"Of two great surgeons, Podalirius stands This hour surrounded by the Trojan bands, And great Machaon, wounded, in his tent Now wants the succor which so oft he lent." Again he thus describes an operation: "Patroclus cut the forky steel away; While in his hand a bitter root he pressed, The wound he washed and styptic juice infused; The closing flesh that instant ceased to glow, The wound to torture, and the blood to flow." Contrast the tender mercies thus described with an incident occurring during one of the exciting experiences of Ambroise Paré, who one day, during a battle, saw three desperately wounded soldiers placed with their backs against a wall. An old campaigner inquired, "Can those fellows get well?" "No," answered Ambroise. Thereupon the old campaigner went up to them and cut all their throats, "sweetly and without wrath." Note, if you will, the expression, "sweetly and without wrath," since it implies a primitive form of humanity in providing euthanasia for the hopelessly wounded. While it has been from time immemorial the custom to attach surgeons to various armies, some idea of prevailing notions of antiquity may be gained from the statement that Xenophon had but eight field surgeons with his 10,000 troops. In his army the sick and wounded were cared for in adjoining villages, or, when on the march, were carried in the rear of the troops, being cared for by women from "the baggage." Whether these women were the "vivandieres" of those days I do not quite make out, nevertheless they must have been much the same thing. In the days of Rome's greatest glory each cohort of 420 men had four surgeons, while each legion of ten cohorts had one legionary physician. In the navy there was also one physician to each trireme; nevertheless the wounded on land or sea received scant attention, although it is interesting to read that each soldier carried with him the most necessary bandages ready for use, an emergency packet supposed to be quite modern.