I swear I feel sorry to leave the squad. I've scarcely enjoyed this last night at all, and though I've made as much noise as anybody, it was so as not to show how bad I feel inside. I hate the idea of not seeing the captain again, and the Professor who bunks with me, and especially David who marches side of me. So I've come away from all the cheering and singing to write to you. David has asked me to write to him. And he meant it, too. I'm not gloomy at coming home, you know. Really I'm crazy to see you all again. But if once in a while you see me sitting kind of lonesome, you'll know why. SAM. PRIVATE GODWIN'S LAST LETTER Plattsburg, Oct. 5, 1916. Sitting alone, the last one in the old empty tent. DEAR MOTHER:-- It will be hard for me to hold myself to the systematic narrative of this last day, I do so wish to leap to the end and to tell you great news. But I will be firm. I was up early this morning, as I so often am. There is always the distant cavalry bugle to rouse one; it blows first. Seeing the embers of our great fire still glowing in the dusk, I went there to warm myself, and stood there listening to the sounds from the still sleepy camp. Drowsy voices, a footfall here and there, the crackle of fire and the tinkle of pots at the cook tents. Even when reveille had blown there was still for several moments this sleep-drugged quiet, in the first light of dawn. Then there blared out the music of the full brass band in the opening crash of "Hail, hail, the gang's on deck!" Silence no more. Yell upon yell, shout upon shout, cheer upon cheer--and for a space the brass could not be heard. The noise subsided to singing and to laughter, the music again held sway, and the camp, springing to its work in high spirits, was beginning on its last day. The last packing, the last mess together; then as the companies stood in line for the last march out, the band marched in and out of the company streets, playing to us for the last time, preceded by a score of howling dervishes, and followed by as many others, little Cupid (my second glimpse of him) struggling along in the rear. Then we were beginning our march, cheerful though on macadam, and though we had learned that once more we must skirmish, and so spoil the new spotlessness of our rifles. It was a lovely morning, hazy, but through the mist showing to the right a mountain with its lower sides glowing red. Not many miles to go, and we were glad as we covered each one; but at last we heard behind us the rifles of the cavalry, and turned to fight with them a rear-guard engagement.