ations, of
no creed but of all faiths, of one flag for all the world and that
flag the banner of the Crusaders.

The Red Cross is the wounded soldier's last defence. Worn as a
brassard on the left arm of its volunteers, it conveys a higher
message than the Victoria Cross of England, the Iron Cross of Germany,
or the Cross of the Legion of Honour of France. It is greater than
cannon, greater than hate, greater than blood-lust, greater than
vengeance. It triumphs over wrath as good triumphs over evil. Direct
descendant of the cross of the Christian faith, it carries on to every
battlefield the words of the Man of Peace: "Blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy."

* * * * *

The care of the wounded in war has been the problem of the ages.
Richard the Lion-Hearted took a hospital ship to the coast of
Palestine. The German people of the Middle Ages had their wounded in
battle treated by their wives, who followed the army for that purpose.
It remained for Frederick the First of Prussia to establish a military
service in connection with a standing army.

With the invention of firearms battlefield surgery faced new problems,
notably hemorrhage, and took a step forward to meet these altered
conditions. It was a French surgeon who solved the problem of
hemorrhage by tying the torn blood vessels above the injury. To
England goes the credit for the prevention of sepsis, as far as it may
be prevented on a battlefield.

As far as it may be prevented on a battlefield! For that is the
question that confronts the machinery of mercy to-day. Transportation
to the hospitals has been solved, to a large extent, by motor
ambulances, by hospital trains, by converted channel steamers
connecting the Continent with England. Hospitals in the western field
of war are now plentiful and some are well equipped. The days of
bedding wounded men down on straw are largely in the past, but how to
prevent the ravages of dirt, the so-called "dirt diseases" of gaseous
gangrene, blood poisoning, tetanus, is the problem.

I did not see the first exchange of hopelessly wounded prisoners that
took place at Flushing, while I was on the Continent. It must have
been a tragic sight. They lined up in two parties at the railroad
station, German surgeons and nurses with British prisoners, British
surgeons and nurses with German prisoners.

Then they were counted off, I am told. Ten Germans came forward, ten
British,