responsible, had to take
the unit home. It was a case of leaving immediately; we packed what
stores we could, but the beds and X-ray apparatus and all our material
equipment would have to be left to the Germans. I think all felt as
though they were running away, but it was a military order, and the
Consul, the British Minister, and the King and Queen were leaving. We
went to eat lunch together, and as we were doing so Mrs. Stobart brought
the news that the Consul had come to say that reinforcements had come
up, the situation changed for the better, and for the present we might
remain. Anyone who wanted to leave might do so, but only four did.

We have since heard what happened. The British Minister cabled home to
say that Antwerp was the key to the whole situation and must not fall,
as once in here the Germans would be strongly entrenched, supplied with
provisions, ammunition, and everything they want. A Cabinet Council was
held at 3 a.m. in London, and reinforcements were ordered up. Winston
Churchill is here with Marines. They say Colonel Kitchener is at the
forts.

The firing sounds very near. Dr. Hector Munro and Miss St. Clair and
Lady Dorothy Fielding came over to-day from Ghent, where all is quiet.
They wanted me to return with them to take a rest, which was absurd, of
course.

Some fearful cases were brought in to us to-day. My God, the horror of
it! One has heard of men whom their mothers would not recognise. Some of
the wounded to-day were amongst these. All the morning we did what we
could for them. One man was riddled with bullets, and died very soon.

It is awful work. The great bell rings, and we say, "More wounded," and
the men get stretchers. We go down the long, cold covered way to the
gate and number the men for their different beds. The stretchers are
stiff with blood, and the clothes have to be cut off the men. They cry
out terribly, and their _horror_ is so painful to witness. They are so
young, and they have seen right into hell. The first dressings are
removed by the doctors--sometimes there is only a lump of cotton-wool to
fill up a hole--and the men lie there with their tragic eyes fixed upon
one. All day a nurse has sat by a man who has been shot through the
lungs. Each breath is painful; it does not bear writing about. The pity
of it all just breaks one's heart. But I suppose we do not see nearly
the worst of the wounded.

The lights are all off at eight o'clock now, and we do our work in