Out of the night it came, that sudden terrific revelation of what is going on everywhere beneath the outward calm of this nation of heroes.
And one had not realised it because one had seen so few tears.
One had almost failed to understand, in the outer calm of the Belgians, what agony went on beneath.
And now, in the midnight, the veil is torn aside, and I see a human heart in extremis, writhing with agony, groaning as the wounded never groan, stricken, bleeding, prostrate, overwhelmed with the enormity of its sorrow.
Since I heard that old man weeping I want to creep to the feet of Christ and the Mother of Christ, and implore Their healing for these poor innocent broken hearts, trodden under the brutal feet of another race of human beings.
At four, unable to sleep, I rose and dressed and went downstairs.
In the dim, unswept palm court I saw a bearded man with two umbrellas walking feverishly up and down, while the sleepy night porter leaned against a pillar yawning, watching for the cab that the _chass_ had gone to look for. It came at last, and the bearded gentleman, with a sigh, stepped in, and drove away into the dusky dawn, a look of unutterable sadness seeming to cloak his face and form as he disappeared.
"_Il est triste, ce monsieur là_," commented our voluble little Flemish porter. "He is a Minister of the Government, and he must leave Antwerp, he must depart for Ostend. His boat leaves at five o'clock this morning."
"So the Government is really moving out," I think to myself mechanically.
A little boy runs in from the chill dawn-lit streets.
It is only half-past four, but a Flemish paper has just come out.--_Het Laatste Nieuws._
The boy throws it on the table where I sit writing to my sister in England, who is anxious for my safety.
I struggle to find out what message lies behind those queer Flemish words.
_De Toestand Te Antwerpen Is Zeer Ernstig._
Is it good? Is it bad? I don't know the word.
I call to the night porter, and he comes out and translates to me, and as I glean the significance of the news I admire that peasant boy's calm.
"_La situation à Anvers est grave_" he says. "The Burgomaster announces to the population that the bombardment of Antwerp and its environs is imminent. It is understood, of course" (translating literally), "that neither the threat nor the actual bombardment will have any effect on the strength of our resistance, which will continue to the very last extremity!"