In the Square in front of the church of Notre Dame the German soldiers had evidently celebrated their achievement by a revel.  In the centre were the remains of a bonfire, and all around were broken bottles and packs of cheap cards in confusion.  Think of the scene.  A blazing town around them, and every now and then the crash of falling buildings; behind them Notre Dame in flames towering up to heaven; the ancient Town Hall and the Guard House burning across the Square; and in the centre a crowd of drunken soldiers round a bonfire, playing cards.  And miles away across the fields ten thousand homeless wanderers watching the destruction of all for which they had spent their lives in toil.

Of the ancient church of Notre Dame only the walls remained.  The roof had fallen, all the woodwork had perished in the flames, and the stonework was calcined by the heat.  Above the arch of a door was a little row of angels’ heads carved in stone, but when we touched them they fell to powder.  The heat inside must have been terrific, for all the features of the church had disappeared, and we were surrounded by merely a mass of debris.  In the apse a few fragments of old gold brocade buried beneath masses of brick and mortar were all that remained to show where the altar had been.

The Town Hall was once a beautiful gabled building with a tall square tower ending in four little turrets.  I have a drawing of it, and it must have formed quite a pleasing picture, the entrance reached by the double flight of steps of which Belgium is so fond, and from which public proclamations were read.  It had been only recently restored, and it was now to all intents and purposes a heap of smoking bricks.  The upper part of the tower had fallen into the roof, and the whole place was burnt out.

But no words can ever convey any idea of the utter destruction of the whole town, or of the awful loneliness by which one was surrounded.  One felt that one was in the presence of wickedness such as the world has rarely seen, that the powers of darkness were very near, and that behind those blackened walls there lurked evil forms.  Twilight was coming on as we turned back to our car, and a cold mist was slowly rising from the river.  I am not superstitious, and in broad daylight I will scoff at ghosts with anyone, but I should not care to spend a night alone in Termonde.  One could almost hear the Devil laughing at the handiwork of his children.

VI.  The Chateau

One of the most astounding features of the war is the way in which the Germans, from the highest to the lowest, have given themselves up to loot.  In all previous wars between civilized countries anything in the nature of loot has been checked with a stern hand, and there are cases on record when a soldier has been shot for stealing a pair of boots.  But now the Crown Prince of the German Empire sends back to his palaces all the loot that he can collect, on