Never in my life have I seen so many negroes. They swarm about the train at every stop we make, chalk their initials on the cars (as every one else has done) sing songs, cheer and just bubble over with enthusiasm. Last night, while our train was on a siding, an old fellow somehow got inside the car and did a wild buck and wing dance in the aisle for pennies that were tossed from every bunk. And this morning another old fellow, with a bag of cotton on his back, came a little too close to the windows of the troop train. Eager hands seized the bag and pulled it from his shoulders, and presently the cotton was being distributed among the men as souvenirs.
And now we are only twenty miles from Atlanta, and the fellows are beginning to pack up their belongings. Some are trying hard to shave in a crowded wash-room, for the long train ride has left us all appearing a little the worse for wear and we want to enter our new home as presentable as possible.
I wonder what this new home will be like? Camp X is the cantonment and I am told that it is bigger than the place we left, but if it is half as pleasant we will be satisfied.
THE END