Sorrowful scenes were witnessed along the streets. Our attention and
sympathies were particularly attracted to the flight of the refugees.
For hours and days and weeks the doleful procession passed along the
streets; a living stream made up of all ranks and classes of society.
Here were seen the poor old farmer's household, whose sons had gone to
the front; and young married women, with small children in their arms
or by their sides, whose husbands had to don the soldier's uniform
and go to the war. The sick, the old and the feeble were taken from
their beds of suffering and, with shawls or blankets thrown over
their shoulders, placed in carts or wagons and carried away, perhaps,
to perish by the roadside. We have seen cripples and small children
hurriedly driven along the street in wheelbarrows.
Packages carried on their arms, on their backs, or in little carts were
about all that the poor people could take....
It was most pitiful to see these poor people, whose only object was to
get away as far as possible from the scenes of conflict. Some carried
small loaves of bread; others had a little hay or straw in their
wagons; some led a cow or two; others two or three pigs. In some of
the carts we recognized faces of our former pupils, who only one short
month before were longing for the pleasant vacation days. Their fathers
or brothers were in the army, and their homes forsaken. Some children
had lost their parents and were crying piteously.
When the Sisters left the parish church, where they daily took part
in the public devotions for peace, they were besieged by hundreds of
these poor, half-frantic refugees, beseeching shelter over night in the
church or schools, which were already full to overflowing. The days
were warm and pleasant, but the nights were very chilly and sometimes
rainy. Where would those poor people go and what could they do without
food or shelter for all those little children? The friendly stars
looked down from the realms above upon thousands who lay along the
roadside, while others crowded the barns and country schools, or made
rude tent-like shelters in the bed of the new canal.
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 streets.
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.
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.
An 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....
(Sister Antonia here tells about the flight of the nuns with the
refugees to Antwerp and the sea; the exodus to England and Holland; and
finally her own voyage to America.--EDITOR.)
"WAR LETTERS OF AN AMERICAN WOMAN"--IN BLEEDING FRANCE
_Experiences in the Siege of Paris_
_By Marie Van Vorst, Distinguished American Novelist Residing in Paris_
These letters present a singularly vivid chronicle of an American
woman's experiences during the Great War. She was living in Paris,
but brought her mother to London for safety. Here she went through
a course of Red Cross lectures and returned to become a nurse at
the American Ambulance in the Pasteur Institute in Neuilly, then
under the control of Mrs. W. K. Vanderbilt. Her brilliant intellect
and sympathizing heart are brought out in her letters to friends
in America. Her whole soul is in the cause of the Allies and in
her letters she tells many beautiful stories of her experiences in
Paris, London, Nice and Rome. To read her impressions as she wrote
them down for her friends is to recapture the thrill and the uplift,
the sorrows and the hopes, the high resolves and unshakable purpose
of those that will live forever in history. Several letters are
reprinted here by permission of her publisher, _John Lane Company_,
London and New York.