times, was a permanent garage of gigantic dimensions, and the streets were thronged day and night with hurrying cars.  We in the hospital hoped that the passage of the Yser would prove too much for the Germans, and that we should be left in peace, for we could not bear to think that all our labour could be thrown to the winds, and that we might have to start afresh in some other place.  But one of the massed attacks which have formed such a prominent feature of this terrible war had temporarily rolled back the defence in the Dixmude district, and it was deemed unwise to submit the hospital to the risk of possible disaster.

We were fortunate in having Dr. Munro’s ambulance at our disposal, and in rather over two hours more than a hundred wounded had been transferred to the Red Cross train which lay at the station waiting to take them to Calais.  An evacuation is always a sad business, for the relations between a hospital and its patients are far more than professional.  But with us it was tragic, for we knew that for many of our patients the long journey could have only one conclusion.  Only the worst cases were ever brought to us, in fact only those whose condition rendered the long journey to Calais a dangerous proceeding, and we felt that for many of them the evacuation order was a death warrant, and that we should never see them again.  They were brave fellows, and made the best of it as they shook hands with smiling faces and wished us “Au revoir,” for though they might die on the way they preferred that to the danger of falling into the hands of the Germans.  And they were right.  They knew as well as we did that we are not fighting against a civilized nation, but against a gang of organized savages.

Three hours later we were mingling with the crowds who thronged the road, wondering with them where our heads would rest that night, and filled with pity at the terrible tragedy which surrounded us.  Carts, wheelbarrows, perambulators, and in fact any vehicle which could be rolled along, were piled to overflowing with household goods.  Little children and old men and women struggled along under loads almost beyond their powers, none of them knowing whither they went or what the curtain of fate would reveal when next it was drawn aside.  It was a blind flight into the darkness of the unknown.

Our orders were to make for Poperinghe, a little town lying about fifteen miles due south of Furnes, in the direction of Ypres.  For the first ten miles we travelled along the main road to Ypres, a fine avenue running between glorious trees, and one of the chief thoroughfares of Belgium.  Here we made our first acquaintance with the African troops, who added a touch of colour in their bright robes to the otherwise grey surroundings.  They were encamped in the fields by the side of the road, and seemed to be lazily enjoying themselves seated round their camp-fires.  At Oostvleteren we parted company with the main road and its fine surface, and for the next six miles we bumped and jolted along on a bad cross-road till our very bones rattled and groaned.