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 drove on due east, and forty minutes later found ourselves at the entrance of the lodge of our friend’s house.  It lay on the very edge of the Belgian front, and would have been unapproachable had there been any activity in this section of the line.  Fortunately for us, the Germans were concentrating their energies around Termonde, and the mitrailleuse standing on the path amongst the trees at the end of the garden seemed to have gone asleep.  We turned the car in the drive, and, in case things should happen, pointed its nose homewards.  That is always a wise precaution, for turning a car under fire in a narrow road is one of the most trying experiences imaginable.  The coolest hand may fumble with the gears at such a moment, and it is surprising how difficult it is to work them neatly when every second may be a matter of life or death, when a stopped engine may settle the fate of everyone in the car.  It is foolish to take unnecessary risks, and we left the car pointing the right way, with its engine running, ready to start on the instant, while we went to have a look at the house.