Our next lap toward home started on April 5th, and the next morning found us at the immense camp of St. Nazaire, our Port of Embarkation. What a thrill went through us as we looked out onto the ocean again, especially when we knew that we were soon to cross the gang-plank, "the bridge whose western end is America!" It must be said here that St. Nazaire is a wonderfully efficient camp. For instance, each kitchen in the camp can feed as many as ten thousand men in a little more than an hour's time. At this camp we were examined and de-cootieized some more, but our stay was short, and on April 12th we glued our eyes on the bulletin board, which read "110th Sanitary Train embarks at 11:30 A. M., April 14th, U. S. S. Antigone." That was "the thrill that comes once in a lifetime."
On the dock, before embarking, we were treated to hot chocolate, cookies and tobacco by the "Y" girls. Then the time that we had been waiting for for eleven months came, and we crossed the gang-plank "Homeward Bound." On account of storms just off the coast, our start was delayed until 3 A. M. on April 16th, and when we awoke that morning we were almost out of sight of land. Strange to say, there were no "heartaches" when "Sunny France" faded away behind us, for ahead of us was "God's Country," the land where mothers, fathers, wives and sweethearts were waiting for us. That first day out was a memorable one for most of us. The sea was rough, and that evening no one doubted but that every fish in the vicinity of the ship went to sleep with his hunger entirely appeased. Nothing more needs to be said. By the next morning the sea had calmed down, and the remainder of the voyage was a delightful one, with clear skies and bright sunshine. The "Y," Red Cross and Knights of Columbus assisted a great deal in making the trip a pleasant one, by distributing fruit, candy, magazines and books, and with a "movie" show every evening. The men were allowed to take trips down into the engine room, which was indeed an interesting and instructive sight.
Early on the morning of Sunday, April 27th, we steamed up Hampton Roads, at Newport News, Virginia, and at about 10:30 once more planted our feet on the soil of "Uncle Sam." The streets of Newport News were lined with people as we marched from the dock to Camp Stuart, about five miles away, and as one fellow remarked, "I saw more good looking girls on that march than during my whole time in France." Here's to the United States and her people, for there's no others like them.
