +last faint survival of the Old Athenian Comedy.</p> + +<p>Up till now Jean had affected to ignore the performance +of his colleague. But under this supreme +provocation he yielded to the Aristophanic impulse, +and—<i>exit</i> Max in the approved manner of the +<i>Folies Bergères</i>.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>It is all over. The young Belgian officer has +flown away on his motor cycle to pot Germans; +Mrs. Torrence has gone off to the field with the +Colonel on the quest of the greatest possible danger. +The Ambulance has followed them there.</p> + +<p>I am in the mess-room, sitting at the disordered +table and gazing at the ruins of our mess. I hear +again the wild laughter of the mess-mates; it +mingles with the cry of the refugees in the Palais +des Fêtes: "<i>Une petite tranche de pain, s'il vous +plaît, mademoiselle!</i>"</p> + +<p><i>C'est triste, n'est-ce pas?</i></p> + +<p>In the chair by the window Max lies back with +his loose boyish legs extended limply in front of +him; his round, close-cropped head droops to his +shoulder, his round face (the face of a very young +<i>collégien</i>) is white, the features are blurred and +inert. Max is asleep with his dish-cloth in his hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +in the sudden, pathetic sleep of exhaustion. After +his brief, funny madness, he is asleep. Jean comes +and looks at him and shakes his head. You understand +from Jean that Max goes mad like that now +and then on purpose, so that he may forget in what +manner his mother went mad.</p> + +<p>We go quietly so as not to wake him a minute +too soon, lest when he wakes he should remember.</p> + +<p>There is a Taube hovering over Ghent.</p> + +<p>Up there, in the clear blue sky it looks innocent, +like an enormous greyish blond dragon-fly hovering +over a pond. You stare at it, fascinated, as you +stare at a hawk that hangs in mid-air, steadied by +the vibration of its wings, watching its prey.</p> + +<p>You are not in the least disturbed by the watching +Taube. An aeroplane, dropping a few bombs, +is nothing to what goes on down there where the +ambulances are.</p> + +<p>The ambulances have come back. I go out into +the yard to look at them. They are not always nice +to look at; the floors and steps would make you +shudder if you were not past shuddering.</p> + +<p>I have found something to do. Not much, but +still something. I am to look after the linen for +the ambulances, to take away the blood-stained +pillow-slips and blankets, and deliver them at the +laundry and get clean ones from the linen-room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +It's odd, but I'm almost foolishly elated at being +allowed to do this. We are still more or less +weighed down by the sense of our uselessness. +Even the Chaplain, though his services as a stretcher-bearer +have been definitely recognized—even the +Chaplain continues to suffer in this way. He has +just come to me to tell me with pride that he is +making a good job of the stretchers he has got to +mend.</p> + +<p>Then, just as I am beginning to lift up my head, +the blow falls. Not one member of the Field +Ambulance Corps is to be allowed to work at the +Palais des Fêtes, for fear of bringing fever into +the Military Hospital. And here we are, exactly +where we were at the beginning of the week, Mrs. +Lambert, Janet McNeil and I, three women out of +five, with nothing to do and two convalescent orderlies +waiting on us. If I could please myself I +would tuck Max up in bed and wait on <i>him</i>.</p> + +<p>In spite of the ambulance linen, this is the worst +day of all for the wretched Secretary and Reporter. +Five days in Ghent and not a thing done; not a +line written of those brilliant articles (from the +Front) which were to bring in money for the Corps. +To have nothing to do but hang about the Hospital +on the off-chance of the Commandant coming back +unexpectedly and wanting a letter written; to pass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +the man with the bullet wound in his mouth a dozen +times a day (he is getting very slowly better; his +poor face was a little more human this morning); +to see the maimed and crippled men trailing and +hobbling about the hall, and the wounded carried +in on their stretchers—dripping stretchers, agonized +bodies, limbs rolled in bandages, blood oozing +through the bandages, heads bound with bandages, +bandages glued tight to the bone with blood—to +see all this and be utterly powerless to help; to endure, +day after day, the blank, blond horror of the +empty mess-room; to sit before a marble-topped +table with a bad pen, never enough paper and +hardly any ink, and nothing at all to write about, +while all the time the names of places, places you +have not seen and never will see—Termonde, +Alost, Quatrecht and Courtrai—go on sounding +in your brain with a maddening, luring reiteration; +to sit in a hateful inactivity, and a disgusting, an +intolerable safety, and to be haunted by a vision of +two figures, intensely clear on a somewhat vague +background—Mrs. Torrence following her star of +the greatest possible danger, and Ursula Dearmer +wandering in youth and innocence among the shells; +to be obliged to think of Ursula Dearmer's mother +when you would much rather not think of her; to +be profoundly and irrevocably angry with the guile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>less +Commandant, whom at the moment you regard +(it may be perversely) as the prime agent in this +fatuous sacrifice of women's lives; to want to stop +it and to be unable to stop it, and at the same time +to feel a brute because you want to stop it—when +<i>they</i> are enjoying the adventure—I can only say +of the experience that I hope there is no depth of +futility deeper than this to come. You might as +well be taken prisoner by the Germans—better, +since that would, at least, give you something to +write about afterwards.</p> + +<p>What's more, I'm bored.</p> + +<p>When I told the Commandant all this he looked +very straight at me and said, "Then you'd better +come with us to Termonde." So straight he looked +that the suggestion struck me less as a <i>bona fide</i> +offer than an ironic reference to my five weeks' +funk.</p> + +<p>I don't tell him that that is precisely what I want +to do. That his wretched Reporter nourishes an +insane ambition—not to become a Special Correspondent; +not to career under massive headlines +in the columns of the <i>Daily Mail</i>; not to steal a +march on other War Correspondents and secure the +one glorious "scoop" of the campaign. Not any +of these sickly and insignificant things. But—in +defiance of Tom, the chauffeur—to go out with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +Field Ambulance as an <i>ambulancière</i>, and hunt for +wounded men, and in the intervals of hunting to +observe the orbit of a shell and the manner of +shrapnel in descending. To be left behind, every +day, in an empty mess-room, with a bad pen, utterly +deprived of copy or of any substitute for copy, +and to have to construct war articles out of your +inner consciousness, would be purgatory for a journalist. +But to have a mad dream in your soul and +a pair of breeches in your hold-all, and to see no +possibility of "sporting" either, is the very refinement +of hell. And your tortures will be unbearable +if, at the same time, you have to hold your +tongue about them and pretend that you are a genuine +reporter and that all you want is copy and your +utmost aim the business of the "scoop."</p> + +<p>After a week of it you will not be likely to look +with crystal clarity on other people's lapses from +precaution.</p> + +<p>But it would be absurd to tell him this. Ten to +one he wouldn't believe it. He thinks I am funking +all the time.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>I am still very angry with him. He must know +that I am very angry. I think that somewhere inside +him he is rather angry too.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>All the same he has come to me and asked me +to give him my soap. He says Max has taken his.</p> + +<p>I give him my soap, but—</p> + +<p>These oppressions and obsessions, the deadly +anxiety, the futile responsibility and the boredom +are too much for me. I am thinking seriously of +going home.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>In the evening we—the Commandant and Janet +McNeil and I—went down to the Hôtel de la +Poste, to see the War Correspondents and hear the +War news. Mr. G. L. and Mr. M. and Mr. P. +were there. And there among them, to my astonishment, +I found Mr. Davidson, the American sculptor.</p> + +<p>The last time I saw Mr. Davidson it was in Mr. +Joseph Simpson's studio, the one under mine in +Edwardes Square. He was making a bust of +Rabindranath Tagore; and as the great mystic poet +disconcerted him by continually lapsing into meditation +under this process, thereby emptying his beautiful +face of all expression whatever, I had been +called down from my studio to talk to him, so as +to lure him, if possible, from meditation and keep +his features in play. Mr. Davidson made a very +fine bust of Rabindranath Tagore. And here he +is, imperfectly disguised by the shortest of short<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +beards, drawing caricatures of G. L.—G. L. explaining +the plan of campaign to the Belgian General +Staff; G. L. very straight and tall, the Belgian +General Staff looking up to him with innocent, +deferential faces, earnestly anxious to be taught. +I am not more surprised at seeing Mr. Davidson +here than he is at seeing me. In the world that +makes war we have both entirely forgotten the +world where people make busts and pictures and +books. But we accept each other's presence. It is +only a small part of the fantastic dislocation of war.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more different from the Flandria +Palace Hotel, our Military Hospital, than the +Hôtel de la Poste. It is packed with War Correspondents +and Belgian officers. After the surgeons +and the Red Cross nurses and their wounded, +and the mysterious officials hanging about the porch +and the hall, apparently doing nothing, after the +English Ambulance and the melancholy inactivity +of half its Corps, this place seems alive with a rich +and virile life. It is full of live, exultant fighters, +and of men who have their business not with the +wounded and the dying but with live men and live +things, and they have live words to tell about them. +At least so it seems.</p> + +<p>You listen with all your ears, and presently Termonde +and Alost and Quatrecht and Courtrai cease<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +to be mere names for you and become realities. It +is as if you had been taken from your prison and +had been let loose into the world again.</p> + +<p>They are saying that there is no fighting at Saint +Nicolas (the Commandant has been feeling about +again for his visionary base hospital), but that the +French troops are at Courtrai in great force. They +have turned their left [?] wing round to the north-east +and will probably sweep towards Brussels to +cut off the German advance on Antwerp. The +siege of Antwerp will then be raised. And a great +battle will be fought outside Brussels, probably at +Waterloo.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Waterloo!</span></p> + +<p>Mr. L. looks at you as much as to say that is +what he has had up his sleeve all the time. The +word comes from him as casually as if he spoke +of the London and South-Western terminus. But +he is alive to the power of its evocation, to the unsurpassable +thrill. So are you. It starts the current +in that wireless system of vibrations that travel +unperishing, undiminished, from the dead to the +living. There are not many kilometres between +Ghent and Waterloo; you are not only within the +radius of the psychic shock, you are close to the +central batteries, and ninety-nine years are no more +than one pulse of their vibration. Through I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +know how many kilometres and ninety-nine years it +has tracked you down and found you in your one +moment of response.</p> + +<p>It has a sudden steadying effect. Your brain +clears. The things that loomed so large, the "Flandria," +and the English Field Ambulance and its +miseries, and the terrifying recklessness of its Commandant, +are reduced suddenly to invisibility. You +can see nothing but the second Waterloo. You +forget that you have ever been a prisoner in an +Hotel-Hospital. You understand the mystic fascination +of the road under your windows, going +south-east from Ghent to Brussels, somewhere towards +Waterloo. You are reconciled to the incomprehensible +lassitude of events. That is what +we have all been waiting for—the second Waterloo. +And we have only waited five days.</p> + +<p>I am certainly not going back to England.</p> + +<p>The French troops are being massed at Courtrai.</p> + +<p>Suddenly it strikes me that I have done an injustice +to the Commandant. It is all very well to +say that he brought me out here against my will. +But did he? He said it would interest me to see +the siege of Antwerp, and I said it wouldn't. I +said with the most perfect sincerity that I'd die +rather than go anywhere near the siege of Antwerp, +or of any other place. And now the siege-guns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +from Namur are battering the forts of Antwerp, +and down there the armies are gathering towards +the second Waterloo, and the Commandant was +right. I am extremely interested. I would die +rather than go back to England.</p> + +<p>Is it possible that he knew me better than I knew +myself?</p> + +<p>When I think that it is possible I feel a slight +revulsion of justice towards the Commandant. +After all, he brought me here. We may disagree +about the present state of Alost and Termonde, +considered as health-resorts for English girls, but +it is pretty certain that without him we would none +of us have got here. Where, indeed, should we +have been and how should we have got our motor +ambulances, but for his intrepid handling of Providence +and of the Belgian Red Cross and the Belgian +Legation? There is genius in a man who can go +out without one car, or the least little nut or cog +of a <i>châssis</i> to his name, and impose himself upon +a Government as the Commandant of a Motor Field +Ambulance.</p> + +<p>Still, though I am not going back to England as +a protest, I <i>am</i> going to leave the Hospital Hotel +for a little while. That bright idea has come to me +just now while we are waiting for the Commandant +to tear himself from the War Correspondents and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +come away. I shall get a room here in the Hôtel +de la Poste for a week, and, while we wait for +Waterloo, I shall write some articles. The War +Correspondents will tell me what is being done, +and what has been overdone and what remains +to do. I shall at least hear things if I can't see +them. And I shall cut the obsession of responsibility. +It'll be worse than ever if there really is +going to be a second Waterloo.</p> + +<p>Waterloo with Ursula Dearmer and Janet in the +thick of it, and Mrs. Torrence driving the Colonel's +scouting-car!</p> + +<p>There are moments of bitterness and distortion +when I see the Commandant as a curious psychic +monster bringing up his women with him to the +siege-guns because of some uncanny satisfaction +he finds in their presence there. There are moods, +only less perverted, when I see him pursuing his +course because it is his course, through sheer Highland +Celtic obstinacy; lucid flashes when he appears, +blinded by the glamour of his dream, and innocently +regardless of actuality. Is it uncanniness? Is it +obstinacy? Is it dreamy innocence? Or is it some +gorgeous streak of Feminism? Is it the New +Chivalry, that refuses to keep women back, even +from the firing-line? The New Romance, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +gives them their share of divine danger? Or, since +nothing can be more absurd than to suppose that +any person acts at all times and in all circumstances +on one ground, or necessarily on any grounds, is +it a little bit of all these things? I am not sure +that Feminism, or at any rate the New Chivalry, +doesn't presuppose them all.</p> + +<p>The New Chivalry sees the point of its reporter's +retirement to the Hôtel de la Poste, since it has +decided that journalism is my work, and journalism +cannot flourish at the "Flandria." So we interview +the nice fat <i>propriétaire</i>, and the <i>propriétaire's</i> +nice fat wife, and between them they find a room +for me, a back room on the fourth floor, the only +one vacant in the hotel; it looks out on the white-tiled +walls and the windows of the enclosing wings. +The space shut in is deep and narrow as a well. +The view from that room is more like a prison than +any view from the "Flandria," but I take it. I +am not deceived by appearances, and I recognize +that the peace of God is there.</p> + +<p>It is a relief to think that poor Max will have one +less to work for.</p> + +<p>At the "Flandria" we find that the Military +Power has put its foot down. The General—he +cannot have a spark of the New Chivalry in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +brutal breast—has ordered Mrs. Torrence off her +chauffeur's job. You see the grizzled Colonel as +the image of protest and desolation, helpless in the +hands of the implacable Power. You are sorry for +Mrs. Torrence (she has seen practically no service +with the ambulance as yet), but she, at any rate, +has had her fling. No power can take from her +the memory of those two days.</p> + +<p>Still, something is going to be done to-morrow, +and this time, even the miserable Reporter is to have +a look in. The Commandant has another scheme +for a temporary hospital or a dressing-station or +something, and to-morrow he is going with Car +1 to Courtrai to reconnoitre for a position and incidentally +to see the French troops. A God-sent +opportunity for the Reporter; and Janet McNeil +is going, too. We are to get up at six o'clock in +the morning and start before seven.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Friday, October 2nd.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> get up at six.</p> + +<p>We hang about till eight-thirty or nine. A fine +rain begins to fall. An ominous rain. Car 1 and +Car 2 are drawn up at the far end of the Hospital +yard. The rain falls ominously over the yellow-brown, +trodden clay of the yard. There is an om<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>inous +look of preparation about the cars. There is +also an ominous light in the blue eyes of the chauffeur +Tom.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur Tom appears as one inspired by +hatred of the whole human race. You would say +that he was also hostile to the entire female sex. +For Woman in her right place he may, he probably +does, feel tenderness and reverence. Woman in a +field ambulance he despises and abhors. I really +think it was the sight of us that accounted for his +depression at Ostend. I have gathered from Mrs. +Torrence that the chauffeur Tom has none of the +New Chivalry about him. He is the mean and +brutal male, the crass obstructionist who grudges +women their laurels in the equal field.</p> + +<p>I know the dreadful, blasphemous and abominable +things that Tom is probably thinking about me as +I climb on to his car. He is visibly disgusted with +his orders. That he, a Red Cross Field Ambulance +chauffeur, should be told to drive four—or is it +all five?—women to look at the massing of the +French troops at Courtrai! He is not deceived by +the specious pretext of the temporary hospital. +Hospitals be blowed. It's a bloomin' joy-ride, with +about as much Red Cross in it as there is in my +hat. He is glad that it is raining.</p> + +<p>Yes, I know what Tom is thinking. And all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +the time I have a sneaking sympathy with Tom. +I want to go to Courtrai more than I ever wanted +anything in my life, but I see the expedition plainly +from Tom's point of view. A field ambulance is +a field ambulance and not a motor touring car.</p> + +<p>And to-day Tom is justified. We have hardly +got upon his car than we were told to get off it. +We are not going to Courtrai. We are not going +anywhere. From somewhere in those mysterious +regions where it abides, the Military Power has +come down.</p> + +<p>Even as I get off the car and return to the Hospital-prison, +in melancholy retreat over the yellow-brown +clay of the yard, through the rain, I acknowledge +the essential righteousness of the point of view. +And, to the everlasting honour of the Old Chivalry, +it should be stated that the chauffeur Tom repressed +all open and visible expression of his joy.</p> + +<p>The morning passes, as the other mornings +passed, in unspeakable inactivity. Except that I +make up the accounts and hand them over to Mr. +Grierson. It seems incredible, but I have balanced +them to the last franc.</p> + +<p>I pack. Am surprised in packing by Max and +Jean. They both want to know the reason why. +This is the terrible part of the business—leaving +Max and Jean.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>I try to explain. Prosper Panne, who "writes +for the Paris papers," understands me. He can see +that the Hôtel de la Poste may be a better base for +an attack upon the London papers. But Max does +not understand. He perceives that I have a scruple +about occupying my room. And he takes me into +<i>his</i> room to show me how nice it is—every bit as +good as mine. The implication being that if the +Hospital can afford to lodge one of its orderlies so +well, it can perfectly well afford to lodge me. +(This is one of the prettiest things that Max has +done yet! As long as I live I shall see him standing +in his room and showing me how nice it is.)</p> + +<p>Still you can always appeal from Max to Prosper +Panne. He understands these journalistic tempers +and caprices. He knows on how thin a thread an +article can hang. We have a brief discussion on +the comparative difficulties of the <i>roman</i> and the +<i>conte</i>, and he promises me to cherish and protect +the hat I must leave behind me as if it were his +bride.</p> + +<p>But Jean—Jean does not understand at all. He +thinks that I am not satisfied with the service of +our incomparable mess; that I prefer the flesh-pots +of the "Poste" and the manners of its waiters. +He has no other thought but this, and it is abominable; +it is the worst of all. The explanation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +thickens. I struggle gloriously with the French +language; one moment it has me by the throat and +I am strangled; the next I writhe forth triumphant. +Strange gestures are given to me; I plunge into the +darkest pits of memory for the words that have +escaped me; I find them (or others just as good); +it is really quite easy to say that I am coming back +again in a week.</p> + +<p>Interview with Madame F. and M. G., the President.</p> + +<p>Interview with the Commandant. Final assault +on the defences of the New Chivalry (the Commandant's +mind is an impregnable fortress).</p> + +<p>And, by way of afterthought, I inquire whether, +in the event of a sudden scoot before the Germans, +a reporter quartered at the Hôtel de la Poste will +be cut off from the base of communications and +left to his or her ingenuity in flight?</p> + +<p>The Commandant, vague and imperturbable, replies +that in all probability it will be so.</p> + +<p>And I (if possible more imperturbable than he) +observe that the War Correspondents will make +quite a nice flying-party.</p> + +<p>In a little open carriage—the taxis have long +ago all gone to the War—in an absurd little open +carriage, exactly like a Cheltenham "rat," I depart +like a lady of Cheltenham, for the Hôtel de la Poste.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +The appearance and the odour of this little carriage +give you an odd sense of security and peace. The +Germans may be advancing on Ghent at this moment, +but for all the taste of war there is in it, +you might be that lady, going from one hotel to +the other, down the Cheltenham Promenade.</p> + +<p>The further you go from the Military Hospital +and the Railway Station the more it is so. The +War does not seem yet to have shaken the essential +peace of the <i>bourgeois</i> city. The Hôtel de la Poste +is in the old quarter of the town, where the Cathedrals +are. Instead of the long, black railway lines +and the red-brick façade of the Station and Post +Office; instead of the wooded fields beyond and the +white street that leads to the battle-places south +and east; instead of the great Square with its mustering +troops and swarms of refugees, you have +the quiet Place d'Armes, shut in by trees, and all +round it are the hotels and cafés where the officers +and the War Correspondents come and go. +Through all that coming and going you get the +sense of the old foreign town that was dreaming +yesterday. People are sitting outside the restaurants +all round the Place, drinking coffee and liqueurs +as if nothing had happened, as if Antwerp +were far-off in another country, and as if it were +still yesterday. Mosquitoes come up from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +drowsy canal water and swarm into the hotels and +bite you. I found any number of mosquitoes clinging +drowsily to my bedroom walls.</p> + +<p>But there are very few women among those +crowds outside the restaurants. There are not +many women except refugees in the streets, and +fewer still in the shops.</p> + +<p>I have blundered across a little café with an affectionately +smiling and reassuringly fat proprietress, +where they give you <i>brioches</i> and China tea, +which, as it were in sheer affection, they call English. +It is not as happy a find as you might think. +It is not, in the circumstances, happy at all. In fact, +if you have never known what melancholy is and +would like to know it, I can recommend two courses. +Go down the Grand Canal in Venice in the grey +spring of the year, in a gondola, all by yourself. +Or get mixed up with a field ambulance which is +not only doing noble work but running thrilling +risks, in neither of which you have a share, or the +ghost of a chance of a share; cut yourself off from +your comrades, if it is only for a week, and go into +a Belgian café in war-time and try to eat <i>brioches</i>and drink English tea all by yourself. This is +the more successful course. You may see hope +beyond the gondola and the Grand Canal. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +you will see no hope beyond the <i>brioche</i> and the +English tea.</p> + +<p>I walk about again till it is time to go back to +the Hotel. So far, my emancipation has not been +agreeable.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Evening. Hôtel de la Poste.</i>]</p> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">dined</span> in the crowded restaurant, avoiding the +War Correspondents, choosing a table where I +hoped I might be unobserved. Somewhere through +a glass screen I caught a sight of Mr. L.'s head. +I was careful to avoid the glass screen and Mr. L.'s +head. He shall not say, if I can possibly help it, +that I am an infernal nuisance. For I know I +haven't any business to be here, and if Belgium had +a Kitchener I shouldn't be here. However you +look at me, I am here on false pretences. In the +eyes of Mr. L. I would have no more right to be +a War Correspondent (if I were one) than I have +to be on a field ambulance. It is with the game +of war as it was with the game of football I used +to play with my big brothers in the garden. The +women may play it if they're fit enough, up to a +certain point, very much as I played football in the +garden. The big brothers let their little sister kick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +off; they let her run away with the ball; they stood +back and let her make goal after goal; but when it +came to the scrimmage they took hold of her and +gently but firmly moved her to one side. If she persisted +she became an infernal nuisance. And if +those big brothers over there only knew what I +was after they would make arrangements for my +immediate removal from the seat of war.</p> + +<p>The Commandant has turned up with Ursula +Dearmer. He is drawn to these War Correspondents +who appear to know more than he does. On +the other hand, an ambulance that can get into the +firing-line has an irresistible attraction for a War +Correspondent. It may at any moment constitute +his only means of getting there himself.</p> + +<p>One of our cars has been sent out to Antwerp +with dispatches and surgical appliances.</p> + +<p>The sight of the Commandant reminds me that +I have got all the funds of the Ambulance upstairs +in my suit-case in that leather purse-belt—and if +the Ambulance does fly from Ghent without me, +and without that belt, it will find itself in considerable +embarrassment before it has retreated very far.</p> + +<p>It is quite certain that I shall have to take my +chance. I have asked the Commandant again +(either this evening or earlier) so that there may +be no possible doubt about it: "If we do have to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +scoot from Ghent in a hurry I shall have nothing +but my wits to trust to?"</p> + +<p>And he says, "True for you."</p> + +<p>And he looks as if he meant it.<a name="FNanchor_3_4" id="FNanchor_3_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_4" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>These remarkable words have a remarkable effect +on the new War Correspondent. It is as if +the coolness and the courage and the strength of +a hundred War Correspondents and of fifty Red +Cross Ambulances had been suddenly discharged +into my soul. This absurd accession of power and +valour<a name="FNanchor_4_5" id="FNanchor_4_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_5" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> is accompanied by a sudden immense lucidity. +It is as if my soul had never really belonged +to me until now, as if it had been either drugged +or drunk and had never known what it was to be +sober until now. The sensation is distinctly agreeable. +And on the top of it all there is a peace which +I distinctly recognize as the peace of God.</p> + +<p>So, while the Commandant talks to the War +Correspondents as if nothing had happened, I go +upstairs and unlock my suit-case and take from it +the leather purse-belt with the Ambulance funds +in it, and I bring it to the Commandant and lay it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>before him and compel him to put it on. As I +do this I feel considerable compunction, as if I were +launching a three-year-old child in a cockle-shell +on the perilous ocean of finance. I remind him +that fifteen pounds of the money in the belt is his +(he would be as likely as not to forget it). As +for the accounts, they are so clear that a three-year-old +child could understand them. I notice +with a diabolical satisfaction which persists through +the all-pervading peace by no means as incongruously +as you might imagine—I notice particularly +that the Commandant doesn't like this part of it +a bit. There is not anybody in the Corps who +wants to be responsible for its funds or enjoys +wearing that belt. But it is obvious that if the +Ambulance can bear to be separated from its +Treasurer-Secretary-Reporter, in the flight from +Ghent, it cannot possibly bear to be separated from +its funds.</p> + +<p>I am alone with the Commandant while this happens, +standing by one of the writing-tables in the +lounge. Ursula Dearmer (she grows more mature +every day) and the War Correspondents and a few +Generals have melted somewhere into the background. +The long, lithe pigskin belt lies between +us on the table—between my friend and me—like +a pale snake. It exerts some malign and poi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>sonous +influence. It makes me say things, things +that I should not have thought it possible to say. +And it is all about the shells at Alost.</p> + +<p>He is astonished.</p> + +<p>And I do not care.</p> + +<p>I am sustained, exalted by that sense of righteousness +you feel when you are insanely pounding +somebody who thinks that in perfect sanity and +integrity he has pounded you.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Saturday, 3rd.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr.</span> L. asked me to breakfast. He has told me +more about the Corps in five minutes than the +Corps has been able to tell me in as many days. He +has seen it at Alost and Termonde. You gather +that he has seen other heroic enterprises also and +that he would perjure himself if he swore that +they were indispensable. Every Correspondent is +besieged by the leaders of heroic enterprises, and +I imagine that Mr. L. has been "had" before now +by amateurs of the Red Cross, and his heart must +have sunk when he heard of an English Field Ambulance +in Ghent. And he owns to positive terror +when he saw it, with its girls in breeches, its Commandant +in Norfolk jacket, grey knickerbockers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +heather-mixture stockings and deer-stalker; its +Chaplain in khaki, and its Surgeon a mark for bullets +in his Belgian officer's cap. I suggest that this +absence of uniform only proves our passionate eagerness +to be off and get to work. But it is right. +Our ambulance is the real thing, and Mr. L. is going +to be an angel and help it all he can. He will +write about it in the <i>Illustrated London News</i> and +the <i>Westminster</i>. When he hears that I came out +here to write about the War and make a little +money for the Field Ambulance, and that I haven't +seen anything of the War and that my invasion of +his hotel is simply a last despairing effort to at least +hear something, he is more angelic than ever. He +causes a whole cinema of war-scenes to pass before +my eyes. When I ask if there is anything left +for me to "do," he evokes a long procession of articles—pure, +virgin copy on which no journalist +has ever laid his hands—and assures me that it is +mine, that the things that have been done are nothing +to the things that are left to do. I tell him that +I have no business on his pitch, and that I am horribly +afraid of getting in the regular Correspondents' +way and spoiling their game; as I am likely to play +it, there isn't any pitch. Of course, I suppose, there +is the "scoop," but that's another matter. It is +the War Correspondent's crown of cunning and of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +valour, and nobody can take from him that crown. +But in the psychology of the thing, every Correspondent +is his own pitch. He has told me very +nearly all the things I want to know, among them +what the Belgian General said to the Commandant +when he saw Ursula Dearmer at Alost:</p> + +<p>"What the devil is the lady doing there?"</p> + +<p>I gather that Mr. L. shares the General's wonder +and my own anxiety. I am not far wrong in regarding +Alost and Termonde as no fit place for +Ursula Dearmer or any other woman.</p> + +<p>Answered the Commandant's letters for him. +Wrote to Ezra Pound. Wrote out the report for +the last three days' ambulance work and sent it to +the British Red Cross; also a letter to Mr. Rogers +about a light scouting-car. The British Red Cross +has written that it cannot spare any more motor +ambulances, but it may possibly send out a small +car. (The Commandant has cabled to Mr. Gould, +of Gould Bros., Exeter, accepting his offer of his +own car and services.)</p> + +<p>Went down to the "Flandria" for news of the +Ambulance. The car that was sent out yesterday +evening got through all right to Antwerp and returned +safely. It has brought very bad news. Two +of the outer forts are said to have fallen. The +position is critical, and grave anxiety is felt for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +safety of the English in Antwerp. Mrs. St. Clair +Stobart has asked us for one of our ambulances. +But even if we could spare it we cannot give it up +without an order from the military authority at +Ghent. We hear that Dr. ——, one of Mrs. Stobart's +women, is to leave Antwerp and work at our +hospital. She is engaged to be married to Dr. ——, +and the poor boy is somewhat concerned for her +safety. I'm very glad I have left the "Flandria," +for she can have my room.