Then we settled into the car; rifles in place, kits hung up on the sides, a lantern swung in the center. We were, despite all the growling, very comfortable. There was a seat for every man. All voted that it beat third class cars.
We reached a coffee station, and lined up outside the car in double ranks, and each man got a cup full of French coffee. Then came an all night ride. The men took off their boots and, with a haversack for a pillow, slept snug as bugs in a rug.
I slept, sitting up, with my back against the door, querying to myself if the buck private’s job was not easier than that of a sergeant. And I thought, possibly the skipper himself did not have so easy a time as I had sometimes thought.
The scenery was beautiful. We followed the course of a river. On the banks were old castles, beautiful châteaus, villages with red topped roofs, and always stone bridges.
“Say, boys!” exclaimed Sam, “we would have to pay big money for this sight seeing excursion, before the war.”
It was getting so interesting that we forgot to eat.
“Where are we going, Sergeant?”
“Don’t know.”
“How long will it take to get there?” inquired another inquisitive Yankee.
“Don’t know,” I replied, “there are three days’ rations on board, and seven in a freight car.”