Up the North River, the skyline of the huge cities changed and grew more impressive, as one building after another came out of the mass and stood alone against the blue-black Eastern night sky. Ferries criss-crossing in the darkness, leaving sparkling trails of light that danced on the water, crowded close to us at times, and the mass of men and women huddled on the windswept decks, cheered us on our way. Thus did we say our last good-bye to the big city—and we said it solemnly and thoughtfully, too, for many of us know that we are going on the long, long journey and will never see that skyline again. The crowds in the terminal, as we hurried from ferry to the railroad yard, cheered us, too, and men rushed out to shake hands with us and crowded cigarettes and cigars into our pockets as we marched on. We had been told that the Red Cross would feed us. It did, to the extent of a single sandwich and a cup of coffee, hastily snatched as we wended our way through the railroad yard to the train. Long tourist sleepers are our lot. They stood on a siding, dimly lighted with a single candle at either end of the car when we climbed into them and were assigned to our seats. We are settled now, and rolling swiftly across Jersey. Lights have been turned on, and the interior of the car looks very strange with the big blue duffel bags swinging from every hook and swaying as the train rounds each curve. But we are all very quiet, and many of us are thinking. We are all homesick that is certain, and hungry, too, and wondering about the future. Tuesday: We are rolling through Virginia into the sunset. For twenty hours we have been crowded into these cars, and we are cramped and tired, but feeling happier with all. Two to a berth, we tried to sleep last night. But sleep was impossible. I was up most of the night, standing at the upper end of the car looking out the window, while my new-found bunkie tried hard to get in a few winks. He wasn’t successful. At midnight we ran through a little station called Brandy, and there in a pounding rainstorm, under the light of a smoky, yellow oil lamp, stood a solitary soldierly-looking figure, a boy, bare-footed and with head uncovered and his rain-soaked cap held over his heart in a salute. He alone had been watching for the troop train. Sometime after daylight, at Charlottesville, our train stopped for water. All signs of the rain had cleared, hundreds of boys, black and white, and men and women swarmed to the station to greet us. Our canteens were passed out of the windows for water, and hot coffee and thick sandwiches of home-made bread and jelly and delicious ham were given to us by a committee of very old women who had been up since long before daylight awaiting our arrival. Rations were served to us after we pulled out of the station, consisting of bread and hard crackers, and a can of tomatoes and a can of beans for every six men.