That night the Germans tried hard to cross the river, but were driven back by the British marines. Late on Monday, the 5th, there was a terrible bombardment of the Belgian centre, and some thousands of Germans either swam or waded across the stream, and dug themselves in on the northern bank. Early on Tuesday morning the passage of the Nethe had been won, and the defenders had been driven back upon the inner circle of forts. The guns of these forts were out of date, and were hopelessly outranged and outclassed by the howitzers of the enemy. The end was drawing near. By this time all the country between the inner forts and the Nethe was a wilderness of death and desolation, of blackened ruins and smoking haystacks, of torn and slashed fields, strewn with the bodies of the slain. On Tuesday evening the situation was hopeless, and the government left in haste for Ostend. The German general sent a flag of truce with a demand for surrender, and threatened to bombard the city should it be refused. The Belgians, however, would not yet give in. That evening the great oil tanks on the western side of the Scheldt were fired lest their contents should fall into the hands of the enemy. A dense black mass of smoke drifted over the city, and the smell of burning filled the air. The machinery of several large ships that might prove useful to the enemy was also wrecked, and all munitions of war were sent out of the city by rail. Not until next morning did the citizens learn that the government had departed. The newspapers announced that steamers were waiting at the quays to carry the inhabitants into safety. In the great Zoological Gardens keepers were busy shooting the fiercer wild animals. The Germans had given notice that the bombardment of the city would begin at ten o'clock that very evening. Then and only then did the courage of the townsfolk fail. They saw their own soldiers streaming across the bridge of boats towards the western bank of the river, and they knew that all was lost. Then began an exodus from the city, the like of which has probably never before been seen in all the world's history. Wellnigh half a million fugitives, not only from Antwerp but from all the countryside for twenty miles round, poured along the roads into Holland, or struggled on the quays to escape by water. Every vessel, no matter of what description, was pressed into service, and the broad stream was choked with tramps, dredgers, ferry-boats, barges, yachts, tugs, and even rafts, all packed with terror-stricken men, women, and children, and the little belongings that they could carry with them. For hours the overloaded craft lay in the stream, while the crowds on board watched the flames leaping up from the buildings of the city, which had been fired by bombs. As each bomb burst, a great sigh of terror went up from the homeless, helpless thousands.