OUR DEPARTURE.
Monday, September 28, witnessed the scenes of sorrow and desolation in
and around Mechelen and vicinity described in the foregoing chapters.
Many of the residents of Willebroeck had already taken flight, and the
others were preparing to leave.
The Sisters, wholly absorbed in their work for the wounded, and relying
on the word of the Belgian officers, that timely warning would be given
as to the necessity of departure, had as yet no idea of joining the
throngs of refugees who continuously filed through the main street.
The shocks of the cannonade from the fortress caused the buildings to
tremble on their foundations, while the ground under foot seemed
agitated as by an earthquake. A large number of wounded soldiers had
been brought in the night before, and three or four lay dead in the
mortuary.
Our Sisters and servant maids, as also the generous women refugees of
Willebroeck, continued their sickening task in the laundry. In wooden
shoes they stood at those large cement tubs while suds and blood-dyed
water streamed over the stone floor.
Since the cutting of the electric wires the motor which kept the
machines in action could no longer be used for the laundry or for the
bakery. This greatly increased the work in both places.
Large, vicious-looking black flies, before unseen in or about the place,
probably attracted by the odor of blood, buzzed around in a most
disagreeable manner.
The whole scene left an ineffaceable impression of sadness and horror at
the unwonted ferocity of civilized man.
Night closed in again, but brought neither rest nor consolation. Fearing
to retire, some of the Sisters remained in the chapel, while others
spent the tedious hours of that dreary night in the refectory or
adjoining rooms, and kept busy making surgical dressings for the
wounded, of whom a larger number than usual had been brought into the
hospital.
At intervals during the night the cannonade was heard, while the
searchlights of the fortress penetrated the clouds on the lookout for
the murderous Zeppelins. Morning came at last, with an increase of work
and anguish. The enemy, with their usual determination, were trying to
force their way through to Antwerp, while the Belgians were equally
determined to prevent them, or to at least check their progress.
On Tuesday, September 29, the daily routine of the Convent took place as
usual until noon, when the cannonade became terrific. A balloon, the
meaning of which we did not know, had been sent up by the enemy. Some
said it was to discover the position of the Belgians and, if possible,
ascertain their strength. The Reverend Superior called upon one of the
officers and asked if there was danger. “No,” said he, “We shall let you
know in due time.”
Three Sisters, intending to go to Antwerp, sent a messenger to the
station to ask when the train would leave. “No trains until evening,”
was the reply. They decided to wait until that time. Just then another
officer called for the Reverend Superior and said in an excited manner,
“Weg van hier, aanstonds! Geen tijd te verliezen.” (Away from here at
once. No time to be lost.) This message flew from one to another, even
to the terror-stricken hearts of the numerous wounded.
Impossible to describe the scenes which followed. In a few minutes a
long line of motor cars came whirling up to the gate to take away the
wounded who, some of them in an almost dying condition, were being
dragged out of their beds, dressed and hurriedly carried away to
Antwerp, or to another place of refuge. One can never forget the look of
anguish on some of their faces, while others seemed totally indifferent
to all that was taking place around them.
There was one who was not indifferent. It was the wounded German officer
who, as he himself admitted, had accomplished so much in the destruction
of Louvain, and whose serious condition did not permit his being
transferred with the first division of the Red Cross which left a short
time before. He was sorely troubled when he heard he had to leave, and
would much rather have remained. He promised, in case the opportunity
offered, to speak a good word for the Convent.
Did he survive or obtain his freedom, and thus have occasion to keep his
word? We know not; but we do know that when the German soldiers were in
possession of our Boarding-school, after the fall of Antwerp, our
Superior and Sisters wrote that they had no complaint to make as to the
conduct of those “Rynlanders.”
The Sisters could hardly realize that they were obliged to leave their
Convent home, for which they had toiled and labored for years, and which
was as dear to them as the arms of a mother to her children; those
schools which had so often re-echoed to the gay sounds of children’s
voices, as hundreds of them marched and sang in chorus; the garden where
the white ducks were yet swimming in the pond; the fruit trees and
flowers; in a word, all had to be left to the fire of the merciless
bombs and shrapnels.
