The proprietor of the shop was among the people in the cellars across the way.  The news that his house was aflame was broken to him and he rushed into the street.  He gazed for a moment on the scene and burst into tears like a child.

At 9 o’clock the bombardment of the city suddenly ceased and we understood the Burgomaster had by this time reached German headquarters.  Still we waited, painfully anxious to learn what would be the ultimate fate of Antwerp.  The Belgian soldiers hurried by on their way to the front.  A number paused just as they reached a tobacconist’s shop which had been wrecked by shells, scattering the stock in the street.  There were cigars hurled across the pavement and roadway, and soldiers who had halted picked up a few of the cigars.  A Belgian workman, taking advantage of this, entered the shop and began to stuff his pockets full of cigars and cigarettes, but immediately gendarmes hurried to the place and arrested him, the last arrest the Antwerp police will make for some time.

At 10:30 o’clock proclamations were posted on walls of the Town Hall urging all in the city to surrender any arms in their possession and begging for a calm demeanor in the event of German occupation.  The list was also posted of several prominent citizens who were appointed to look after the interests of those Belgians who remained.

Just before noon a patrol of cyclists and armed and mounted gendarmes, who had escorted the Burgomaster to the gate of the city, informed Fox and myself that the Germans were entering by the gate of Malines.  We hastily took our bicycles with the intention of making our way over the Dutch frontier.  As we passed along the quay by a most timely stroke of luck we found a motor boat standing by.  It was manned by a Belgian, and his mate.

“Can you take us to Flushing?” we asked.

“Yes,” answered the Belgian.

“How much?”

“One hundred and fifty francs each.”

We were in that boat in thirty seconds and in another thirty seconds had started down the Scheldt.  By this time the Germans were in the city.

At a good ten knots we raced down the river.  In twenty-five minutes we had reached the bend which blotted Antwerp from view.  As we rounded the corner I turned for a last glimpse of the disappearing city.  The Cathedral was still standing, its tower dominating surroundings.  Here and there volumes of smoke were rising to the sky.

It took us twelve hours to get to Flushing.  On either side of the river thousands of refugees were fleeing from the invaders.  They swarmed along the banks in continuous lines, a vast pilgrimage of the hopeless, many laden with household possessions which they had been able to gather at almost a moment’s notice.  Numbers were empty-handed and burdened at that in dragging their weary bodies along the miles which seemed never ending.  It was a heartrending spectacle.  Infinite pity must go out to those broken victims of the war, bowed veterans driven from home, going they knew not where; women with their crying children, famished for lack of food, all or nearly all leaving behind men folk who were still fighting their country’s battle or mourning the loss of loved ones who had already sacrificed their lives.