To prove that this "war of compassion" is no idle phrase, let me
illustrate with one dramatic instance. When the Italian line broke
under the pressure of Hun artillery and propaganda, the American Red
Cross sent representatives forward to inaugurate relief work for
the 700,000 refugees, who were pouring southward from the Friuti and
Veneto, homeless, hungry, possessing nothing but misfortune, spreading
despair and panic every step of the journey. Their bodies must be
cared for--that was evident; it would be easy for them to carry
disease throughout Italy. But the disease of their minds was an even
greater danger; if their demoralisation were not checked, it would
inevitably prove contagious.

The first two representatives of the American Red Cross arrived in
Rome on November 5th, with a quarter of a million dollars at their
disposal. That night they had a soup-kitchen going and fed 400 people.
Their first day's work is the record of an amazing spurt of energy. In
that first day they sent money for relief to every American Consul in
the districts affected. They mobilised the American colony in Rome and
arranged by wire for similar organisations to be formed throughout
the length and breadth of Italy, wherever they could lay hands on an
American. On all principal junction points through which the refugees
would pass, soup-kitchens were installed and clothes were purchased
and ready to be distributed as the trains pulled into the stations.
They were badly needed, for the passengers had endured all the rigours
of the retreat with the soldiers. They had been under shell and
machine-gun fire. They had been bombed by aeroplanes. No horror of
warfare had been spared them. Their clothes were verminous with weeks
of wearing. They were packed like cattle. Babies born on the journey
were wrapped in newspapers. There were instances of officers taking
off their shirts that the little bodies should not go naked. A