THE APPEARANCE OF THE REGULARS AND ITS EFFECT UPON THE SITUATION.
The second week, that opened up at the Capitol, found the men somewhat
discontented. There is no rest for the wicked; if the reverse of this
be true, that one who does not rest is wicked, then all the members of
Company B are wicked. The conditions were perfect for resting; lying
awake during the daytime and lying asleep during the night-time made up
practically the twenty-four hours of each day, of most of the members
of the company. And still they were weary. There was no rest for them;
amidst this almost perfect inactivity they yearned to be again at their
daily and peaceful callings:
“The counter and the desk.”
(I. B. Cook.)
Any thing to break the stagnation of doing nothing. Besides this the
men were disgusted with the situation. The strikers held the depot
while they, who had traveled eighty miles to dislodge them from that
place, held down the Capitol grounds. Every day, since the Fourth, saw
the men expectant of marching upon the depot; every night saw the men
disappointed and more disgusted. Is it any wonder that the men were
discontented and strongly desirous of leaving the field of strife?
Inside of the camp of the strikers harmonious relations did not
prevail. Their temporary victory on the Fourth was slowly turning into
a defeat. Its effect had been contrary to what they had expected. The
continued presence of the militia at the Capitol, the announcement
that the regulars had been ordered to Sacramento, the growing stronger
of the opposition of the railroad, all tended to show them the
hopelessness of expecting to coerce the Southern Pacific Company into
submission. Beside this, Poverty, the great ally of the capitalist,
was forcing breaches in their hitherto determined front. A number
of the strikers counting upon a swift victory were ill-prepared to
stand a long siege. Many were now secretly prepared to desert the
cause at the first opportunity. Compromise by arbitration was talked
about, but nothing came of it. With some of the strikers, however,
the hopelessness of success only tended to make them more desperate.
Reinforced by the crowd of armed ruffians from Dunsmuir they were
preparing themselves to resist every advance the troops made against
them, even though that resistance amounted to bloodshed. Such actions
as these could have but one result. Instead of bolstering up the cause
of the strikers it was in reality weakening it. The peaceably inclined
were repelled from such associates and disavowed their relationship
with them. How well these desperate individuals kept their resolutions
will be seen hereafter.
That things were approaching a crisis was evident by the increased
precautions taken to guard the camp. It had been reported that the
strikers were preparing to sweep down upon the camp and capture the
Gatling guns. In order to prevent the camp from being surprised by any
such movement men were selected from each company and detailed to act
as pickets. They were posted a block beyond the line of sentinels of
the camp guard and in such a way that the camp was now guarded by a
double line of sentinels. By this plan it was almost an impossibility
for any body of the strikers to approach within three hundred feet
of the camp without being detected. Sergeant Kelly, Privates Hayes
and Crowley were selected from Company B to act in this capacity. The
strikers on the other hand were also exercising the greatest vigilance.
Every movement made by the militia was carefully watched by the
strikers’ pickets, who were always present in the vicinity of the camp,
and who transmitted any suspicious movement on the part of the troops
to their leaders. And, if the movement was of sufficient importance,
three shrill blasts of a steam whistle could be heard; and down all
the streets leading to the depot strikers could be seen hurrying along
to gather there in a body. This great vigilance on the part of the
strikers seemed to give the affair a much more serious aspect than it
really deserved. The establishing of pickets on both sides added to the
reality and picturesqueness of the scene.
All during the week different rumors had been flying around camp.