Several times they went back and forth, while it seemed preferable to
remain and take the risk than to go and endure the vicissitudes of
pilgrimage and exile. But the command had to be obeyed, as the danger
increased every moment.
About two o’clock three of us joined the crowds of farmers, country
people and cavalrymen who were passing on their way to Boom. The other
Sisters stood in the hall, ready to depart. We carried satchels and some
small baggage, and walked to Boom, where we arrived safely at three
o’clock. On the way we met a lady and gentleman who conversed fluently
in English.
When we arrived at the station we learned that the train for Antwerp had
left a few minutes before, and there would be no further transportation
before evening. We went to the home of one of our Sisters in Boom and
rested until five o’clock. Here we were joined by our Rev. Mother
Superior and a large party of Sisters, who had left Willebroeck shortly
after we did. Just as they had crossed the bridge of Boom, a bomb fell
beside it and exploded, but did not injure the bridge. Our Sisters were
on their way to Aertselaar, one of our missions at some distance from
the firing line. Rev. Father Somers, one of the assistant priests of
Willebroeck, remained at his post in the village church during the
bombardment of the town. Four Sisters had the courage to remain in the
Convent when all the rest had left. They have written recently from
Bristol, England, describing their experience amid the rain of bombs and
shrapnel which fell that evening in the garden and around the buildings.
Bidding adieu to the Sisters who had joined us in Boom, we went to the
railroad station about five o’clock in the evening, expecting to be in
good time for the train to Antwerp. One of the Sisters sent a dispatch
to her mother to send some one to meet us in the East Station when the
train would arrive. As we approached the station in Boom, we met throngs
of people coming back.
A lady told us not to go to the station, as no train would leave for
Antwerp that night. Undismayed by the sad news, we passed those crowds
of people and went right on to the station. The station-master was not
at liberty, so we stood there a few moments with a party of others in
the waiting-room. A young lady of Boom, one of our former pupils, and
one of the Sisters set out in search of a motor car or carriage. None
could be obtained at any cost, not even a farmer’s cart or wagon. All
that could be used were in the service of the army.
From five o’clock until seven, the fruitless search continued, while the
other two Sisters remained at the station in charge of the baggage. At
seven o’clock one Sister returned with the good news that she had met
the “Chef” of the First Division of the Red Cross ambulance which had
remained in our hospital, and, having exhausted all the fine expressions
in her French vocabulary, at last succeeded in sending him to the
General of the Belgian Army, then in a restaurant in the city, to ask
permission for the Sisters to enter the train of the Red Cross, which
was at that time standing on the Antwerp Railroad, back of the depot.
A lady and gentleman of Antwerp, on hearing of our success, pleaded with
tears in their eyes to have us ask permission for them also to enter the
train. Our youngest Sister, moved with compassion at the sorry plight of
two fellow-creatures, made use of a stratagem in their favor. “Papa,
Mamma,” said she, when the “Chef” approached with permission for the
Sisters to enter the train, “Papa, Mamma, carry our baggage into the
train.” The lady and gentleman took up the baggage in a hurry and the
Sisters followed them into the train.
It was just seven o’clock when we entered the train of the Red Cross,
which then stood waiting for the wounded soldiers. Unfortunately for us,
the wounded had been taken to Antwerp in motor cars and our train
remained standing at the depot.
The heavy cannonade had somewhat abated, but the field cannon were yet
heard in several directions, and we feared a return of the Zeppelins
which had been flying over Antwerp the week before. We were doomed to
disappointment as to our departure from Boom. It was too late and
decidedly dangerous to return to the home of our Sisters in the city,
and a long night in this stationary train seemed unendurable. At twenty
minutes to twelve the “Chef” made his appearance once more and said that
he had finally obtained permission to take the train to Antwerp; but we
would be obliged to ride in the dark, very slowly, and arrive in a
station at some distance from the usual stopping place. This depot was,
nevertheless, known to the Sisters, who, if only safely in the city,
felt sure of finding their way home. So the lights were turned out and
the train started off. It was so dark that we could hardly distinguish
the trees or buildings along the route.
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