Antwerp. We sat for a time listening to the shells. There were here, in
addition to Thompson, Edwin Weigel, a Chicago photographer;
Edward Eyre Hunt, of "Collier's Weekly"; and the Dutch Vice-Consul.

We heard the distant resounding Boom ... Boom ... Boom ... ed ...
Boom ... Boom ... Boom.

An interval of perhaps a second's silence, then a faint moaning, a
crescendo wail, the whirr and rush of a snarling, shrieking skyrocket
overhead, and a crash, like all the thunders of the universe rolled into
one, when the shell struck, followed by the roar of falling brick as a
neighboring house came pouring into the street.

"Whee.....wheee.....Hi.....HIOU UIOUW," we heard. "Whee ...
whEEE ... whEEE ... UIOUW ... OUWW ... SSH ... SSHSHHH ...
BANG ... BANG!!!!!!"

"Whee.....wheee.....Hi.....HIOUUIOUW," we heard. "Whee ...
whEEE ... whEEE ... UIOUW... OUWW... SSH ... SSHSHHH... BANG...
BANG!!!!!!"

I tried to persuade the other fellows to come up to the Queen's Hotel
along the Scheldt waterfront on the northern side of the city, where I
was then encamped. It was a safer locality because the Germans
had not yet got the range of the northern end of the city. Weigel and
Thompson, having to look out for their kodaks and moving-picture
paraphernalia, decided to wait a while, as did Hunt. Hare, who came
in later, had two big kodaks which he wanted to get back to his room
in the Queen's. I offered to carry one of them for him.