A few civilians had crept back into the town.
As in other places, they had come back because they
had no place else to go. At any time a shell
might destroy the fragment of the building in which
they were trying to reestablish themselves. There
were no shops open, because there were no shops to
open. Supplies had to be brought from long distances.
As all the horses and automobiles had been commandeered
by the government, they had no way to get anything.
Their situation was pitiable, tragic. And over
them was the daily, hourly fear that the German Army
would concentrate for its onward drive at some near-by
point.
LADY DECIES’ STORY
It was growing dark; the chauffeur was preparing to
light the lamps of the car. Shells were fewer.
With the approach of night the activity behind the
lines increased; more ammunition trains made their
way over the debris; regiments prepared for the trenches
marched through the square on their way to the front.
They were laden, as usual, with extra food and jars
of water. Almost every man had an additional
loaf of bread strapped to the knapsack at his back.
They were laughing and talking among themselves, for
they had had a sleep and hot food; for the time at
least they were dry and fed and warm.
On the way out of the town we passed a small restaurant,
one of a row of houses. It was the only undestroyed
building I saw in Ypres.
“It is the only house,” said the General,
“where the inhabitants remained during the entire
bombardment. They made coffee for the soldiers
and served meals to officers. Shells hit the pavement
and broke the windows; but the house itself is intact.
It is extraordinary.”
We stopped at the one-time lunatic asylum on our way
back. It had been converted into a hospital for
injured civilians, and its long wards were full of
women and children. An English doctor was in charge.
Some of the buildings had been destroyed, but in the
main it had escaped serious injury. By a curious
fatality that seems to have followed the chapels and
churches of Flanders, the chapel was the only part
that was entirely gone. One great shell struck
it while it was housing soldiers, as usual, and all
of them were killed. As an example of the work
of one shell the destruction of that building was
enormous. There was little or nothing left.
“The shell was four feet high,” said the
Doctor, and presented me with the nose of it.
“You may get more at any moment,” I said.
He shrugged his shoulders. “What must be,
must be,” he said quietly.
When the bombardment was at its height, he said, they
took their patients to the cellar and continued operating
there. They had only a candle or two. But
it was impossible to stop, for the wards were full
of injured women and children.
I walked through some of the wards. It was the
first time I had seen together so many of the innocent
victims of this war—children blind and
forever cut off from the light of day, little girls
with arms gone, women who will never walk again.
