A small torrent of khaki swept on to the ferryboat that was taking
troops to the special train for Camp Merritt. They stood all over her
deck, in uncomfortably small areas; there seemed to be no room for the
pack, which perhaps you were expected to swallow. Faces were a little
pale from seasickness, but carried a uniformly radiant expression, which
proceeded from a lively anticipation of civilian happiness. The
conversation was ejaculatory, and included slapping and digging and
squeezing your neighbor. Men were saying over and over again: "This is
about the last li'l war they'll ketch me for."