had been four wounded men there, but two of them, badly hurt, were
so terrified at the bombardment that they had crawled away in the
night. The priest thought that they were probably dead. Think of the
poor wounded wretches, unable to stand, crawling away in the
darkness to find some spot where they could die in peace. Two
remained, and these we took with us on the car. The priest and the
two nuns, the sole occupants of the monastery, absolutely refused to
leave. They wished to protect the monastery from sacrilege, and in
that cause they held their lives of small account. I have often thought
of those gentle nuns and the fearless priest standing in the doorway
as our car moved away. I hope that it went well with them, and that
they did not stay at their post in vain.

By the bridge stood a company of Belgian soldiers, on guard in case,
under cover of the fire of their artillery, the Germans might attempt to
capture it. There was very little shelter for them, and it was positively
raining shells; but they had been told to hold the bridge, and they did
so until there was no longer a bridge to hold. It was as fine a piece of
quiet heroism as I shall ever see, and it was typical of the Belgian
soldier wherever we saw him. They never made any fuss about it,
they were always quiet and self-contained, and always cheerful. But if
they were given a position to hold, they held it. And that is the secret
of the wonderful losing battle they have fought across Belgium. Some
day they will advance and not retreat, and then I think that the Belgian
Army will astonish their opponents, and perhaps their friends too.

We were soon out of Termonde and on the open road again, to our
very great relief, and at the nearest dressing-station we handed over
our patients, who were not badly wounded, to the surgeon, who was
hard at work in a little cottage about a mile back along the road. We