</p> + +<p>I wish they would make Miss —— come away +too.</p> + +<p>Yes: Miss ——, that clever novelist, who passes +for a woman of the world because she uses mundane +appearances to hide herself from the world's +importunity—Miss —— is here. The War caught +her. Some people were surprised. I wasn't.<a name="FNanchor_5_6" id="FNanchor_5_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_6" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>Walked through the town again—old quarter. +Walked and walked and walked, thinking about +Antwerp all the time. Through streets of grey-white +and lavender-tinted houses, with very fragile +balconies. Saw the two Cathedrals<a name="FNanchor_6_7" id="FNanchor_6_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_7" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> and the Town +Hall—refugees swarming round it—and the Rab—I +can't remember its name: see Baedeker—with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +its turrets and its moat. Any amount of time to +see cathedrals in and no Mrs. Torrence to protest. +I wonder how much of all this will be left by +next month, or even by next week? Two of the +Antwerp forts have fallen. They say the occupation +of Ghent will be peaceful; while of Antwerp I +suppose they would say, "<i>C'est triste, n'est-ce pas?</i>" +They say the Germans will just march into Ghent +and march out again, commandeering a few things +here and there. But nobody knows, and by the +stolid faces of these civilians you might imagine that +nobody cares. Certainly none of them think that +the fate of Antwerp can be the fate of Ghent.</p> + +<p>And the faces of the soldiers, of the men who +know? They are the faces of important people, +cheerful people, pleasantly preoccupied with the business +in hand. Only here and there a grave face, a +fixed, drawn face, a face twisted with the irritation +of the strain.</p> + +<p>Why, the very refugees have the look of a rather +tired tourist-party, wandering about, seeing Ghent, +seeing the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Only they aren't looking at the Cathedral. They +are looking straight ahead, across the <i>Place</i>, up the +street; they do not see or hear the trams swinging +down on them, or the tearing, snorting motors; they +stroll abstractedly into the line of the motors and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +stand there; they start and scatter, wild-eyed, with a +sudden recrudescence of the terror that has driven +them here from their villages in the fields.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>It seems incredible that I should be free to walk +about like this. It is as if I had cut the rope that tied +me to a soaring air-balloon and found myself, with +firm feet, safe on the solid earth. Any bit of earth, +even surrounded by Germans, seems safe compared +with the asphyxiation of that ascent. And when the +air-balloon wasn't going up it was as if I had lain +stifling under a soft feather-bed for more than a +year. Now I've waked up suddenly and flung the +feather-bed off with a vigorous kick.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<a name="FNanchor_7_8" id="FNanchor_7_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_8" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><i>Sunday, 4th.</i>]</p> + +<p>(I <span class="smcap">have</span> no clear recollection of Sunday morning, +because in the afternoon we went to Antwerp; and +Antwerp has blotted out everything that went near +before it.)</p> + +<p>The Ambulance has been ordered to take two Bel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>gian +professors (or else they are doctors) into Antwerp. +There isn't any question this time of carrying +wounded. It seems incredible, but I am going +too. I shall see the siege of Antwerp and hear the +guns that were brought up from Namur.</p> + +<p>Somewhere, on the north-west horizon, a vision, +heavenly, but impalpable, aerial, indistinct, of the +Greatest Possible Danger.</p> + +<p>I am glad I am going. But the odd thing is that +there is no excitement about it. It seems an entirely +fit and natural thing that the vision should +materialize, that I should see the shells battering the +forts of Antwerp and hear the big siege-guns from +Namur. For all its incredibility, the adventure lacks +every element of surprise. It is simply what I came +out for. For here in Belgium the really incredible +things are the things that existed and happened +before the War. They existed and happened a hun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>dred +years ago and the memory of them is indistinct; +the feeling of them is gone. You have ceased +to have any personal interest in them; if they happened +at all they happened to somebody else. What +is happening now has been happening always. All +your past is soaking in the vivid dye of these days, +and what you are now you have been always. I +have been a War Correspondent all my life—<i>blasée</i> +with battles. The Commandant orders me into the +front seat beside the chauffeur Tom, so that I may +see things. Even Tom's face cannot shake me in +my conviction that I am merely setting out once more +on my usual, legitimate, daily job.</p> + +<p>It is all so natural that you do not wonder in +the least at this really very singular extension of +your personality. You are not aware of your personality +at all. If you could be you would see it +undergoing shrinkage. It is, anyhow, one of the +things that ceased to matter a hundred years ago. +If you could examine its contents at this moment +you would find nothing there but that shining vision +of danger, the siege of Antwerp, indistinct, impalpable, +aerial.</p> + +<p>Presently the vision itself shrinks and disappears +on the north-west horizon. The car has shot beyond +the streets into the open road, the great paved +highway to Antwerp, and I am absorbed in other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +matters: in Car 1 and in the chauffeur Tom, who is +letting her rip more and more into her top speed +with every mile; in M. C——, the Belgian Red +Cross guide, beside me on my left, and in the Belgian +soldier sitting on the floor at his feet. The +soldier is confiding some fearful secret to M. C—— +about somebody called Achille. M. C—— bends +very low to catch the name, as if he were trying to +intercept and conceal it, and when he <i>has</i> caught it +he assumes an air of superb mystery and gravity +and importance. With one gesture he buries the +name of Achille in his breast under his uniform. +You know that he would die rather than betray the +secret of Achille. You decide that Achille is the +heroic bearer of dispatches, and that we have secret +orders to pick him up somewhere and convey him in +safety to Antwerp. You do not grasp the meaning +of this pantomime until the third sentry has approached +us, and M. C—— has stopped for the third +time to whisper "Ach-ille!" behind the cover of his +hand, and the third sentry is instantly appeased.</p> + +<p>(Concerning sentries, you learn that the Belgian +kind is amiable, but that the French sentry is a terrible +fellow, who will think nothing of shooting you +if your car doesn't stop dead the instant he levels his +rifle.)</p> + +<p>Except for sentries and straggling troops and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +long trains of refugees, the country is as peaceful +between Ghent and Saint Nicolas as it was last week +between Ostend and Ghent. It is the same adorable +Flemish country, the same flat fields, the same paved +causeway and the same tall, slender avenues of trees. +But if anything could make the desolation of Belgium +more desolate it is this intolerable beauty of +slender trees and infinite flat land, the beauty of a +country formed for the very expression of peace. +In the vivid gold and green of its autumn it has +become a stage dressed with ironic splendour for +the spectacle of a people in flight. Half the population +of Antwerp and the country round it is pouring +into Ghent.<a name="FNanchor_8_9" id="FNanchor_8_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_9" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> First the automobiles, Belgian officers +in uniform packed tight between women and +children and their bundles, convoying the train. +Then the carriages secured by the <i>bourgeois</i> (they +are very few); then men and boys on bicycles; then +the carts, and with the coming on of the carts the +spectacle grows incredible, fantastic. You see a +thing advancing like a house on wheels. It is a tall +hay-wagon—the tallest wagon you have ever seen +in your life—piled with household furniture and +mattresses on the top of the furniture, and on top of +the mattresses, on the roof, as it were, a family of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +women and children and young girls. Some of +them seem conscious of the stupendous absurdity of +this appearance; they smile at you or laugh as the +structure goes towering and toppling by.</p> + +<p>Next, low on the ground, enormous and grotesque +bundles, endowed with movement and with legs. +Only when you come up to them do you see that +they are borne on the bowed backs of men and +women and children. The children—when there +are no bundles to be borne these carry a bird in a +cage, or a dog, a dog that sits in their arms like a +baby and is pressed tight to their breasts. Here and +there men and women driving their cattle before +them, driving them gently, without haste, with a +great dignity and patience.</p> + +<p>These, for all the panic and ruin in their bearing, +might be pilgrims or suppliants, or the servants +of some religious rite, bringing the votive offerings +and the sacrificial beasts. The infinite land and the +avenues of slender trees persuade you that it is so.</p> + +<p>And wherever the ambulance cars go they meet +endless processions of refugees; endless, for the +straight, flat Flemish roads are endless, and as far +as your eye can see the stream of people is unbroken; +endless, because the misery of Belgium is endless; +the mind cannot grasp it or take it in. You cannot +meet it with grief, hardly with conscious pity; you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +have no tears for it; it is a sorrow that transcends +everything you have known of sorrow. These people +have been left "only their eyes to weep with." +But they do not weep any more than you do. They +have no tears for themselves or for each other.<a name="FNanchor_9_10" id="FNanchor_9_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_10" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> +This is the terrible thing, this and the manner of +their flight. It is not flight, it is the vast, unhasting +and unending movement of a people crushed down +by grief and weariness, pushed on by its own weight, +by the ceaseless impact of its ruin.</p> + +<p>This stream is the main stream from Antwerp, +swollen by its tributaries. It doesn't seem to matter +where it comes from, its strength and volume always +seem the same. After the siege of Antwerp +it will thicken and flow from some other direction, +that is all. And all the streams seem to flow into +Ghent and to meet in the Palais des Fêtes.<a name="FNanchor_10_11" id="FNanchor_10_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_11" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> + +<p>I forget whether it was near Lokeren or Saint +Nicolas that we saw the first sign of fighting, in +houses levelled to the ground to make way for the +artillery fire; levelled, and raked into neat plots +without the semblance of a site.</p> + +<p>After the refugees, the troops. Village streets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +crowded with military automobiles and trains of +baggage wagons and regiments of infantry. Little +villas with desolate, surprised and innocent faces, +standing back in their gardens; soldiers sitting in +their porches and verandahs, soldiers' faces looking +out of their windows; soldiers are quartered in every +room, and the grass grows high in their gardens. +Soldiers run down the garden paths to look at our +ambulance as it goes by.</p> + +<p>There is excitement in the village streets.</p> + +<p>At Saint Nicolas we overtake Dr. Wilson and +Mr. Davidson walking into Antwerp. They tell us +the news.</p> + +<p>The British troops have come. At last. They +have been through before us on their way to Antwerp. +Dr. Wilson and Mr. Davidson have seen the +British troops. They have talked to them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Davidson cannot conceal his glee at getting +in before the War Correspondents. Pure luck has +given into his hands <i>the</i> great journalistic scoop of +the War in Belgium. And he is not a journalist. +He is a sculptor out for the busts of warriors, and +for actuality in those tragic and splendid figures +that are grouped round memorial columns, for the +living attitude and gesture.</p> + +<p>We take up Mr. Davidson and Dr. Wilson, and +leave one of our professors (if he is a professor)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +at Saint Nicolas, for the poor man has come without +his passport. He will have to hang about at Saint +Nicolas, doing nothing, until such time as it pleases +Heaven to send us back from Antwerp. He resigns +himself, and we abandon him, a piteous figure +wrapped in a brown shawl.</p> + +<p>After Saint Nicolas more troops, a few batteries +of artillery, some infantry, long, long regiments of +Belgian cavalry, coming to the defence of the country +outside Antwerp. Cavalry halting at a fork of +the road by a little fir-wood. A road that is rather +like the road just outside Wareham as you go towards +Poole. More troops. And after the troops +an interminable procession of labourers trudging on +foot. At a distance you take them for refugees, +until you see that they are carrying poles and spades. +Presently the road cuts through the circle of stakes +and barbed wire entanglements set for the German +cavalry. And somewhere on our left (whether +before or after Saint Nicolas I cannot remember), +across a field, the rail embankment ran parallel with +our field, and we saw the long ambulance train, flying +the Red Cross and loaded with wounded, on +its way from Antwerp to Ghent. At this point the +line is exposed conspicuously, and we must have been +well within range of the German fire, for the next<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +ambulance train—but we didn't know about the +next ambulance train till afterwards.</p> + +<p>After the circle of the stakes and wire entanglements +you begin to think of the bombardment. You +strain your ears for the sound of the siege-guns from +Namur. Somewhere ahead of us on the horizon +there is Antwerp. Towers and tall chimneys in a +very grey distance. Every minute you look for the +flight of the shells across the grey and the fall of a +tower or a chimney. But the grey is utterly peaceful +and the towers and the tall chimneys remain. +And at last you turn in a righteous indignation and +say: "Where is the bombardment?"</p> + +<p>The bombardment is at the outer forts.</p> + +<p>And where are the forts, then? (You see no +forts.)</p> + +<p>The outer forts? Oh, the outer forts are thirty +kilometres away.</p> + +<p>No. Not there. To your right.</p> + +<p>And you, who thought you would have died rather +than see the siege of Antwerp, are dumb with disgust. +Your heart swells with a holy and incorruptible +resentment of the sheer levity of the Commandant.</p> + +<p>A pretty thing—to bring a War Correspondent +out to see a bombardment when there isn't any bom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>bardment, +or when all there ever was is a hundred—well +then, <i>thirty</i> kilometres away.<a name="FNanchor_11_12" id="FNanchor_11_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_12" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> + +<p>It was twilight as we came into Antwerp. We +approached it by the west, by the way of the sea, by +the great bridge of boats over the Scheldt. The +sea and the dykes are the defence of Antwerp on +this side. Whole regiments of troops are crossing +the bridge of boats. Our car crawls by inches at +a time. It is jammed tight among some baggage +wagons. It disentangles itself with difficulty from +the baggage wagons, and is wedged tighter still +among the troops. But the troops are moving, +though by inches at a time. We get our front +wheels on to the bridge. Packed in among the +troops, but moving steadily as they move, we cross +the Scheldt. On our right the sharp bows and on +our left the blunt sterns of the boats. Boat after +boat pressed close, gunwale to gunwale, our roadway +goes across their breasts. Their breasts are +taut as the breasts of gymnasts under the tramping +of the regiments. They vibrate like the breasts of +living things as they bear us up.</p> + +<p>No heaving of any beautiful and beloved ship, +no crossing of any sea, no sight of any city that +has the sea at her feet, not New York City nor +Venice, no coming into any foreign land, ever thrilled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +me as that coming into Antwerp with the Belgian +army over that bridge of boats.</p> + +<p>At twilight, from the river, with its lamps lit and +all its waters shining, Antwerp looked beautiful as +Venice and as safe and still. For the dykes are +her defences on this side. But for the trudging +regiments you would not have guessed that on the +land side the outer ramparts were being shelled incessantly.</p> + +<p>It was a struggle up the slope from the river bank +to the quay, a struggle in which we engaged with +commissariat and ammunition wagons and troops +and refugees in carts, all trying to get away from +the city over the bridge of boats. The ascent was +so steep and slippery that you felt as though at any +moment the car might hurl itself down backwards +on the top of the processions struggling behind +it.</p> + +<p>At last we landed. I have no vivid recollection<a name="FNanchor_12_13" id="FNanchor_12_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_13" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> +of our passage through the town. Except that I +know we actually were in Antwerp I could not say +whether I really saw certain winding streets and old +houses with steep gables or whether I dreamed them. +There was one great street of white houses and +gilded signs that stood shimmering somewhere in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +the twilight; but I cannot tell you what street it +was. And there were some modern boulevards, and +the whole place was very silent. It had the silence +and half darkness of dreams, and the beauty and +magic and sinister sadness of dreams. And in that +silence and sadness our car, with its backings and +turnings and its snorts, and our own voices as we +asked our way (for we were more or less lost in +Antwerp) seemed to be making an appalling and inappropriate +and impious noise.</p> + +<p>Antwerp seems to me to have been all hospitals, +though I only saw two, or perhaps three. One was +in an ordinary house in a street, and I think this +must have been the British Field Hospital; for Mrs. +Winterbottom was there. And of all the women +I met thus casually "at the front" she was, by a +long way, the most attractive. We went into one +or two of the wards; in others, where the cases were +very serious, we were only allowed to stand for a +second in the doorway; there were others again +which we could not see at all.</p> + +<p>I think, unless I am rolling two hospitals into +one, that we saw a second—the English Hospital. +It was for the English Hospital that we heard the +Commandant inquire perpetually as we made our +way through the strange streets and the boulevards +beyond them, following at his own furious pace, los<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>ing +him in byways and finding him by some miracle +again. Talk of dreams! Our progress through +Antwerp was like one of those nightmares which +have no form or substance but are made up of +ghastly twilight and hopeless quest and ever-accelerating +speed. It was not till it was all over that we +knew the reason for his excessive haste.</p> + +<p>When we got to Mrs. St. Clair Stobart's Hospital—in +a garden, planted somewhere away beyond +the boulevards in an open place—we had +hardly any time to look at it. All the same, I shall +never forget that Hospital as long as I live. It +had been a concert-hall<a name="FNanchor_13_14" id="FNanchor_13_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_14" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> and was built principally +of glass and iron; at any rate, if it was not really +the greenhouse that it seemed to be there was a great +deal of glass about it, and it had been shelled by +aeroplane the night before. No great damage had +been done, but the sound and the shock had terrified +the wounded in their beds. This hospital, as everybody +knows, is run entirely by women, with women +doctors, women surgeons, women orderlies. Mrs. +St. Clair Stobart and some of her gallant staff came +out to meet us on a big verandah in front of this +fantastic building, she and her orderlies in the uniform +of the British Red Cross, her surgeons in long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +white linen coats over their skirts. Dr. —— whom +we are to take back with us to Ghent, was there.</p> + +<p>We asked for Miss ——, and she came to us +finally in a small room adjoining what must have +been the restaurant of the concert-hall.</p> + +<p>I was shocked at her appearance. She was quieter +than ever and her face was grey and worn with +watching. She looked as if she could not have held +out another night.</p> + +<p>She told us about last night's bombardment. The +effect of it on this absurd greenhouse must have +been terrific. Every day they are expecting the bombardment +of the town.</p> + +<p>No, none of them are leaving except two. Every +woman will stick to her post<a name="FNanchor_14_15" id="FNanchor_14_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_15" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> till the order comes +to evacuate the hospital, and then not one will quit +till the last wounded man is carried to the transport.</p> + +<p>It seems that Miss —— is a hospital orderly, and +that her duty is to stand at the gate of the garden +with a lantern as the ambulances come in and to light +them to the door of the hospital, and then to see +that each man has the number of his cot pinned to the +breast of his sleeping-jacket.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stobart, very properly, will have none but +trained women in her hospital. But even an untrained +woman is equal to holding a lantern and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +pinning on tickets, so I implored Miss —— to let +me take her place while she went back to rest in my +room at Ghent, if it was only for one night. I used +every argument I could think of, and for one second +I thought the best argument had prevailed. But +it was only for a second. Probably not even for a +second. Miss —— may drop to pieces at her post, +but it is there that she will drop.</p> + +<p>Outside on the verandah the Commandant was +fairly ramping to be off. No—I can't see the +Hospital. There isn't any time to see the Hospital. +But Miss —— could not bear me not to see it, and +together we made a surreptitious bolt for it, and I +did see the Hospital.</p> + +<p>It was not like any hospital you had ever seen before. +Except that the wounded were all comfortably +bedded, it was more like the sleeping-hall of +the Palais des Fêtes. The floor of the great concert-hall +was covered with mattresses and beds, +where the wounded lay about in every attitude of +suffering. No doubt everything was in the most +perfect order, and the nurses and doctors knew how +to thread their way through it all, but to the hurried +spectator in the doorway the effect was one of the +most <i>macabre</i> confusion. Only one object stood +out—the large naked back of a Belgian soldier, +who sat on the edge of his bed waiting to be washed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +He must have been really the most cheerful and +(comparatively) uninjured figure in the whole +crowd, but he seemed the most pitiful, because of +the sheer human insistence of his pathetic back.</p> + +<p>Over this back and over all that prostrate agony +the enormous floriated bronze rings that carried the +lights of the concert-hall hung from the ceiling in +frightful, festive decoration.</p> + +<p>Miss —— whispered: "One of them is dying. +We can't save him."</p> + +<p>She seemed to regard this one as a positive slur +on their record. I thought: "Only one—among +all that crowd!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stobart came after us in some alarm as we +ran down the garden.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing with Miss ——? You're +not going to carry her off?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "we're not. She won't come."</p> + +<p>But we have got off with Dr. ——.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stobart has refused the Commandant's offer +of one of our best surgeons in exchange. He is a +man. And this hospital is a Feminist Show.</p> + +<p>We dined in a great hurry in a big restaurant in +one of the main streets. The restaurant was nearly +empty and funereal black cloths were hung over the +windows to obscure the lights.</p> + +<p>Mr. Davidson (this cheerful presence was with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +us in our dream-like career through Antwerp)—Mr. +Davidson and I amused ourselves by planning +how we will behave when we are taken prisoner +by the Germans. He is safe, because he is an American +citizen. The unfortunate thing about me is my +passport, otherwise, by means of a well-simulated +nasal twang I might get through as an American +novelist. I've been mistaken for one often enough +in my own country. But, as I don't mean to be +taken prisoner, and perhaps murdered or have my +hands chopped off, without a struggle, my plan is to +deliver a speech in German, as follows: "<i>Ich bin +eine berühmte Schriftstellerin</i>" (on these occasions +you stick at nothing), "<i>berühmt in England, aber +viel berühmter in den Vereinigten Staaten, und mein +Schicksal will den Presidenten Wilson nicht gleichgültig +sein</i>." I added by way of rhetorical flourish +as the language went to my head: "<i>Er will mein +Tod zu vertheidigen gut wissen</i>;" but I was aware +that this was overdoing it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Davidson thought it would be better on the +whole if he were to pass me off as his wife. Perhaps +it would, but it seems a pity that so much good +German should be wasted.</p> + +<p>We got up from that dinner with even more haste +than we had sat down. All lights in the town were +put out at eight-thirty, and we didn't want to go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +crawling and blundering about in the dark with our +ambulance car. There was a general feeling that +the faster we ran back to Ghent the better.</p> + +<p>We left Mr. Davidson and Dr. Wilson in +Antwerp. They were staying over-night for the +fun of the thing.</p> + +<p>Another awful struggle on the downward slope +from the quay to the bridge of boats. A bad jam +at the turn. A sudden loosening and letting go of +the traffic, and we were over.</p> + +<p>We ran back to Ghent so fast that at Saint Nicolas +(where we stopped to pick up our poor little Belgian +professor) we took the wrong turn at the fork +of the road and dashed with considerable <i>élan</i> over +the Dutch frontier. We only realized it when a +sentry in an unfamiliar uniform raised his rifle and +prepared to fire, not with the cheerful, perfunctory +vigilance of our Belgians, but in a determined, business-like +manner, and the word "Achille," imparted +in a burst of confidence, produced no sympathy +whatever. On the contrary, this absurd sentry +(who had come out of a straw sentry-box that was +like an enormous beehive) went on pointing his rifle +at us with most unnecessary persistence. I was so +interested in seeing what he would do next that I +missed the very pleasing behaviour of the little Belgian +professor, who sat next to me, wrapped in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +brown shawl. He still imagined himself to be on +the road to Ghent, and when he saw that sentry +continuing to prepare to fire in spite of our password, +he concluded that we and the road to Ghent +were in the hands of the Germans. So he instantly +ducked behind me for cover and collapsed on the +floor of the ambulance in his shawl.</p> + +<p>Then somebody said "We're in Holland!" and +there were shouts of laughter from everybody in the +car except the little Belgian. Then shouts of laughter +from the Dutch sentries and Customs officers, +who enjoyed this excellent joke as much as we did.</p> + +<p>We were now out of our course by I don't know +how many miles and short of petrol. But one of +the Customs officers gave us all we wanted.</p> + +<p>It's heart-breaking the way these dear Belgians +take the British. They have waited so long for our +army, believing that it would come, till they could +believe no more. In Ghent, in Antwerp, you +wouldn't know that Belgium had any allies; you +never see the British flag, or the French either, hanging +from the windows. The black, yellow and red +standard flies everywhere alone. Now that we <i>have</i> +come, their belief in us is almost unbearable. They +really think we are going to save Antwerp. Somewhere +between Antwerp and Saint Nicolas the population +of a whole village turned out to meet us with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +cries of "<i>Les Anglais! Les Anglaises!</i>" and +laughed for joy. Terrible for us, who had heard +Belgians say reproachfully: "We thought that the +British would come to our help. But they never +came!" They said it more in sorrow than in anger; +but you couldn't persuade them that the British +fought for Belgium at Mons.</p> + +<p>We got into Ghent about midnight.</p> + +<p>Dr. —— is to stay at the Hôtel de la Poste to-night.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Monday, 5th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> mosquitoes from the canal have come up and +bitten me. I was ill all night with something that +felt like malarial fever, if it isn't influenza. +Couldn't get up—too drowsy.</p> + +<p>Mr. L. came in to see me first thing in the morning. +He also came to hear at first hand the story +of our run into Antwerp. He was extremely kind. +He sat and looked at me sorrowfully, as if he had +been the family doctor, and gave me some of his very +own China tea (in Belgium in war-time this is one +of the most devoted things that man can do for his +brother). He was so gentle and so sympathetic +that my heart went out to him, and I forgot all about +poor Mr. Davidson, and gave up to him the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +splendid "scoop" of the British troops at Saint Nicolas.</p> + +<p>I couldn't tell him much about the run into Antwerp. +No doubt it was a thrilling performance—through +all the languor of malaria it thrills me now +when I think of it—but it wasn't much to offer a +War Correspondent, since it took us nowhere near +the bombardment. It had nothing for the psychologist +or for the amateur of strange sensations, and +nothing for the pure and ardent Spirit of Adventure, +and nothing for that insatiable and implacable Self, +that drives you to the abhorred experiment, determined +to know how you will come out of it. For +there was no more danger in the excursion than in +a run down to Brighton and back; and I know +no more of fear or courage than I did before I +started.</p> + +<p>But now that I realize what the insatiable and implacable +Self is after, how it worked in me against +all decency and all pity, how it actually made me feel +as if I wanted to see Antwerp under siege, and how +the spirit of adventure backed it up, I can forgive +the Commandant. I still think that he sinned when +he took Ursula Dearmer to Termonde and to Alost. +But the temptation that assailed him at Alost and +Termonde was not to be measured by anybody who +was not there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<p>It must have been irresistible.</p> + +<p>Besides, it is not certain that he did take Ursula +Dearmer into danger; it is every bit as likely that +she took him; more likely still that they were both +victims of <i>force majeure</i>, fascinated by the lure of +the greatest possible danger. And, oh, how I did +pitch into him!</p> + +<p>I am ashamed of the things I said in that access +of insulting and indignant virtue.</p> + +<p>Can it be that I was jealous of Ursula Dearmer, +that innocent girl, because she saw a shell burst and +I didn't? I know this is what was the matter with +Mrs. Torrence the other day. She even seemed to +imply that there was some feminine perfidy in Ursula +Dearmer's power of drawing shells to her. +(She, poor dear, can't attract even a bullet within a +mile of her.)<a name="FNanchor_15_16" id="FNanchor_15_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_16" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p> + +<p>Lying there, in that mosquito-haunted room, I +dissolved into a blessed state, a beautiful, drowsy +tenderness to everybody, a drowsy, beautiful forgiveness +of the Commandant. I forgot that he intimated, +sternly, that no ambulance would be at my +disposal in the flight from Ghent—I remember only +that he took me into Antwerp yesterday, and that +he couldn't help it if the outer forts <i>were</i> thirty kilo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>metres +away, and I forgive him, beautifully and +drowsily.</p> + +<p>But when he came running up in great haste to see +me, and rushed down into the kitchens of the Hotel +to order soup for me, and into the chemist's shop in +the Place d'Armes to get my medicine, and ran back +again to give it me, before I knew where I was +(such is the debilitating influence of malaria), instead +of forgiving him, I found myself, in abject +contrition, actually asking him to forgive <i>me</i>.</p> + +<p>It was all wrong, of course; but the mosquitoes +had bitten me rather badly.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence and Janet McNeil have got to work +at last. All afternoon and all night yesterday they +were busy between the Station and the hospitals removing +the wounded from the Antwerp trains.</p> + +<p>And Car 1 had no sooner got into the yard of the +"Flandria" to rest after its trip to Antwerp and +back than it was ordered out again with the Commandant +and Ursula Dearmer and Mrs. Torrence to +meet the last ambulance train. The chauffeur Tom +was nowhere to be seen when the order came. He +was, however, found after much search, in the Park, +in the company of the Cricklewood bus and a whole +regiment of Tommies.</p> + +<p>One of these ambulance trains had been shelled by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +the Germans (they couldn't have been very far from +us in our run from Antwerp—it was their nearness, +in fact, that accounted for our prodigious haste!), +and many of the men came in worse wounded than +they went out.</p> + +<p>We are all tremendously excited over the arrival +of the Tommies and the Cricklewood bus. We can +think of nothing else but the relief of Antwerp.</p> + +<p>Ursula Dearmer came to see me. She understands +that I have forgiven her that shell—and +why. She wore the clothes—the rather heart-rending +school-girl clothes—she wore when she +came to see the Committee. But oh, how the youngest +but one has grown up since then!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence came to see me also, and Janet +McNeil. Mrs. Torrence, though that shell still rankles, +is greatly appeased by the labours of last night. +So is Janet.</p> + +<p>They told rather a nice story.</p> + +<p>A train full of British troops from Ostend came +into the station yesterday at the same time as the +ambulance train from Antwerp. The two were +drawn up one on each side of the same platform. +When the wounded Belgians saw the British they +struggled to their feet. At every window of the ambulance +train bandaged heads were thrust out and +bandaged hands waved. And the Belgians shouted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the British stood dumb, stolid and impassive +before their enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence called out, "Give them a cheer, +boys. They're the bravest little soldiers in the +world."