On the battlefields the kindness of the French medical men to the German wounded has always been conspicuous.  One of my neutral friends passing through Germany heard from one of the prominent German surgeons that they were well aware of this fact, and knew that their wounded received every attention.  There is a story known throughout France of a French doctor who was attending a wounded German on the battlefield.  The man, who was probably half delirious, snatched at a revolver which was lying near by and attempted to shoot the doctor.  The doctor took the revolver from him, patted him on the head, and said:  “Voyons, voyons, ne faites pas l’enfant” ("Now then, now then, don’t be childish”) and went on dressing his wounds.

Everywhere you hear accounts of brotherly love and religious tolerance.  I remember kneeling once by the side of a dying French soldier who was tenderly supported in the arms of a famous young Mohammedan surgeon, an Egyptian who had taken his degree in Edinburgh and was now attached to the French Red Cross.  The man’s mind was wandering, and seeing a woman beside him he commenced to talk to me as to his betrothed.  “This war cannot last always, little one, and when it is over we will buy a pig and a cow and we will go to the cure, won’t we, beloved?” Then in a lucid moment he realised that he was dying, and he commenced to pray, “Ave Maria, Ave Maria,” but the poor tired brain could remember nothing more.  He turned to me to continue, but I could no longer trust myself to speak, and it was the Mohammedan who took up the prayer and continued it whilst the soldier followed with his lips until his soul passed away into the valley of shadows.  I think this story is only equalled in its broad tolerance by that of the Rabbi Bloch of Lyons, who was shot at the battle of the Aisne whilst holding a crucifix to the lips of a dying Christian soldier.  The soldier priests of France have earned the love and respect of even the most irreligious of the Poilus.  They never hesitate to risk their lives, and have displayed sublime courage and devotion to their duty as priests and as soldiers.  Behind the first line of trenches a soldier priest called suddenly to attend a dying comrade, took a small dog he was nursing and handing it to one of the men simply remarked, “Take care of the little beast for me, I am going to a dangerous corner and I do not want it killed.”

A Gun Carriage An Altar

I have seen the Mass celebrated on a gun carriage.  Vases made of shell cases were filled with flowers that the men had risked their lives to gather in order to deck the improvised altar.  A Red Cross ambulance drove up and stopped near by.  The wounded begged to be taken out on their stretchers and laid at the foot of the altar in order that “they might receive the blessing of the good God” before starting on the long journey to the hospital behind the lines.