Wednesday and Thursday, when the crowds of refugees were
assembled on the waterfront, not a single bomb dropped among
them. A few shells, well placed, would have slaughtered them like
sheep. Before and during the bombardment I am quite certain that
the Germans intended to frighten, rather than injure, non-combatants.
Report to the contrary notwithstanding, it is equally true that, so far as
possible, the invaders kept to their promise to spare such buildings as
the Cathedral, the Palais de Justice, the Hotel de Ville, the Castle
Steen, and other historic landmarks.

The bombardment lasted forty hours. That night,--Thursday, October
8th,--the second and last night which the town held out, all of the
Americans who were left gathered at the Queen's. The firing by this
time was terrific. Except for the lurid glare of the burning buildings
which lit up the streets, the city was in total darkness. For weeks
martial law had been in effect and there were no lights after sundown.
An unearthly feeling it was, to be locked in the darkness of this
strange city, unable to speak a word of the language, not knowing
whether the garrison had evacuated the forts or whether the city had
been surrendered, believing there would be street righting or an
insurrection of franc-tireurs. At times we heard through the darkness
the tramp of squads of soldiers. Surely, we thought, there come the
Germans. We remembered the atrocities at Louvain.

About an hour after darkness settled on us I climbed to the roof of the
Queen's Hotel, from which, for a few minutes, I looked out upon the
most horrible and at the same time the most gorgeous panorama that
I ever hope to see. The entire southern portion of the city appeared a
desolate ruin; whole streets were ablaze, and great sheets of fire rose
to the height of thirty or forty feet.