been sold just as readily to Germany, had that been possible, is a
matter open to question. In any case, the camp of "The Others" was
overwhelmingly in the majority.

One by one, and in little protesting bands, the friends of the Allies
slipped overseas bound on self-imposed, sacrificial quests. They went
like knight-errants to the rescue; while others suffered, their own
ease was intolerable. The women, whom they left, formed themselves
into groups for the manufacture of the munitions of mercy. There were
men like Alan Seeger, who chanced to be in Europe when war broke out;
many of these joined up with the nearest fighting units. "I have
a rendezvous with death," were Alan Seeger's last words as he fell
mortally wounded between the French and German trenches. His voice
was the voice of thousands who had pledged themselves to keep that
rendezvous in the company of Britishers, Belgians and Frenchmen, long
before their country had dreamt of committing herself. Some of these
friends of the Allies chose the Ford Ambulance, others positions in
the Commission for the Relief of Belgium, and yet others the more
forceful sympathy of the bayonet as a means of expressing their wrath.
Soon, through the heart of France, with the tricolor and the Stars and
Stripes flying at either end, "le train Américaine" was seen hurrying,
carrying its scarlet burden. This sight could hardly be called neutral
unless a similar sight could be seen in Germany. It could not.
The Commission for the Relief of Belgium was actually anything
but neutral; to minister to the results of brutality is tacitly to
condemn.

At Neuilly-sur-Seine the American Ambulance Hospital sprang up.
It undertook the most grievous cases, making a specialty of facial
mutilations. American girls performed the nursing of these pitiful