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.