We waited nearly an hour at Hal while our German permits were examined, and then went off in the small car.  It was heart-breaking to see the scenes of desolation as we passed along the road.  Jumet—­the working-class suburb of Charleroi—­was entirely burnt down, there did not seem to be one house left intact.  It is indeed terrible when historic and consecrated buildings such as those at Louvain and Rheims are burnt down, but in a way it is more pathetic to see these poor little cottages destroyed, that must have meant so much to their owners, and it makes one’s heart ache to see among the crumbling ruins the remains of a baby’s perambulator, or the half-burnt wires of an old four-post bed.  Probably the inhabitants of Jumet had all fled, as there was no one to be seen as we went through the deserted village, except some German sentries pacing up and down.

Parts of Charleroi were still burning as we got to it, and a terrible acrid smoke pervaded everything.  Here the poorer streets were spared, and it was chiefly the rich shops and banks and private houses that had been destroyed.  Charleroi was the great Birmingham of Belgium—­coal-pits all round, with many great iron and steel works, now of course all idle, and most of the owners entirely ruined.  The town was absolutely crammed with German troops as we passed through; it had now been occupied for two or three days and was being used as a great military depot.

But Charleroi was not to be our final destination—­we went on a few more kilometres along the Beaumont road, and drew up at a fairly large building right out in the country.  It was a hospital that had been three parts built ten years ago, then abandoned for some reason and never finished.  Now it was being hastily fitted up as a Red Cross hospital, and stretcher after stretcher of wounded—­both French and German—­were being brought in as we arrived.

The confusion that reigned within was indescribable.  There were some girls there who had attended first-aid lectures, and they were doing their best; but there were no trained nurses and no one particularly in command.  The German doctor had already gone, one of the Belgian doctors was still working there, but he was absolutely worn out and went off before long, as he had still cases to attend to in the town before he went to his well-earned bed.  He carried off the two Sisters with him, till the morning, and I was left alone with two or three Red Cross damsels to face the night.  It is a dreadful nightmare to look back at.  Blood-stained uniforms hastily cut off the soldiers were lying on the floor—­half-open packets of dressings were on every locker; basins of dirty water or disinfectant had not been emptied; men were moaning with pain, calling for water, begging that their dressings might be done again; and several new cases just brought in were requiring urgent attention.  And the cannon never ceased booming.  I was not accustomed to it then, and each crash meant to me rows of men mown down—­maimed or killed.  I soon learnt that comparatively few shells do any damage, otherwise there would soon be no men left at all.  In time, too, one gets so accustomed to cannon that one hardly hears it, but I had not arrived at that stage then:  this was my baptism of fire.