if we left him where he was.  It seemed such a pity that a little more forethought and common sense could not have been expended on that dressing-station, and yet we found that with rare exceptions this was the regular state of affairs, whether in.  Belgium or France.  It seems to be impossible for our professional brethren on the Continent to imagine any treatment apart from a completely equipped hospital.  Their one idea seems to be to get the wounded back to a base hospital, and if they die on the way it cannot be helped.  The dressing-stations are mere offices for their redirection, where they are carefully ticketed, but where little else is done.  Of course, it is true that the combatant forces are the first consideration, and that from their point of view the wounded are simply in the way, and the sooner they are carried beyond the region of the fighting the better; but if this argument were carried to its logical conclusion, there should be no medical services at the front at all, except what might be absolutely necessary for the actual transport of the wounded.  I am glad to say that our later experiences showed that the British influence was beginning to make itself felt, and that the idea of the wounded as a mere useless encumbrance was being modified by more humanitarian considerations.  And in a long war it must be obvious to the most hardened militarist that by the early treatment of a wound many of its more severe consequences may be averted, and that many a man may thus be saved for further service.  In a war of exhaustion, the ultimate result might well depend on how the wounded were treated in the field.

The road was crowded with traffic, and it was quite dark before we reached Antwerp.  Our patient did not seem much the worse for his journey, though that is perhaps faint praise.  We soon had him in our theatre, which was always warm and ready for cases such as this.  With energetic treatment his condition rapidly improved, and when we left him to go to dinner we felt that our afternoon had not been entirely wasted.

XII.  The Bombardment—­Night

We had had plenty of notice that we might expect a bombardment.  On Saturday a boat had left with most of the English Colony.  On Tuesday morning the Germans sent in official notice that they intended to bombard the city, and in the evening the Government and the Legations left by boat with the remainder of our countrymen who lived in Antwerp.  We had faced the prospect and made every preparation for it, and yet when it did come it came upon us as a surprise.  It is sometimes fortunate that our capacities for anticipation are so limited.

It was almost midnight on Wednesday, the 7th of October, and two of us were sitting in the office writing despatches home.  The whole building was in absolute silence, and lit only by the subdued light of an occasional candle.  In the distance we could hear the dull booming of the guns.  Suddenly above our heads sounded a soft whistle, which was not the wind, followed by a dull thud in the distance.  We looked at one another.