Through the pen and brush of Louis Raemaekers has pulsed the heart blood of suffering Belgium and horrified humanity; and for this reason, his cartoons are inspired and move the hearts and minds of all men to despise and condemn those who could commit such inhuman deeds. THE GOD IN MAN A soldier on the firing step, aiming at the enemy, is suddenly struck; and he drops down to the bottom of the trench. His nearest comrade must keep on firing, but two stretcher-bearers are ready at their posts. They rush forward, take the first-aid packet from the soldier's pocket, cut his clothes away from the wound, and quickly dress it. They carry him to the trench doctor, who treats the wound again. Then they take the soldier from the trenches to the nearest field ambulance, where his wound is again cared for. He is so badly hurt that he needs to recover far from the sound of the thundering cannon. But he is not so seriously injured that he cannot stand a short journey. So he is placed, as comfortably as possible, in an ambulance train, with skilled Red Cross nurses to attend to him. The train arrives just in time to meet the hospital ship at the port. The soldier is carried on board, and soon finds himself in a quiet hospital in London--all in little more than twenty-four hours, a day and a night. So thousands of men have been cared for each week, by a never-ending line of devoted Red Cross stretcher-bearers, doctors, and nurses, on the battlefield, on the trains, on hospital ships, and in the home hospitals, in London, and in every fighting country in the world. Somewhat back from the lines are the stationary hospitals, where many soldiers are left who cannot be carried farther, but must be treated there. "Mushroom hospitals" they are called; for, although they have the appearance of having been there before, they really have sprung up only since the war started. The wards are spotlessly clean, filled with rows and rows of beds, also spotlessly clean. Beyond are the operating rooms, baths, kitchens, and gardens filled with flowers, where the wounded men may breathe fresh air and get back the strength which they have so willingly lost in service. All the time, hundreds of new patients are arriving, hundreds are leaving, either to go to more distant hospitals, or to go back to the lines to fight. In comes one soldier who does not see or know where he is, nor who it was that brought him. But when at last he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a spotlessly clean white bed for the first time in months. He looks about, and yes, there is Bobby, his own pet collie, sitting beside him. He had lost him when he went over the top in the fight; but somehow Bobby had followed him here, and somebody had been kind enough to let him stay beside his master in this clean and pleasant room.