All morning the city of Nieuport was bombarded with shells of a very
large caliber, crushing and enveloping the poor little Flemish homes in
great clouds of brick-dust and smoke. The ground trembled. Our Marine
Fusiliers[2] must have paid them back in full, for they returned a
heavy fire from the large guns of the fortress.
I arrived at Nieuport-Baths along the river Yser with Captain Ricard,
who said to me:
"With all that racket, to-day, we are sure to find the Admiral and
Commandant Delage----"
At the moment we reached the locks we were well serenaded--the shells
literally rained around us. At regular intervals the larger ones burst
in the city. Abject ruins--I no longer recognized this once lively
little city which I visited during my childhood, dead and deserted
to-day!
Finally we came, about four o'clock, to the admiral's shelter, where we
found him, with Commandant Delage and the chaplain.
I was received with smiles and hearty handshakes; on similar days one
is always sure to be received by the admiral in a most charming manner.
"Lucky chap," he said, "well have you chosen the day of your first
visit to Nieuport. What a bombardment, hey! fortunately all goes well,
practically no losses--that right, Delage?"
Commandant Delage smiled all over.
"Yes, admiral."
At that moment a shell burst so close that pictures were torn from
the walls and a chair was turned upside down. A cloud of dust spouted
through the ventilating shaft--at the same time we heard a rumbling of
falling walls, the clattering of splintered glass and broken tiling
falling on the ground.
[Illustration: Shell hole in the courtyard of Admiral Ronarc'h's
commanding post in Nieuport.]
We had, for our protection, an arch made of half-thicknesses of bricks.
If we must be struck, then we should have, at least, the opportunity of
not suffering very long!
Each told his story, tales of the sea and of the war--then--that was
not all, there was a programme of work to accomplish, and we at once
set about the task.
* * * * *
Toward nightfall, I left the shelter or cave, which I shall never
forget. The shell which shook us fell in the courtyard of a house,
scooping out a funnel-shaped crater thirty feet in diameter. A Marine
discovered the base of the projectile: a 420![3]
A comrade who helped him carry it said:
"They are foolish if they think they can kill our admiral with a 420,
and also be sure that St. Anne of Brittany will curse their German
God!"
A TELEGRAM FROM ATTILA, NIEUPORT-BATHS.
_March_, 1915.
Returning from the Great Dune after several days, Captain Perroud and
myself stop before the old Nieuport-Baths' station. It is in a pretty
state. We enter the ruins and have penetrated as far as the office of
the Passenger Agent, all in a tumult, papers scattered everywhere----
Sealed telegrams are seen on the floor, and, it is strange, they have
not excited the curiosity of the plunderers, for these latter would
have found some fastidious reading. I confess, what concerned me was
the desire to open some of them to see what persons could have said at
the moment of evacuating Nieuport-Baths.
The first was addressed to an English woman, "Mrs. Smith, Regina Hotel,
Nieuport-Baths." It said: "Things are beginning to get worse where you
are. Nevertheless, do whatever you think best. Smith."