</p> + +<p>Then the Tommies let themselves go, and the Station +roof nearly flew off with the explosion.</p> + +<p>The Corps worked till four in the morning clearing +out those ambulance trains. The wards are +nearly full. And this is only the beginning.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Tuesday, 6th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Malaria</span> gone.</p> + +<p>The Commandant called to give his report of the +ambulance work. He, Mrs. Torrence, Janet McNeil, +Ursula Dearmer and the men were working all +yesterday afternoon and evening till long past dark +at Termonde. It's the finest thing they've done yet. +The men and the women crawled on their hands and +knees in the trenches [? under the river bank] under +fire. Ursula Dearmer (that girl's luck is simply +staggering!)—Ursula Dearmer, wandering adventurously +apart, after dark, on the battle-field, found a +young Belgian officer, badly wounded, lying out +under a tree. She couldn't carry him, but she went +for two stretchers and three men; and they put the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +young officer on one stretcher, and she trotted off +with his sword, his cap and the rest of his accoutrements +on the other. He owes his life to this manifestation +of her luck.</p> + +<p>Dr. Wilson has come back from Antwerp.</p> + +<p>It looks as if Dr. Haynes and Dr. Bird would go. +At any rate, I think they will give up working on +the Field Ambulance. There aren't enough cars for +four surgeons <i>and</i> four field-women, and they have +seen hardly any service. This is rather hard luck +on them, as they gave up their practice to come out +with us. Naturally, they don't want to waste any +more time.</p> + +<p>I managed to get some work done to-day. Wrote +a paragraph about the Ambulance for Mr. L., +who will publish it in the <i>Westminster</i> under his +name, to raise funds for us. He is more than +ever certain that it (the Ambulance) is the real +thing.</p> + +<p>Also wrote an article ("L'Hôpital Militaire, No. +2") for the <i>Daily Chronicle</i>; the first bit of journalism +I've had time or material for.</p> + +<p>Shopped. Very <i>triste</i> affair.</p> + +<p>Went to mass in the Cathedral. Sat far back +among the refugees.</p> + +<p>If you want to know what Religion really is, go +into a Catholic church in a Catholic country under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +invasion. You only feel the tenderness, the naïveté +of Catholicism in peace-time. In war-time you realize +its power.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Evening.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Saw</span> Mr. P., who has been at Termonde. He +spoke with great praise of the gallantry of our +Corps.</p> + +<p>It's odd—either I'm getting used to it, or it's the +effect of that run into Antwerp—but I'm no longer +torn by fear and anxiety for their safety.</p> + +<p>[?] Dined with Mr. L. in a restaurant in the +town. It proved to be more expensive than either +of us cared for. Our fried sole left us hungry and +yet conscience-stricken, as if after an orgy, suffering +in a dreadful communion of guilt.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Wednesday, 7th.</i>]</p> + +<p>7 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> Got up early and went to Mass in the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Prepared report for British Red Cross. Wrote +"Journal of Impressions" from September 25th to +September 26th, 11 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> It's slow work. Haven't +got out of Ostend yet!</p> + +<p>Fighting at Zele.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Afternoon.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Got</span> very near the fighting this time.</p> + +<p>Mr. L. (Heaven bless him!) took me out with +him in the War Correspondents' car to see what the +Ambulance was doing at Zele, and, incidentally, to +look at the bombardment of some evacuated villages +near it (I have no desire to see the bombardment of +any village that has not been evacuated first). Mr. +M. came too, and they brought a Belgian lady with +them, a charming and beautiful lady, whose name I +forget.</p> + +<p>When Mr. L. told me to get up and come with +him to Zele, I did get up with an energy and enthusiasm +that amazed me; I got up like one who has been +summoned at last, after long waiting, to a sure and +certain enterprise. I can trust Mr. L. or any War +Correspondent who means business, as I cannot +(after Antwerp) trust the Commandant. So far, +if the Commandant happens upon a bombardment +it has been either in the way of duty, or by sheer +luck, or both, as at Alost and Termonde, when duty +took him to these places, and any bombardment or +firing was, as it were, thrown in. He did not go out +deliberately to seek it, for its own sake, and find it +infallibly, which is the War Correspondent's way. +So that if Mr. L. says there is going to be a bom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>bardment, +we shall probably get somewhere nearer +to it than thirty kilometres.</p> + +<p>We took the main road to Zele. I don't know +whether it was really a continuation of the south-east +road that runs under the Hospital windows; +anyhow, we left it very soon, striking southwards +to the right to find what Mr. L. believed to be a +short cut. Thus we never got to Zele at all. We +came out on a good straight road that would no +doubt have led us there in time, but that we allowed +ourselves to be lured by the smoke of the great factory +at Schoonard burning away to the south.</p> + +<p>For a long time I could not believe that it was +smoke we saw and not an enormous cloud blown by +the wind across miles of sky. We seemed to run for +miles with that terrible banner streaming on our +right to the south, apparently in the same place, as +far off as ever. East of it, on the sky-line, was a +whole fleet of little clouds that hung low over the +earth; that rose from it; rose and were never lifted, +but as they were shredded away, scattered and vanished, +were perpetually renewed. This movement +of their death and re-birth had a horrible sinister +pulse in it.</p> + +<p>Each cloud of this fleet of clouds was the smoke +from a burning village.</p> + +<p>At last, after an endless flanking pursuit of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +great cloud that continued steadily on our right, piling +itself on itself and mounting incessantly, we +struck into a side lane that seemed to lead straight +to the factory on fire. But in this direct advance the +cloud eluded us at every turn of the lane. Now it +was rising straight in front of us in the south, now +it was streaming away somewhere to the west of our +track. When we went west it went east. When we +went east it went west. And wherever we went +we met refugees from the burning villages. They +were trudging along slowly, very tired, very miserable, +but with no panic and no violent grief. We +passed through villages and hamlets, untouched +still, but waiting quietly, and a little breathlessly, +on the edge of their doom.</p> + +<p>At the end of one lane, where it turned straight +to the east round the square of a field we came upon +a great lake ringed with trees and set in a green +place of the most serene and vivid beauty. It seemed +incredible that the same hour should bring us to this +magic stillness and peace and within sight of the +smoke of war and within sound of the guns.</p> + +<p>At the next turn we heard them.</p> + +<p>We still thought that we could get to Schoonard, +to the burning factory, and work back to Zele by a +slight round. But at this turn we had lost sight of +Schoonard and the great cloud altogether, and found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +ourselves in a little hamlet Heaven knows where. +Only, straight ahead of us, as we looked westwards, +we heard the guns. The sound came from somewhere +over there and from two quarters; German +guns booming away on the south, Belgian [? French] +guns answering from the north.</p> + +<p>Judging by these sounds and those we heard afterwards, +we must have been now on the outer edge +of a line of fire stretching west and east and following +the course of the Scheldt. The Germans were +entrenched behind the river.</p> + +<p>In the little hamlet we asked our way of a peasant. +As far as we could make out from his mixed French +and Flemish, he told us to turn back and take the +road we had left where it goes south to the village +of Baerlaere. This we did. We gathered that we +could get a road through Baerlaere to Schoonard. +Failing Schoonard, our way to Zele lay through +Baerlaere in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>We set off along a very bad road to Baerlaere.</p> + +<p>Coming into Baerlaere, we saw a house with a remarkable +roof, a steep-pitched roof of black and +white tiles arranged in a sort of chequer-board pattern. +I asked Mr. L. if he had ever seen a roof like +that in his life and he replied promptly, "Yes; in +China." And that roof—if it was coming into +Baerlaere that we saw it—is all that I can remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +of Baerlaere. There was, I suppose, the usual +church with its steeple where the streets forked and +the usual town hall near it, with a flight of steps before +the door and a three-cornered classic pediment; +and the usual double line of flat-fronted, grey-shuttered +houses; I do seem to remember these things as +if they had really been there, but you couldn't see +the bottom half of the houses for the troops that +were crowded in front of them, or the top half for +the shells you tried to see and didn't. They were +sweeping high up over the roofs, making for the entrenchments +and the batteries beyond the village.</p> + +<p>We had come bang into the middle of an artillery +duel. It was going on at a range of about a mile +and a half, but all over our heads, so that though we +heard it with great intensity, we saw nothing.</p> + +<p>There were intervals of a few seconds between the +firing. The Belgian [? French] batteries were +pounding away on the left quite near (the booming +seemed to come from behind the houses at +our backs), and the German on the right, farther +away.</p> + +<p>Now, you may have hated and dreaded the sound +of guns all your life, as you hate and dread any immense +and violent noise, but there is something about +the sound of the first near gun of your first battle +that, so far from being hateful or dreadful, or in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +any way abhorrent to you, will make you smile in +spite of yourself with a kind of quiet exultation +mixed very oddly with reminiscence<a name="FNanchor_16_17" id="FNanchor_16_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_17" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> so that, +though your first impression (by no means disagreeable) +is of being "in for it," your next, after the +second and the third gun, is that of having been in +for it many times before. The effect on your nerves +is now like that of being in a very small sailing-boat +in a very big-running sea. You climb wave after +high wave, and are not swallowed up as you expected. +You wait, between guns, for the boom and +the shock of the next, with a passionate anticipation, +as you wait for the next wave. And the sound of +the gun when it comes is like the exhilarating smack +of the wave that you and your boat mean to resist +and do resist when it gets you.</p> + +<p>You do not think, as you used to think when you +sat safe in your little box-like house in St. John's +Wood, how terrible it is that shells should be hurtling +through the air and killing men by whole regiments. +You do not think at all. Nobody anywhere near +you is thinking that sort of thing, or thinking very +much at all.</p> + +<p>At the sound of the first near gun I found myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +looking across the road at a French soldier. We +were smiling at each other.</p> + +<p>When we tried to get to Schoonard from the west +end of the town we were stopped and turned back +by the General in command. Not in the least +abashed by this <i>contretemps</i>, Mr. L., after some parley +with various officers, decided not to go back in +ignominious safety by the way we came, but to push +on from the east end of the village into the open +country through the line of fire that stretched between +us and the road to Zele. On our way, while +we were about it, he said, we might as well stop and +have a look at the Belgian batteries at work—as if +he had said we might as well stop at Olympia and +have a look at the Motor Show on our way to Richmond.</p> + +<p>At this point the unhappy chauffeur, who had not +found himself by any means at home in Baerlaere, +remarked that he had a wife and family dependent +on him.</p> + +<p>Mr. L. replied with dignity that he had a wife and +family too, and that we all had somebody or something; +and that War Correspondents cannot afford +to think of their wives and families at these moments.</p> + +<p>Mr. M.'s face backed up Mr. L. with an expression +of extreme determination.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>The little Belgian lady smiled placidly and imperturbably, +with an air of being ready to go anywhere +where these intrepid Englishmen should see fit to +take her.</p> + +<p>I felt a little sorry for the chauffeur. He had +been out with the War Correspondents several times +already, and I hadn't.</p> + +<p>We left him and his car behind us in the village, +squeezed very tight against a stable wall that stood +between them and the German fire. We four went +on a little way beyond the village and turned into a +bridle path across the open fields. At the bottom +of a field to our left was a small slump of willows; +we had heard the Belgian guns firing from that direction +a few minutes before. We concluded that the +battery was concealed behind the willows. We +strolled on like one half of a picnic party that has +been divided and is looking innocently for the other +half in a likely place.<a name="FNanchor_17_18" id="FNanchor_17_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_18" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> But as we came nearer to +the willows we lost our clue. The battery had evidently +made up its mind not to fire as long as we +were in sight. Like the cloud of smoke from the +Schoonard factory, it eluded us successfully. And +indeed it is hardly the way of batteries to choose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +positions where interested War Correspondents can +come out and find them.<a name="FNanchor_18_19" id="FNanchor_18_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_19" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p> + +<p>So we went back to the village, where we found +the infantry being drawn up in order and doing +something to its rifles. For one thrilling moment +I imagined that the Germans were about to leap out +of their trenches and rush the village, and that the +Belgians [? French] were preparing for a bayonet +charge.</p> + +<p>"In that case," I thought, "we shall be very useful +in picking up the wounded and carrying them +away in that car."</p> + +<p>I never thought of the ugly rush and the horrors +after it. It is extraordinary how your mind can put +away from it any thought that would make life insupportable.</p> + +<p>But no, they were not fixing bayonets. They +were not doing anything to their rifles; they were +only stacking them.</p> + +<p>It was then that you thought of the ugly rush and +were glad that, after all, it wouldn't happen.</p> + +<p>You were glad—and yet in spite of that same +gladness, there was a little sense of disappointment, +unaccountable, unpardonable, and not quite sane.</p> + +<p>One of the men showed us a burst shrapnel shell. +We examined it with great interest as the kind of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +thing that would be most likely to hit us on our way +from Baerlaere to Zele.</p> + +<p>We had been barely half an hour hanging about +Baerlaere, but it seemed as if we had wasted a whole +afternoon there. At last we started. We were told +to drive fast, as the fire might open on us at any minute. +We drove very fast. Our road lay through +open country flat to the river, with no sort of cover +anywhere from the German fire, if it chose to come. +About half a mile ahead of us was a small hamlet +that had been shelled. Mr. L. told us to duck when +we heard the guns. I remember thinking that I particularly +didn't want to be wounded in my right arm, +and that as I sat with my right arm resting on the +ledge of the car it was somewhat exposed to the German +batteries, so I wriggled low down in my seat and +tucked my arm well under cover for quite five minutes. +But you couldn't see anything that way, so I +popped up again and presently forgot all about my +valuable arm in the sheer excitement of the rush +through the danger zone. Our car was low on the +ground; still, it was high enough and big enough to +serve as a mark for the German guns and it fairly +gave them the range of the road.</p> + +<p>But though the guns had been pounding away before +we started, they ceased firing as we went +through.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>That, however, was sheer luck. And presently it +was brought home to me that we were not the only +persons involved in the risk of this joyous adventure. +Just outside the bombarded hamlet ahead of us we +were stopped by some Belgian [? French] soldiers +hidden in the cover of a ditch by the roadside, which +if it was not a trench might very easily have been one. +They were talking in whispers for fear of being overheard +by the Germans, who must have been at least +a mile off, across the fields on the other side of the +river. A mile seemed a pretty safe distance; but +Mr. L. said it wouldn't help us much, considering +that the range of their guns was twenty-four miles. +The soldiers told us we couldn't possibly get through +to Zele. That was true. The road was blocked—by +the ruins of the hamlet—not twenty yards from +where we were pulled up. We got out of the car; +and while Mr. L. and the Belgian lady conversed +with the soldiers, Mr. M. and I walked on to investigate +the road.</p> + +<p>At the abrupt end of a short row of houses it +stopped where it should have turned suddenly, and +became a rubbish-heap lying in a waste place.</p> + +<p>Just at first I thought we must have gone out of +our course somehow and missed the road to Zele. +It was difficult to realize that this rubbish-heap lying +in a waste place ever <i>had</i> been a road. But for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +shell of a house that stood next to it, the last of the +row, and the piles of lath and plaster, and the shattered +glass on the sidewalk and the blown dust everywhere, +it might have passed for the ordinary no-thoroughfare +of an abandoned brick-field.</p> + +<p>Mr. M. made me keep close under the wall of a +barn or something on the other side of the street, +the only thing that stood between us and the German +batteries. Beyond the barn were the green fields bare +to the guns that had shelled this end of the village. +At first we hugged our shelter tight, only looking +out now and then round the corner of the barn into +the open country.</p> + +<p>A flat field, a low line of willows at the bottom, +and somewhere behind the willows the German batteries. +Grey puffs were still curling about the stems +and clinging to the tops of the willows. They might +have been mist from the river or smoke from the +guns we had heard. I hadn't time to watch them, +for suddenly Mr. M. darted from his cover and made +an alarming sally into the open field.</p> + +<p>He said he wanted to find some pieces of nice hot +shell for me.</p> + +<p>So I had to run out after Mr. M. and tell him I +didn't want any pieces of hot shell, and pull him +back into safety.</p> + +<p>All for nothing. Not a gun fired.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>We strolled across what was left of the narrow +street and looked through the window-frames of a +shattered house. It had been a little inn. The roof +and walls of the parlour had been wrecked, so had +most of the furniture. But on a table against the +inner wall a row of clean glasses still stood in their +order as the landlord had left them; and not one of +them was broken.</p> + +<p>I suppose it must have been about time for the +guns to begin firing again, for Mr. L. called to us to +come back and to look sharp too. So we ran for it. +And as we leaped into the car Mr. L. reproved Mr. +M. gravely and virtuously for "taking a lady into +danger."</p> + +<p>The car rushed back into Baerlaere if anything +faster than it had rushed out, Mr. L. sitting bolt upright +with an air of great majesty and integrity. I +remember thinking that it would never, never do to +duck if the shells came, for if we did Mr. L.'s head +would stand out like a noble monument and he would +be hit as infallibly as any cathedral in Belgium.</p> + +<p>It seems that the soldiers were not particularly +pleased at our blundering up against their trench in +our noisy car, which, they said, might draw down +the German fire at any minute on the Belgian lines.</p> + +<p>We got into Ghent after dark by the way we +came.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Evening.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Called</span> at the "Flandria." Ursula Dearmer and +two Belgian nurses have been sent to the convent at +Zele to work there to-night.</p> + +<p>Mr. —— is here. But you wouldn't know him. +I have just been introduced to him without knowing +him. Before the War he was a Quaker,<a name="FNanchor_19_20" id="FNanchor_19_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_20" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> a teetotaller, +and a pacifist at any price. And I suppose +he wore clothes that conformed more or less to his +principles. Now he is wearing the uniform of a +British naval officer. He is drinking long whiskies-and-sodas +in the restaurant, in the society of Major +R. And the Major's khaki doesn't give a point to +the Quaker's uniform. As for the Quaker, they say +he could give points to any able seaman when it +comes to swear words (but this may be sheer affectionate +exaggeration). His face and his high, +hatchet nose, whatever colour they used to be, are +now the colour of copper—not an ordinary, Dutch +kettle and coal-scuttle, pacifist, arts-and-crafts copper, +but a fine old, truculent, damn-disarmament, +Krupp-&-Co., bloody, ammunition copper, and bat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>tered +by the wars of all the world. He is the commander +and the owner of an armoured car, one of +the unit of five volunteer armoured cars. I do not +know whether he was happy or unhappy when there +wasn't a war. No man, and certainly no Quaker, +could possibly be happier than this Quaker is now. +He and the Major have been out potting Germans all +the afternoon. (They have accounted for nine.) +A schoolboy who has hit the mark nine times running +with his first toy rifle is not merrier than, if as merry +as, these more than mature men with their armoured +car. They do not say much, but you gather that it is +more fun being a volunteer than a regular; it is to +enjoy delight with liberty, the maximum of risk with +the minimum of responsibility.</p> + +<p>And their armoured car—if it is the one I saw +standing to-day in the Place d'Armes—it is, as far +as you can make out through its disguises, an ordinary +open touring car, with a wooden hoarding +(mere matchboard) stuck all round it, the whole +painted grey to simulate, armoured painting. +Through four holes, fore and aft and on either side +of her, their machine-guns rake the horizon. The +Major and Mr. —— sit inside, hidden behind the +matchboard plating. They scour the country. +When they see any Germans they fire and bring them +down. It is quite simple. When you inquire how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +they can regard that old wooden rabbit-hutch as an +armoured cover, they reply that their car isn't for +defence, it's for attack. The Germans have only to +see their guns and they're off. And really it looks +like it, since the two are actually here before your +eyes, drinking whiskies-and-sodas, and the rest of +the armoured car corps are alive somewhere in +Ghent.</p> + +<p>Dear Major R. and Mr. —— (whom I never met +before), unless they read this Journal, which isn't +likely, they will never know how my heart warmed +towards them, nor how happy I count myself in being +allowed to see them. They showed me how +good it is to be alive; how excellent, above all things, +to be a man and to be young for ever, and to go out +into the most gigantic war in history, sitting in an +armoured car which is as a rabbit-hutch for safety, +and to have been a pacifist, that is to say a sinner, +like Mr. ——, so that on the top of it you feel the +whole glamour and glory of conversion. Others +may have known the agony and the fear and sordid +filth and horror and the waste, but they know nothing +but the clean and fiery passion and the contagious +ecstasy of war.</p> + +<p>If you were to tell Mr. —— about the mystic fascination +of the south-east road, the road that leads +eventually to Waterloo, he would most certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +understand you, but it is very doubtful whether he +would let you venture very far down it. Whereas +the Commandant, sooner or later, will.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Thursday, 8th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Had</span> breakfast with Mr. L.</p> + +<p>Went down to the "Flandria." They say Zele +has been taken. There has been terrific anxiety +here for Ursula Dearmer and the two Belgian +nurses (Madame F.'s daughter and niece), who +were left there all night in the convent, which may +very well be in the hands of the Germans by now. +An Ambulance car went off very early this morning +to their rescue and has brought them back +safe.</p> + +<p>We are told that the Germans are really advancing +on Ghent. We have orders to prepare to leave +it at a minute's notice. This time it looks as if +there might be something in it.</p> + +<p>I attend to the Commandant's correspondence. +Wired Mr. Hastings. Wired Miss F. definitely accepting +the Field Ambulance Corps and nurses she +has raised in Glasgow. Her idea is that her Ambulance +should be an independent unit attached to +our corps but bearing her name. (Seems rather a +pity to bring the poor lady out just now when things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +are beginning to be risky and our habitations uncertain.)</p> + +<p>The British troops are pouring into Ghent. There +is a whole crowd of them in the <i>Place</i> in front of +the Station. And some British wounded from Antwerp +are in our Hospital.</p> + +<p>Heavy fighting at Lokeren, between Ghent and +Saint Nicolas. Car 1 has been sent there with the +Commandant, Ursula Dearmer, Janet McNeil and +the Chaplain (Mr. Foster has been hurt in lifting a +stretcher; he is out of it, poor man). Mrs. Torrence, +Dr. Wilson and Mr. Riley have been sent to +Nazareth. Mrs. Lambert has gone to Lokeren with +her husband in his car.</p> + +<p>I was sent for this morning by somebody who +desired to see the English Field Ambulance. Drawn +up before the Hospital I found all that was left of +a Hendon bus, in the charge of two British Red +Cross volunteers in khaki and a British tar. The +three were smiling in full enjoyment of the high +comedy of disaster. They said they were looking +for a job, and they wanted to know if our Ambulance +would take them on. They were keen. They +had every qualification under the sun.</p> + +<p>"Only," they said, "there's one thing we bar. +And that's the firing-line. We've been under shell-fire +for fifteen hours—and look at our bus!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>The bus was a thing of heroism and gorgeous +ruin. The nose of its engine looked as if it had +nuzzled its way through a thousand <i>débâcles</i>; its +dark-blue sides were coated with dust and mud to +the colour of an armoured car. The letters +M. E. T. were barely discernible through the grey. +Its windows were shattered to mere jags and spikes +and splinters of glass that adhered marvellously to +their frames.</p> + +<p>I don't know how I managed to convey to the +three volunteers that such a bus would be about as +much use to our Field Ambulance as an old greenhouse +that had come through an earthquake. It +was one of the saddest things I ever had to do.</p> + +<p>Unperturbed, and still credulous of adventure, +they climbed on to their bus, turned her nose round, +and went, smiling, away.</p> + +<p>Who they were, and what corps they belonged to, +and how they acquired that Metropolitan bus I shall +never know, and do not want to know. I would far +rather think of them as the heroes of some fantastic +enterprise, careering in gladness and in mystery +from one besieged city to another.</p> + +<p>Saw Madame F., who looks worried. She suggested +that I should come back to the Hospital. She +says it must be inconvenient for the Commandant +not to have his secretary always at hand. At the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +same time, we are told that the Hospital is filling up +so fast that our rooms will be wanted. And anyhow, +Dr. —— has got mine.</p> + +<p>I have found an absurd little hotel, the Hôtel +Cecil in the <i>Place</i>, opposite the Hospital, where I +can have a room. Then I can be on duty all day.</p> + +<p>Went down to the "Poste." Gave up my room, +packed and took leave of the nice fat <i>propriétaire</i> +and his wife.</p> + +<p>Driving through the town, I meet French troops +pouring through the streets. There was very little +cheering.</p> + +<p>Settled into the Hôtel Cecil; if it could be called +settling when my things have to stay packed, in +case the Germans come before the evening.</p> + +<p>The Hôtel Cecil is a thin slice of a house with +three rooms on each little floor, and a staircase like a +ladder. There is something very sinister about this +smallness and narrowness and steepness. You say +to yourself: Supposing the Germans really do +come into Ghent; there will be some Uhlans among +them; and the Uhlans will certainly come into the +Hôtel Cecil, and they will get very drunk in the +restaurant below; and you might as well be in a trap +as in this den at the top of the slice up all these +abominable little steep stairs. And you are very +glad that your room has a balcony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>But though your room has a balcony it hasn't +got a table, or any space where a table could stand. +There is hardly anything in it but a big double bed +and a tall hat-stand. I have never seen a room +more inappropriate to a secretary and reporter.</p> + +<p>The proprietor and his wife are very amiable. +He is a Red Cross man; and they have taken two +refugee women into their house. They have promised +faithfully that by noon there shall be a table.</p> + +<p>Noon has come; and there is no table.</p> + +<p>The cars have come back from Lokeren and Nazareth, +full of wounded.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lambert and her husband have come back +from Lokeren. They drove right into the German +lines to fetch two wounded. They were promptly +arrested and as promptly released when their passports +had shown them to be good American citizens. +They brought back their two wounded. Altogether, +ten or fifteen wounded have been brought +back from Lokeren this morning.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Afternoon.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Commandant has taken me out with the Ambulance +for the first time. We were to go to +Lokeren.</p> + +<p>On the way we came up with the Lamberts in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +their scouting-car. They asked me to get out of +the Ambulance car and come with them. On the +whole, after this morning, it looked as if the scouting-car +promised better incident. So I threw in +my lot with the Lamberts.</p> + +<p>It was a little disappointing, for no sooner had +the Ambulance car got clean away than the scouting-car +broke down. Also Mr. Lambert stated that it +was not his intention to take Mrs. Lambert into the +German lines again to-day if he could possibly +help it.</p> + +<p>We waited for an exasperating twenty minutes +while the car got righted. From our street, in a +blue transparent sky, so high up that it seemed part +of the transparency, we saw a Taube hanging over +Ghent. People came out of their houses and +watched it with interest and a kind of amiable toleration.</p> + +<p>At last we got off; and the scouting-car made +such good running that we came up with our Ambulance +in a small town half-way between Ghent +and Lokeren. We stopped here to confer with the +Belgian Army Medical officers. They told us it was +impossible to go on to Lokeren. Lokeren was now +in the hands of the Germans. The wounded had +been brought into a small village about two miles +away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>When we got into the village we were told to go +back at once, for the Germans were coming in. The +Commandant answered that we had come to fetch +the wounded and were certainly not going back without +them. It seemed that there were only four +wounded, and they had been taken into houses in +the village.</p> + +<p>We were given five minutes to get them out and +go.</p> + +<p>I suppose we stayed in that village quite three-quarters +of an hour.</p> + +<p>It was one straight street of small houses, and +beyond the last house about a quarter of a mile of +flat road, a quiet, grey road between tall, slender +trees, then the turn. And behind the turn the Germans +were expected to come in from Lokeren every +minute.</p> + +<p>And we had to find the houses and the wounded +men.</p> + +<p>The Commandant went into the first house and +came out again very quickly.</p> + +<p>The man in the room inside was dead.</p> + +<p>We went on up the village.</p> + +<p>Down that quiet road and through the village, +swerving into the rough, sandy track that fringed +the paved street, a battery of Belgian artillery came +clattering in full retreat. The leader turned his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +horse violently into a side alley and plunged down +it. I was close behind the battery when it turned; +I could see the faces of the men. They had not +that terrible look that Mr. Davidson told me he saw +on the faces of Belgians in retreat from [?] Zele. +There was no terror in them, only a sort of sullen +annoyance and disgust.</p> + +<p>I was walking beside the Commandant, and how +I managed to get mixed up with this battery I don't +know. First of all it held me up when it turned, +then when I got through, it still came on and cut +me off from the Commandant. (The rest of the +Corps were with the Ambulance in the middle of the +village.)</p> + +<p>Then, through the plunging train, I caught sight +of the innocent Commandant, all by himself, strolling +serenely towards the open road, where beyond +the bend the Germans were presumably pursuing +the battery. It was terribly alarming to see the +Commandant advancing to meet them, all alone, +without a word of German to protect him.</p> + +<p>There were gaps in the retreat, and I dashed +through one of them (as you dash through the traffic +in the Strand when you're in a hurry) and went +after the Commandant with the brilliant idea of defending +him with a volley of bad German hurled +at the enemy's head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>And the Commandant went on, indifferent both to +his danger and to his salvation, and disappeared +down a little lane and into a house where a wounded +man was. I stood at the end of the lane with the +sublime intention of guarding it.</p> + +<p>The Commandant came out presently. He looked +as if he were steeped in a large, vague leisure, and +he asked me to go and find Mr. Lambert and his +scouting-car. Mr. Lambert had got to go to Lokeren +to fetch some wounded.</p> + +<p>So I ran back down the village and found Mr. +Lambert and his car at the other end of it. He accepted +his destiny with a beautiful transatlantic +calm and dashed off to Lokeren. I do not think +he took his wife with him this time.