This letter was written from Treasure Island, Dart’s pre-embarkation point. He arrived this morning and the place feels like home, even though everyone is confined behind a high barbed-wire fence with no phones or letters allowed. The men appreciate the quality of Treasure Island chow, especially since the entire huge draft is suffering some intestinal distress from something they ate yesterday at Shoemaker.

“We are here for ___ hours, so unless those hours are lengthened, this will be my last letter for sometime, and those to follow will have to conform with the whim of the censuring officers.”

He tells Dot that all letters posted from the barracks here will be held for six days before being released to their destination. Somewhere around January 10, she’ll be getting word of today’s happenings.

Dart, as always, finds  the right tone to describe his thoughts as he pens his last letter from the USA. I’ll include it here, verbatim.

“I wish now I could think of all the things I wanted to say in this letter. For a last States-side letter, this seems rather ineffectual. I wanted to mention the beautiful moon of last night when I looked at it and hoped you were watching it, too. It would have been beautiful on a snowy carpet, or coming through a window into a room where the only other light came from a crackling fire and the glow of two pairs of eyes. (Ours?)”

“This is a poor time for regrets, but I guess it’s natural to regret having so little time together. I’m happy and thankful, though, that I have you waiting for me, and that we had even our small days together. To know that his love and respect is returned is one of the greatest consolations a man (or boy) can have when he leaves his country and the girl he loves and respects.”

“So, my Darling, it is with this that I close one chapter of my life and open another. Peterson the boy is slowly leaving, and in his place, Peterson the man is slowly and painfully coming into being. I’m always looking forward to coming home and ‘growing up together’ with you.”