he subject, but I should say
the exodus of refugees from the city must have totaled 200,000
persons--men, women, and children of all ages--or very nearly that vast
number, and that out of a population which in normal times is 321,821.
One might estimate that fully 70 per cent. of those folk had little or
no money.

There were three lines of exit. They could up to the time of the German
invasion cross the pontoon bridge over the Scheldt; they could go along
the countryside toward the Dutch frontier, or they could walk up the
Scheldt toward the frontier and then cross by ferry to Belgian territory
again.

Many of the aged women among the refugees, terrorized and
hunger-stricken, died, I am told, on the way to the Belgian frontier.
The towns were crowded with pitiful wanderers, fleeing from the ruthless
invaders, and they begged for crusts of bread. They were simply
starving, and householders did what they could to help, cottagers giving
to their utmost out of their meagre larders, but still there was a cry
for food.

I now return to the events of Thursday. At 12:30 o'clock in the
afternoon, when the bombardment had already lasted over twelve hours,
through the courtesy of a Belgian officer I was able to ascend to the
roof of the cathedral, and from that point of vantage I looked down upon
the scene in the city.

All the southern portion of Antwerp appeared to be a desolate ruin.
Whole streets were ablaze, and flames were rising in the air to the
height of twenty and thirty feet. In another direction I could just
discern through my glasses dimly in the distance the instruments of
culture of the attacking German forces, ruthlessly pounding at the city
and creeping nearer to it in the dark. At that moment I should say the
enemy's front line was within four miles of Antwerp.

From my elevated position I had an excellent view also of the great oil
tanks on the opposite side of the Scheldt. They had been set on fire by
four bombs from a German taube, and a huge, thick volume of black smoke
was ascending 200 feet into the air. The oil had been burning furiously
for several hours, and the whole neighborhood was enveloped in a mist of
smoke.

In all directions were fire and flames and oil-laden smoke. It was like
a bit of Gustave Dore's idea of the infernal regions. From time to time
great tongues of fire shot out from the tanks, and in this way, the
flames greedily licking the sides of other tanks, the conflagration
spre