<a name="FNanchor_20_21" id="FNanchor_20_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_21" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> + +<p>I went back to see if the Germans had got any +nearer to the Commandant. They hadn't. What +with dressings and bandages and looking for +wounded, the Ambulance must have worked for +about half an hour, and not any Germans had turned +the corner yet.</p> + +<p>It was still busy getting its load safely stowed +away. Nothing for the wretched Secretary to do +but to stand there at the far end of the village, looking +up the road to Lokeren. There was a most sin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>gular +fascination about the turn of that road beyond +the trees.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, at what seemed the last minute of +safety, two Belgian stretcher-bearers, without a +stretcher, rushed up to me. They said there was a +man badly wounded in some house somewhere up +the road. I found a stretcher and went off with +them to look for him.</p> + +<p>We went on and on up the road. It couldn't +have been more than a few hundred yards, really, if +as much; but it felt like going on and on; it seemed +impossible to find that house.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>There was something odd about that short stretch +of grey road and the tall trees at the end of it and +the turn. These things appeared in a queer, vivid +stillness, as if they were not there on their own account, +but stood in witness to some superior reality. +Through them you were somehow assured of Reality +with a most singular and overpowering certainty. +You were aware of the possibility of an ensuing +agony and horror as of something unreal and transitory +that would break through the peace of it in a +merely episodical manner. Whatever happened to +come round the turn of the road would simply not +matter.</p> + +<p>And with your own quick movements up the road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +there came that steadily mounting thrill which is +not excitement, or anything in the least like excitement, +because of its extreme quietness. This thrill +is apt to cheat you by stopping short of the ecstasy +it seems to promise. But this time it didn't stop +short; it became more and more steady and more +and more quiet in the swing of its vibration; it became +ecstasy; it became intense happiness.</p> + +<p>It lasted till we reached the little plantation by +the roadside.</p> + +<p>While it lasted you had the sense of touching +Reality at its highest point in a secure and effortless +consummation; so far were you from being strung +up to any pitch.</p> + +<p>Then came the plantation.</p> + +<p>Behind the plantation, on a railway siding, a train +came up from Lokeren with yet another load of +wounded. And in the train there was confusion +and agitation and fear. Belgian Red Cross men +hung out by the doors of the train and clamoured +excitedly for stretchers. There was only one +stretcher, the one we had brought from the village.</p> + +<p>Somebody complained bitterly: "<i>C'est mal arrangé. +Avec les Allemands sur nos dos!</i>"</p> + +<p>Somebody tried to grab our one stretcher. The +two bearers seemed inclined to give it up. Nobody +knew where our badly wounded man was. Nobody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +seemed very eager now to go and look for him. +We three were surrounded and ordered to give up +our stretcher. No use wasting time in hunting for +one man, with the Germans on our backs.</p> + +<p>None of the men we were helping out of the train +were seriously hurt. I had to choose between my +one badly wounded man, whom we hadn't found, +and about a dozen who could stumble somehow into +safety. But my two stretcher-bearers were wavering +badly, and it was all I could do to keep them +firmly to their job.</p> + +<p>Then three women came out of a little house half +hidden by the plantation. They spoke low, for +fear the Germans should overhear them.</p> + +<p>"He is here," they said; "he is here."</p> + +<p>The stretcher-bearers hurried off with their +stretcher. The train unloaded itself somehow.</p> + +<p>The man, horribly hurt, with a wound like a red +pit below his shoulder-blades, was brought out and +laid on the stretcher. He lay there, quietly, on his +side, in a posture of utter resignation to anguish.</p> + +<p>He was a Flamand, clumsily built; he had a +broad, rather ugly face, narrowing suddenly as the +fringe of his whiskers became a little straggling +beard. But to me he was the most beautiful thing +I have ever seen. And I loved him. I do not think +it is possible to love, to adore any creature more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +than I loved and adored that clumsy, ugly Flamand.</p> + +<p>He was my first wounded man.</p> + +<p>For I tried, I still try, to persuade myself that if +I hadn't bullied my two bearers and repulsed the attack +on my stretcher, he would have been left behind +in the little house in the plantation.</p> + +<p>We got him out of the plantation all right and +on to the paved road. Ursula Dearmer at Termonde +with her Belgian officer, and at Zele with all +her wounded, couldn't have been happier than I was +with my one Flamand.</p> + +<p>We got him a few yards down the road all +right.</p> + +<p>Then, to my horror, the bearers dumped him down +on the paving-stones. They said he was much too +heavy. They couldn't possibly carry him any more +unless they rested.</p> + +<p>I didn't think it was exactly the moment for resting, +and I told them so. The Germans hadn't come +round the turn, and probably never would come; +still, you never know; and the general impression +seemed to be that they were about due.</p> + +<p>But the bearers stood stolidly in the middle of the +road and mopped their faces and puffed. The situation +began to feel as absurd and as terrible as a +nightmare.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>So I grabbed one end of the stretcher and said I'd +carry it myself. I said I wasn't very strong, and +perhaps I couldn't carry it, but anyhow I'd try.</p> + +<p>They picked it up at once then, and went off at +a good swinging trot over the paving-stones that +jolted my poor Flamand most horribly. I told +them to go on the smooth track at the side. They +hailed this suggestion as a most brilliant and original +idea.</p> + +<p>As the Flamand was brought into the village, the +Ambulance had got its wounded in, and was ready +to go. But he had to have his wound dressed.</p> + +<p>He lay there on his stretcher in the middle of the +village street, my beloved Flamand, stripped to the +waist, with the great red pit of his wound yawning +in his white flesh. I had to look on while the Commandant +stuffed it with antiseptic gauze.</p> + +<p>I had always supposed that the dressing of a +wound was a cautious and delicate process. But it +isn't. There is a certain casual audacity about it. +The Commandant's hands worked rapidly as he +rammed cyanide gauze into the red pit. It looked +as if he were stuffing an old crate with straw. And +it was all over in a moment. There seemed something +indecent in the haste with which my Flamand +was disposed of.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>When the Commandant observed that my +Flamand's wound looked much worse than it was, +I felt hurt, as if this beloved person had been +slighted; also as if there was some subtle disparagement +to my "find."</p> + +<p>I rather hoped that we were going to wait till the +men I had left behind in the plantation had come +up. But the car was fairly full, and Ursula Dearmer +and Janet and Mrs. Lambert were told off to +take it in to Z——, leave the wounded there and +come back for the rest. I was to walk to Z—— +and wait there for the returning car.</p> + +<p>Nothing would have pleased me better, but the +distance was farther than the Commandant realized, +farther, perhaps, than was desirable in the circumstances, +so I was ordered to get on the car and +come back with it.</p> + +<p>(Tom the chauffeur is perfectly right. There are +too many of us.)</p> + +<p>We got away long before the Germans turned +the corner, if they ever did turn it. In Z——, which +is half-way between Lokeren and Ghent, we came +upon six or seven fine military ambulances, all huddled +together as if they sought safety in companionship +(why none of them had been sent up to our +village I can't imagine). Ursula Dearmer, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +admirable presence of mind, commandeered one of +these and went back with it to the village, so that we +could take our load of wounded into Ghent. We +did this, and went back at once.</p> + +<p>The return journey was a tame affair. Before +we got to Z—— we met the Commandant and the +Chaplain and two refugees, in Mr. Lambert's scouting-car, +towed by a motor-wagon. It had broken +down on the way from Lokeren. We took them on +board and turned back to Ghent.</p> + +<p>The wounded came on in Ursula Dearmer's military +car.</p> + +<p>Twenty-three wounded in all were taken from +Lokeren or near it to-day. Hundreds had to be +left behind in the German lines.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>We have heard that Antwerp is burning; that the +Government is removed to Ostend; that all the English +have left.</p> + +<p>There are a great many British wounded, with +nurses and Army doctors, in Ghent. Three or four +British have been brought into the "Flandria."</p> + +<p>One of them is a young British officer, Mr. ——. +He is said to be mortally wounded.</p> + +<p>Dr. Haynes and Dr. Bird have not gone. They +and Dr. —— have joined the surgical staff of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +Hospital, and are working in the operating theatre +all day. They have got enough to do now in all +conscience.</p> + +<p>All night there has been a sound of the firing of +machine guns [?]. At first it was like the barking, +of all the dogs in Belgium. I thought it <i>was</i> the +dogs of Belgium, till I discovered a deadly rhythm +and precision in the barking.<a name="FNanchor_21_22" id="FNanchor_21_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_22" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Friday, 9th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Hospital is so full that beds have been put +in the entrance hall, along the walls by the big ward +and the secretarial bureau. In the recess by the +ward there are three British soldiers.</p> + +<p>There are some men standing about there whose +heads and faces are covered with a thick white mask +of cotton-wool like a diver's helmet. There are +three small holes in each white mask, for mouth and +eyes. The effect is appalling.</p> + +<p>These are the men whose faces have been burned +by shell-fire at Antwerp.</p> + +<p>The Commandant asked me to come with him +through the wards and find all the British wounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +who are well enough to be sent home. I am to take +their names and dress them and get them ready to +go by the morning train.</p> + +<p>There are none in the upper wards. Mr. —— +cannot be moved. He is very ill. They do not +think he will live.</p> + +<p>There are three downstairs in the hall. One is +well enough to look after himself (I have forgotten +his name). One, Russell, is wounded in the knee. +The third, Cameron, a big Highlander, is wounded +in the head. He wears a high headdress of bandages +wound round and round many times like an +Indian turban, and secured by more bandages round +his jaw and chin. It is glued tight to one side of +his head with clotted blood. Between the bandages +his sharp, Highland face looks piteous.</p> + +<p>I am to dress these two and have them ready by +eleven. Dr. —— of the British Field Hospital, +who is to take them over, comes round to enter their +names on his list.</p> + +<p>They are to be dressed in civilian clothes supplied +by the Hospital.</p> + +<p>It all sounded very simple until you tried to get +the clothes. First you had to see the President, +who referred you to the Matron, who referred you +to the clerk in charge of the clothing department. +An <i>infirmier</i> (one of the mysterious officials who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +hang about the hall wearing peaked caps; the problem +of their existence was now solved for the first +time)—an <i>infirmier</i> was despatched to find the +clerk. The clothing department must have been +hidden in the remotest recesses of the Hospital, for +it was ages before he came back to ask me all over +again what clothes would be wanted. He was a +little fat man with bright, curly hair, very eager, and +very cheerful and very kind. He scuttled off again +like a rabbit, and I had to call him back to measure +Russell. And when he had measured Russell, with +his gay and amiable alacrity, Russell and I had to +wait until he came back with the clothes.</p> + +<p>I had made up my mind very soon that it would +be no use measuring Cameron for any clothes, or +getting him ready for any train. He was moving +his head from side to side and making queer moaning +sounds of agitation and dismay. He had asked +for a cigarette, which somebody had brought him. +It dropped from his fingers. Somebody picked it +up and lit it and stuck it in his mouth; it dropped +again. Then I noticed something odd about his left +arm; he was holding it up with his right hand and +feeling it. It dropped, too, like a dead weight, on +the counterpane. Cameron watched its behaviour +with anguish. He complained that his left arm was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +all numb and too heavy to hold up. Also he said +he was afraid to be moved and taken away.</p> + +<p>It struck me that Cameron's head must be +smashed in on the right side and that some pressure +on his brain was causing paralysis. It was quite +clear that he couldn't be moved. So I sent for one +of the Belgian doctors to come and look at him, and +keep him in the Hospital.</p> + +<p>The Belgian doctor found that Cameron's head +<i>was</i> smashed in on the right side, and that there +was pressure on his brain, causing paralysis in his +left arm.</p> + +<p>He is to be kept in the Hospital and operated on +this morning. They may save him if they can remove +the pressure.</p> + +<p>It seemed ages before the merry little <i>infirmier</i> +came back with Russell's clothes. And when he +did come he brought socks that were too tight, and +went back and brought socks that were too large, +and a shirt that was too tight and trousers that were +too long. Then he went back, eager as ever, and +brought drawers that were too tight, and more trousers +that were too short. He brought boots that +were too large and boots that were too tight; and +he had to be sent back again for slippers. Last of +all he brought a shirt which made Russell smile and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +mutter something about being dressed in all the +colours of the rainbow; and a black cutaway morning +coat, and a variety of hats, all too small for +Russell.</p> + +<p>Then when you had made a selection, you began +to try to get Russell into all these things that were +too tight or too loose for him. The socks were the +worst. The right-hand one had to be put on very +carefully, by quarter inches at a time; the least tug +on the sock would give Russell an excruciating pain +in his wounded knee; and Russell was all for violence +and haste; he was so afraid of being left behind.</p> + +<p>Though he called me "Sister," I felt certain that +Russell must know that I wasn't a trained nurse and +that he was the first wounded man I had ever dressed +in my life. However, I did get him dressed, somehow, +with the help of the little <i>infirmier</i>, and a wonderful +sight he was, in the costume of a Belgian +civilian.</p> + +<p>What tried him most were the hats. He refused +a peaked cap which the <i>infirmier</i> pressed on him, and +compromised finally on a sort of checked cricket cap +that just covered the extreme top of his head. We +got him off in time, after all.</p> + +<p>Then two <i>infirmiers</i> came with a stretcher and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +carried Cameron upstairs to the operating theatre, +and I went up and waited with him in the corridor +till the surgeons were ready for him. He had +grown drowsy and indifferent by now.</p> + +<p>I have missed the Ambulance going out to +Lokeren, and have had to stay behind.</p> + +<p>Two ladies called to see Mr. ——. One of them +was Miss Ashley-Smith, who had him in her ward +at Antwerp. I took them over the Hospital to find +his room, which is on the second story. His name—his +names—in thick Gothic letters, were on a +white card by the door.</p> + +<p>He was asleep and the nurse could not let them +see him.</p> + +<p>Miss Ashley-Smith and her friend are staying in +the Couvent de Saint Pierre, where the British Field +Hospital has taken some of its wounded.</p> + +<p>Towards one o'clock news came of heavy fighting. +The battle is creeping nearer to us; it has +stretched from Zele and Quatrecht to Melle, four +and a half miles from Ghent. They are saying that +the Germans may enter Ghent to-day, in an hour—half +an hour! It will be very awkward for us and +for our wounded if they do, as both our ambulance +cars are out.</p> + +<p>Later news of more fighting at Quatrecht.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Afternoon.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Commandant has come back. They were at +Quatrecht, not Lokeren.</p> + +<p>Mr. —— is awake now. The Commandant has +taken me to see him.</p> + +<p>He is lying in one of the officers' wards, a small +room, with bare walls and a blond light, looking +south. There are two beds in this room, set side +by side. In the one next the door there is a young +French officer. He is very young: a boy with sleek +black hair and smooth rose-leaf skin, shining and +fresh as if he had never been near the smoke and +dirt of battle. He is sitting up reading a French +magazine. He is wounded in the leg. His crutches +are propped up against the wall.</p> + +<p>Stretched on his back in the further bed there is +a very tall young Englishman. The sheet is drawn +very tight over his chest; his face is flushed and he +is breathing rapidly, in short jerks. At first you do +not see that he, too, is not more than a boy, for he +is so big and tall, and a little brown feathery beard +has begun to curl about his jaw and chin.</p> + +<p>When I came to him and the Commandant told +him my name, he opened his eyes wide with a look +of startled recognition. He said he knew me; he +had seen me somewhere in England. He was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +certain about it that he persuaded me that I had +seen him somewhere. But we can neither of us remember +where or when. They say he is not perfectly +conscious all the time.</p> + +<p>We stayed with him for a few minutes till he +went off to sleep again.</p> + +<p>None of the doctors think that he can live. He +was wounded in front with mitrailleuse; eight bullets +in his body. He has been operated on. How +he survived the operation and the journey on the +top of it I can't imagine. And now general peritonitis +has set in. It doesn't look as if he had a +chance.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>We have heard that all the War Correspondents +have been sent out of Ghent.</p> + +<p>Numbers of British troops came in to-day.</p> + +<p>Went up to see Mr. Foster, who is in his room, +ill. It is hard lines that he should have had this +accident when he has been working so splendidly. +And it wasn't his fault, either. One of the Belgian +bearers slipped with his end of a stretcher when they +were carrying a heavy man, and Mr. Foster got hurt +in trying to right the balance and save his wounded +man. He is very much distressed at having to lie +up and be waited on.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>Impossible to write a Journal or any articles while +I am in the Hospital, and there is no table yet in my +room at the Hôtel Cecil.</p> + +<p>The first ambulance car, with the chauffeur Bert +and Mr. Riley, has come back from Melle, where +they left Mrs. Torrence and Janet and Dr. Wilson. +They went back again in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>They are all out now except poor Mr. Foster +and Mrs. Lambert, who is somewhere with her husband.</p> + +<p>I am the only available member of the Corps left +in the Hospital!</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>3.30.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">No</span> Germans have appeared yet.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>I was sitting up in the mess-room, making entries +in the Day-Book, when I was sent for. Somebody +or something had arrived, and was waiting below.</p> + +<p>On the steps of the Hospital I found two brand-new +British chauffeurs in brand-new suits of khaki. +Behind them, drawn up in the entry, were two brand-new +Daimler motor-ambulance cars.</p> + +<p>I thought it was a Field Ambulance that had lost +itself on the way to France. The chauffeurs (they +had beautiful manners, and were very spick and +span, and one pleased me by his remarkable resem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>blance +to the editor of the <i>English Review</i>)—the +chauffeurs wanted to know whether they had come +to the right place. And of course they hardly had, +if all the British Red Cross ambulance cars were going +into France.</p> + +<p>Then they explained.</p> + +<p>They were certainly making for Ghent. The +British Red Cross Society had sent them there. +They were only anxious to know whether they had +come to the right Hospital, the Hospital where the +English Field Ambulance was quartered.</p> + +<p>Yes: that was right. They had been sent for us.</p> + +<p>They had just come up from Ostend, and they +had not been ten minutes in Ghent before orders +came through for an ambulance to be sent at once to +Melle.</p> + +<p>The only available member of the Corps was its +Secretary and Reporter. To that utterly untrained +and supremely inappropriate person Heaven sent +this incredible luck.</p> + +<p>When I think how easily I might have missed it! +If I'd gone for a stroll in the town. If I'd sat five +minutes longer with Mr. Foster. If the landlord +of the Hôtel Cecil had kept his word and given me +a table, when I should, to a dead certainty, have +been writing this wretched Journal at the ineffable +moment when the chauffeurs arrived.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>I am glad to think that I had just enough morality +left to play fair with Mrs. Lambert. I did try to +find her, so that she shouldn't miss it. Somebody +said she was in one of the restaurants on the <i>Place</i> +with her husband. I looked in all the restaurants +and she wasn't in one of them. The finger of +Heaven pointed unmistakably to the Secretary and +Reporter.</p> + +<p>There was a delay of ten minutes, no more, while +I got some cake and sandwiches for the hungry +chauffeurs and took them to the bureau to have their +brassards stamped. And in every minute of the ten +I suffered tortures while we waited. I thought +something <i>must</i> happen to prevent my taking that +ambulance car out. I thought my heart would leave +off beating and I should die before we started (I +believe people feel like this sometimes before their +wedding night). I thought the Commandant would +come back and send out Ursula Dearmer instead. +I thought the Military Power would come down +from its secret hiding-place and stop me. But none +of these things happened. At the last moment, I +thought that M. C——</p> + +<p>M. C—— was the Belgian Red Cross guide who +took us into Antwerp. To M. C—— I said simply +and firmly that I was going. The functions of the +Secretary and Reporter had never been very clearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +defined, and this was certainly not the moment to +define them. M. C——, in his innocence, accepted +me with confidence and a chivalrous gravity that left +nothing to be desired.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur Newlands (the leaner and darker +one) declared himself ready for anything. All he +wanted was to get to work. Poor Ascot, who was +so like my friend the editor, had to be content with +his vigil in the back yard.</p> + +<p>At last we got off. I might have trusted Heaven. +The getting off was a foregone conclusion, for we +went along the south-east road, which had not +worked its mysterious fascination for nothing.</p> + +<p>At a fork where two roads go into Ghent we saw +one of our old ambulance cars dashing into Ghent +down the other road on our left. It was beyond +hail. Heaven <i>meant</i> us to go on uninterrupted and +unchallenged.</p> + +<p>I had not allowed for trouble at the barrier. There +always is a barrier, which may be anything from a +mile to four miles from the field or village where +the wounded are. Yesterday on the way to Lokeren +the barrier was at Z——. To-day it was somewhere +half-way between Ghent and Melle.</p> + +<p>None of us had ever quite got to the bottom of +the trouble at the barrier. We know that the Belgian +authorities wisely refused all responsibility.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +Properly speaking, our ambulances were not supposed +to go nearer than a certain safe distance from +the enemy's firing-line. For two reasons. First, +it stood the chance of being shelled or taken prisoner. +Second, there was a very natural fear that +it might draw down the enemy's fire on the Belgians. +Our huge, lumbering cars, with their brand-new +khaki hoods and flaming red crosses on a white +ground, were an admirable mark for German guns. +But as the Corps in this case went into the firing-line +on foot, I do not think that the risk was to the +Belgians. So, though in theory we stopped outside +the barriers, in practice we invariably got through.</p> + +<p>The new car was stopped at the barrier now by +the usual Belgian Army Medical Officer. We were +not to go on to Melle.</p> + +<p>I said that we had orders to go on to Melle; and +I meant to go on to Melle. The Medical Officer +said again that we were not to go, and I said again +that we were going.</p> + +<p>Then that Belgian Army Medical Officer began +to tell us what I imagine is the usual barrier tale.</p> + +<p>There were any amount of ambulances at Melle.</p> + +<p>There were no wounded at Melle.</p> + +<p>And in any case this ambulance wouldn't be allowed +to go there. And then the usual battle of the +barrier had place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was one against three. For M. C—— went +over to the enemy, and the chauffeur Newlands, +confronted by two official adversaries in uniform, +became deafer and deafer to my voice in his right +ear.</p> + +<p>First, the noble and chivalrous Belgian Red Cross +guide, with an appalling treachery, gave the order +to turn the car round to Ghent. I gave the counter +order. Newlands wavered for one heroic moment; +then he turned the car round.</p> + +<p>I jumped out and went up to the Army Medical +Officer and delivered a frontal attack, discharging +execrable French.</p> + +<p>"No wounded? You tell us that tale every day, +and there are always wounded. Do you want any +more of them to die? I mean to go on and I shall +go on."</p> + +<p>I didn't ask him how he thought he could stop +one whom Heaven had predestined to go on to +Melle.</p> + +<p>M. C—— had got out now to see the fight.</p> + +<p>The Army Medical Officer looked the Secretary +and Reporter up and down, taking in that vision +of inappropriateness and disproportion. There was +a faint, a very faint smile under the ferocity of his +moustache, the first sign of relenting. The Secretary +and Reporter saw the advantage and followed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +as you might follow a bend in the enemy's line of +defence.</p> + +<p>"I <i>want</i> to go on" (placably, almost pathetically). +"<i>Je veux continuer.</i> Do you by any chance imagine +we're <i>afraid</i>?"</p> + +<p>At this, M. C——, the Belgian guide, smiled too, +under a moustache not quite so ferocious as the +Army Medical Officer's. They shrugged their shoulders. +They had done their duty. Anyhow, they +had lost the battle.</p> + +<p>The guide and the reporter jumped back into +the car; I didn't hear anybody give the order, but +the chauffeur Newlands turned her round in no +time, and we dashed past the barrier and into +Melle.</p> + +<p>The village street, that had been raked by mitrailleuses +from the field beyond it, was quiet when we +came in, and almost deserted. Up a side street, +propped against the wall of a stable, four wounded +Frenchmen waited for the ambulance. A fifth, +shot through the back of his head by a dum-dum +bullet, lay in front of them on a stretcher that +dripped blood.</p> + +<p>I found Mr. Grierson in the village, left behind +by the last ambulance. He was immensely astonished +at my arrival with the new car. He had with +him an eager little Englishman, one of the sort that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +tracks an ambulance everywhere on the off-chance +of being useful.</p> + +<p>And the Curé of the village was there. He wore +the Red Cross brassard on the sleeve of his cassock +and he carried the Host in a little bag of purple +silk.</p> + +<p>They told me that the village had been fired on +by shrapnel a few minutes before we came into it. +They said we were only a hundred [?] yards from +the German trenches. We could see the edge of the +field from the village street. The trenches [?] were +at the bottom of it.</p> + +<p>It was Baerlaere all over again. The firing +stopped as soon as I came within range of it, and +didn't begin again until we had got away.</p> + +<p>You couldn't take any interest in the firing or +the German trenches, or the eager little Englishman, +or anything. You couldn't see anything but +those five wounded men, or think of anything but +how to get them into the ambulance as painlessly and +in as short a time as possible.</p> + +<p>The man on the dripping stretcher was mortally +wounded. He was lifted in first, very slowly and +gently.</p> + +<p>The Curé climbed in after him, carrying the Host.</p> + +<p>He kneeled there while the blood from the +wounded head oozed through the bandages and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +through the canvas of the stretcher to the floor and +to the skirts of his cassock.</p> + +<p>We waited.</p> + +<p>There was no ugly haste in the Supreme Act; the +three mortal moments that it lasted (it could not +have lasted more) were charged with immortality, +while the Curé remained kneeling in the pool of +blood.</p> + +<p>I shall never become a Catholic. But if I do, +it will be because of the Curé of Melle, who turned +our new motor ambulance into a sanctuary after +the French soldier had baptized it with his blood. +I have never seen, I never shall see, anything more +beautiful, more gracious than the Soul that appeared +in his lean, dark face and in the straight, slender +body under the black <i>soutane</i>. In his simple, inevitable +gestures you saw adoration of God, contempt +for death, and uttermost compassion.</p> + +<p>It was all over. I received his missal and his bag +of purple silk as he gathered his cassock about him +and came down.</p> + +<p>I asked him if anything could be done. His eyes +smiled as he answered. But his lips quivered as he +took again his missal and his purple bag.</p> + +<p>M. C—— is now glad that we went on to Melle.</p> + +<p>We helped the four other wounded men in. They +sat in a row alongside the stretcher.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>I sat on the edge of the ambulance, at the feet +of the dying man, by the handles of the stretcher.</p> + +<p>At the last minute the Chaplain jumped on to the +step. So did the little eager Englishman. Hanging +on to the hood and swaying with the rush of the +car, he talked continually. He talked from the moment +we left Melle to the moment when we landed +him at his street in Ghent; explaining over and over +again the qualifications that justified him in attaching +himself to ambulances. He had lived fourteen +years in Ghent. He could speak French and Flemish.</p> + +<p>I longed for the eager little Englishman to stop. +I longed for his street to come and swallow him +up. He had lived in Ghent fourteen years. He +could speak Flemish and French. I felt that I +couldn't bear it if he went on a minute longer. I +wanted to think. The dying man lay close behind +me, very straight and stiff; his poor feet stuck out +close under my hand.</p> + +<p>But I couldn't think. The little eager Englishman +went on swaying and talking.</p> + +<p>He had lived fourteen years in Ghent.</p> + +<p>He could speak French and Flemish.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>The dying man was still alive when he was lifted +out of the ambulance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>He died that evening.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>The Commandant is pleased with his new ambulances. +He is not altogether displeased with +me.</p> + +<p>We must have been very quick. For it was the +Commandant's car that we passed at the fork of +the road. And either he arrived a few minutes after +we got back or we arrived just as he had got in. +Anyhow, we met in the porch.</p> + +<p>He and Ursula Dearmer and I went back to Melle +again at once, in the new car. It was nearly dark +when we got there.</p> + +<p>We found Mrs. Torrence and little Janet in the +village. They and Dr. Wilson had been working +all day long picking up wounded off the field outside +it. The German lines are not far off—at the +bottom of the field. I think only a small number +of their guns could rake the main street of the village +where we were. Their shell went over our +heads and over the roofs of the houses towards the +French batteries on this side of the village. There +must have been a rush from the German lines across +this field, and the French batteries have done their +work well, for Mrs. Torrence said the German dead +are lying thick there among the turnips. She and +Janet and Dr. Wilson had been under fire for eight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +hours on end, lifting men and carrying stretchers. +I don't know whether their figures (the two girls +in khaki tunics and breeches) could be seen from +the German lines, but they just trudged on between +the furrows, and over the turnip-tops, serenely regardless +of the enemy, carefully sorting the wounded +from the dead, with the bullets whizzing past their +noses.</p> + +<p>Of bullets Mrs. Torrence said, indeed, that eight +hours of them were rather more than she cared for; +and of carrying stretchers over a turnip-field, that +it was as much as she and Janet could do. But they +came back from it without turning a hair. I have +seen women more dishevelled after tramping a turnip-field +in a day's partridge-shooting.</p> + +<p>They went off somewhere to find Dr. Wilson; +and we—Ursula Dearmer, the Commandant and I—hung +about the village waiting for the wounded +to be brought in. The village was crowded with +French and Belgian troops when we came into it. +Then they gathered together and went on towards +the field, and we followed them up the street. They +called to us to stay under cover, or, if we <i>must</i> walk +up the street, to keep close under the houses, as the +bullets might come flying at us any minute.</p> + +<p>No bullets came, however. It was like Baerlaere—it +was like Lokeren—it was like every place I've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +been in, so far. Nothing came as long as there was +a chance of its getting me.</p> + +<p>After that we drove down to the station. While +we were hanging about there, a shell was hurled +over this side of the village from the German batteries. +It careered over the roofs, with a track that +was luminous in the dusk, like a curved sheet of +lightning. I don't know where it fell and burst.</p> + +<p>We were told to stand out from under the station +building for fear it should be struck.</p> + +<p>When we got back into the village we went into +the inn and waited there in a long, narrow room, +lit by a few small oil-lamps and crammed with soldiers. +They were eating and drinking in vehement +haste. Wherever the light from the lamps fell on +them, you saw faces flushed and scarred under a +blur of smoke and grime. Here and there a bandage +showed up, violently white. On the tables enormous +quantities of bread appeared and disappeared.