but the firing did not stop. Two hundred guns were turned on Antwerp,
and the shells came over at the rate of four a minute. They have a
horrid screaming sound as they come. We heard each one coming and
wondered if it would hit us, and then we heard the crashing somewhere
else and knew another shell was coming.

The worst cases among the wounded lay on the floor, and these wanted
constant attention. The others were in their great-coats, and stood
about the cellar leaning on crutches and sticks. We wrapped blankets
round the rheumatism cases and sat through the long night. Sometimes
when we heard a crash near by we asked "Is that the convent?" but
nothing else was said. All spoke cheerfully, and there was some laughter
in the further cellar. One little red-haired nurse enjoyed the whole
thing. I saw her carry three wounded men in succession on her back down
to the cellar. I found myself wishing that for me a shot would come and
finish the horrible night. Still we all chatted and smiled and made
little jokes. Once during that long night in the cellar I heard one
wounded man say to another as he rolled himself round on his mattress,
"Que les anglais sont comme il faut."

At six o'clock the convent party came over and began to prepare
breakfast. The least wounded of the men began to steal away, and we were
left with between thirty and forty of them. The difficulty was to know
how to get away and how to remove the wounded, two of whom were nearly
dead. Miss Benjamin went and stood at the gate, while the shells still
flew, and picked up an ambulance. In this we got away six men, including
the two dying ones. Mrs. Stobart was walking about for three hours
trying to find anything on wheels to remove us and the wounded. At last
we got a motor ambulance, and packed in twenty men--that was all it
would hold. We told them to go as far as the bridge and send it back for