Realising that it was, to all intents, impossible to carry the inner defences by storm, and that the garrison must be forced to surrender by the destruction of the place, the Germans, who had by this brought their great guns within range of the city, opened from their new positions along the north side of the Nethe a bombardment which, for sustained fury, has rarely been equalled.
The bombardment began at midnight on October 7. From that time shells rained upon the place. The havoc, heightened by bombs thrown down from Zeppelins, speedily, and especially in the southern quarter, caused destructive fires. Viewed from afar—the fire was seen from the frontier of Holland—this great and beautiful seat of commerce, industry, and art, one of the glories of Europe, looked during those terrible hours like the crater of a volcano in eruption, with a shower of shooting stars falling into it. Silhouetted against the glare, its towers stood luminous amid the fiery light. Highest of all the incomparable spire of its cathedral pointed, as though a warning finger, into the dark sky.
For some time before midnight, the roar of the cannonade had ceased. The enemy’s guns had for a spell become silent. To the deep bay of the cannon on the defences there came no answering defiance. At last even the guns on the defences had suspended speech. Mr. B. J. Hudson, of the Central News, one of the last English correspondents to leave, says:—
There was, uncannily enough, a grim calm before the midnight hour and the darkened city was like a town of the dead. The footsteps of a belated wayfarer echoed loudly.
Then suddenly came the first shell, which brought numbers of women into the streets, their anxious object being to discover whether the bombardment had really begun. Very closely did the roar of the guns and the explosion and crash of the striking shells follow each other. All over the southern section of the city shells struck mansion, villa, and cottage indiscriminately. Then the fortress guns, the field batteries, and the armoured trains opened out in one loud chorus, and the din became terrific, while the reflection in the heavens was seemingly one huge, tossing flame.
From the roof of my hotel the spectacle was an amazing one. The nerve-racking screech of the shells—the roof-tops of the city alternately dimmed, then illuminated by some sudden red light which left the darkness blacker than before—and then the tearing out of roof or wall by the explosion, made a picture which fell in no way short of Inferno. The assurance thus given to the population that the Germans were fulfilling their threat to bombard a helpless people, sent the citizens to their cellars, as they had been advised to go by the local papers of the day before.
About nine o’clock in the morning the German fire once more became heavier, but the screaming of the projectiles and the thunder of falling masonry left the fugitive population quite unmoved.
I noticed in one case a family of father, mother, and three small children who absolutely ignored the explosion of a shell some sixty yards in their rear, moving stolidly on.
About ten o’clock one of the petrol storage tanks in the city was hit and fired, and one by one the others shared its fate.
All along the River Scheldt quay barges and small steamers were taking on human freight as rapidly as they could, charging the wretched people 20 francs a head for the brief trip into Dutch territory.
As soon as the flowing spirit from the petrol tanks began to come down the stream something like a panic at last broke out. Those on board the steamers yelled to the officers, pointing to the danger and crying, “Enough! Enough!” Those on the quay, unwilling to be left behind, made wild rushes to obtain a place on the boats.
I saw one woman drowned in one of these rushes, while her husband—rather more lucky—fell on the deck of a boat and escaped with an injured skull. Women handed down babies, young children, perambulators, and all manner of packages, and then themselves scrambled on to the decks, using any precarious foothold available. It was a wonder that many were not drowned or otherwise killed.
Eventually the captains of the river craft, having gained as many fares as could safely be taken, sheered off, leaving many thousands still on the quay-side.
Still the shells were falling all over the town. The smoke from the blazing petroleum and the burning houses rose in great columns and must have formed an appalling sight for the people as far north as the Dutch town of Roosendaal.
What the position is outside the city walls we do not know. We hear our guns crashing out loud defiance to the enemy in a persistent roar; we hear the enemy’s reply almost as distinctly....
All that night and next day the stream of fugitives poured out—westward towards Ostend, northward towards Holland. Of the scene at Flushing, Mr. Fortescue wrote:—
Hordes of refugees fill this town. Some come by train from Roosendaal, others have escaped from the city by boat. All sorts of river craft come ploughing through the muddy waters of the Scheldt, crowded to the gunwales with their human freight. Tugs tow long lines of grain-lighters filled with women, children, and old men.
Their panic is pitiful. Since the first shell shrieked over the city a frightened, struggling mob has been pressing onward to escape the hail of fire and iron. Imagine the queue that shuffles forward at a championship football game increased a hundred-fold in length and breadth, and you will see the crowd moving to the railway station. Another throng fought their way to the quays. All the time German shells sang dismally overhead; for the most part they fell into the southern section of the city.
From the refugees I hear the same pitiful tales I have heard so often. A mother with two girls, one four and the other three, was torn from the arm of her husband and pushed on a departing boat. All through the panic of flight it has been “women and children first.” Those who are here bear witness to the bravery of those who defend the city.
But if the besiegers had imagined that they were about to reap any solid military advantage, a disappointment was being prepared for them. For six days they had striven to cross the Scheldt at Termonde, and striven without success. The objective was to invest Antwerp from both sides of the Scheldt, and thus either for the remainder of the campaign to imprison the Belgian army, or to destroy it, amid the ruins of Antwerp, by their shell fire. That would have been a military success of an important character. Not only would it have left Belgium for the time being at their mercy, but it must undoubtedly have a moral effect not to be ignored.
On October 8, however, the invaders had gained a passage over the Scheldt at Termonde, and had compelled the Belgian force opposing them, much inferior in point of numbers, to fall back upon Lokeren. That place is on the line of communication between Antwerp and Ostend. In view of this danger, the evacuation of Antwerp became a necessity. The danger had been foreseen. The Belgian authorities indeed had already arrived at their decision. It is now known that this had been reached on October 3, and that the object of the small British reinforcement was to enable the evacuation to be accomplished. That object they fulfilled. By the timely warning given to the population, nearly 150,000 had already been enabled to escape. All the available shipping in the port was used for transport purposes. The rest, including some 36 captured German merchant steamers, which could not be removed owing to the neutrality of Holland, was blown up and sunk in the docks. Objects of value were removed, and such stores as could not, and were likely to be of value to the enemy, were destroyed. The Belgian Government, on October 7, transferred itself to Ostend.
The Belgian army followed. By the morning of Friday, October 9, the evacuation had been completed. All the guns on the abandoned defences were spiked. Under the command of General de Guise, however, the forts controlling the approaches on the Scheldt continued to hold out.