</p> + +<p>These soldiers, with all their vehemence and violence, +were exceedingly lovable. One man brought +me a chair; another brought bread and offered it. +Charming smiles flashed through the grime.</p> + +<p>At last, when we had found one man with a +wounded hand, we got into the ambulance and went +back to Ghent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Saturday, 10th.</i>]</p> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">have</span> got something to do again—at last!</p> + +<p>I am to help to look after Mr. ——. He has the +pick of the Belgian Red Cross women to nurse him, +and they are angelically kind and very skilful, but +he is not very happy with them. He says: "These +dear people are so good to me, but I can't make out +what they say. I can't tell them what I want." +He is pathetically glad to have any English people +with him. (Even I am a little better than a Belgian +whom he cannot understand.)</p> + +<p>I sat with him all morning. The French boy +has gone and he is alone in his room now. It +seems that the kind Chaplain sat up with him all +last night after his hard day at Melle. (I wish +now I had stood by the Chaplain with his Matins. +He has never tried to have them again—given +us up as an unholy crew, all except Mr. Foster, +whom he clings to.)</p> + +<p>The morning went like half an hour, while it was +going; but when it was over I felt as if I had been +nursing for weeks on end. There were so many +little things to be done, and so much that you +mustn't do, and the anxiety was appalling. I don't +suppose there is a worse case in the Hospital. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +is perhaps a shade better to-day, but none of the +medical staff think that he can live.</p> + +<p>Madame E—— and Dr. Bird have shown me +what to do, and what not to do. I must keep him +all the time in the same position. I must give +him sips of iced broth, and little pieces of ice to +suck every now and then. I must not let him try +to raise himself in bed. I must not try to lift +him myself. If we do lift him we must keep his +body tilted at the same angle. I must not +give him any hot drinks and not too much cold +drink.</p> + +<p>And he is six foot high, so tall that his feet +come through the blankets at the bottom of the +bed; and he keeps sinking down in it all the time +and wanting to raise himself up again. And his +fever makes him restless. And he is always thirsty +and he longs for hot tea more than iced water, and +for more iced water than is good for him. The +iced broth that is his only nourishment he does not +want at all.</p> + +<p>And then he must be kept very quiet. I must +not let him talk more than is necessary to tell me +what he wants, or he will die of exhaustion. And +what he wants is to talk every minute that he is +awake.</p> + +<p>He drops off to sleep, breathing in jerks and with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +a terrible rapidity. And I think it will be all right +as long as he sleeps. But his sleep only lasts for +a few minutes. I hear the rhythm of his breathing +alter; it slackens and goes slow; then it jerks again, +and I know that he is awake.</p> + +<p>And then he begins. He says things that tear +at your heart. He has looks and gestures that +break it—the adorable, wilful smile of a child that +knows that it is being watched when you find his +hand groping too often for the glass of iced water +that stands beside his bed; a still more adorable and +utterly gentle submission when you take the glass +from him; when you tell him not to say anything +more just yet but to go to sleep again. You feel +as if you were guilty of act after act of nameless +and abominable cruelty.</p> + +<p>He sticks to it that he has seen me before, that +he has heard of me, that his people know me. And +he wants to know what I do and where I live and +where it was that he saw me. Once, when I +thought he had gone to sleep, I heard him begin +again: "Where did you say you lived?"</p> + +<p>I tell him. And I tell him to go to sleep again.</p> + +<p>He closes his eyes obediently and opens them the +next instant.</p> + +<p>"I say, may I come and call on you when we +get back to England?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>You can only say: "Yes. Of course," and tell +him to go to sleep.</p> + +<p>His voice is so strong and clear that I could almost +believe that he will get back and that some +day I shall look up and see him standing at my +garden gate.</p> + +<p>Mercifully, when I tell him to go to sleep again, +he does go to sleep. And his voice is a little clearer +and stronger every time he wakes.</p> + +<p>And so the morning goes on. The only thing he +wants you to do for him is to sponge his hands and +face with iced water and to give him little bits of +ice to suck. Over and over again I do these things. +And over and over again he asks me, "Do you +mind?"</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>He wears a little grey woollen cord round his +neck. Something has gone from it. Whatever he +has lost, they have left him his little woollen cord, +as if some immense importance attached to it.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>He has fallen into a long doze. And at the end +of the morning I left him sleeping.</p> + +<p>Some of the Corps have brought in trophies from +the battle-field—a fine grey cloak with a scarlet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +collar, a spiked helmet, a cuff with three buttons +cut from the coat of a dead German.</p> + +<p>These things make me sick. I see the body under +the cloak, the head under the helmet, and the dead +hand under the cuff.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Afternoon.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Saw</span> Mr. Foster. He is to be sent back to England +for an operation. Dr. Wilson is to take him. +He asked me if I thought the Commandant would +take him back again when he is better.</p> + +<p>Saw the President about Mr. Foster. He will +not hear of his going back to England. He wants +him to stay in the Hospital and be operated on here. +He promises the utmost care and attention. He is +most distressed to think that he should go.</p> + +<p>It doesn't occur to him in his kindness that it +would be much more distressing if the Germans +came into Ghent and interrupted the operation.</p> + +<p>Cabled Miss F. about her Glasgow ambulance, +asking her to pay her staff if her funds ran to it. +Cabled British Red Cross to send Mr. Gould and +his scouting-car here instead of to France. Cabled +Mr. Gould to get the British Red Cross to send +him here.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lambert has been ill with malaria. He has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +gone back to England to get well again and to repair +the car that broke down at Lokeren.<a name="FNanchor_22_23" id="FNanchor_22_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_23" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> + +<p>Somebody else is to look after Mr. —— this afternoon.</p> + +<p>I have been given leave rather reluctantly to sit +up with him at night.</p> + +<p>The Commandant is going to take me in Tom's +Daimler (Car 1) to the British lines to look for a +base for that temporary hospital which is still running +in his head like a splendid dream. I do not +see how, with the Germans at Melle, only four and +a half miles off, any sort of hospital is to be established +on this side of Ghent.</p> + +<p>Tom, the chauffeur, does not look with favour +on the expedition. I have had to point out to him +that a Field Ambulance is <i>not</i>, as he would say, +the House of Commons, and that there is a certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +propriety binding even on a chauffeur and a limit +to the freedom of the speech you may apply to your +Commandant. This afternoon Tom has exceeded +all the limits. The worst of Tom is that while his +tongue rages on the confines of revolt, he himself +is punctilious to excess on the point of orders. +Either he has orders or he hasn't them. If he has +them he obeys them with a punctuality that puts +everybody else in the wrong. If he hasn't them, +an earthquake wouldn't make him move. Such is +his devotion to orders that he will insist on any +one order holding good for an unlimited time after +it has been given.</p> + +<p>So now, in defence of his manners, he urges +that what with orders and counter-orders, the provocation +is more than flesh and blood can stand. Tom +himself is protest clothed in flesh and blood.</p> + +<p>To-day at two o'clock Tom's orders are that his +car is to be ready at two-thirty. My orders are to +be ready in twenty minutes. I <i>am</i> ready in twenty +minutes. The Commandant thinks that he has +transacted all his business and is ready in twenty +minutes too. Tom and his car are nowhere to be +seen. I go to look for Tom. Tom is reported as +being last seen riding on a motor-lorry towards the +British lines in the company of a detachment of +British infantry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>The chauffeur Tom is considered to have disgraced +himself everlastingly.</p> + +<p>Punctually at two-thirty he appears with his car +at the door of the "Flandria."</p> + +<p>The Commandant is nowhere to be seen. He +has gone to look for Tom.</p> + +<p>I reprove Tom for the sin of unpunctuality, and +he has me.</p> + +<p>His orders were to be ready at two-thirty and +he is ready at two-thirty. And it is nobody's business +what he did with himself ten minutes before. +He wants to know where the Commandant is.</p> + +<p>I go to look for the Commandant.</p> + +<p>The Commandant is reported to have been last +seen going through the Hospital on his way to the +garage. I go round to the garage through the Hospital; +and the Commandant goes out of the garage +by the street. He was last seen <i>in</i> the garage.</p> + +<p>He appears suddenly from some quarter where +you wouldn't expect him in the least. He reproves +Tom.</p> + +<p>Tom with considerable violence declares his +righteousness. He has gathered to himself a friend, +a Belgian Red Cross man, whose language he does +not understand. But they exchange winks that surpass +all language.</p> + +<p>Then the Commandant remembers that he has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +several cables to send off. He is seen disappearing +in the direction of the Post and Telegraph +Office.</p> + +<p>Tom swallows words that would be curses if I +were not there.</p> + +<p>I keep my eyes fixed on the doors of the Post +Office. Ages pass.</p> + +<p>I go to the Post Office to look for the Commandant. +He is not in the Telegraph Office. He is not +in the Post Office. Tom keeps his eyes on the doors +of both.</p> + +<p>More ages pass. Finally, the Commandant appears +from inside the Hospital, which he has not +been seen to enter.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur Tom dismounts and draws from +his car's mysterious being sounds that express the +savage fury of his resentment.</p> + +<p>You would think we were off now. But we only +get as far as a street somewhere near the Hôtel de +la Poste. Here we wait for apparently no reason +in such tension that you can hear the ages pass.</p> + +<p>The Commandant disappears.</p> + +<p>Tom says something about there being no room +for the wounded at this rate.</p> + +<p>It seems his orders are to go first to the British +lines at a place whose name I forget, and then on +to Melle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>I remember Tom's views on the subject of field-women. +And suddenly I seem to understand them. +Tom is very like Lord Kitchener. He knows nothing +about the aims and wants of modern womanhood +and he cares less. The modern woman does +not ask to be protected, does not want to be protected, +and Tom, like Lord Kitchener, will go on +protecting. You cannot elevate men like Lord +Kitchener and Tom above the primitive plane of +chivalry. Tom in the danger zone with a woman +by his side feels about as peaceful and comfortable +as a woman in the danger zone with a two-year-old +baby in her lap. A bomb in his bedroom is one +thing and a band of drunken Uhlans making for his +women is another. Tom's nerves are racked with +problems: How the dickens is he to steer his car +and protect his women at the same time? And if +it comes to a toss-up between his women and his +wounded? You've got to stow the silly things +somewhere, and every one of them takes up the +place of a wounded man.</p> + +<p>I get out of the car and tell the Commandant +that I would rather not go than take up the place +of a wounded man.</p> + +<p>He orders me back to the car again. Tom seems +inclined to regard me as a woman who has done her +best.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>We go on a little way and stop again. And there +springs out of the pavement a curious figure that +I have seen somewhere before in Ghent, I cannot +remember when or where. The figure wears a +check suit of extreme horsyness and carries a kodak +in its hand. It is excited.</p> + +<p>There is something about it that reminds me now +of the eager little Englishman at Melle. These +figures spring up everywhere in the track of a field +ambulance.</p> + +<p>When Tom sees it he groans in despair.</p> + +<p>The Commandant gets out and appears to be +offering it the hospitality of the car. I am introduced.</p> + +<p>To my horror the figure skips round in front of +the car, levels its kodak at my head and implores me +to sit still.</p> + +<p>I am very rude. I tell it sternly to take that +beastly thing away and go away itself.</p> + +<p>It goes, rather startled.</p> + +<p>And we get off, somehow, without it, and arrive +at the end of the street.</p> + +<p>Here Tom has orders to stop at the first hat-shop +he comes to.</p> + +<p>The Commandant has lost his hat at Melle (he +has been wearing little Janet's Arctic cap, to the delight +of everybody). He has just remembered that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +he wants a hat and he thinks that he will get it +now.</p> + +<p>At this point I break down. I hear myself say +"Damn" five times, softly but distinctly. (This +after reproving Tom for unfettered speech and potential +insubordination.)</p> + +<p>Tom stops at a hat-shop. The Commandant to +his doom enters, and presently returns wearing a +soft felt hat of a vivid green. He asks me what +I think of it.</p> + +<p>I tell him all I think of it, and he says that if I +feel like that about it he'll go in again and get another +one.</p> + +<p>I forget what I said then except that I wanted to +get on to Melle. That Melle was the place of all +places where I most wished to be.</p> + +<p>Then, lest he might feel unhappy in his green +hat, I said that if he would leave it out all night in +the rain and then sit on it no doubt time and +weather and God would do something for it.</p> + +<p>This time we were off, and when I realized it I +said "Hurray!"<a name="FNanchor_23_24" id="FNanchor_23_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_24" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p> + +<p>Tom had not said anything for some considerable +time.</p> + +<p>We found the British lines in a little village just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +outside of Ghent. No place there for a base hospital.</p> + +<p>We hung about here for twenty minutes, and the +women and children came out to stare at us with +innocent, pathetic faces.</p> + +<p>Somebody had stowed away one of the trophies—the +spiked German helmet—in the ambulance +car, and the chauffeur Tom stuck it on a stick and +held it up before the British lines. It was greeted +with cheers and a great shout of laughter from the +troops; and the villagers came running out of their +houses to look; they uttered little sharp and guttural +cries of satisfaction. The whole thing was a bit +savage and barbaric and horribly impressive.</p> + +<p>Finally we left the British lines and set out towards +Melle by a cross-road.</p> + +<p>We got through all right. A thousand accidents +may delay his going, but once off, no barriers exist +for the Commandant. Seated in the front of the +car, utterly unperturbed by the chauffeur Tom's +sarcastic comments on men, things and women, +wrapped (apparently) in a beautiful dream, he +looks straight ahead with eyes whose vagueness +veils a deadly simplicity of purpose. I marvel at +the transfiguration of the Commandant. Before +the War he was a fairly complex personality. Now +he has ceased to exist as a separate individual. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +is merged, vaguely and vastly, in his adventure. +He is the Motor Ambulance Field Corps; he is the +ambulance car; he is the electric spark and the continuous +explosion that drives the thing along. It is +useless to talk to him about anything that happened +before the War or about anything that exists outside +it. He would not admit that anything did exist +outside it. He is capable of forgetting the day +of the week and the precise number of female units +in his company and the amount standing to his credit +at his banker's, but, once off, he is cock-sure of the +shortest cut to the firing-line within a radius of +fifty kilometres.</p> + +<p>Some of us who have never seen a human phenomenon +of this sort are ready to deny him an +identity. They complain of his inveterate and deplorable +lack of any sense of detail. This is absurd. +You might as well insist on a faithful representation +of the household furniture of the burgomaster +of Zoetenaeg, which is the smallest village in +Belgium, in drawing the map of Europe to scale. +At the critical moment this more than continental +vastness gathers to a wedge-like determination that +goes home. He means to get through.</p> + +<p>We ran into Melle about an hour before sunset.</p> + +<p>There had been a great slaughter of Germans on +the field outside the village where the Germans were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +still firing when the Corps left it. We found two +of our cars drawn up by the side of the village street, +close under the houses. The Chaplain, Ursula +Dearmer and Mrs. Lambert were waiting in one of +them, the new Daimler, with the chauffeur Newlands. +Dr. Wilson was in Bert's car with three +wounded Germans. He was sitting in front with +one of them beside him. They say that the enemy's +wounded sometimes fire on our surgeons and Red +Cross men, and Dr. Wilson had a revolver about +him when he went on the battle-field yesterday. +He said he wasn't taking any risks. The man he +had got beside him to-day was only wounded in the +foot, and had his hands entirely free to do what he +liked with. He looked rather a low type, and at +the first sight of him I thought I shouldn't have +cared to be alone with him anywhere on a dark +night.</p> + +<p>And then I saw the look on his face. He was +purely pathetic. He didn't look at you. He +stared in front of him down the road towards +Ghent, in a dull, helpless misery. These unhappy +German Tommies are afraid of us. They are told +that we shall treat them badly, and some of them +believe it. I wanted Dr. Wilson to let me get up +and go with the poor fellow, but he wouldn't. He +was sorry for him and very gentle. He is always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +sorry for people and very gentle. So I knew that +the German would be all right with him. But I +should have liked to have gone.</p> + +<p>We found Mrs. Torrence and Janet with M. —— +on the other side of the street, left behind by Dr. +Wilson. They have been working all day yesterday +and half the night and all this morning and +afternoon on that hideous turnip-field. They have +seen things and combinations of things that no forewarning +imagination could have devised. Last +night the car was fired on where it stood waiting for +them in the village, and they had to race back to it +under a shower of bullets.</p> + +<p>They were as fresh as paint and very cheerful. +Mrs. Torrence was wearing a large silver order on +a broad blue ribbon pinned to her khaki overcoat. +It was given to her to-day as the reward of valour +by the Belgian General in command here. Somebody +took it from the breast of a Prussian officer. +She had covered it up with her khaki scarf so that +she might not seem to swank.</p> + +<p>Little Janet was with her. She always is with +her. She looked younger than ever, more impassive +than ever, more adorable than ever. I have +got used to Mrs. Torrence and to Ursula Dearmer; +but I cannot get used to Janet. It always seems +appalling to me that she should be here, strolling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +about the seat of War with her hands in her pockets, +as if a battle were a cricket-match at which you +looked on between your innings. And yet there +isn't a man in the Corps who does his work better, +and with more courage and endurance, than this +eighteen-year-old child.</p> + +<p>They told us that there were no French or Belgian +wounded left, but that two wounded Germans +were still lying over there among the turnips. They +were waiting for our car to come out and take these +men up. The car was now drawn up close under +some building that looked like a town hall, on the +other side of the street. We were in the middle +of the village. The village itself was the extreme +fringe of the danger zone. Where the houses +ended, a stretch of white road ran up for about [?] +a hundred yards to the turnip-field. Standing in +the village street, we could see the turnip-field, but +not all of it. The road goes straight up to the edge +of it and turns there with a sweep to the left and +runs alongside for about a mile and a half.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the turnip-field were the +German lines. The first that had raked the village +street also raked the fields and the mile and a half of +road alongside.</p> + +<p>It was along that road that the car would have +to go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>M. —— told our Ambulance that it might as well +go back. There were no more wounded. Only +two Germans lying in a turnip-field. The three of +us—Mrs. Torrence and Janet and I—tried to +bring pressure to bear on M. ——. We meant to +go and get those Germans.</p> + +<p>But M. —— was impervious to pressure. He +refused either to go with the car himself or to let +us go. He said we were too late and it was too +far and there wouldn't be light enough. He said +that for two Belgians, or two French, or two +British, it would be worth while taking risks. But +for two Germans under German fire it wasn't good +enough.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Torrence and Janet and I didn't agree +with him. Wounded were wounded. We said we +were going if he wasn't.</p> + +<p>Then the chauffeur Tom joined in. He refused +to offer his car as a target for the enemy.<a name="FNanchor_24_25" id="FNanchor_24_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_25" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> Our +firm Belgian was equally determined. The Commandant, +as if roused from his beautiful dream to +a sudden realization of the horrors of war, absolutely +forbade the expedition.</p> + +<p>It took place all the same.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> +<p>Tom's car, planted there on our side of the street, +hugging the wall, with its hood over its eyes, preserved +its attitude of obstinate immobility. Newlands' +car, hugging the wall on the other side of +the street, stood discreetly apart from the discussion. +But a Belgian military ambulance car ran +up, smaller and more alert than ours. And a Belgian +Army Medical Officer strolled up to see what +was happening.</p> + +<p>We three advanced on that Army Medical Officer, +Mrs. Torrence and Janet on his left and I on his +right.</p> + +<p>I shall always be grateful to that righteous man. +He gave Mrs. Torrence and Janet leave to go, and +he gave me leave to go with them; he gave us the +military ambulance to go in and a Belgian soldier +with a rifle to protect us. And he didn't waste a +second over it. He just looked at us, and smiled, +and let us go.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence got on to the ambulance beside +the driver, Janet jumped on to one step and I on to +the other, while the Commandant came up, trying to +look stern, and told me to get down.</p> + +<p>I hung on all the tighter.</p> + +<p>And then——</p> + +<p>What happened then was so ignominious, so sickening, +that, if I were not sworn to the utmost pos<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>sible +realism in this record, I should suppress it in +the interests of human dignity.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence, having the advantage of me in +weight, height, muscle and position, got up and tried +to push me off the step. As she did this she said: +"You can't come. You'll take up the place of a +wounded man."</p> + +<p>And I found myself standing in the village street, +while the car rushed out of it, with Janet clinging +on to the hood, like a little sailor to his shrouds. +She was on the side next the German guns.</p> + +<p>It was the most revolting thing that had happened +to me yet, in a life filled with incidents that I have +no desire to repeat. And it made me turn on the +Commandant in a way that I do not like to think of. +I believe I asked him how he could bear to let that +kid go into the German lines, which was exactly +what the poor man hadn't done.<a name="FNanchor_25_26" id="FNanchor_25_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_26" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p> + +<p>Then we waited, Mrs. Lambert and I in Tom's +car; and the Commandant in the car with Ursula +Dearmer and the Chaplain on the other side of the +street.</p> + +<p>We were dreadfully silent now. We stared at +objects that had no earthly interest for us as if our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +lives depended on mastering their detail. We were +thus aware of a beautiful little Belgian house standing +back from the village street down a short turning, +a cream-coloured house with green shutters and +a roof of rose-red tiles, and a very small poplar +tree mounting guard beside it. This house and its +tree were vivid and very still. They stood back in +an atmosphere of their own, an atmosphere of perfect +but utterly unreal peace. And as long as our +memories endure, that house which we never saw +before, and shall probably never see again, is bound +up with the fate of Mrs. Torrence and Janet McNeil.</p> + +<p>We thought we should have an hour to wait before +they came back, if they ever did come. We +waited for them during a whole dreadful lifetime.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>In something less than half an hour the military +ambulance came swinging round the turn of the +road, with Mrs. Torrence and the Kid, and the two +German wounded with them on the stretchers.</p> + +<p>Those Germans never thought that they were going +to be saved. They couldn't get over it—that +two Englishwomen should have gone through their +fire, for them! As they were being carried through +the fire they said: "We shall never forget what +you've done for us. God will bless you for it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence asked them, "What will you do +for us if we are taken prisoner?"</p> + +<p>And they said: "We will do all we can to save +you."</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>Antwerp is said to have fallen.</p> + +<p>Antwerp is said to be holding its own well.<a name="FNanchor_26_27" id="FNanchor_26_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_27" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p> + +<p>All evening the watching Taube has been hanging +over Ghent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence and Janet have gone back with the +ambulance to Melle.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Night.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sat</span> up all night with Mr. ——.</p> + +<p>There is one night nurse for all the wards on +this floor, and she has a serious case to watch in +another room. But I can call her if I want help. +And there is the chemist who sleeps in the room +next door, who will come if I go in and wake him +up. And there are our own four doctors upstairs. +And the <i>infirmiers</i>. It ought to be all right.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact it was the most terrible night +I have ever spent in my life; and I have lived +through a good many terrible nights in sick-rooms. +But no amount of amateur nursing can take the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +place of training or of the self-confidence of knowing +you are trained. And even if you <i>are</i> trained, +no amount of medical nursing will prepare you for +a bad surgical case. To begin with, I had never +nursed a patient so tall and heavy that I couldn't +lift him by sheer strength and a sort of amateur +knack.</p> + +<p>And though in theory it was reassuring to know +that you could call the night nurse and the chemist +and the four doctors and the <i>infirmiers</i>, in practice +it didn't work out quite so easily as it sounded. +When the night nurse came she couldn't lift any +more than I could; and she had a greater command +of discouraging criticism than of useful, practical +suggestion. And the chemist knew no more about +lifting than the night nurse. (Luckily none of us +pretended for an instant that we knew!) When I +had called up two of our hard-worked surgeons +each once out of his bed, I had some scruples about +waking them again. And it took four Belgian <i>infirmiers</i> +to do in five minutes what one surgeon +could do in as many seconds. And when the +chemist went to look for the <i>infirmiers</i> he was gone +for ages—he must have had to round them up +from every floor in the Hospital. Whenever any +of them went to look for anything, it took them +ages. It was as if for every article needed in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +wards of that Hospital there was a separate and inaccessible +central depôt.<a name="FNanchor_27_28" id="FNanchor_27_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_28" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p> + +<p>At one moment a small pillow had to be placed +in the hollow of my patient's back if he was to be +kept in that position on which I had been told his +life depended. When I sent the night nurse to look +for something that would serve, she was gone a +quarter of an hour, in which I realized that my +case was not the only case in the Hospital. For +a quarter of an hour I had to kneel by his bed with +my two arms thrust together under the hollow of his +back, supporting it. I had nothing at hand that was +small enough or firm enough but my arms.</p> + +<p>That night I would have given everything I possess, +and everything I have ever done, to have been +a trained nurse.</p> + +<p>To make matters worse, I had an atrocious cough, +acquired at the Hôtel de la Poste. The chemist +had made up some medicine for it, but the poor busy +dispensary clerk had forgotten to send it to my +room. I had to stop it by an expenditure of will +when I wanted every atom of will to keep my patient +quiet and send him to sleep, if possible, without his +morphia <i>piqûres</i>. He is only to have one if he is +restless or in pain.</p> + +<p>And to-night he wanted more than ever to talk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +when he woke. And his conversation in the night +is even more lacerating than his conversation in the +day. For all the time, often in pain, always in extreme +discomfort, he is thinking of other people.</p> + +<p>First of all he asked me if I had any books, and +I thought that he wanted me to read to him. I told +him I was afraid he mustn't be read to, he must go +to sleep. And he said: "I mean for you to read +yourself—to pass the time."</p> + +<p>He is afraid that I shall be bored by sitting up +with him, that I shall tire myself, that I shall make +my cough worse. He asks me if I think he will ever +be well enough to play games. That is what he +has always wanted to do most.</p> + +<p>And then he begins to tell me about his mother.</p> + +<p>He tells me things that I have no right to put +down here.</p> + +<p>There is nothing that I can do for him but to +will. And I will hard, or I pray—I don't know +which it is; your acutest willing and your intensest +prayer are indistinguishable. And it seems to work. +I will—or I pray—that he shall lie still without +morphia, and that he shall have no pain. And he +lies still, without pain. I will—or I pray—that +he shall sleep without morphia. And he sleeps (I +think that in spite of his extreme discomfort, he +must have slept the best part of the night). And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +because it seems to work, I will—or I pray—that +he shall get well.</p> + +<p>There are many things that obstruct this process +as fast as it is begun: your sensation of sight and +touch; the swarms and streams of images that your +brain throws out; and the crushing obsession of +your fear. This last is like a dead weight that you +hold off you with your arms stretched out. Your +arms sink and drop under it perpetually and have to +be raised again. At last the weight goes. And the +sensations go, and the swarms and streams of +images go, and there is nothing before you and +around you but a clear blank darkness where your +will vibrates.</p> + +<p>Only one avenue of sense is left open. You are +lost to the very memories of touch and sight, but +you are intensely conscious of every sound from +the bed, every movement of the sleeper. And while +one half of you only lives in that pure and effortless +vibration, the other half is aware of the least change +in the rhythm of his breathing.</p> + +<p>It is by this rhythm that I can tell whether he +is asleep or awake. This rhythm of his breathing, +and the rhythm of his sleeping and his waking measure +out the night for me. It goes like one hour.</p> + +<p>And yet I have spent months of nights watching +in this room. Its blond walls are as familiar to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +as the walls of rooms where I have lived a long +time; I know with a profound and intimate knowledge +every crinkle in the red shade of the electric +bulb that hangs on the inner wall between the two +beds, the shape and position of every object on the +night table in the little white-tiled dressing-room; +I know every trick of the inner and outer doors +leading to the corridor, and the long grey lane of +the corridor, and the room that I must go through +to find ice, and the face of the little ward-maid who +sleeps there, who wants to get up and break the ice +for me every time. I have known the little ward-maid +all my life; I have known the night nurse all +my life, with her white face and sharp black eyes, +and all my life I have not cared for her. All my +life I have known and cared only for the wounded +man on the bed.</p> + +<p>I have known every sound of his voice and every +line of his face and hands (the face and hands that +he asks me to wash, over and over again, if I don't +mind), and the strong springing of his dark hair +from his forehead and every little feathery tuft of +beard on his chin. And I have known no other +measure of time than the rhythm of his breathing, +no mark or sign of time than the black crescent of +his eyelashes when the lids are closed, and the curling +blue of his eyes when they open. His eyes al<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>ways +smile as they open, as if he apologized for waking +when he knows that I want him to sleep. And +I have known these things so long that each one of +them is already like a separate wound in my +memory.<a name="FNanchor_28_29" id="FNanchor_28_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_29" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> He sums up for me all the heroism and +the agony and waste of the defence of Antwerp, all +the heroism and agony and waste of war.</p> + +<p>About midnight [?] he wakes and tells me he +has had a jolly dream. He dreamed that he was +running in a field in England, running in a big race, +that he led the race and won it.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Sunday, 11th.