MACEDONIA'S CALL.

Press, Volume LII, Issue 15773, 14 December 1916, Page 9

MACEDONIA'S CALL.

GREEKS T\~HO RALLIED TO

VEXIZELOS.

A MOTHER'S VIGIL

"Greece has declared war on. I3ul- I garia!" The man who gave vent to the "news" raised hit, mug of tea to his lips; ho gave the information freely s»nd magnanimously, as one who hat; much "inside" stuff to spare. That -was how the "news" was dumped in the mess, writes a Salonica correspondent of the "Kxpress." As a rumour it was fairly sucessful. It began at the table near 'tho entrance., and ran. up to the other end of the inurqnee before the man who sprang it on the company had finished his drink. In a few moments it was all over the camp. It had travelled along,-the entiro valley before the sounding of the First Post. At a Serbian camp many miles off the men discussed it joyfully after Lights Out. The Bulgarians in the prison camp close l>y bowed their heads dolefully. It was. of course, like the report of Mark Twain's death, "exaggerated," but its foundation may have lain in the events which were happening in Salonica and district: events of which you at home already know only the broad facts. Greece —at any rate, that part which follows Vcnistelos —had unofficially declared war, and they were raking in tho men to do tho lighting. They were doing this while the outer districts were talking of -the larger event; and they were going through Macedonia with a small tooth comb. The countrymen of Plato and Achilles wore mobilising once more. Throughout the town tho whole of that afternoon and evening the callingtip continued. Never was Biblical prophecy more clodbly realised. Two men were working in a field: one was taken and tho other left. There was little sentiment wasted in the work: it was a stem, colourless business for the most part. WEULLNG CONSCJRIPTS. Shops were shut early that day. At the base of Vonizelos street where it opens on tho quayside tho cafes were packed. The crowds were 60 dense that it was with' difficulty that men . drank their beverages. Tables were only in the way; chairs, were taken, in. from the sidewalk Mid roadway, for they were only in the way of the multitude. When the lamps were lit they illuminated a strange scene in which every Allied uniform was represented. The splashes of colour gave tho place tho weirdest aspect, and when the portrait of Venizelos was carried through the mob on a pole by an enthusiast every one cheered and cheered again. One after another the draft of conscripts came marching along the narrow streets, in twenties, in thirties, in forties, in fifties. But they did not cheer much. In Englend the recruits sang as they marched Co tho barracks. In Greecc they just marched. Many of them —probably most —had been in the previous war: some had taken part on the battlefields which lie within a few miles of the city walls. They were going back to war with no boisterous shouting; but they were going back determinedly. On the heels and at the sides of every company were women, some hatless,* carrying little parcels for their menfolk, and feeding them with grapes and tomatoes. Tho jabber of their tongues was heard above all other sounds. From every side street small batches were brought down t<> swell the ranks. Generally women accompanied these, too; mothers, sisters, wives; some cheerful, some downcast, a few uncertain whether to be one or other. In one side street there was much commotion. A son was being taken from his mother, who refused to let him go. She had come out of her house : into the street with her boy, protesting with all her power against the circumstance. that was bringing this thing on her home. He was not more than twenty years, aud she stood with her &xm around his shoulders. But the officer was inexorable. He produced his documents. He argued. He cajoled. He threatened. The mother remained immovable. THE WOMAN'S PART. As the column of conscripts stopped at the end of tho, street every eye was turned on her. Her face was white and ( drawn and half hidden by her cloak. She was f: frail woman : but her dark eves burned. Faced bv all that crowd she shrank back, yet when a high officer came to her to. demand her son her hand became tighter on his coat. '•Mother, he must> come. His country needs him." *"I need him more." "Every one is the same. There must be no exceptions. Others have suffered "But he is mine before he i^ t- the country's. I bore him for myself. t( I cannot waste time. Let him go, mother. He will be killed by derision if be remains.'' . "[ will bo killed by grief if he goes. "He may come back.'' "He may never.'' A hush fell on the crowd. Presently one or two cried aloud offering suggestions. The officer was looking at the woman, unsure whether to exercise his authoritv openly. Suddenly she threw back her cloak, seized her son m her arms, kissed him passionately on both cheeks, and thrust him forward to the ofcCr ' ON THE QUAY. "Take him," she cried. The crowd cheered. The conscripts marched on shouting. The woman fled up the -street. An hour later some sightseers about to' board a tramcar going eastward noticed a woman standing motionless on the narrow ridge of stone that borders the ouav. She was wrapped in a black cloak, and stood like a statue looking seaward. As they passed'they caught a glimpse of her features. it was the mother. Away on the hills a searchlight was sweeping over the land &nd circling down on the bay where the white hospital ships rode at anchor. Far out. at the very entrance to the bay, ojie little light twinkled like a star. The searchlight swept to and fro, enveloping tho yellow "flicker, and out of the darkness "was silhouetted the great hull of a warship—the sentinel of the bay. The sightseers looked round quickly at a sound behind them. It was a

muffled sob that, came to them. The sidewalk was deserted save for one dark figure. The woman was still standing by the quay.,