First it was, that the militia were going to do this, then that; until
finally, on account of their proverbial unreliableness, not much faith
was placed in them. So, on July 10th, when it was rumored about camp
that the regulars would arrive the following day, and that the militia
would be ordered to co-operate with them in securing the depot, not
much dependence was placed upon its authenticity. When, however, later
in the evening each member of the company was notified to hold himself
in readiness to be called at an early hour in the morning, and to sleep
with his rifle at his side, it began to look that after all there
was something in this rumor. It is safe to say that the men retired
that night praying--that is, those who knew how--that the rumor would
become a fact. At three A. M. the men of Company B were awakened by
1st Sergt. A. F. Ramm, and told to dress as quietly and as quickly as
possible. This they did. Save now and again of the murmur of subdued
conversation no one would know but what the camp was wrapped in sound
slumber. On emerging from the tents, an air of mystery seemed to be
hovering around. The day was just beginning to break. The gray dawn
almost isolated us from the world without. Not a wreath of smoke, that
would betoken life stirring in the adjacent closely barred houses was
visible. Now and again could be heard coming along the stone pavement,
breaking the peculiar stillness of the air, the tramp of feet, and
some poor unfortunate would emerge out of the gray gloom and pass the
camp on his way to his daily toil. Here and there could be discerned
the dim form of some vigilant picket. Within the camp men were moving
noiselessly to and fro. Few lights were discernible. Every one seemed
to be awake to the necessities of the hour. They were preparing
themselves for a rapid and noiseless movement; so that they would
be well on their way towards the prospective scene of action before
their absence from the camp was made known to the strikers. As one
now thinks of the events of that morning it seems as if the men were
preparing
“To fold their tents like the Arabs;
And as silently steal away.”
The men were awakened at this early hour, so, that when the order for
marching did come no time would be lost.
During the hours of the night while the men slept the gods were busy.
A load of haversacks and canteens had been brought into camp during
the night. These haversacks and canteens, which are the same as are
used in the regular army, were distributed among the men, every man
receiving one of each. Provisions, consisting of canned corned beef. O!
blessed Corned Beef would that thou wert never made, and crackers, were
then packed in the haversack for future use, while the canteens were
filled with coffee. The usual march up town for breakfast was omitted
this morning and a rough and ready meal of sandwiches and coffee was
substituted in its place.
While busy with the preparations for marching, the members of the
company had failed to notice how silently and unperceived the day had
crept into existence. The sun was now slowly rising. The apparent dead
and silent world by which the camp had been surrounded was awakening
into life. The windows of the adjacent houses were being thrown back.
Chimneys were emitting their smoke. Workmen were passing by. Up in the
dome of the Capitol could be seen a human form waving a hat to and
fro; first, several times on this side, then on that, then he would
poise it for a few seconds directly in front of him, and then he would
commence again. Inquiry elicited the fact that he was a member of the
Signal Corps, and that from his position of vantage he was transmitting
signals, made by other signalmen stationed at the river, to one
stationed below on the ground. These messages were then carried to
headquarters.
In the mean time preparations had been made to guard the camp during
the absence of the troops. The various details, that composed the camp
guard, were relieved and sent back to their respective companies.
Company H was detailed to take their place.
At 5:30 A. M. the command “Fall in” was given. With the haversack and
canteen slung over the shoulders, the haversack on the left side, the
canteen on the right, and the cartridge belt strapped over both to
keep them from interfering with the movements of marching by swinging,
the company presented a picturesque appearance. On the night of our
departure from the city we were compared to the regulars in the morning
papers thus:
“There was a marked contrast between the 675 sunny faced expectant
scrambling young fellows and the 300 bronzed regulars that swung
along the Oakland mole with clocklike precision.... They moved like a
machine, passionless, steady, with their eyes fixed on one man, the
captain. The militia ... went off in a happy fashion as if they were
starting on an annual summer camping trip. They laughed and called to
each other as they marched along.”
Had the reporter who wrote the above seen the Company on this morning
he would have recognized that a transformation had taken place. He
would not have found the contrast so obvious. Instead of sunny-faced,
expectant, scrambling young fellows, he would have found bearded
youths, bronzed with heat from the sun, determination written on their
faces, and ready to obey explicitly the orders, be what they may, of
their Captain. Added to all this, he would discover that the places of
the holiday and neatly fitting uniforms were taken by worn and tattered
ones covered with innumerable grease spots and dust. The leggings
he would see had ceased to be new, while the hats he would not have
recognized.
The regiment was formed into two battalions. The first battalion was
under the command of Major Burdick, the second under the command of
Major Jansen. Company B was the left company of the first battalion.
The ambulance corps were divided into two sections. One section, under
the command of Major Galwey, regimental surgeon, was attached to the
first battalion. The other section, under command of Captain O’Brien,
assistant regimental surgeon, was attached to the second battalion. The
field music was detailed as litter bearers. The first battalion marched
out of the Capitol grounds down L street and took up a position at the
end of L street, which runs perpendicular to the river.
