"We reached Brussels last Tuesday week. The first impression was of a town en fête. The streets, even the poorest, were gay with bunting and flags; on every side black, orange, and red caught one's eye.
"In trying to get an extra man officer for our party we were still in Brussels on Thursday, and by twelve o'clock found ourselves German prisoners. Every house in the better part of the town was closed and the windows shuttered. The empty streets at twelve o'clock gave one a horrid chill, but by four o'clock dense masses of people watched the German Army pass. Old men, young men, bare-headed women, women with hobble skirts, but one and all holding tiny dogs in their arms! Behind, the cafés were in full swing.
"Hour after hour the 4th German army corps rolled along the cobble streets, a solid grey line of burly men and magnificent horses. I turned from watching and saw a boy in the act of throwing a heavily-weighted belt dragged away by two policemen. In the cafés men were drinking the inevitable beer and playing cards. I turned again. Still on they came, cavalry, artillery, and infantry—a man to my right in French said, 'One of these men told me they knew they were going to their death.' Just then a cavalry man, catching sight of my uniform, very courteously and gravely saluted me, saying, 'Heils Armee' (Salvation Army).
"The next day—still the army passing through,—a gunner, bending down, said, 'Heils Armee—Hallelujah!' Wild rumours throughout the town; atmosphere electric, a single act of violence, and one felt the Germans would have opened fire. Notices were posted all over the town imploring the people to be calm; every day, often all day, we tried for a way to get out, but without a ray of hope; day after day refugees arrived with tales of misery and horror.
"My diary runs: 'All cafés to be closed early. Germans send for quicklime to cover their dead. 7000 wounded arrive—all Germans. Germans posted notices to-day: "English badly beaten; French retreated." Threatened to sack Brussels. No milk, no bread, no eggs, no butter. We were mobbed to-day, as the rumour had spread that Brussels had been betrayed by the English. Notice out not to touch water, as German dead were lying in great numbers unburied near Mallien.'"
From Brussels Brigadier Murray made her way to Le Havre. The scenes she witnessed among the flying Belgians were terrible. One picture will ever live in her memory—and ours.
"A woman who had to fly at night from her village had to do so with three tiny children; the baby she put into her apron with some clothing, the other two she carried. Through the darkness she had to walk to the junction, where ensued a wild scramble for seats. When the train had started the distracted woman discovered that the baby had dropped from her apron, when and where no one could discover."
Later Brigadier Murray has had charge of the first ambulance sent out by the Salvation Army.
The bravery of these women Salvation Army officers is past description.
During the battle of Mons Adjutant L. Renaud, a French-Swiss officer, was in charge of the Salvation Army corps at Quaregnon, near Mons. She tells us her experiences during those fearful days.