Bisbee daily review., 1916-02-01

tents that shelter over twelve hundred men, women and children whose whole
 stock of worldly possessions is what they carried with them on their flight from war-hayed Serbia. Some came
 by train. before it was too late. They
 have beds, a trunk or two of clothing to family-possibly an American
 sewing machine. But most fled afoot
 in the last hours of Serbia's agony.
 tearing their peasant hearts reluctant
 ly from their native soil They have the clothes they stand in. Perhaps there is a homespun blanket between two or three.
 From inside the canvas of the oval tents shows yellow and opaque. under the rain of every day. The ground is wet with the continual coming and go- ing of muddy feet. shod only with finn sy sandals. Badly guttered around the edges the canvas walls of the tents let tiny rivulets trickle across the floor Tn some. the women, haunting the Al lies docks and camps, have salvaged a few blanks, torn from box tops. These nailed together serve to raise sleeping blankets an ich or two above the ground Luxury, The greater part have spread their wet blankets on the wet earth.
 The men in the camp by day are old-those too old to fight Or they are the maimed relics of battle. The Serbs who can fight did not flee They are with what is left of their country's army. still fighting in the mountains of Albania somewhere, or on the bor- derland of Greece. The women do not know where they are. They do not even know if they live. And if they be dead, they will never know where they died-nor where they lie buried.
 One tent after another reveals mis- in thN pouring rain, feeble olr men clad in patched rags seek to dam the torrents that continually break thru the earth dykes and seen into the tent Others lie on the ground within. wrap ned in blankets, too wretched to move. The hospital is full of the more seri- ously ailing-there is no room for those who are simply slightly i'll or weary.
 At one end of tent, seated on petroleum box as if enthroned, is young woman, a shawl drawn over her head. She is rocking to and fro, moan ing From time to time she buries her face in the torn rag of what was once a pillow slip, held clutched in her lap. Her shoulders shake with the rythm of expressed grief Old women. squat ting on the ground about her in a semi circle at little distances tumble at in- consequent tasks. chattering like a Greek chorus No one speaks to her. Only occasionally the children come and stand staring with the cruel cu- riosity of youth. whispering among themselves.
 ' eheli wcot ago. There was no foot for birr on the journey afoot. The bit ta' wind of tli Vardar Valley bit thru the i''1fequate shawl: the boy died at last in her arms. She had to bury him there na shallow grave hastily dug by French soldier
 Such fairly able-bodied men as there are among the refugees are employed by the Allied armies in construction work. on the Notifications now hurried " building around Saloniki. The French nay them four francs a day. the British three-Drincely wages. that heln the little colony vastly. Mean while the Russian relief committee has heen busily at work. A hundred and fifteen thousand drachnaes have been cOllected-a large part of the sum in Macedonia itself-wherewith to feed and clothe the more destitute. Princess Demidoff, the wife of the Rus sian minister at Athens. is head of the work. herself on the ground directing everything with the assistance of the Russian Consul at Saloniki Her work is the immediate relief of those whose misery cannot wait the long process of the establishment of an elaborate permanent refugee camp at Volo pro iected by the British-Serbian Relief Committee