The march to the levee showed the week passed at the Capitol grounds
had not been profitless. Its good effects were seen on both officers
and men. Instead of doing as they did on the Fourth, using their
aftersight, the officers on this occasion used a good deal of
foresight. On that memorable day, it will be remembered, that no
attempt was made to keep the masses that obstructed the passage of the
troops into the depot from being augmented by constantly arriving
forces. This time, however, whenever a halt was made, sentinels were
immediately posted, and no one was allowed to pass through who would
impede the progress of the troops.
While the battalion was on the march, and somewhere near to the place
it was to occupy, men were selected from each company and sent forward
to act as scouts. Privates A. Fetz and Unger were selected from Company
B; Fetz was sent to the left, while Unger was sent to the right. Both
were told to patrol along the next streets parallel with the march of
the battalion, halting whenever the battalion halted. Any commotion
they observed they were to report to the commanding officer of the
battalion. The battalion, arriving at the point of occupation, was
wheeled to the left by fours, formed into line, and halted. “Rest”
was given, and the men, making themselves at ease, proceeded to view
their surroundings. The ambulance corps, it was discovered, had taken
up a position in a small alley running at right angles to the street
of occupation. Here they erected a temporary hospital in anticipation
of a large number of wounded. The young doctors attached to the corps,
and especially Drs. O’Malley and McCulloch, were anxious to try their
instruments and skill upon some one. On the southeast corner of Front
and L streets is a large two-story building occupied by a hide and
pelt establishment. Upon the roof of this building part of the signal
corps, it was found, had established themselves and were busy at
work transmitting signals to the captain of the corps standing below
on the opposite side of the street. To the south of the battalion’s
position, at the intersection of L and First streets, Corporal Burdick
with a squad of braves (?), consisting of Privates Wise, R. Radke, and
Sindler, could be seen on duty guarding the rear of the position by
refusing to allow any one to pass without proper authority. Directly
in front of the battalion on Front street, which runs parallel to the
river, were several trains of freight-cars. Beginning at L street, and
running to the left towards K street, on Front street, was a long, low
platform, which was used for handling freight. Upon a parallel street,
a block to our right, the second battalion was posted. The Third
Regiment was a block farther up still.
It was while the company was thus taking in its surroundings that an
incident occurred which attracted their attention and in which the
captain of the Signal Corps and an employee of the hide and pelt
establishment figured. It was an incident which tended to impress upon
the members the reality and the seriousness of their position. An
employee of the hide and pelt establishment was seen by the captain of
the signal corps in the act of ascending to the roof of the building.
Feeling that every thing depended upon prompt and decisive action, he
drew a Colt’s revolver, and, pointing it at the man on the ladder,
cried out sharply, “Come down from there.” The man turned, looked
at the threatening revolver, then at the one behind it, grew pale,
muttered something about pointing a pistol at a man, descended the
ladder and disappeared within the building. There was no parleying
here about coming down. It was a command that could only be disobeyed
at the risk of life. The moment between the giving of the command and
its being obeyed was a moment of dead silence; the man’s life depended
upon the twitching of a finger. As the man disappeared the members of
the company almost unanimously cried out, “That’s the way to do it.” A
valuable lesson was inculcated into the members which proved of value
later in the day. The “boys” saw that if they were to accomplish any
thing they must be prompt and determined.
Hardly had the undue excitement of the above-mentioned incident
subsided when attention was attracted to a sort of commotion taking
place at a point where Corporal Burdick was stationed. It seems, from
what could be gathered afterwards, that a hack drawn by a spirited
pair of horses came dashing up L street and attempted to pass through
the lines. Corporal Burdick, assisted by Private Wise, was not to be
denied. The horses were brought to a standstill, and Sam Wise informed
the driver that he couldn’t go through. The Jehu explained that his
business was imperative, his fare being none other than the Fourth of
July famous United States Marshal Barry Baldwin. The marshal had to
introduce himself, however, before he was allowed to go through the
lines.
Private O’Brien of Company B, together with several members from
Company G, were now ordered by Major Burdick to force the crowd
that was gathering down Front street until they connected with the
scouts who had been sent along K street. This was done, and a line of
sentinels was formed diagonally across the intersection of Front and K
streets, and a busy time they had of it.
