Wauwatosa news. [volume] (Wauwatosa, Wis.) 1900-1948, 1918-10-04

M L WAS not place to expect thrills,
the Fan River Line pier at New
port, r. /. And especially not on
~ dismal evening. The dingy. low
buildings and sheds were wrapped
in the raw murk swept in from the
sea. The fog almost hid the lights
of the torpedo station across stretch
of black water from the pier. Up
fhe bay red lighthouse eye winked
dimly through the mist. A cold drlz-
zle kept the few early arrivals for
the New York boat in the waiting
room. Outside dozen loungers hug
ged sheltering walls, coat collars
turned up against the wet.
II wass getting along toward $50.
a few more passengers appeared,
growling>at the weather Then, down
Long wharf from the city. came swing
ing a long line Of blue. They were
ne@-made sailors frem the training
station, 100 Of them bound for New
York and thence to sea; off on their
first service. The men broke ranks
when they reached the wharf. and
scattered about with pea-coat collars
around their ears, laughing. skylark
ing. their Youthful exuherance proof
for time against night like this.
School was done-and their work lay
before them.
Here and there a lucky hoy had
somebody to tell him good-by-a friend
made in town, perhaps: sometimes
mother or father who lived near
enough to be on hand for the parting.
But most of them had nobody Ip a
little while the laughter died, though
few irrepresslbles kept up their
horseplay They were very young,
these boys And they were going some
where very far away. IT was the big
adventure really beginning, and hard
" one failed to he touched a little by
the seriousness Of It.
Into the crowd on the wharf there
came khaki-clad figure. He was
dressed like an officer, except that
his cap bore no insignia, nor his sleeve
any braid From group to group he
went, with CHEEKY Hello boys !"
and the men. with shouts and calls
one to another. flocked after him as
n following some new sort of military
Pied Piper. The man in khaki climbed
on a baggage truck. He raised his
hand and silence came upon the blue
clad throng gathered before him.
"'The Long. Long Trail" he called.
l"Ready --"
And then the thrill Ont into the
thick night, out over the old harbor,
floated the strains of that wistful cho-
rus, borne by those earnest, boyish
voices:
"There's long, long trail unwindng
Into the land of my dreams;
Where the nIghtingales are singing
And the white moon beams;
There's n long, long night of waiting
Until my dreams all come true,
It'll the day when I'll he going down
The long, long trail with YOU"
And after that. the old. simple melo-
dies of the South and the swinging
tunes of another, and different, war
-"Suwanee River" sold Black joe"
"Tramp. Tramp. Tramp. the Boys Are
Marching" and the stirring, meas
ured:
"Mine eyes have seen the glory Of the
coming II the Lord.
He Is trampling out the vintage where
the grapes of wrath are
stored"
carried inspiringly by the fun vol
ume of those fresh voices.
The man in khaki, beating time
from his truck. under the dim lights
of the freight shed, sang too And
the mass of faces, turned up to his
beneath the fiat blue caps. Shone with
the feryor he inspired in them.
Through The fog up the bay Ioomed
the white, lighted bulk of the boat,
'-N~~~~~~~@~~~~-~-~-~~~~~- ~~~-~~~-~O~~~-~-~0N~~~