Again it came, this time a little louder.  We ran up to the roof and stood there for some moments, fascinated by the scene.  From the dull grey sky came just sufficient light to show the city laying in darkness around us, its tall spires outlined as dim shadows against the clouds.  Not a sound arose from streets and houses around, but every few seconds there came from the south-east a distant boom, followed by the whistle of a shell overhead and the dull thud of its explosion.  The whole scene was eerie and uncanny in the extreme.  The whistle changed to a shriek and the dull thud to a crash close at hand, followed by the clatter of falling bricks cutting sharply into the stillness of the night.  Plainly this was going to be a serious business, and we must take instant measures for the safety of our patients.  At any moment a shell might enter one of the wards, and—­well, we had seen the hospital at Lierre.  We ran downstairs and told the night nurses to get the patients ready for removal, whilst we went across to the gymnasium to arouse those of the staff who slept there.  We collected all our stretchers, and began the methodical removal of all our patients to the basement.  In a few minutes there was a clang at the front-door bell, and our nurses and assistants who lived outside began to arrive.  Two of the dressers had to come half a mile along the Malines road, where the shells were falling thickest, and every few yards they had had to shelter in doorways from the flying shrapnel.  The bombardment had begun in earnest now, and shells were fairly pouring over our heads.  We started with the top floor, helping down those patients who could walk, and carrying the rest on stretchers.  When that was cleared we took the second, and I think we all breathed a sigh of relief when we heard that the top floor was empty.  We were fortunate in having a basement large enough to accommodate all our patients, and wide staircases down which the stretchers could be carried without difficulty; but the patients were all full-grown men, and as most of them had to be carried it was hard work.

I shall never forget the scene on the great staircase, crowded with a long train of nurses, doctors, and dressers carrying the wounded down as gently and as carefully as if they were in a London hospital.  I saw no sign of fear in any face, only smiles and laughter.  And yet overhead was a large glass roof, and there was no one there who did not realize that a shell might come through that roof at any moment, and that it would not leave a single living person beneath it.  It made one proud to have English blood running in one’s veins.  We had 113 wounded, and within an hour they were all in places of safety; mattresses and blankets were brought, and they were all made as comfortable as possible for the night.  Four were grave intestinal cases.  Seven had terrible fractures of the thigh, but fortunately five of these had been already repaired with steel plates, and their transport was easy; in fact, I met