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work of searching and carrying away. It worried them that they could bear only four at a time because there were hundreds who needed attention. Through the night they worked until the battlefield had been relieved of its living. It mattered not whether the victim was German or French-if he needed help he received it. Theirs was an errand of mercy.

As long as the war lasted the ambulance made its trips back and forth from the battlefield to Paris. Mrs. McFarland became the angel of the sick. It was even rumored that the soldiers prayed to be wounded that they might be brought to the field hospital with its steam heat and American good-will and perhaps be fed by the beautiful French woman. The sight of the Stars and Stripes brought courage and relief to the hearts of the fighting men. They knew instinctively that if they were wounded, help was near-they would not be left helpless to die on the battlefield.

This is how the American Ambulance service first started. These two persons alone, it was estimated, saved 1,500 lives. A small enough number to-day perhaps but that was long ago in '71 when automobile ambulances costing $5,000 were undreamed of. No airplanes bombed cities; no "tanks" with machine guns mowed down thousands; no poison gases suffocated an army.

When the Franco-Prussian War was over, and the McFarlands served until the last day of battle, France, grateful, bestowed upon them its medal of honour-the Bronze Cross. Mr. McFarland took back his war flag and carried it to America with his war trophies.

"He and Marie came to live with me for a year here in Brooklyn," said Mrs. Duer, "and then they both left for South America, where they died, but I had them buried here.

"Before my brother went away he made me promise that in case I outlived him and his wife I would have them buried in America. My brother was a loyal American. Neither he nor his wife thought I would be the last survivor, but you never can tell. She died in '90 and he, heartbroken, in '91, alone in Maracaibo, Venezuela. When their belongings were sent to me, this little box was with them. In it were the flag, the medals, diploma, the first Red Cross made from a piece of flannel, the certificate, a picture of the McFarlands and a tiny Bible given by an Englishman whose name, William Peglain, is barely discernible." Mrs. Duer told me the story of that Bible as it was told to her by Mrs. McFarland.


Bestowed upon an American, Mr. George McFarland, and his wife, by the French Government in grateful recognition of their services in succouring the wounded

'My brother never spoke much of his ambulance work. He never thought there would be another war and as far as he could see he had only done his duty. But when this war started, his service was remembered in Paris. It was Ambassador Herrick who asked per

mission of the officials to "perpetuate" the service of '70-'71. Of course permission was granted and to-day there are thousands of Americans succouring the wounded. But you see, he said 'to perpetuate,' thus recognizing my brother's work." She smiled a sad smile.

"The soldier had been carried by my brother into the ambulance. He was dying and he knew it. One day when he knew his time was up he reached for his Bible, his only possession, and gave it to Marie with a smile on his lips. 'My mother gave it to me,' he told her. 'She told me when I was dying to give it to the person I loved the best, just as she gave it to me. I give it to you.' Marie prized that Bible perhaps more than her bronze cross. When she died it came to me." Mrs. Duer looked troubled. "I do not know to whom I shall give that Bible-I do not know."

Nor has Mrs. Duer decided yet what she will do with the trophies. Most of all she treasures the flag-the first Stars and Stripes to fly from any battlefield for the purpose of saving life.

"Somewhere in France," the old truck looking like an early Far West pioneer wagon has been preserved. To-day field ambulance hospitals have as many as twenty beds and every conceivable modern equipment. There are thousands of them and there are thousands of the Stars and Stripes on the battlefields.


A Scottish Chaplain's Experiences Amongst the British Wounded Prisoners of War Interned in Switzerland


[The following excerpts from a series of letters have a peculiar interest. The author not only endured an extraordinary experience, but he has recorded in a most effective manner an extraordinary human reaction to them. He has been able to transcend the feeling of sectarianism and to embrace the larger feeling of widespread sympathy for human beings. His letters form an authoritative document of the brotherhood of men and, in a very picturesque manner, illustrate the greater Red Cross spirit.-THE EDITORS.]




You will appreciate the joy that has come to us. Some of our British wounded prisoners in Germany are to be sent to Switzerland, to be interned here. When war broke out it was some comfort to be able to devote time and energy assisting stranded British people to return home, still it was trying to be left practically stranded oneself with only a few to whom to minister. After wondering how I could do my bit, you can be sure that now I shall follow this bright star of hope until it stands over the place where our brave men are to rest.

the little mountain train came in sight and we saw the wounded men leaning out of every window, with bandaged heads and tired faces, a strange emotion thrilled the crowd, and a cheer went up which a soldier afterward at breakfast described as a royal welcome. When the train came to a standstill, before the soldiers stepped down to the platform, the National Anthem was sung by the soldiers and by the throng, but I know that many standing there were too moved to sing, loyal-hearted though they were. Soon willing hands were helping the badly wounded men, and stretchers were at once brought into use to carry the helpless to their places at the breakfast table.

In spite of the men's evident fatigue and suffering we were all impressed with their cheery aspect. During

the speech-making the President of the Communal Council expressed the sympathy of the Swiss, and their joy in receiving the wounded British in their country, this "little isle set in

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Château d'Ex. MY DEAR A.:

I am writing to you from Château d'Ex

where I came a few
days ago to join in the
welcome to our wounded men and to start my
work amongst them. Nothing can express
the excitement of the throng which had
waited for hours their arrival. When at last


The "beloved pastor" of the concentration camp for
wounded British soldiers at Château d'Ex, Switzerland

HAIL THE CONQUERING HERO The Swiss make the occasion of the arrival of French or British wounded a memorable occasion. Small girls strew their path with flowers and the entire population of the town turns out to greet them

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Here on Sunday "miniature services" are held for prisoners too ill to move around. Music is furnished by a baby harmonium or a phonograph



Mr. Sutherland being drawn in state to the railroad station by his "parishioners" to the music of the bagpipes


Sport and General Press Agency, Ltd.


Arrangements were made so that the wives of the interned British soldiers were permitted to spend several days in Switzerland with their husbands

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