They seized our hands and would scarcely let us go until we had promised that as soon as we had arranged with the authorities they should come back to our hospital.  It was managed after a little diplomacy, and they all came back next day, and we were again a united family.

XI.  Contich

Sunday, the 4th of October, dawned with an extraordinary feeling of relief and expectancy in the air.  The invincible British had arrived, huge guns were on their way, a vast body of French and British troops was advancing by forced marches, and would attack our besiegers in the rear, and beyond all possibility of doubt crush them utterly.  But perhaps the most convincing proof of all was the round head of the First Lord of the Admiralty calmly having his lunch in the Hotel St. Antoine.  Surely nothing can inspire such confidence as the sight of an Englishman eating.  It is one of the most substantial phenomena in nature, and certainly on this occasion I found the sight more convincing than a political speech.  Obviously we were saved, and one felt a momentary pang of pity for the misguided Germans who had taken on such an impossible task.  The sight of British troops in the streets and of three armoured cars carrying machine guns settled the question, and we went home to spread the good news and to follow the noble example of the First Lord.

In the afternoon three of us went off in one of the motors for a short run, partly to see if we could be of any use at the front with the wounded, and partly to see, if possible, the British troops.  We took a stretcher with us, in case there should be any wounded to bring in from outlying posts.  Everywhere we found signs of the confidence which the British had brought.  It was visible in the face of every Belgian soldier, and even the children cheered our khaki uniforms as we passed.  Everywhere there were signs of a new activity and of a new hope.  The trenches and wire entanglements around the town, already very extensive, were being perfected, and to our eyes they looked impregnable.  We did not then realize how useless it is to attempt to defend a town, and, unfortunately, our ignorance was not limited to civilians.  It is a curious freak of modern war that a ploughed field should be stronger than any citadel.  But, as I say, these things were hidden from us, and our allies gave the finishing touches to their trenches, to the high entertainment of the Angels, as Stevenson would have told us.  If only those miles of trench and acres of barbed wire had been placed ten miles away, and backed by British guns, the story of Antwerp might have been a very different one.