Of the diseases which assail an army in the field, a few stand out so prominently that all others may practically be neglected. These are cholera, typhus, typhoid fever, dysentery, and pneumonia; and they have this in common, that they are all caused by specific bacilli. Thus cholera is the child, so to speak, of the dreaded vibrio, and pneumonia that of the pneumococcus; while typhus, typhoid and dysentery have each their own special microbe. The modes of attack are, however, different, for the pneumococcus can enter the organism by the nose and mouth only; typhoid and dysentery through the alimentary canal; while the way in which cholera is propagated is at present unknown. All have this in common, that while the microbes causing them are probably always present—that of cholera being a doubtful exception—they seem only to assault a subject previously weakened by exposure, bad food, or intemperance.
RAVAGES OF TYPHUS IN SERVIA
The dread aftermaths of war made their first visitations upon the Servian nation. One read with dismay that Belgium was later outdone by Poland, and Poland seemed almost fortunate beside Servia. The account sent by Captain E. N. Bennett, Commissioner in Servia for the British Red Cross Society, of the conditions prevailing in Servian hospitals and prisoners’ camps filled the whole world with dread. “Fires are needed to clear Servia of typhus, just as fires were needed to stop the great plague in London,” reported Sir Thomas Lipton, who spent considerable time in that country. He said:
“I met on the country roads many victims too weak to crawl to a hospital. Bullock-carts were gathering them up. Often a woman and her children were leading the bullocks, while in the car the husband and father was raving with fever. Scarcely enough people remain unstricken to dig graves for the dead, whose bodies lie exposed in the cemeteries.
“The situation is entirely beyond the control of the present force, which imperatively needs all the help it can get—tents, hospitals, doctors, nurses, modern appliances, and clothing to replace the garments full of typhus-bearing vermin.”
His picture of the hospital at Ghevgheli, where Dr. James F. Donnelly, of the American Red Cross, died, is appalling. Sir Thomas called Dr. Donnelly one of the greatest heroes of the war:
“The place is a village in a barren, uncultivated country, the hospital an old tobacco factory, formerly belonging to Abdul Hamid. In it were crowded 1,400 persons, without blankets or mattresses, or even straw—men lying in the clothes in which they had lived in the trenches for months, clothes swarming with vermin, victims of different diseases, typhus, typhoid, dysentery, and smallpox were herded together. In such a state Dr. Donnelly found the hospital, where he had a force of six American doctors, twelve American nurses, and three Servian doctors. When I visited the hospital three of the American doctors, the three Servian doctors, and nine of the nurses were themselves ill.
“The patients were waited on by Austrian prisoners. The fumes of illness were unbearable. The patients objected to the windows being opened, and Dr. Donnelly was forced to break the panes. The first thing Dr. Donnelly did on his arrival was to test the water, which he found infected. He then improvised boilers of oil-drums, in which to boil water for use. The boilers saved five hundred lives, said Dr. Donnelly. He also built ovens in which to bake the clothes of the patients, but he was not provided with proper sterilizing apparatus.
NO WORD OF COMPLAINT
“No braver people exist than the Servians. They have never a word of complaint. In one ward I saw a fever patient, his magnificent voice booming songs to cheer his comrades. Some were in a delirium, calling for ‘mother.’