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> bad symptom is disappearing. Towards +dawn it has almost gone. He really does seem +stronger.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>5 a.m.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">He</span> has had no return of pain or restlessness. +But he was to have a morphia <i>piqûre</i> at five o'clock, +and they have given it to him to make sure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>8 a.m.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> night has not been so terrible, after all. It +has gone like an hour and I have left him sleeping.</p> + +<p>I am not in the least bit tired; I never felt drowsy +once, and my cough has nearly gone.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>Antwerp has fallen.</p> + +<p>Taube over Ghent in the night.</p> + +<p>Six doctors have seen Mr. ——. They all say +he is ever so much better. They even say he may +live—that he has a good chance.</p> + +<p>Dr. Wilson is taking Mr. Foster to England this +morning.</p> + +<p>Went back to the Hôtel Cecil to sleep for an hour +or two. An enormous oval table-top is leaning flat +against the wall; but by no possibility can it be set +up. Still, the landlord said he would find a table, +and he has found one.</p> + +<p>Went back to the "Flandria" for lunch. In the +mess-room Janet tells me that Mr. ——'s case has +been taken out of my hands. I am not to try to +do any more nursing.</p> + +<p>Little Janet looks as if she were trying to soften +a blow. But it isn't a blow. Far from it. It +is the end of an intolerable responsibility.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Commandant and the Chaplain started about +nine or ten this morning for Melle, and are not back +yet.</p> + +<p>We expect that we may have to clear out of Ghent +before to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Mr. Riley, Mrs. Lambert and Janet have gone in +the second car to Melle.</p> + +<p>I waited in all afternoon on the chance of being +taken when the Commandant comes and goes out +again.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>4.45.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">He</span> is not back yet. I am very anxious. The +Germans may be in Melle by now.</p> + +<p>One of the old officials in peaked caps has called +on me solemnly this afternoon. He is the most +mysterious of them all, an old man with a white +moustache, who never seems to do anything but +hang about. He is certainly not an <i>infirmier</i>. He +called ostensibly to ask some question and remained +to talk. I think he thought he would pump me. +He began by asking if we women enjoyed going out +with the Field Ambulance; he supposed we felt very +daring and looked on the whole thing as an adventure. +I detected some sinister intention, and replied +that that was not exactly the idea; that our women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +went out to help to save the lives of the wounded +soldiers, and that they had succeeded in this object +over and over again; and that I didn't imagine they +thought of anything much except their duty. We +certainly were not out for amusement.</p> + +<p>Then he took another line. He told me that the +reason why our Ambulance is to be put under the +charge of the British General here (we had heard +that the whole of the Belgian Army was shortly to +be under the control of the British, and the whole +of the Belgian Red Cross with it)—the reason +is that its behaviour in going into the firing-line +has been criticized. And when I ask him on +what grounds, it turns out that somebody thinks +there is a risk of our Ambulance drawing down +the fire on the lines it serves. I told him that in +all the time I had been with the Ambulance it had +never placed itself in any position that could possibly +have drawn down fire on the Belgians, and +that I had never heard of any single instance of +this danger; and I made him confess that there was +no proof or even rumour of any single instance +when it had occurred. I further told the old gentleman +very plainly that these things ought not to +be said or repeated, and that every man and woman +in the English Ambulance would rather lose their +own life than risk that of one Belgian soldier.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<p>The old gentleman was somewhat flattened out +before he left me; having "<i>parfaitement compris</i>."</p> + +<p>It is a delicious idea that Kitchener and Joffre +should be reorganizing the Allied Armies because +of the behaviour of our Ambulance.</p> + +<p>There are Gordon Highlanders in Ghent.<a name="FNanchor_29_30" id="FNanchor_29_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_30" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>Went over to the Couvent de Saint Pierre, where +Miss Ashley-Smith is with her British wounded. +I had to warn her that the Germans may come in +to-night. I had told the Commandant about her +yesterday, and arranged with him that we should +take her and her British away in our Ambulance if +we have to go. I had to find out how many there +would be to take.</p> + +<p>The Convent is a little way beyond the <i>Place</i> +on the boulevard. I knew it by the Red Cross +hanging from the upper windows. Everything is +as happy and peaceful here as if Ghent were not on +the eve of an invasion. The nuns took me to Miss +Ashley-Smith in her ward. I hardly knew her, for +she had changed the uniform of the British Field +Hospital<a name="FNanchor_30_31" id="FNanchor_30_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_31" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> for the white linen of the Belgian Red +Cross. I found her in charge of the ward. Ab<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>solutely +unperturbed by the news, she went on superintending +the disposal of a table of surgical instruments. +She would not consent to come with +us at first. But the nuns persuaded her that she +would do no good by remaining.</p> + +<p>I am to come again and tell her what time to be +ready with her wounded, when we know whether +we are going and when.</p> + +<p>Came back to the "Flandria" and finished entries +in my Day-Book.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Evening.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Commandant has come back from Melle; +but he is going there again almost directly. He has +been to the British lines, and heard for certain that +the Germans will be in Ghent before morning. We +have orders to clear out before two in the morning. +I am to have all his things packed by midnight.</p> + +<p>The British Consul has left Ghent.</p> + +<p>The news spread through the "Flandria."</p> + +<p>Max has gone about all day with a scared, white +face. They say he is suffering from cold feet. +But I will not believe it. He has just appeared in +the mess-room and summoned me mysteriously. +He takes me along the corridor to that room of his +which he is so proud of. There is a brand-new uni<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>form +lying on the bed, the uniform of a French +soldier of the line. Max handles it with love and +holy adoration, as a priest handles his sacred vestments. +He takes it in his arms, he spreads before +me the grey-blue coat, the grey-blue trousers, and +his queer eyes are in their solemnity large and quiet +as dark moons.</p> + +<p>Max is going to rejoin his regiment.</p> + +<p>It is sheer nervous excitement that gave him that +wild, white face.</p> + +<p>Max is confident that we shall meet again; and +I have a horrid vision of Max carried on a bloody +stretcher, a brutally wounded Max.</p> + +<p>He has given me his address in Brussels, which +will not find him there for long enough: if ever.</p> + +<p>Jean also is to rejoin his regiment.</p> + +<p>Marie, the <i>bonne</i>, stands at the door of the service +room and watches us with frightened eyes. She +follows me into the mess-room and shuts the door. +The poor thing has been seized with panic, and her +one idea is to get away from Ghent. Can I find a +place for her on one of our ambulance cars? She +will squeeze in anywhere, she will stand outside on +the step. Will I take her back to England? She +will do any sort of work, no matter what, and she +won't ask for wages if only I will take her there. +I tell her we are not going to England. We are go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>ing +to Bruges. We have to follow the Belgian +Army wherever it is sent.</p> + +<p>Then will I take her to Bruges? She has a +mother there.</p> + +<p>It is ghastly. I have to tell her that it is impossible; +that there will be no place for her in the +ambulance cars, that they will be crammed with +wounded, that we will have to stand on the steps +ourselves, that I do not know how many we shall +have to take from the Convent, or how many from +the hospitals; that I can do nothing without the +Commandant's orders, and that the Commandant is +not here. And she pleads and implores. She cannot +believe that we can be so cruel, and I find my +voice growing hard and stern with sheer, wrenching +pity. At last I tell her that if there is room +I will see what can be done, but that I am afraid +that there will not be room. She stays, she clings, +trying to extort through pity a more certain promise, +and I have to tell her to go. She goes, looking +at me with the dull resentment of a helpless creature +whom I have hurt. The fact that she has left me +sick with pity will not do her any good. Nothing +can do her any good but that place on the ambulance +which I have no power to give her.</p> + +<p>For Marie is not the only one.</p> + +<p>I see all the servants in the "Flandria" coming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +to me before the night is over, and clinging and +pleading for a place in the ambulance cars.</p> + +<p>And this is only the beginning. After Marie +comes Janet McNeil. She, poor child, has surrendered +to the overpowering assault on her feelings +and has pledged herself to smuggle the four +young children of Madame —— into the ambulance +somehow. I don't see how it was possible for her +to endure the agony of refusing this request. But +what we are to do with four young children in cars +packed with wounded soldiers, through all the stages +of the Belgian Army's retreat—!</p> + +<p>The next problem that faced me was the Commandant's +packing—how to get all the things he +had brought with him into one small Gladstone bag +and a sleeping-sack. There was a blue serge suit, +two sleeping-suits, a large Burberry, a great many +pocket-handkerchiefs, socks and stockings, an assortment +of neckties, a quantity of small miscellaneous +objects whose fugitive tendencies he proposed +to frustrate by confinement in a large tin +biscuit-box; there was the biscuit-box itself, a tobacco +tin, a packet of Gillette razors, a pipe, a +leather case containing some electric apparatus, and +a fat scarlet volume: Freud's "Psychopathology +of Everyday Life." All these things he had pointed +out to me as they lay flung on the bed or strewn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +about the room. He had impressed on me the absolute +necessity of packing every one of them, and +by the pathetic grouping around the Gladstone bag +of the biscuit-box, the tobacco-tin, the case of instruments +and Freud, I gathered that he believed +that they would all enter the bag placably and be +contained in it with ease.</p> + +<p>The night is still young.</p> + +<p>I pack the Gladstone bag. By alternate coaxing +and coercion Freud and the tobacco-tin and the +biscuit-box occupy it amicably enough; but the case +of instruments offers an unconquerable resistance.</p> + +<p>The night is not quite so young as it has been, +and I think I must have left off packing to run over +to the Hôtel Cecil and pay my bill; for I remember +going out into the <i>Place</i> and seeing a crowd drawn +up in the middle of it before the "Flandria." An +official was addressing this crowd, ordering them +to give up their revolvers and any arms they had +on them.</p> + +<p>The fate of Ghent depends on absolute obedience +to this order.</p> + +<p>When I get back I find Mrs. Torrence downstairs +in the hall of the "Flandria." I ask her what +we had better do about our refugee children. She +says we can do nothing. There must be no refugee +children. How <i>can</i> there be in an ambulance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +packed with wounded men? When I tell her that +the children will certainly be there if somebody +doesn't do something to stop them, she goes off to +do it. I do not envy her her job. She is not enjoying +it herself. First of all she has got to break +it to Janet. And Janet will have to break it to the +mother.</p> + +<p>As to poor Marie, she is out of the question. <i>I</i> +shall have to break it to Marie.</p> + +<p>The night goes on. I sit with Mr. —— for a +little while. I have still to finish the Commandant's +packing; I have not yet begun my own, and +it is time that I should go round to the Convent to +tell Miss Ashley-Smith to be ready with her British +before two o'clock.</p> + +<p>I sit with him for what seems a very long time. +It is appalling to me that the time should seem long. +For it is really such a little while, and when it is +over there will be nothing more that I shall ever +do for him. This thought is not prominent and +vivid; it is barely discernible; but it is there, a dull +background of pain under my anxiety for the safety +of the English over there in the Couvent de Saint +Pierre. It is more than time that I should go and +tell them to be ready.</p> + +<p>He holds out his hands to be sponged "if I don't +mind." I sponge them over and over again with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +iced water and eau de Cologne, gently and very +slowly. I am afraid lest he should be aware that +there is any hurry. The time goes on, and my +anxiety becomes acuter every minute, till with each +slow, lingering turn of my hand I think, "If I don't +go soon it will be too late."</p> + +<p>I hear that the children will be all right. Somebody +has had a <i>crise de nerfs</i>, and Janet was the +victim.</p> + +<p>It is past midnight, and very dark. The <i>Place</i> +and the boulevards are deserted. I cannot see the +Red Cross flag hanging from the window of the +Convent. The boulevards look all the same in the +blackness, and I turn up the one to the left. I run +on and on very fast, but I cannot see the white flag +with the red cross anywhere; I run back, thinking +I must have passed it, turn and go on again.</p> + +<p>There is nobody in sight. No sound anywhere +but the sound of my own feet running faster and +faster up the wrong boulevard.</p> + +<p>At last I know I have gone too far, the houses are +entirely strange. I run back to the <i>Place</i> to get my +bearings, and start again. I run faster than ever. +I pass a solitary civilian coming down the boulevard. +The place is so empty and so still that he and I seem +to be the only things alive and awake in this quarter +of the town. As I pass he turns to look after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +me, wondering at the solitary lady running so fast +at this hour of the morning. I see the Red Cross +flag in the distance, and I come to a door that looks +like the door of the Convent. It <i>is</i> the door of the +Convent.</p> + +<p>I ring the bell. I ring it many times. Nobody +comes.</p> + +<p>I ring a little louder. A tired lay sister puts +her head out of an upper window and asks me what +I want. I tell her. She is rather cross and says +I've come to the wrong door. I must go to the +second door; and she puts her head in and shuts +the window with a clang that expresses her just resentment.</p> + +<p>I go to the second door, and ring many times +again. And another lay sister puts her head out of +an upper window.</p> + +<p>She is gentle but sleepy and very slow. She cannot +take it in all at once. She says they are all +asleep in the Convent, and she does not like to +wake them. She says this several times, so that I +may understand.</p> + +<p>I am exasperated.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mais, Madame—de grâce! C'est peut-être la +vie ou la mort!</i>"</p> + +<p>The minute I've said it it sounds to me melo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>dramatic +and absurd. <i>I</i> am melodramatic and absurd, +with my running feet, and my small figure and +earnest, upturned face, standing under a Convent +wall at midnight, and talking about <i>la vie et la mort</i>. +It is too improbable. <i>I</i> am too improbable. I feel +that I am making a fuss out of all proportion to the +occasion. And I am sorry for frightening the poor +lay sister all for nothing.</p> + +<p>Very soon, down the south-east road, the Germans +will be marching upon Ghent.</p> + +<p>And I cannot realize it. The whole thing is too +improbable.</p> + +<p>But the lay sister has understood this time. She +will go and wake the porteress. She is not at all +frightened.</p> + +<p>I wait a little longer, and presently the porteress +opens the door. When she hears my message she +goes away, and returns after a little while with one +of the nuns.</p> + +<p>They are very quiet, very kind, and absolutely +unafraid. They say that Miss Ashley-Smith and +her British wounded shall be ready before [?] two +o'clock.</p> + +<p>I go back to the "Flandria."</p> + +<p>The Commandant, who went out to Melle in +Tom's car, has not come back yet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>I think Ursula Dearmer and Mrs. Lambert have +gone to bed. They are not taking the Germans very +seriously.</p> + +<p>There is nobody in the mess-room but the other +three chauffeurs, Bert, Tom and Newlands. Newlands +has just come back from Ostend. They have +had no supper. We bustle about to find some.</p> + +<p>We all know the Germans are coming into Ghent. +But we do not speak of it. We are all very polite, +almost supernaturally gentle, and very kind to each +other. The beautiful manners of Newlands are +conspicuous in this hour, the tragedy of which we +are affecting to ignore. I behave as if there was +nothing so important in the world as cutting bread +for Newlands. Newlands behaves as if there were +nothing so important as fetching a bottle of formamint, +which he has with him, to cure my cough. +(It has burst out again worse than ever after the +unnatural repression of last night.)</p> + +<p>When the chauffeurs are provided with supper +I go into the Commandant's room and finish his +packing. The ties, the pocket-handkerchiefs and +the collars are all safe in the Gladstone bag. +Only the underclothing and the suits remain and +there is any amount of room for them in the hold-all.</p> + +<p>I roll up the blue serge coat, and the trousers, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +the waistcoat very smooth and tight, also the underclothes. +It seems very simple. I have only got to +put them in the hold-all and then roll it up, smooth +and tight, too—</p> + +<p>It would have been simple, if the hold-all had +been a simple hold-all and if it had been nothing +more. But it was also a sleeping-bag and a field-tent. +As sleeping-bag, it was provided with a thick +blanket which took up most of the room inside, and +a waterproof sheet which was part of itself. As +field-tent, it had large protruding flanges, shaped +like jib-sails, and a complicated system of ropes.</p> + +<p>First of all I tucked in the jib-sails and ropes and +laid them as flat as might be on the bottom of the +sleeping-bag, with the blanket on the top of them. +Then I packed the clothes on the top of the blanket +and turned it over them to make all snug; I buttoned +up the waterproof sheet over everything, rolled up +the hold-all and secured it with its straps. This +was only done by much stratagem and strength, by +desperate tugging and pushing, and by lying flat on +my waist on the rolled-up half to keep it quiet while +I brought the loose half over. No sooner had I +secured the hold-all by its straps than I realized that +it was no more a hold-all than it was a sleeping-bag +and a field tent, and that its contents were exposed +to the weather down one side, where they bulged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +through the spaces that yawned between the buttons, +strained almost to bursting.</p> + +<p>I still believed in the genius that had devised this +trinity. Clearly the jib-sails which made it a field-tent +were intended to serve also as the pockets of +the hold-all. I had done wrong to flatten them out +and tuck them in, frustrating the fulfilment of their +function. It was not acting fairly by the inventor.</p> + +<p>I unpacked the hold-all, I mean the field-tent.</p> + +<p>Then, with the Commandant's clothes again lying +round me on the floor, I grappled with the mystery +of the jib-sails and their cords. The jib-sails and +their cords were, so to speak, the heart of this infernal +triple entity.</p> + +<p>They were treacherous. They had all the appearance +of pockets, but owing to the intricate and +malign relations of their cords, it was impossible to +deal faithfully with them on this footing. When +the contents had been packed inside them, the field-tent +asserted itself as against the hold-all and refused +to roll up. And I am sure that if the field-tent +had had to be set up in a field in a hurry, the +hold-all and the sleeping-bag would have arisen and +insisted on their consubstantial rights.</p> + +<p>I unpacked the field-tent and packed it all over +again exactly as I had packed it before, but more +carefully, swearing gently and continuously, as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +tugged with my arms and pushed with my knees, +and pressed hard on it with my waist to keep it still. +I cursed the day when I had first heard of it; I +cursed myself for giving it to the Commandant; +more than all I cursed the combined ingenuity and +levity of its creator, who had indulged his fantasy at +our expense, without a thought to the actual conditions +of the retreat of armies and of ambulances.</p> + +<p>And in the middle of it all Janet came in, and +curled herself up in a corner, and forecast luridly +and inconsolably the possible fate of her friends, +the nurses in the "Flandria." For the moment her +coolness and her wise impassivity had gone. Her +behaviour was lacerating.</p> + +<p>This was the very worst moment we had come to +yet.<a name="FNanchor_31_32" id="FNanchor_31_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_32" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p> + +<p>And it seemed that Ursula Dearmer and Mrs. +Lambert had gone to bed, regardless of the retreat +from Ghent.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in the small hours of the morning the +Commandant came back from Melle.<a name="FNanchor_32_33" id="FNanchor_32_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_33" class="fnanchor">[32]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>It is nearly two o'clock. Downstairs, in the great +silent hall two British wounded are waiting for some +ambulance to take them to the Station. They are +sitting bolt upright on chairs near the doorway, +their heads nodding with drowsiness. One or two +Belgian Red Cross men wait beside them. Opposite +them, on three other chairs, the three doctors, Dr. +Haynes, Dr. Bird and Dr. —— sit waiting for our +own ambulance to take them. They have been up +all night and are utterly exhausted. They sit, fast +asleep, with their heads bowed on their breasts.</p> + +<p>Outside, the darkness has mist and a raw cold +sting in it.</p> + +<p>A wretched ambulance wagon drawn by two +horses is driven up to the door. It had a hood once, +but the hood has disappeared and only the naked +hoops remain. The British wounded from two [?] +other hospitals are packed in it in two rows. They +sit bolt upright under the hoops, exposed to mist and +to the raw cold sting of the night; some of them +wear their blankets like shawls over their shoulders +as they were taken from their beds. The shawls +and the head bandages give these British a strange, +foreign look, infinitely helpless, infinitely pitiful.</p> + +<p>Nobody seems to be out there but Mrs. Torrence +and one or two Belgian Red Cross men. She and I +help to get our two men taken gently out of the hall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +and stowed away in the ambulance wagon. There +are not enough blankets. We try to find some.</p> + +<p>At the last minute two bearers come forward, +carrying a third. He is tall and thin; he is wrapped +in a coat flung loosely over his sleeping-jacket; he +wears a turban of bandages; his long bare feet stick +out as he is carried along. It is Cameron, my poor +Highlander, who was shot through the brain.</p> + +<p>They lift him, very gently, into the wagon.</p> + +<p>Then, very gently, they lift him out again.</p> + +<p>This attempt to save him is desperate. He is +dying.</p> + +<p>They carry him up the steps and stand him there +with his naked feet on the stone. It is anguish to see +those thin white feet on the stone; I take off my +coat and put it under them.</p> + +<p>It is all I can do for him.</p> + +<p>Presently they carry him back into the Hospital.</p> + +<p>They can't find any blankets. I run over to the +Hôtel Cecil for my thick, warm travelling-rug to +wrap round the knees of the wounded, shivering in +the wagon.</p> + +<p>It is all I can do for them.</p> + +<p>And presently the wagon is turned round, slowly, +almost solemnly, and driven off into the darkness +and the cold mist, with its load of weird and piteous +figures, wrapped in blankets like shawls. Their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +bandages show blurred white spots in the mist, and +they are gone.</p> + +<p>It is horrible.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>I am reminded that I have not packed yet, nor +dressed for the journey. I go over and pack and +dress. I leave behind what I don't need and it takes +seven minutes. There is something sad and terrible +about the little hotel, and its proprietors and their +daughter, who has waited on me. They have so much +the air of waiting, of being on the eve. They hang +about doing nothing. They sit mournfully in a corner +of the half-darkened restaurant. As I come +and go they smile at me with the patient Belgian +smile that says, "<i>C'est triste, n'est-ce pas?</i>" and no +more.</p> + +<p>The landlord puts on his soft brown felt hat and +carries my luggage over to the "Flandria." He +stays there, hanging about the porch, fascinated by +these preparations for departure. There is the +same terrible half-darkness here, the same expectant +stillness. Now and then the servants of the hospital +look at each other and there are whisperings, mutterings. +They sound sinister somehow and inimical. +Or perhaps I imagine this because I do not take +kindly to retreating. Anyhow I am only aware of +them afterwards. For now it is time to go and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +fetch Miss Ashley-Smith and her three wounded +men from the Convent.</p> + +<p>Tom has come up with his first ambulance car. +He is waiting for orders in the porch. His enormous +motor goggles are pushed up over the peak +of his cap. They make it look like some formidable +helmet. They give an air of mastership to Tom's +face. At this last hour it wears its expression of +righteous protest, of volcanic patience, of exasperated +discipline.</p> + +<p>The Commandant is nowhere to be seen. And +every minute of his delay increases Tom's sense of +tortured integrity.</p> + +<p>I tell Tom that he is to drive me at once to the +Couvent de Saint Pierre. He wants to know what +for.</p> + +<p>I tell him it is to fetch Miss Ashley-Smith and +three British wounded.</p> + +<p>He shrugs his shoulders. He knows nothing +about the Couvent de Saint Pierre and Miss Ashley-Smith +and three British wounded, and his shrug +implies that he cares less.</p> + +<p>And he says he has no orders to go and fetch +them.</p> + +<p>I perceive that in this supreme moment I am up +against Tom's superstition. He won't move anywhere +without orders. It is his one means of put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>ting +himself in the right and everybody else in the +wrong.</p> + +<p>And the worst of it is he <i>is</i> right.</p> + +<p>I am also up against Tom's sex prejudices. I +remember that he is said to have sworn with an oath +that he wasn't going to take orders from any +woman.</p> + +<p>And the Commandant is nowhere to be seen.</p> + +<p>Tom sticks to the ledge of the porch and stares +at me defiantly. The servants of the Hospital come +out and look at us. They are so many reinforcements +to Tom's position.</p> + +<p>I tell him that the arrangement has been made +with the Commandant's consent, and I repeat firmly +that he is to get into his car this minute and drive +to the Couvent de Saint Pierre.</p> + +<p>He says he does not know where the Convent is. +It may be anywhere.</p> + +<p>I tell him where it is, and he says again he hasn't +got orders.</p> + +<p>I stand over him and with savage and violent +determination I say: "You've got them <i>now</i>!"</p> + +<p>And, actually, Tom obeys. He says, "<i>All</i> right, +all right, all right," very fast, and humps his shoulders +and slouches off to his car. He cranks it up +with less vehemence than I have yet known him +bring to the starting of any car.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + +<p>We get in. Then, and not till then, I am placable. +I say: "You see, Tom, it wouldn't do to leave +that lady and three British wounded behind, would +it?"</p> + +<p>What he says about orders then is purely by way +of apology.</p> + +<p>Regardless of my instructions, he does what I did +and dashes up the wrong boulevard as if the Germans +were even now marching into the <i>Place</i> behind +him. But he works round somehow and we +arrive.</p> + +<p>They are all there, ready and waiting. And the +Mother Superior and two of her nuns are in the +corridor. They bring out glasses of hot milk for +everybody. They are so gentle and so kind that +I recall with agony my impatience when I rang at +their gate. Even familiar French words desert me +in this crisis, and I implore Miss Ashley-Smith to +convey my regrets for my rudeness. Their only +answer is to smile and press hot milk on me. I +am glad of it, for I have been so absorbed in the +drama of preparation that I have entirely forgotten +to eat anything since lunch.</p> + +<p>The wounded are brought along the passage. +We help them into the ambulance. Two, Williams +and ——, are only slightly wounded; they can sit +up all the way. But the third, Fisher, is wounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +in the head. Sometimes he is delirious and must +be looked after. A fourth man is dying and must +be left behind.</p> + +<p>Then we say good-bye to the nuns.</p> + +<p>The other ambulance cars are drawn up in the +<i>Place</i> before the "Flandria," waiting. For the +first time I hate the sight of them. This feeling +is inexplicable but profound.</p> + +<p>We arrange for the final disposal of the wounded +in one of the new Daimlers, where they can all lie +down. Mrs. Torrence comes out and helps us. +The Commandant is not there yet. Dr. Haynes +and Dr. Bird pack Dr. —— away well inside the +car. They are very quiet and very firm and refuse +to travel otherwise than together. Mrs. Torrence +goes with the wounded.</p> + +<p>I go into the Hospital and upstairs to our quarters +to see if anything has been left behind. If I can +find Marie we must take her. There is room, after +all.</p> + +<p>But Marie is nowhere to be seen.</p> + +<p>Nobody is to be seen but the Belgian night nurses +on duty, watching, one on each landing at the entrance +to her corridor. They smile at me gravely +and sadly as they say good-bye.</p> + +<p>I have left many places, many houses, many people +behind me, knowing that I shall never see them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +again. But of all leave-takings this seems to me +the worst. For those others I have been something, +done something that absolves me. But for these +and for this place I have not done anything, and +now there is not anything to be done.</p> + +<p>I go slowly downstairs. Each flight is a more +abominable descent. At each flight I stand still and +pull myself together to face the next nurse on the +next landing. At the second story I go past without +looking. I know every stain on the floor of the +corridor there as you turn to the right. The number +of the door and the names on the card beside +it have made a pattern on my brain.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>It is quarter to three.</p> + +<p>They are all ready now. The Commandant is +there giving the final orders and stowing away the +nine wounded he has brought from Melle. The +hall of the Hospital is utterly deserted. So is the +<i>Place</i> outside it. And in the stillness and desolation +our going has an air of intolerable secrecy, of +furtive avoidance of fate. This Field Ambulance +of ours abhors retreat.</p> + +<p>It is dark with the black darkness before dawn.</p> + +<p>And the Belgian Red Cross guides have all gone. +There is nobody to show us the roads.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the last minute we find a Belgian soldier who +will take us as far as Ecloo.</p> + +<p>The Commandant has arranged to stay at Ecloo +for a few hours. Some friends there have offered +him their house. The wounded are to be put up at +the Convent. Ecloo is about half-way between +Ghent and Bruges.</p> + +<p>We start. Tom's car goes first with the Belgian +soldier in front. Ursula Dearmer, Mrs. Lambert, +Miss Ashley-Smith and Mr. Riley and I are +inside. The Commandant sits, silent, wrapped in +meditation, on the step.</p> + +<p>We are not going so very fast, not faster than +the three cars behind us, and the slowest of the +three (the Fiat with the hard tyres, carrying the +baggage) sets the pace. We must keep within their +sight or they may lose their way. But though we +are not really going fast, the speed seems intolerable, +especially the speed that swings us out of sight of +the "Flandria." You think that is the worst. +But it isn't. The speed with its steady acceleration +grows more intolerable with every mile. Your sense +of safety grows intolerable.</p> + +<p>You never knew that safety could hurt like this.</p> + +<p>Somewhere on this road the Belgian Army has +gone before us. We have got to go with it. We +have had our orders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + +<p>That thought consoles you, but not for long. +You may call it following the Belgian Army. But +the Belgian Army is retreating, and you are retreating +with it. There is nothing else you can do; +but that does not make it any better. And this +speed of the motor over the flat roads, this speed +that cuts the air, driving its furrow so fast that the +wind rushes by you like strong water, this speed +that so inspired and exalted you when it brought +you into Flanders, when it took you to Antwerp +and Baerlaere and Lokeren and Melle, this vehement +and frightful and relentless speed is the thing that +beats you down and tortures you. For several +hours, ever since you had your orders to pack up +and go, you have been working with no other purpose +than this going; you have contemplated it +many times with equanimity, with indifference; you +knew all along that it was not possible to stay in +Ghent for ever; and when you were helping to get +the wounded into the ambulances you thought it +would be the easiest thing in the world to get in +yourself and go with them; when you had time to +think about it you were even aware of looking forward +with pleasure to the thrill of a clean run before +the Germans. You never thought, and nobody +could possibly have told you, that it would be like +this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>I never thought, and nobody could possibly have +told me, that I was going to behave as I did then.</p> + +<p>The thing began with the first turn of the road +that hid the "Flandria." Up till that moment, +whatever I may have felt about the people we had +to leave behind us, as long as none of our field-women +were left behind, I had not the smallest +objection to being saved myself. And if it had occurred +to me to stay behind for the sake of one +man who couldn't be moved and who had the best +surgeon in the Hospital and the pick of the nursing-staff +to look after him, I think I should have disposed +of the idea as sheer sentimentalism. When +I was with him to-night I could think of nothing +but the wounded in the Couvent de Saint Pierre. +And afterwards there had been so much to do.