“How very extraordinary,” remarked one of them, screwing a monocle into his eye.  “We’re not at war with Holland are we?  So why should the bally Dutchmen want to trouble us?”

There was no use arguing with them, so I dropped down the ladder into the launch and gave the signal for full steam ahead.  As I looked back I saw the steamer cast off from the wharf and, swinging slowly out into the river, point her nose down-stream toward Holland.

On Friday morning, October 9, General de Guise, the military governor of Antwerp, ordered the destruction of the pontoon-bridge across the Scheldt, which was now the sole avenue of retreat from the city.  The mines which were exploded beneath it did more damage to the buildings along the waterfront than to the bridge, however, only the middle spans of which were destroyed.  When the last of the retreating Belgians came pouring down to the waterfront a few hours later to find their only avenue of escape gone, for a time scenes of the wildest confusion ensued, the men frantically crowding aboard such vessels as remained at the wharves or opening fire on those which were already in midstream and refused to return in answer to their summons.  I wish to emphasise the fact, however, that these were but isolated incidents; that these men were exhausted in mind and body from many days of fighting against hopeless odds; and that, as a whole, the Belgian troops bore themselves, in this desperate and trying situation, with a courage and coolness deserving of the highest admiration.  I have heard it said in England that the British Naval Division was sent to Antwerp “to stiffen the Belgians.”  That may have been the intention, the coming of the English certainly relieved some and comforted others in the trenches.  But in truth the Belgians needed no stiffening.  They did everything that any other troops could have done under the same circumstances—­and more.  Nor did the men of the Naval Division, as has been frequently asserted in England, cover the Belgian retreat.  The last troops to leave the trenches were Belgians, the last shots were fired by Belgians, and the Belgians were the last to cross the river.

At noon on Friday General de Guise and his staff having taken refuge in Fort St. Philippe, a few miles below Antwerp on the Scheldt, the officer in command of the last line of defence sent word to the burgomaster that his troops could hold out but a short time longer and suggested that the time had arrived for him to go out to the German lines under a flag of truce and secure the best terms possible for the city.  As the burgomaster, M. de Vos, accompanied by Deputy Louis Franck, Communal Councillor Ryckmans and the Spanish Consul (it was expected that the American Consul-General would be one of the parlementaires, but it was learned that he had left the day before for Ghent) went out of the city by one gate, half a dozen motor-cars filled with German soldiers entered through the Porte de Malines, sped down the broad, tree-shaded boulevards which lead to the centre of the city, and drew up before the Hotel de Ville.  In answer to the summons of a young officer in a voluminous grey cloak the door was cautiously opened by a servant in the blue-and-silver livery of the municipality.