“How about Antwerp?” Jones asked an Englishman they found in the lobby of one of the overcrowded hotels.

The man turned to stare at him; he looked his questioner up and down with such insolence that the boy’s fists involuntarily doubled; then he turned his back and walked away.  A bystander laughed with amusement.  He also was an Englishman, but wore the uniform of a subaltern.

“What can you expect, without a formal introduction?” he asked young Jones.  “But I’ll answer your question, sir; Antwerp is doomed.”

“Oh; do you really think so?” inquired Uncle John uneasily.

“It’s a certainty, although I hate to admit it.  We at the rear are not very well posted on what is taking place over in Belgium, but it’s said the bombardment of Antwerp began yesterday and it’s impossible for the place to hold out for long.  Perhaps even now the city has fallen under the terrific bombardment.”

There was something thrilling in the suggestion.

“And then?” asked Jones, almost breathlessly.

The man gave a typical British shrug.

“Then we fellows will find work to do,” he replied.  “But it is better to fight than to eat our hearts out by watching and waiting.  We’re the reserves, you know, and we’ve hardly smelled powder yet.”

After conversing with several of the soldiers and civilians—­the latter being mostly too unnerved to talk coherently—­the Americans made their way back to the quay with heavy hearts.  They threaded lanes filled with sobbing women, many of whom had frightened children clinging to their skirts, passed groups of old men and boys who were visibly trembling with trepidation and stood aside for ranks of brisk soldiery who marched with an alertness that was in strong contrast with the terrified attitude of the citizens.  There was war in the air—­fierce, relentless war in every word and action they encountered—­and it had the effect of depressing the newcomers.

That night an earnest conference was held aboard the Arabella.

“As I understand it, here is the gist of the situation,” began Ajo.  “The line of battle along the Aisne is stationary—­for the present, at least.  Both sides are firmly entrenched and it’s going to be a long, hard fight.  Antwerp is being bombarded, and although it’s a powerful fortress, the general opinion is that it can’t hold out for long.  If it falls, there will be a rush of Germans down this coast, first to capture Dunkirk, a few miles above here, and then Calais itself.”

“In other words,” continued Uncle John, “this is likely to be the most important battleground for the next few weeks.  Now, the question to decide is this:  Shall we disembark our ambulances and run them across to Arras, beginning our work behind the French trenches, or go on to Dunkirk, where we are likely to plunge into the thickest of the war?  We’re not fighters, you know, but noncombatants, bent on an errand of mercy.  There are wounded everywhere.”