</p> + +<p>And now that there was nothing more to do, I +couldn't think of anything but that one man.</p> + +<p>The night before came back to me in a vision, +or rather an obsession, infinitely more present, more +visible and palpable than this night that we were +living in. The light with the red shade hung just +over my head on my right hand; the blond walls +were round me; they shut me in alone with the +wounded man who lay stretched before me on the +bed. And the moments were measured by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +rhythm of his breathing, and by the closing and +opening of his eyes.</p> + +<p>I thought, he will open his eyes to-night and look +for me and I shall not be there. He will know +that he has been left to the Belgians, who cannot +understand him, whom he cannot understand. +And he will think that I have betrayed him.</p> + +<p>I felt as if I <i>had</i> betrayed him.</p> + +<p>I am sitting between Mr. Riley and Miss Ashley-Smith. +Mr. Riley is ill; he has got blood-poisoning +through a cut in his hand. Every now and then I +remember him, and draw the rug over his knees +as it slips. Miss Ashley-Smith, tired with her night +watching, has gone to sleep with her head on my +shoulder, where it must be horribly jolted and +shaken by my cough, which of course chooses this +moment to break out again. I try to get into a +position that will rest her better; and between her +and Mr. Riley I forget for a second.</p> + +<p>Then the obsession begins again, and I am shut +in between the blond walls with the wounded man.</p> + +<p>I feel his hand and arm lying heavily on my +shoulder in the attempt to support me as I kneel +by his bed with my arms stretched out together +under the hollow of his back, as we wait for the +pillow that never comes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is quite certain that I have betrayed him.</p> + +<p>It seems to me then that nothing that could happen +to me in Ghent could be more infernal than +leaving it. And I think that when the ambulance +stops to put down the Belgian soldier I will get out +and walk back with him to Ghent.</p> + +<p>Every half-mile I think that the ambulance will +stop to put down the Belgian soldier.</p> + +<p>But the ambulance does not stop. It goes on and +on, and we have got to Ecloo before we seem to +have put three miles between us and Ghent.</p> + +<p>Still, though I'm dead tired when we get there, +I can walk three miles easily. I do not feel at all +insane with my obsession. On the contrary, these +moments are moments of exceptional lucidity.<a name="FNanchor_33_34" id="FNanchor_33_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_34" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> +While the Commandant goes to look for the Convent +I get out and look for the Belgian soldier. +Other Belgian soldiers have joined him in the village +street.</p> + +<p>I tell him I want to go back to Ghent. I ask +him how far it is to walk, and if he will take me. +And he says it is twenty kilometres. The other +soldiers say, too, it is twenty kilometres. I had +thought it couldn't possibly be more than four or +five at the outside. And I am just sane enough to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +know that I can't walk as far as that if I'm to be +any good when I get there.</p> + +<p>We wait in the village while they find the Convent +and take the wounded men there; we wait +while the Commandant goes off in the dark to find +his friend's house.</p> + +<p>The house stands in a garden somewhere beyond +the railway station, up a rough village street and a +stretch of country road. It is about four in the +morning when we get there. A thin ooze of light +is beginning to leak through the mist. The mist +holds it as a dark cloth holds a fluid that bleaches it.</p> + +<p>There is something queer about this light. There +is something queer, something almost inimical, +about the garden, as if it tried to protect itself by +enchantment from the fifteen who are invading it. +The mist stands straight up from the earth like a +high wall drawn close about the house; it blocks +with dense grey stuff every inch of space between +the bushes and trees; they are thrust forward rank +upon rank, closing in upon the house; they loom +enormous and near. A few paces further back +they appear as without substance in the dense grey +stuff that invests them; their tops are tangled and +lost in a web of grey. In this strange garden it is +as if space itself had solidified in masses, and solid +objects had become spaces between.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>When your eyes get used to this curious inversion +it is as if the mist was no longer a wall but a +growth; the garden is the heart of a jungle bleached +by enchantment and struck with stillness and cold; +a tangle of grey; a muffled, huddled and stifled +bower, all grey, and webbed and laced with grey.</p> + +<p>The door of the house opens and the effect of +queerness, of inimical magic disappears.</p> + +<p>Mr. E., our kind Dutch host, and Mrs. E., our +kind English hostess, have got up out of their beds +to receive us. This hospitality of theirs is not a +little thing when you think that their house is to be +invaded by Germans, perhaps to-day.<a name="FNanchor_34_35" id="FNanchor_34_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_35" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>They do not allow you to think of it. For all +you are to see of the tragedy they and their house +might be remaining at Ecloo in leisure and perfect +hospitality and peace. Only, as they see us pouring +in over their threshold a hovering twinkle in +their kind eyes shows that they are not blind to the +comic aspect of retreats.</p> + +<p>They have only one spare bedroom, which they +offer; but they have filled their drawing-room with +blankets; piles and piles of white fleecy blankets on +chairs and sofas and on the floor. And they have +built up a roaring fire. It is as if they were suc<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>couring +fifteen survivors of shipwreck or of earthquake, +or the remnants of a forlorn hope. To be +sure, we are flying from Ghent, but we have only +flown twenty kilometres as yet.</p> + +<p>However, most of the Corps have been up all +night for several nights, and the mist outside is a +clinging and a biting mist, and everybody is grateful.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the look of the E.s' drawing-room, +smothered in blankets and littered with the +members of the Corps, who lay about it in every +pathetic posture of fatigue. A group of seven or +eight snuggled down among the blankets on the floor +in front of the hearth like a camp before a campfire. +Janet McNeil, curled up on one window-seat, +and Ursula Dearmer, rolled in a blanket on the other, +had the heart-rending beauty of furry animals under +torpor. The chauffeurs Tom and Bert made themselves +entirely lovable by going to sleep bolt upright +on dining-room chairs on the outer ring of the +camp. The E.s' furniture came in where it could +with fantastic and incongruous effect.</p> + +<p>I don't know how I got through the next three +hours, for my obsession came back on me again +and again, and as soon as I shut my eyes I saw +the face and eyes of the wounded man. I remember +sitting part of the time beside Miss Ashley-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>Smith, +wide-awake, in a corner of the room behind +Bert's chair. I remember wandering about +the E.s' house. I must have got out of it, for I +also remember finding myself in their garden, at +sunrise.</p> + +<p>And I remember the garden, though I was not +perfectly aware of it at the time. It had a divine +beauty, a serenity that refused to enter into, to +ally itself in any way with an experience tainted +by the sadness of the retreat from Ghent.</p> + +<p>But because of its supernatural detachment and +tranquillity and its no less supernatural illumination +I recalled it the more vividly afterwards.</p> + +<p>It was full of tall bushes and little slender trees +standing in a delicate light. The mist had cleared +to the transparency of still water, so still that under +it the bushes and the trees stood in a cold, quiet +radiance without a shimmer. The light itself was +intensely still. What you saw was not the approach +of light, but its mysterious arrest. It was held +suspended in crystalline vapour, in thin shafts of +violet and gold, clear as panes; it was caught and +lifted upwards by the high bushes and the slender +trees; it was veiled in the silver-green masses of +their tops. Every green leaf and every blade of +grass was a vessel charged. It was not so much +that the light revealed these things as that these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +things revealed the light. There was no kindling +touch, no tremor of dawn in that garden. It was +as if it had removed the walls and put off the lacing +webs and the thick cloths of grey stuff by some +mystic impulse of its own, as if it maintained itself +in stillness by an inner flame. Only the very +finest tissues yet clung to it, to show that it was +the same garden that disclosed itself in this clarity +and beauty.</p> + +<p>The next thing I remember is the Chaplain coming +to me and our going together into the E.s' +dining-room, and Miss Ashley-Smith's joining us +there. My malady was contagious and she had +caught it, but with no damage to her self-control.</p> + +<p>She says very simply and quietly that she is going +back to Ghent. And the infection spreads to +the Chaplain. He says that neither of us is going +back to Ghent, but that he is going. The poor +boy tries to arrange with us how he may best do +it, in secrecy, without poisoning the Commandant<a name="FNanchor_35_36" id="FNanchor_35_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_36" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> +and the whole Ambulance with the spirit of return. +With difficulty we convince him that it would be +useless for any man to go. He would be taken +prisoner the minute he showed his nose in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +"Flandria" and set to dig trenches till the end of +the War.</p> + +<p>Then he says, if only he had his cassock with +him. They would respect <i>that</i> (which is open to +doubt).</p> + +<p>We are there a long time discussing which of +us is going back to Ghent. Miss Ashley-Smith is +fertile and ingenious in argument. She is a nurse, +and I and the Chaplain are not. She has friends in +Ghent who have not been warned, whom she must +go back to. In any case, she says, it was a toss-up +whether she went or stayed.</p> + +<p>And while we are still arguing, we go out on +the road that leads to the village, to find the ambulances +and see if any of the chauffeurs will take +us back to Ghent. I am not very hopeful about +the means of transport. I do not think that Tom +or any of the chauffeurs will move, this time, without +orders from the Commandant. I do not think +that the Commandant will let any of us go except +himself.</p> + +<p>And Miss Ashley-Smith says if only she had a +horse.</p> + +<p>If she had a horse she would be in Ghent in no +time. Perhaps, if none of the chauffeurs will take +her back, she can find a horse in the village.</p> + +<p>She keeps on saying very quietly and simply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +that she is going, and explaining the reasons why +she should go rather than anybody else. And I +bring forward every reason I can think of why she +should do nothing of the sort.</p> + +<p>I abhor the possibility of her going back instead +of me; but I am not yet afraid of it. I do not yet +think seriously that she will do it. I do not see +how she is going to, if the chauffeurs refuse to take +her. (I do not see how, in this case, I am to go +myself.) And I do not imagine for one moment +that she will find a horse. Still, I am vaguely uneasy. +And the Chaplain doesn't make it any better +by backing her up and declaring that as she +will be more good than either of us when she gets +there, her going is the best thing that in the circumstances +can be done.</p> + +<p>And in the end, with an extreme quietness and +simplicity, she went.</p> + +<p>We had not yet found the ambulance cars, and +it seemed pretty certain that Miss Ashley-Smith +would not get her horse any more than the Chaplain +could get his cassock.</p> + +<p>And then, just when we thought the difficulties +of transport were insuperable, we came straight on +the railway lines and the station, where a train +had pulled up on its way to Ghent. Miss Ashley-Smith +got on to the train. I got on too, to go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +with her, and the Chaplain, who is abominably +strong, put his arms round my waist and pulled me +off.</p> + +<p>I have never ceased to wish that I had hung on +to that train.</p> + +<p>On our way back to the E.s' house we met the +Commandant and told him what had happened. I +said I thought it was the worst thing that had happened +yet. It wasn't the smallest consolation when +he said it was the most sensible solution.</p> + +<p>And when Mrs. —— for fifteen consecutive +seconds took the view that I had decoyed Miss +Ashley-Smith out on to that accursed road in order +to send her to Ghent, and deliberately persuaded +her to go back to the "Flandria" instead of me, +for fifteen consecutive seconds I believed that this +diabolical thing was what I had actually done.</p> + +<p>Mrs. ——'s indignation never blazes away for +more than fifteen seconds; but while the conflagration +lasts it is terrific. And on circumstantial evidence +the case was black against me. When last +seen, Miss Ashley-Smith was entirely willing to be +saved. She goes out for a walk with me along +a quiet country road, and the next thing you hear +is that she has gone back to Ghent. And since, +actually and really, it was my obsession that had +passed into her, I felt that if I had taken Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +Ashley-Smith down that road and murdered her in +a dyke my responsibility wouldn't have been a bit +worse, if as bad.</p> + +<p>And it seemed to me that all the people scattered +among the blankets in that strange room, those that +still lay snuggling down amiably in the warmth, and +those that had started to their feet in dismay, and +those that sat on chairs upright and apart, were +hostile with a just and righteous hostility, that they +had an intimate knowledge of my crime, and had +risen up in abhorrence of the thing I was.</p> + +<p>And somewhere, as if they were far off in some +blessed place on the other side of this nightmare, +I was aware of the merciful and pitiful faces of +Mrs. Lambert and Janet McNeil.</p> + +<p>Then, close beside me, there was a sudden heaving +of the Chaplain's broad shoulders as he faced the +room.</p> + +<p>And I heard him saying, in the same voice in +which he had declared that he was going to hold +Matins, that it wasn't my fault at all—that it was +<i>he</i> who had persuaded Miss Ashley-Smith to go +back to Ghent.<a name="FNanchor_36_37" id="FNanchor_36_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_37" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Chaplain has a moral nerve that never fails +him.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Torrence says that she is going back +to protect Miss Ashley-Smith, and Ursula Dearmer +says that she is going back to protect Mrs. Torrence, +and somebody down in the blankets remarks +that the thing was settled last night, and that all +this going back is simply rotten.</p> + +<p>I can only repeat that it is all my fault, and that +therefore, if Mrs. Torrence goes back, nobody is +going back with her but me.</p> + +<p>And there can be no doubt that three motor ambulances, +with possibly the entire Corps inside them, +certainly with the five women and the Chaplain and +the Commandant, would presently have been seen +tearing along the road to Ghent, one in violent pursuit +of the other, if we had not telephoned and received +news of Miss Ashley-Smith's safe arrival at +the "Flandria," and orders that no more women +were to return to Ghent.</p> + +<p>Among all the variously assorted anguish of that +halt at Ecloo the figures and the behaviour of Mrs. +E. and her husband and their children are beautiful +to remember—their courtesy, their serenity, their +gentle and absolving wonder that anybody should +see anything in the least frightful or distressing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +or even disconcerting and unusual, in the situation; +the little girl who sat beside me, showing me her +picture-book of animals, accepting gravely and earnestly +all that you had to tell her about the ways +of squirrels, of kangaroos and opossums, while we +waited for the ambulance cars to take us to Bruges; +the boy who ran after us as we went, and stood +looking after us and waving to us in the lane; the +aspect of that Flemish house and garden as we left +them—there is no word that embraces all these +things but beauty.</p> + +<p>We stopped in the village to take up our wounded +from the Convent. The nuns brought us through +a long passage and across a little court to the refectory, +which had been turned into a ward. Bowls +steaming with the morning meal for the patients +stood on narrow tables between the two rows of +beds. Each bed was hung round and littered with +haversacks, boots, rifles, bandoliers and uniforms +bloody and begrimed. Except for the figures of +the nuns and the aspect of its white-washed walls +and its atmosphere of incorruptible peace, the place +might have been a barracks or the dormitory in a +night lodging, rather than a convent ward.</p> + +<p>When we had found and dressed our men, we +led them out as we had come. As we went we saw,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +framed through some open doorway, sunlight and +vivid green, and the high walls and clipped alleys +of the Convent garden.</p> + +<p>Of all our sad contacts and separations, these +leave-takings at the convents were the saddest. +And it was not only that this place had the same +poignant and unbearable beauty as the place we had +just left, but its beauty was unique. You felt that +if the friends you had just left were turned out +of their house and garden to-morrow, they might +still return some day. But here you saw a carefully +guarded and fragile loveliness on the very +eve of its dissolution. The place was fairly saturated +with holiness, and the beauty of holiness was +in the faces and in every gesture of the nuns. And +you felt that they and their faces and their gestures +were impermanent, that this highly specialized form +of holiness had continued with difficulty until now, +that it hung by a single thread to a world that had +departed very far from it.</p> + +<p>Yet, for the moment while you looked at it, it +maintained itself in perfection.</p> + +<p>We shall never know all that the War has annihilated. +But for that moment of time while it +lasted, the Convent at Ecloo annihilated the nineteenth +and eighteenth centuries, every century be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>tween +now and the fifteenth. What you saw was +a piece of life cut straight out of the Middle Ages. +What you felt was the guarded and hidden beauty +of the Middle Ages, the beauty of obedience, simplicity +and chastity, of souls set apart and dedicated, +the whole insoluble secret charm of the cloistered +life. The very horror of the invasion that threatened +it at this hour of the twentieth century was +a horror of the Middle Ages.</p> + +<p>But these devoted women did not seem aware +of it. The little high-bred English nun who conducted +us talked politely and placidly of England +and of English things as of things remembered with +a certain mortal affection but left behind without +regret. It was as if she contemplated the eternal +continuance of the Convent at Ecloo with no break +in its divine tranquillity. One sister went so far +as to express the hope that their Convent would be +spared. It was as if she were uttering some merely +perfunctory piety. The rest, without ceasing from +their ministrations, looked up at us and smiled.</p> + +<p class="centerspread">········</p> + +<p>On the way up to Bruges we passed whole regiments +of the Belgian Army in retreat. They +trooped along in straggling disorder, their rifles at +trail; behind them the standard-bearers trudged,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +carrying the standard furled and covered with black. +The speed of our cars as we overtook them was +more insufferable than ever.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Bruges.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> thought that the Belgian Army would be +quartered in Bruges, and that we should find a +hospital there and serve the Army from that base.</p> + +<p>We took our wounded to the Convent, and set +out to find quarters for ourselves in the town. We +had orders to meet at the Convent again at a certain +hour.</p> + +<p>Most of the Corps were being put up at the Convent. +The rest of us had to look for rooms.</p> + +<p>In the search I got separated from the Corps, and +wandered about the streets of Bruges with much +interest and a sense of great intimacy and leisure. +By the time I had found a <i>pension</i> in a narrow +street behind the market-place, I felt it to be quite +certain that we should stay in Bruges at least as +long as we had stayed in Ghent, and what moments +I could spare from the obsession of Ghent I spent +in contemplating the Belfry. Very soon it was time +to go back to the Convent. The way to the Convent +was through many tortuous streets, but I was +going in the right direction, accompanied by a kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +Flamand and her husband, when at the turn by the +canal bridge I was nearly run over by one of our +own ambulance cars. It was Bert's car, and he was +driving with fury and perturbation away from the +Convent and towards the town. Janet McNeil was +with him. They stopped to tell me that we had +orders to clear out of Bruges. The Germans had +taken Ghent and were coming on to Bruges. We +had orders to go on to Ostend.</p> + +<p>We found the rest of the cars drawn up in a +street near the Convent. We had not been two +hours in Bruges, and we left it, if anything, quicker +than we had come in. The flat land fairly dropped +away before our speed. I sat on the back step of +the leading car, and I shall never forget the look +of those ambulances, three in a line, as they came +into sight scooting round the turns on the road to +Ostend.</p> + +<p>Besides the wounded we had brought from Ghent, +we took with us three footsore Tommies whom we +had picked up in Bruges. They had had a long +march. The stoutest, biggest and most robust of +these three fainted just as we drew up in the courtyard +of the <i>Kursaal</i> at Ostend.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Ostend.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Kursaal</i> had been taken by some English +and American women and turned into a Hospital. +It was filled already to overflowing, but they found +room for our wounded for the night. Ostend was +to be evacuated in the morning. In fact, we were +considered to be running things rather fine by staying +here instead of going on straight to Dunkirk. +It was supposed that if the Germans were not yet +in Bruges they might be there any minute.</p> + +<p>But we had had so many premature orders to +clear out, and the Germans had always been hours +behind time, and we judged it a safe risk. Besides, +there were forty-seven Belgian wounded in Bruges, +and three of our ambulance cars were going back +to fetch them.</p> + +<p>There was some agitation as to who would and +who wouldn't be allowed to go back to Bruges. +The Commandant was at first inclined to reject his +Secretary as unfit. But if you take him the right +way he is fairly tractable, and I managed to convince +him that nothing but going back to Bruges +could make up for my failure to go back to Ghent. +He earned my everlasting gratitude by giving me +leave. As for Mrs. Torrence, she had no difficulty. +She was obviously competent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, just as I was congratulating myself that +the shame of Ecloo was to be wiped out (to say +nothing of that ignominious overthrow at Melle), +there occurred a <i>contretemps</i> that made our ambulance +conspicuous among the many ambulances in +the courtyard of the Hospital.</p> + +<p>We had reckoned without the mistimed chivalry +of our chauffeurs.</p> + +<p>They had all, even Tom, been quite pathetically +kind and gentle during and ever since the flight +from Ghent. (I remember poor Newlands coming +up with his bottle of formamint just as we were +preparing to leave Ecloo.) It never occurred to +us that there was anything ominous in this mood.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Torrence and I were just going to get into +(I think) Newlands' car, when we were aware of +Newlands standing fixed on the steps of the Hospital, +looking like Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, in +khaki, and flatly refusing to drive his car into +Bruges, not only if we were in his car, but if +one woman went with the expedition in any other +car.</p> + +<p>He stood there, very upright, on the steps of the +Hospital, and rather pale, while the Commandant +and Mrs. Torrence surged up to him in fury. The +Commandant told him he would be sacked for insubordination, +and Mrs. Torrence, in a wild flight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +of fancy, threatened to expose him "in the papers."</p> + +<p>But Newlands stood his ground. He was even +more like Lord Kitchener than Tom. He simply +could not get over the idea that women were to be +protected. And to take the women into Bruges +when the Germans were, for all we knew, <i>in</i> Bruges, +was an impossibility to Newlands, as it would have +been to Lord Kitchener. So he went on refusing +to take his car into Bruges if one woman went with +the expedition. In retort to a charge of cold feet, +he intimated that he was ready to drive into any +hell you pleased, provided he hadn't got to take any +women with him. He didn't care if he <i>was</i> sacked. +He didn't care if Mrs. Torrence <i>did</i> report him in +the papers. He wouldn't drive his car into Bruges +if one woman—</p> + +<p>Here, in his utter disregard of all discipline, the +likeness between Newlands and Lord Kitchener +ends. Enough that he drove his car into Bruges +on his own terms, and Mrs. Torrence and I were +left behind.</p> + +<p>The expedition to Bruges returned safely with +the forty-seven Belgian wounded.</p> + +<p>We found rooms in a large hotel on the Digue, +overlooking the sea. Before evening I went round +to the Hospital to see Miss Ashley-Smith's three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +wounded men. The <i>Kursaal</i> is built in terraces and +galleries going all round the front and side of it. +I took the wrong turning round one of them and +found myself in the doorway of an immense ward. +From somewhere inside there came loud and lacerating +screams, high-pitched but appallingly monotonous +and without intervals. I thought it was +a man in delirium; I even thought it might be poor +Fisher, of whose attacks we had been warned. I +went in.</p> + +<p>I had barely got a yard inside the ward before +a kind little rosy-faced English nurse ran up to me. +I told her what I wanted.</p> + +<p>She said, "You'd better go back. You won't be +able to stand it."</p> + +<p>Even then I didn't take it in, and said I supposed +the poor man was delirious.</p> + +<p>She cried out, "No! No! He is having his leg +taken off."</p> + +<p>They had run short of anæsthetics.</p> + +<p>I don't know what I must have looked like, but +the little rosy-faced nurse grabbed me and said, +"Come away. You'll faint if you see it."</p> + +<p>And I went away. Somebody took me into the +right ward, where I found Fisher and Williams and +the other man. Fisher was none the worse for his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +journey, and Williams and the other man were very +cheerful. Another English nurse, who must have +had the tact of a heavenly angel, brought up a bowl +of chicken broth and said I might feed Fisher if I +liked. So I sat a little while there, feeding Fisher, +and regretting for the hundredth time that I had not +had the foresight to be trained as a nurse when I +was young. Unfortunately, though I foresaw this +war ten years ago, I had not foreseen it when I +was young. I told the men I would come and see +them early in the morning, and bring them some +money, as I had promised Miss Ashley-Smith. I +never saw them again.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened quite as I had planned it.</p> + +<p>To begin with, we had discovered as we lunched +at Bruges that the funds remaining in the leather +purse-belt were hardly enough to keep the Ambulance +going for another week. And our hotel expenses +at Ostend were reducing its term to a problematic +three days. So it was more or less settled +amongst us that somebody would have to go over +to England the next day and return with funds, +and that the supernumerary Secretary was, on the +whole, the fittest person for the job.</p> + +<p>I slept peaceably on this prospect of a usefulness +that seemed to justify my existence at a moment +when it most needed vindication.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Tuesday, 13th.</i>]</p> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">got</span> up at six. Last thing at night I had said +to myself that I must wake early and go round to +the Hospital with the money.</p> + +<p>With my first sleep the obsession of Ghent had +slackened its hold. And though it came back again +after I had got up, dressed and had realized my surroundings, +its returns were at longer and longer +intervals.</p> + +<p>The first thing I did was to go round to the +<i>Kursaal</i>. The Hospital was being evacuated, the +wounded were lying about everywhere on the terraces +and galleries, waiting for the ambulances. +Williams and Fisher and the other man were nowhere +to be seen. I was told that their ward had +been cleared out first, and that the three were now +safe on their way to England.</p> + +<p>I went away very grieved that they had not got +their money.</p> + +<p>At the Hotel I find the Commandant very cheerful. +He has made Miss —— his Secretary and Reporter +till my return.<a name="FNanchor_37_38" id="FNanchor_37_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_38" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></p> + +<p>He goes down to the quay to make arrangements +for my transport and returns after some consider<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>able +time. There have been difficulties about this +detail. And the Commandant has an abhorrence of +details, even of easy ones.</p> + +<p>He comes back. He looks abstracted. I inquire, +a little too anxiously, perhaps, about my transport. +It is all right, all perfectly right. He has +arranged with Dr. Beavis of the British Field Hospital +to take me on his ship.</p> + +<p>He looks a little spent with his exertions, and +as he has again become abstracted I forbear to press +for more information at the moment.</p> + +<p>We breakfasted. Presently I ask him the name +of Dr. Beavis's ship.</p> + +<p>Oh, the <i>name</i> of the ship is the <i>Dresden</i>.</p> + +<p>Time passes. And presently, just as he is going, +I suggest that it would be as well for me to know +what time the <i>Dresden</i> sails.</p> + +<p>This detail either he never knew or has forgotten. +And there is something about it, about the nature +of stated times, as about all things conventional and +mechanical and precise, that peculiarly exasperates +him.</p> + +<p>He waves both hands in a fury of nescience and +cries, "Ask me another!"</p> + +<p>By a sort of mutual consent we assume that the +<i>Dresden</i> will sail with Dr. Beavis at ten o'clock. +After all, it is a very likely hour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>More time passes. Finally we go into the street +that runs along the Digue. And there we find Dr. +Beavis sitting in a motor-car. We approach him. +I thank him for his kindness in giving me transport. +I say I'm sure his ship will be crowded with his +own people, but that I don't in the least mind standing +in the stoke-hole, if <i>he</i> doesn't mind taking me +over.</p> + +<p>He looks at me with a dreamy benevolence mixed +with amazement. He would take me over with +pleasure if he knew how he was to get away himself.</p> + +<p>"But," I say to the Commandant, "I thought +you had arranged with Dr. Beavis to take me on the +<i>Dresden</i>."</p> + +<p>The Commandant says nothing. And Dr. Beavis +smiles again. A smile of melancholy knowledge.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Dresden</i>," he says, "sailed two hours ago."</p> + +<p>So it is decided that I am to proceed with the +Ambulance to Dunkirk, thence by train to Boulogne, +thence to Folkestone. It sounds so simple that I +wonder why we didn't think of it before.</p> + +<p>But it was not by any means so simple as it +sounded.</p> + +<p>First of all we had to collect ourselves. Then +we had to collect Dr. Hanson's luggage. Dr. Hanson +was one of Mrs. St. Clair Stobart's women sur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>geons, +and she had left her luggage for Miss —— to +carry from Ostend to England. There was a +yellow tin box and a suit-case. Dr. Hanson's best +clothes and her cases of surgical instruments were +in the suit-case and all the things she didn't +particularly care about in the tin box. Or else the +best clothes and the surgical instruments were in +the tin box, and the things she didn't particularly +care about in the suit-case. As we were certainly +going to take both boxes, it didn't seem to matter +much which way round it was.</p> + +<p>Then there was Mr. Foster's green canvas kit-bag +to be taken to Folkestone and sent to him at +the Victoria Hospital there.</p> + +<p>And there was a British Red Cross lady and her +luggage—but we didn't know anything about the +lady and her luggage yet.</p> + +<p>We found them at the <i>Kursaal</i> Hospital, where +some of our ambulances were waiting.</p> + +<p>By this time the courtyard, the steps and terraces +of the Hospital were a scene of the most ghastly +confusion. The wounded were still being carried +out and still lay, wrapped in blankets, on the terraces; +those who could sit or stand sat or stood. +Ambulance cars jostled each other in the courtyard. +Red Cross nurses dressed for departure were +grouped despairingly about their luggage. Other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +nurses, who were not dressed for departure, who +still remained superintending the removal of their +wounded, paid no attention to these groups and their +movements and their cries. The Hospital had cast +off all care for any but its wounded.</p> + +<p>Women seized hold of other women for guidance +and instruction, and received none. Nobody was +rudely shaken off—they were all, in fact, very kind +to each other—but nobody had time or ability to +attend to anybody else.</p> + +<p>Somebody seized hold of the Commandant and +sent us both off to look for the kitchen and for a +sack of loaves which we would find in it. We were +to bring the sack of loaves out as quickly as we +could. We went off and found the kitchen, we +found several kitchens; but we couldn't find the sack +of loaves, and had to go back without it. When +we got back the lady who had commandeered the +sack of loaves was no more to be seen on the terrace.</p> + +<p>While we waited on the steps somebody remarked +that there was a German aeroplane in the sky and +that it was going to drop a bomb. There was. It +was sailing high over the houses on the other side +of the street. And it dropped its bomb right in +front of us, above an enormous building not fifty +yards away.</p> + +<p>We looked, fascinated. We expected to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +building knocked to bits and flying in all directions. +The bomb fell. And nothing happened. Nothing +at all.