Monday, September 28, witnessed the scenes of sorrow and desolation in and around Mechelen and vicinity described in the foregoing chapters. Many of the residents of Willebroeck had already taken flight, and the others were preparing to leave. The Sisters, wholly absorbed in their work for the wounded, and relying on the word of the Belgian officers, that timely warning would be given as to the necessity of departure, had as yet no idea of joining the throngs of refugees who continuously filed through the main street. The shocks of the cannonade from the fortress caused the buildings to tremble on their foundations, while the ground under foot seemed agitated as by an earthquake. A large number of wounded soldiers had been brought in the night before, and three or four lay dead in the mortuary. Our Sisters and servant maids, as also the generous women refugees of Willebroeck, continued their sickening task in the laundry. In wooden shoes they stood at those large cement tubs while suds and blood-dyed water streamed over the stone floor. Since the cutting of the electric wires the motor which kept the machines in action could no longer be used for the laundry or for the bakery. This greatly increased the work in both places. Large, vicious-looking black flies, before unseen in or about the place, probably attracted by the odor of blood, buzzed around in a most disagreeable manner. The whole scene left an ineffaceable impression of sadness and horror at the unwonted ferocity of civilized man. Night closed in again, but brought neither rest nor consolation. Fearing to retire, some of the Sisters remained in the chapel, while others spent the tedious hours of that dreary night in the refectory or adjoining rooms, and kept busy making surgical dressings for the wounded, of whom a larger number than usual had been brought into the hospital. At intervals during the night the cannonade was heard, while the searchlights of the fortress penetrated the clouds on the lookout for the murderous Zeppelins. Morning came at last, with an increase of work and anguish. The enemy, with their usual determination, were trying to force their way through to Antwerp, while the Belgians were equally determined to prevent them, or to at least check their progress. On Tuesday, September 29, the daily routine of the Convent took place as usual until noon, when the cannonade became terrific. A balloon, the meaning of which we did not know, had been sent up by the enemy. Some said it was to discover the position of the Belgians and, if possible, ascertain their strength. The Reverend Superior called upon one of the officers and asked if there was danger. “No,” said he, “We shall let you know in due time.”