This order was the prevailing topic of conversation for the rest of the evening. During the night long trains of cars arrived, but notwithstanding the nearness of our departure for the actual seat of war, and Chickamauga was recognized as only a stepping stone to Tampa, where the invading army was gathering, we slept soundly and peacefully. Such was the effect of the fresh salt breezes from the ocean and the outdoor life that in one short month our nervous systems had been completely renovated, and exciting events could not make any inroads upon our time for repose, but we always rose fresh and bright at daylight, ready for the day's drills and exercises. Tuesday broke bright and clear and found most of our "traps" packed and awaiting final orders. I hastily arranged to take a night at home. All furloughs had been stopped, but mine was "managed" with a few others, thanks to our commanding officer. After visiting everybody we could in the short time allotted to us we started for camp again Wednesday morning. Arriving there at noon, we found all the tents down, baggage being packed and the men sitting on their knapsacks eating hard tack. A few lucky ones were eating sandwiches.
There was work ahead for me, however, and I was soon assisting on the Company rolls, which were being made up for (as we thought) State pay. While this was going on the Company was marched out and photographed. It was a good picture, but unfortunately the Captain and a number of men were left out, owing to absence on details. The sun shone from an unclouded sky and with direct fierceness as if to atone for its shyness for the past four weeks. Everything now being ready, tents and baggage loaded, we marched out in heavy marching order and were again photographed. Orders now arrived rapidly and we were soon forming for a final review before the Governor.
Crowds had come down to see us off, and many were the tearful farewells and handshakes. But what a load our equipments made. We had discarded all the comforts and a great many things we believed we could do without, but still there was an immense dead weight in those knapsacks and the tinkling cups dangling from our haversacks added to this discomfort. The repeated warnings and commands of "close up, close up," caused the men, heavily loaded as they were, to jostle each other while the veins in their foreheads stood out like whip cords. The tremendous physical strain, together with the heat, made this a never-to-be forgotten march, and was only equalled by the celebrated "dust march" at the end of our journey. With very little delay we boarded our section and with many a frantic farewell we started on our long and eventful journey to the land of palms and soft breezes.
THE JOURNEY SOUTH
At three thirty in the afternoon, June 2d, 1898, we pulled out of the station at Sea Girt and immediately proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. Each man had a seat to himself, these being of the low backed variety. Our equipments we hung on the package racks, and they jangled and banged with every movement of the car. We had hardly gotten settled in our seats when we became aware that the population all along our route had turned out to see us, and every little cross road had its group of farm wagons and country people, who had been there for hours, and cheered us as we passed. Our journey became a continual ovation, which reached its height as we swung past Monmouth Junction. At this place occurred the most touching sight it was my fortune to witness during our eventful journey. As we drew near the station a series of whistles brought every head in the car to the window. Every doorstep, garden and fence had its waving flag. The school children had been dismissed and had marched in a body to the long freight platform at the depot. Along the whole front of this line of children was stretched the national colors, while from their hands waved the Emblem of Guardianship to our homes and little ones, and tiny voices were singing patriotic songs. Up to this time I had been skeptical of the patriotism of our people, believing that the enthusiasm heretofore witnessed was merely a personal feeling, but here were people utter strangers to us, bringing their children. And why? Evidently to instill in their young minds that love of country which they themselves had and for which many of them had suffered a generation ago. All this burst upon me with indescribable rapidity and I know that I was not the only one in that car who had something in his throat which he did not like to speak of. Shortly after we struck the main line of the P. & R.R.R. We reached Trenton at five o'clock and crossed the Delaware. We were now going through a section much travelled over by the opposing forces in the Revolutionary War, and now occurred an altogether surprising and somewhat touching incident. My tent-mate and I being seated opposite each other were admiring the scenery; we had lost our bearings somewhat and had only a faint idea as to where we were, when the train suddenly emerged from the hills and presented before us a most beautiful landscape. He immediately recognized it as the fertile and rich Chester Valley. He had lived in this valley until he was nineteen years of age and became quite excited as he found we would pass the threshold of his home, where he had left his mother, brothers and sisters the week before. He knew all the points of interest. On the ridge yonder was Washington's headquarters where his shoeless army shivered and shook in their tattered garments at Valley Forge during the winter of 1777-8. The remarkably clear atmosphere enabled the General with his glasses to sweep the valley for twenty miles. How many anxious glances he must have given in the direction of Philadelphia. A short distance farther on we crossed the Brandywine, that memorable stream on which the disastrous battle was fought and Philadelphia was laid open to the enemy. There was the stone dwelling in which the British General Gage, of Bunker Hill fame, was when the information was brought him of the band of Patriots sleeping peacefully around some hay ricks at Paoli, which resulted in their surprise and massacre. Then we approached his home and he looked eagerly to see if any one was around the house, but there was no one. The carpenter shop in which he had learned his trade was pointed out. We passed Phoenixville and my enthusiastic friend kept naming over the villages, and often the names of householders within several miles of his old home. Lime of the best quality is found in the soil of this valley and accounts for the fertility of it. The sun now began to sink in a blaze of gold and about eight in the evening we drew into Harrisburg.