</p> + +<p>It was soon after the bomb that my attention was +directed to the lady. She was a British Red Cross +nurse, stranded with a hold-all and a green canvas +trunk, and most particularly forlorn. She had lost +her friends, she had lost her equanimity, she had +lost everything except her luggage. How she attached +herself to us I do not know. The Commandant +says it was I who made myself responsible +for her safety. We couldn't leave her to the Germans +with her green canvas trunk and her hold-all.</p> + +<p>So I heaved up one end of the canvas trunk, and +the Commandant tore it from me and flung it to +the chauffeurs, who got it and the hold-all into +Bert's ambulance. I grasped the British Red Cross +lady firmly by the arm, lest she should get adrift +again, and hustled her along to the Hotel, where +the yellow tin box and the suit-case and the kit-bag +waited. Somebody got them into the ambulance +somehow.</p> + +<p>It was at this point that Ursula Dearmer appeared. +(She had put up at some other hotel with Mrs. +Lambert.)</p> + +<p>My British Red Cross lady was explaining to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +that she had by no means abandoned her post, but +that she was doing the right thing in leaving Ostend, +seeing that she meant to apply for another post on +a hospital ship. She was sure, she said, she was +doing the right thing. I said, as I towed her securely +along by one hand through a gathering crowd +of refugees (we were now making for the ambulance +cars that were drawn up along the street by +the Digue), I said I was equally sure she was doing +the right thing and that nobody could possibly +think otherwise.</p> + +<p>And, as I say, Ursula Dearmer appeared.</p> + +<p>The youngest but one was seated with Mr. Riley +in the military scouting-car that was to be our convoy +to Dunkirk. I do not know how it had happened, +but in this hour, at any rate, she had taken +over the entire control and command of the Ambulance; +and this with a coolness and competence +that suggested that it was no new thing. It suggested, +also, that without her we should not have +got away from Ostend before the Germans marched +into it. In fact, it is hardly fair to say that she +had taken everything over. Everything had lapsed +into her hands at the supreme crisis by a sort of +natural fitness.</p> + +<p>We were all ready to go. The only one we yet +waited for was the Commandant, who presently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +emerged from the Hotel. In his still dreamy and +abstracted movements he was pursued by an excited +waiter flourishing a bill. I forgot whose bill +it was (it may have been mine), but anyhow it +wasn't <i>his</i> bill.</p> + +<p>We may have thought we were following the +retreat of the Belgian Army when we went from +Ghent to Bruges. We were, in fact, miles behind +it, and the regiments we overtook were stragglers. +The whole of the Belgian Army seemed to be poured +out on to that road between Ostend and Dunkirk. +Sometimes it was going before us, sometimes it +was mysteriously coming towards us, sometimes +it was stationary, but always it was there. It covered +the roads; we had to cut our way through it. +It was retreating slowly, as if in leisure, with a +firm, unhasting dignity.</p> + +<p>Every now and then, as we looked at the men, +they smiled at us, with a curious still and tragic +smile.</p> + +<p>And it is by that smile that I shall always remember +the look of the Belgian Army in the great +retreat.</p> + +<p>Our own retreat—the Ostend-Dunkirk bit of +it—is memorable chiefly by Miss ——'s account +of the siege of Antwerp and the splendid courage of +Mrs. St. Clair Stobart and her women.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<p>But that is her story, not mine, and it should be +left to her to tell.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Dunkirk.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> Dunkirk the question of the Secretary's transport +again arose. It contended feebly with the +larger problem of where and when and how the +Corps was to lunch, things being further complicated +by the Commandant's impending interview +with Baron de Broqueville, the Belgian Minister of +War. I began to feel like a large and useless parcel +which the Commandant had brought with him in +sheer absence of mind, and was now anxious to +lose or otherwise get rid of. At the same time the +Ambulance could not go on for more than three +days without further funds, and, as the courier to +be despatched to fetch them, I was, for the moment, +the most important person in the Corps; and my +transport was not a question to be lightly set aside.</p> + +<p>I was about to solve the problem for myself by +lugging my lady to the railway station, when +Ursula Dearmer took us over too, in her stride, as +inconsiderable items of the business before her. I +have nothing but admiration for her handling of it.</p> + +<p>We halted in the main street of Dunkirk while +Mr. Riley and the chauffeurs unearthed from the +baggage-car my hold-all and suit-case and the Brit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>ish +Red Cross lady's hold-all and trunk and Mr. +Foster's kit-bag and Dr. Hanson's suit-case with +her best clothes and her surgical instruments and +the tin—No, not the tin box, for the Commandant, +now possessed by a violent demon of hurry, resisted +our efforts to drag it from its lair.<a name="FNanchor_38_39" id="FNanchor_38_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_39" class="fnanchor">[38]</a></p> + +<p>All these things were piled on Ursula Dearmer's +military scouting-car. The British Red Cross lady +(almost incredulous of her good luck) and I got +inside it, and Ursula Dearmer and Mr. Riley drove +us to the railway station.</p> + +<p>By the mercy of Heaven a train was to leave for +Boulogne either a little before or a little after one, +and we had time to catch it.</p> + +<p>There was a long line of refugee <i>bourgeois</i> drawn +up before the station doors, and I noticed that every +one of them carried in his hand a slip of paper.</p> + +<p>Ursula Dearmer hailed a porter, who, she said, +would look after us like a father. With a matchless +celerity he and Mr. Riley tore down the pile +of luggage. The porter put them on a barrow and +disappeared with them very swiftly through the +station doors.</p> + +<p>At least I suppose it was through the doors. All +we knew was that he disappeared.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Ursula Dearmer handed over to me three +cables to be sent from Dunkirk. I said good-bye +to her and Mr. Riley. They got back into the +motor-car, and they, too, very swiftly disappeared.</p> + +<p>Mr. Riley went away bearing with him the baffling +mystery of his personality. After nearly +three weeks' association with him I know that Mr. +Riley's whole heart is in his job of carrying the +wounded. Beyond that I know no more of him +than on the day when he first turned up before our +Committee.</p> + +<p>But with Ursula Dearmer it is different. Before +the Committee she appeared as a very young +girl, docile, diffident, only half-awake, and of dubious +efficiency. I remember my solemn pledges to +her mother that Ursula Dearmer should not be allowed +to go into danger, and how, if danger insisted +on coming to her, she should be violently packed +up and sent home. I remember thinking what a +nuisance Ursula Dearmer will be, and how, when +things are just beginning to get interesting, I shall +be told off to see her home.</p> + +<p>And Ursula Dearmer, the youngest but one, has +gone, not at all docilely and diffidently, into the +greatest possible danger, and come out of it. And +here she is, wide awake and in full command of the +Ostend-Dunkirk expedition. And instead of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +seeing her off and all the way home, she is very +thoroughly and competently seeing <i>me</i> off.</p> + +<p>At least this was her beautiful intention.</p> + +<p>But getting out of France in war-time is not a +simple matter.</p> + +<p>When we tried to follow the flight of our luggage +through the station door we were stopped by a +sentry with a rifle. We produced our passports. +They were not enough.</p> + +<p>At the sight of us brought to halt there, all the +refugees began to agitate their slips of paper. And +on the slips we read the words "<i>Laissez-passer</i>."</p> + +<p>My British Red Cross lady had no "<i>laissez-passer</i>." +I had only my sixteenth part in the +"<i>laissez-passer</i>" of the Corps, and that, hidden +away in the Commandant's breast-pocket, was a +part either of the luncheon-party or of the interview +with the Belgian Minister of War.</p> + +<p>We couldn't get military passes, for military +passes take time; and the train was due in about +fifteen minutes.</p> + +<p>And the fatherly porter had vanished, taking with +him the secret of our luggage.</p> + +<p>It was a fatherly old French gentleman who advised +us to go to the British <i>Consulat</i>. And it was +a fatherly old French <i>cocher</i> who drove us there, +or rather who drove us through interminable twisted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +streets and into blind alleys and out of them till +we got there.</p> + +<p>As for our luggage, we renounced it and Mr. +Foster's and Dr. Hanson's luggage in the interests +of our own safety.</p> + +<p>At last we got to the British <i>Consulat</i>. Only I +think the <i>cocher</i> took us to the Town Hall and the +Hospital and the British Embassy and the Admiralty +offices first.</p> + +<p>At intervals during this transit the British Red +Cross lady explained again that she was doing the +right thing in leaving Ostend. It wasn't as if she +was leaving her post, she was going on a hospital +ship. She was sure she had done the right +thing.</p> + +<p>It was not for me to be unsympathetic to an obsession +produced by a retreat, so I assured her again +and again that if there ever was a right thing she +had done it. My heart bled for this poor lady, +abandoned by the organization that had brought her +out.</p> + +<p>In the courtyard of the <i>Consulat</i> we met a stalwart +man in khaki, who smiled as a god might +smile at our trouble, and asked us why on earth +we hadn't got a passage on the naval transport +<i>Victoria</i>, sailing at three o'clock. We said nothing +would have pleased us better, only we had never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +heard of the <i>Victoria</i> and her sailing. And he took +us to the Consul, and the Consul—who must have +been buried alive in detail—gave us a letter to +Captain King of the <i>Victoria</i>, and the <i>cocher</i> drove +us to the dock.</p> + +<p>Captain King was an angel. He was the head of +a whole hierarchy of angels who called themselves +ship's officers.</p> + +<p>There is no difficulty about our transport. But +we must be at the docks by half-past two.</p> + +<p>We have an hour before us; so we drive back to +the station to see if, after all, we can find that luggage. +Not that we in the least expected to find it, +for we had been told that it had gone on by the +train to Boulogne.</p> + +<p>Now the British Red Cross lady declared many +times that but for me and my mastery of the French +language she would never have got out of Dunkirk. +And it was true that I looked on her more as a +sacred charge than as a valuable ally in the struggle +with French sentries, porters and officials. As for +the <i>cocher</i>, I didn't consider him valuable at all, +even as the driver of an ancient <i>fiacre</i>. And yet +it was the lady and the <i>cocher</i> who found the luggage. +It seems that the station hall is open between +trains, and they had simply gone into the hall and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +seen it there, withdrawn bashfully into a corner. +The <i>cocher's</i> face as he announces his discovery +makes the War seem a monstrous illusion. It is +incredible that anything so joyous should exist in +a country under German invasion.</p> + +<p>We drive again to the <i>Victoria</i> in her dock. The +stewards run about and do things for us. They +give us lunch. They give us tea. And the other +officers come in and make large, simple jokes about +bombs and mines and submarines. We have the +ship all to ourselves except for a few British soldiers, +recruits sent out to Antwerp too soon and +sent back again for more training.</p> + +<p>They looked, poor boys, far sadder than the Belgian +Army.</p> + +<p>And I walk the decks; I walk the decks till we +get to Dover. My sacred charge appears and disappears. +Every now and then I see her engaged in +earnest conversation with the ship's officers; and I +wonder whether she is telling them that she has not +really left her post and that she is sure she has done +right. I am no longer concerned about my own +post, for I feel so sure that I am going back to it.</p> + +<p>To-morrow I shall get the money from our Committee; +and on Thursday I shall go back.</p> + +<p>And yet—and yet—I must have had a pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>monition. +We are approaching England. I can +see the white cliffs.</p> + +<p>And I hate the white cliffs. I hate them with a +sudden and mysterious hatred.</p> + +<p>More especially I hate the cliffs of Dover. For +it is there that we must land. I should not have +thought it possible to hate the white coast of my own +country when she is at war.</p> + +<p>And now I know that I hate it because it is not +the coast of Flanders. Which would be absurd if +I were really going back again.</p> + +<p>Yes, I must have had a premonition.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced2">[<i>Dover.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have landed now. I have said good-bye to +Captain King and all the ship's officers and thanked +them for their kindness. I have said good-bye to +the British Red Cross lady, who is not going to +London.</p> + +<p>And I go to the station telegraph-office to send +off five wires.</p> + +<p>I am sending off the five wires when I hear feet +returning through the station hall. The Red Cross +lady is back again. She is saying this time that she +is <i>really</i> sure she has done the right thing.</p> + +<p>And again I assure her that she has.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well—there are obsessions and obsessions. I +do not know whether I have done the right thing or +not in leaving Flanders (or, for that matter, in +leaving Ghent). All that I know is that I love it +and that I have left it. And that I want to go back.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="spaced">POSTSCRIPT</h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> + +<p>There have been changes in that Motor Field Ambulance +Corps that set out for Flanders on the 25th of +September, 1914.</p> + +<p>Its Commandant has gone from it to join the Royal +Army Medical Corps. A few of the original volunteers +have dropped out and others have taken their +places, and it is larger now than it was, and better organized.</p> + +<p>But whoever went and whoever stayed, its four field-women +have remained at the Front. Two of them are +attached to the Third Division of the Belgian Army; +all four have distinguished themselves by their devotion +to that Army and by their valour, and they have +all received the Order of Leopold II., the highest Belgian +honour ever given to women.</p> + +<p>The Commandant, being a man, has the Order of +Leopold I. Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett and Mr. Philip +Gibbs and Dr. Souttar have described his heroic action +at the Battle of Dixmude on the 22nd of October, +1914, when he went into the cellars of the burning and +toppling Town Hall to rescue the wounded. And +from that day to this the whole Corps—old volunteers +and new—has covered itself with glory.</p> + +<p>On our two chauffeurs, Tom and Bert, the glory lies +quite thick. "Tom" (if I may quote from my own +story of the chauffeurs) "Tom was in the battle of +Dixmude. At the order of his commandant he drove +his car straight into the thick of it, over the ruins of +a shattered house that blocked the way. He waited<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +with his car while all the bombs that he had ever +dreamed of crashed around him, and houses flamed, +and tottered and fell. 'Pretty warm, ain't it?' was +Tom's comment.</p> + +<p>"Four days later he was waiting at Oudekappele +with his car when he heard that the Hospital of Saint-Jean +at Dixmude was being shelled and that the Belgian +military man who had been sent with a motor-car +to carry off the wounded had been turned back by the +fragment of a shell that dropped in front of him. +Tom thereupon drove into Dixmude to the Hospital of +Saint-Jean and removed from it two wounded soldiers +and two aged and paralysed civilians who had sheltered +there, and brought them to Furnes. The military +ambulance men then followed his lead, and the +Hospital was emptied. That evening it was destroyed +by a shell.</p> + +<p>"And Bert—it was Bert who drove his ambulance +into Kams-Kappele to the barricade by the railway. +It was Bert who searched in a shell-hole to pick out +three wounded from among thirteen dead; who with +the help of a Belgian priest, carried the three several +yards to his car, under fire, and who brought them in +safety to Furnes."</p> + +<p>And the others, the brave "Chaplain," and "Mr. +Riley," and "Mr. Lambert," have also proved themselves.</p> + +<p>But when I think of the Corps it is chiefly of the +four field-women that I think—the two "women of +Pervyse," and the other two who joined them at their +dangerous <i>poste</i>.</p> + +<p>Both at Furnes and Pervyse they worked all night, +looking after their wounded; sometimes sleeping on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +straw in a room shared by the Belgian troops, when +there was no other shelter for them in the bombarded +town. One of them has driven a heavy ambulance +car—in a pitch-black night, along a road raked by +shell-fire, and broken here and there into great pits—to +fetch a load of wounded, a performance that would +have racked the nerves of any male chauffeur ever +born. She has driven the same car, <i>alone</i>, with five +German prisoners for her passengers. The four +women served at Pervyse (the town nearest to the +firing-line) in "Mrs. Torrence's" dressing-station—a +cellar only twenty yards behind the Belgian trenches. +In that cellar, eight feet square and lighted and ventilated +only by a slit in the wall, two lived for three +weeks, sleeping on straw, eating what they could get, +drinking water that had passed through a cemetery +where nine hundred Germans are buried. They had +to burn candles night and day. Here the wounded +were brought as they fell in the trenches, and were +tended until the ambulance came to take them to the +base hospital at Furnes.</p> + +<p>Day in, day out, and all night long, with barely an +interval for a wash or a change of clothing, the women +stayed on, the two always, and the four often, till the +engineers built them a little hut for a dressing-station; +they stayed till the Germans shelled them out +of their little hut.</p> + +<p>This is only a part of what they have done. The +finest part will never be known, for it was done in solitary +places and in the dark, when special correspondents +are asleep in their hotels. There was no limelight +on the road between Dixmude and Furnes, or +among the blood and straw in the cellar at Pervyse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<p>And Miss Ashley-Smith (who is now Mrs. McDougall)—her +escape from Ghent (when she had no +more to do there) was as heroic as her return.</p> + +<p>Since then she has gone back to the Front and done +splendid service in her own Corps, the First Aid Nursing +Yeomanry.</p> + +<p class="sign"> +<span class="sinclair2">M. S.</span><br /> +July 15th, 1915.</p> + +<p class="centerspaced">THE END</p> + +<p class="centerspaced">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + +<h2 class="spaced">FOOTNOTES:</h2> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It would be truer to say she was in love with duty which +was often dangerous.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_3" id="Footnote_2_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_3"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> She very soon let us know why. "Followed" is the +wrong word.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_4" id="Footnote_3_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_4"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> He didn't. People never do mean these things.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_5" id="Footnote_4_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_5"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> This only means that, whether you attended to it or not +(you generally didn't), as long as you were in Belgium, your +sub-consciousness was never entirely free from the fear of +Uhlans—of Uhlans in the flesh. The illusion of valour is +the natural, healthy reaction of your psyche against its fear +and your indifference to its fear.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_6" id="Footnote_5_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_6"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Nobody need have been surprised. She had distinguished +herself in other wars.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_7" id="Footnote_6_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_7"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> One is a church and not a cathedral.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_8" id="Footnote_7_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_8"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> I am puzzled about this date. It stands in my ambulance +Day-Book as Saturday, 3rd, with a note that the British came +into Ghent on their way to Antwerp on the evening of that +day. Now I believe there were no British in Antwerp before +the evening of Sunday, the 4th, yet "Dr. Wilson" and Mr. +Davidson, going into Saint Nicolas before us, saw the British +there, and "Mrs. Torrence" and "Janet McNeil" saw more +British come into Ghent in the evening. I was ill with fever +the day after the run into Antwerp, and got behindhand with +my Day-Book. So it seems safest to assume that I made a +wrong entry and that we went into Antwerp on Sunday, and +to record Saturday's events as spreading over the whole day. +Similarly the events that the Day-Book attributes to Monday +must have belonged to Tuesday. And if Tuesday's events +were really Wednesday's, that clears up a painful doubt I had +as to Wednesday, which came into my Day-Book as an empty +extra which I couldn't account for in any way. There I was +with a day left over and nothing to put into it. And yet +Wednesday, the 7th, was the first day of the real siege of +Antwerp. On Thursday, the 8th, I started clear.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_9" id="Footnote_8_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_9"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> It wasn't. This was only the first slender trickling. The +flood came three days later with the bombardment of the city.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_10" id="Footnote_9_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_10"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Of all the thousands and thousands of refugees whom I +have seen I have only seen three weep, and they were three +out of six hundred who had just disembarked at the Prince +of Wales's Pier at Dover. But in Belgium not one tear.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_11" id="Footnote_10_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_11"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> This is all wrong. The main stream went as straight as it +could for the sea-coast—Holland or Ostend.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_12" id="Footnote_11_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_12"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The outer forts were twelve miles away.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_13" id="Footnote_12_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_13"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> At the time of writing—February 19th, 1915. My Day-Book +gives no record of anything but the hospitals we visited.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_14" id="Footnote_13_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_14"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> There must be something wrong here, for the place was, I +believe, a convent.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_15" id="Footnote_14_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_15"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Every woman did.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_16" id="Footnote_15_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_16"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> This was made up to her afterwards! Her cup fairly ran +over.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_17" id="Footnote_16_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_17"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> I have heard a distinguished alienist say that this reminiscent +sensation is a symptom of approaching insanity. As +it is not at all uncommon, there must be a great many lunatics +going about.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_18" id="Footnote_17_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_18"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Except that nobody had any time to attend to us, I can't +think why we weren't all four of us arrested for spies. We +hadn't any business to be looking for the position of the +Belgian batteries.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_19" id="Footnote_18_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_19"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> More than likely our appearance there stopped the firing.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_20" id="Footnote_19_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_20"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> I have since been told that he was not. And I think in +any case I am wrong about his "matchboard" car. It must +have been somebody else's. In fact, I'm very much afraid that +"he" was somebody else—that I hadn't the luck really to +meet him.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_21" id="Footnote_20_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_21"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> He did. She was not a lady whom it was possible to +leave behind on such an expedition.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_22" id="Footnote_21_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_22"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> I'm inclined to think it may have been the dogs of Belgium, +after all. I can't think where the guns could have been. +Antwerp had fallen. It might have been the bombardment of +Melle, though.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_23" id="Footnote_22_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_23"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> The fate of "Mr. Lambert" and the scouting-car was one +of those things that ought never to have happened. It turned +out that the car was not the property of his paper, but his +own car, hired and maintained by him at great expense; that +this brave and devoted young American had joined our Corps +before it left England and gone out to the front to wait for us. +And he was kept waiting long after we got there. +</p><p> +But if he didn't see as much service at Ghent as he undertook +to see (though he did some fine things on his own even +there), it was made up to him in Flanders afterwards, when, +with the Commandant and other members of the Corps, he +distinguished himself by his gallantry at Furnes and in the +Battle of Dixmude. +</p><p> +(For an account of his wife's services see Postscript.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_24" id="Footnote_23_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_24"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> I record these details (March 11th, 1915) because the +Commandant accused me subsequently of a total lack of "balance" +upon this occasion.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_25" id="Footnote_24_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_25"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> This is no reflection on Tom's courage. His chief objection +was to driving three women so near the German lines. +The same consideration probably weighed with the Commandant +and M. ——.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_26" id="Footnote_25_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_26"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> The whole thing was a piece of rank insubordination. The +Commandant was entirely right to forbid the expedition, and +we were entirely wrong in disobeying him. But it was one +of those wrong things that I would do again to-morrow.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_27" id="Footnote_26_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_27"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Antwerp had surrendered on Friday, the 9th.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_28" id="Footnote_27_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_28"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> All the same it was splendidly equipped and managed.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_29" id="Footnote_28_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_29"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Even now, when I am asked if I did any nursing when I +was in Belgium I have to think before I answer: "Only for +one morning and one night"—it would still be much truer to +say, "I was nursing all the time."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_30" id="Footnote_29_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_30"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> My Day-Book ends abruptly here; and I have no note of +the events that followed.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_31" id="Footnote_30_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_31"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> Incorrect. It was, I believe, the uniform of the First Aid +Nursing Yeomanry Corps.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_32" id="Footnote_31_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_32"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> It was so bad that it made me forget to pack the Commandant's +Burberry and his Gillette razors and his pipe.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_33" id="Footnote_32_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_33"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> The Commandant had had an adventure. The Belgian +guide mistook the road and brought the car straight into the +German lines instead of the British lines where it had been +sent. If the Germans hadn't been preoccupied with firing +at that moment, the Commandant and Ascot and the Belgian +would all have been taken prisoner.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_34" id="Footnote_33_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_34"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Even now, five months after, I cannot tell whether it was +or was not insanity.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_35" id="Footnote_34_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_35"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> It is really dreadful to think of the nuisance we must have +been to these dear people on the eve of their own flight.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_36" id="Footnote_35_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_36"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> The Commandant had his own scheme for going back to +Ghent, which fortunately he did not carry out.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_37" id="Footnote_36_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_37"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> This girl's courage and self-devotion were enough to establish +our innocence—they needed no persuasion. But I +still hold myself responsible for her going, since it was my +failure to control my obsession that first of all put the idea +in her head.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_38" id="Footnote_37_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_38"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> I saw nothing sinister about this arrangement at the time. +It seemed incredible to me that I should not return.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_39" id="Footnote_38_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_39"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Having saved the suit-case, I guarded it as a sacred thing. +But Dr. Hanson's best clothes and her surgical instruments +were in the tin box after all.</p></div> + +<div class="boxed"> + +<p class="initial"> +<span class="smcap">The</span> following pages contain advertisements of +books by the same author or on kindred subjects.</p> + +</div> + +<p class="u">By THE SAME AUTHOR</p> + +<h2>The Return of the Prodigal</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Cloth, 12mo. $1.35</i></p> + +<p>"These are stories to be read leisurely with a feeling for the stylish +and the careful workmanship which is always a part of May Sinclair's +work. 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In fact, "Russia and the World" may be regarded +as one of the very first to deal with it in any adequate fashion.</p> + +<p>"It shows the author creeping as near as he was allowed to the +firing line. It gives broad views of difficult questions, like the future +of the Poles and the Jews. It rises into high politics, forecasts the +terms of peace and the rearrangement of the world, east and west, +that may follow. But the salient thing in it is its interpretation for +Western minds of the spirit of Russia."—<i>London Times.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +<span class="bold">Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York</span></p> + +<h2 class="spsp">German World Policies</h2> + +<p class="centerbold">(Der Deutsche Gedanke in der Welt)</p> + +<p class="center">By PAUL ROHRBACH<br /> +<br /> +Translated by <span class="smcap">Dr. Edmund von Mach</span></p> + +<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.25</i></p> + +<p>Paul Rohrbach has been for several years the most popular +author of books on politics and economics in Germany. He is +described by his translator as a "constructive optimist," one who, +at the same time, is an incisive critic of those shortcomings which +have kept Germany, as he thinks, from playing the great part to +which she is called. In this volume Dr. Rohrbach gives a true insight +into the character of the German people, their aims, fears and +aspirations.</p> + +<p>Though it was written before the war started and has not been +hastily put together, it still possesses peculiar significance now, for +in its analysis of the German idea of culture and its dissemination, +in its consideration of German foreign policies and moral conquests, +it is an important contribution to the widespread speculation now +current on these matters.</p> + +<div class="block"> + +<p>"Dr. von Mach renders an extraordinary service to his country +in making known to English readers at this time a book like +Rohrbach's."—<i>New York Globe.</i></p> + +<p>"A clear insight into Prussian ideals."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>"A valuable, significant, and most informing book."—<i>New +York Tribune.</i></p> + +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +<span class="bold">Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Journal of Impressions in Belgium, by +May Sinclair + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMPRESSIONS IN BELGIUM *** + +***** This file should be named 31332-h.htm or 31332-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/3/31332/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Tamise Totterdell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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