The strange things that some men will do when they haven’t a gun are
beyond all comprehension; but even beyond this is the strange thing
that O’Malley did this morning without his gun. A line of sentinels
was established across M street, holding at bay a large crowd. Inside
of this line our friend, the Doctor, with a red cross pinned upon his
arm to show his superior breed, was pacing impatiently up and down with
the restlessness of a caged lion, his fierce and terrible mien exciting
terror in the crowd. Occasionally he would pause in his wild march
and take a few steps towards the panic-stricken mob; then, changing
his mind, he would turn and continue pacing his beat. A dread silence
fell upon the multitude. Who is this man, this supernatural being? Woe
unto me, they cried inwardly. Take him away! Their terror was further
increased by O’Malley, after casting several dark glances from under
his heavy, lowering eyebrows, suddenly springing forward and grasping
one of their number, a big, burly ruffian, by the throat. Dragging him
forward O’Malley fiercely shouted:
“Give me your gun.”
“I haven’t any,” screamingly replied the fellow, falling upon his knees
and beseeching mercy with uplifted hands.
“You lie, darn you”! And jerking the fellow to his feet O’Malley put
his hand into the man’s pocket and drew out a small-sized Gatling gun.
“Now vamoose,” he said, emphasizing the words with a kick that hastened
the departure.
The crowd, on seeing what had happened, cried out, “A devil!” and fled
in the wildest confusion.[6]
[6] This above account was written by O’Malley, and therefore the
committee do not certify to its accuracy. O’Malley, however, is
generally truthful.
The signalmen, by rolling up their paraphernalia and descending from
the roof, indicated that the regulars had landed. This was verified by
a low rumbling noise coming from Front street. The battalion was called
to “attention” just as the regulars, headed by Colonel Graham, turned
into L street.
The battalion was brought to “present arms.” As the regulars marched
past on the way to the depot each man involuntarily made a comparison
between the National Guardsman and the regular. And it is safe to
say that the result was not overwhelmingly in favor of the regular.
True, the regular on the average, is a larger and an older man, and
walks with a more deliberate and measured stride. But what of this?
The militia has a quicker and a more sprightly step. Besides this,
the National Guardsman lacks the dull passiveness which characterizes
the face of the regular, and which is so often taken by the public
for determination. But this is not determination. Determination is
measured by the strength of the will. The militiaman may not move like
a passionless machine, but that very life which shines forth from his
eyes is the thing that in the hour of danger is going to generate such
an amount of determination that the regular can never possess.
The regulars this morning presented a very dirty appearance, both
men and uniforms being covered with dust. The National Guardsmen had
considered that their uniforms were about as dirty as it was possible
for a uniform to become, but when they compared them to the uniforms of
the regulars they were compelled to say that their uniforms were not
half dirty. The condition of the National Guard uniforms was between
their condition on the night of the Guard’s departure from the city and
the condition presented by the uniforms of the regulars this morning.
The only difference in equipments of the two bodies of troops was that
the regulars carried the Webb belt, while the National Guard wore the
cartridge-box. In this comparison the result is vastly in favor of
the Webb belt. It is capable of carrying more ammunition; it is more
easily accessible, and interferes less with the movement of marching,
especially running. There was one thing about the regulars that the
members of Company B thought worthy of being imitated, and that is the
long, slow, swinging stride. This has been found from experience to be
particularly serviceable for long marches. Concerning the regular army
officers, the transformation was something wonderful. In the dirty and
dusty looking officer no one would have recognized the “petted darling”
of society.
The regulars having marched past, the command “rest” was again given.
The members of the company were soon at ease upon the sidewalks
communicating with each other what they thought about the appearance
of the regulars, and what would be the effect upon the strike of their
entrance on the stage of action. While thus resting, with an easy
state of mind, believing now that as the regulars had landed, that the
climax in the morning’s operations had been reached, and that as the
strikers had not shown themselves by attempting to interfere with the
landing of the troops, that they would not now indulge in any violent
demonstrations in our vicinity, the “boys” were ill-prepared for what
followed a moment later. For scarcely had the tail end of the regulars
disappeared when the members of the company were very much startled at
hearing a shot ring out. As if an electric current had passed through
the entire company and battalion, every man sprang to his feet and his
place in ranks. As the first shot was followed by a second, and that
by another and another, until the firing became a regular fusillade,
the excitement of the men arose correspondingly with the increase of
the fire to a higher and higher pitch. A strange feeling crept over the
men. At last they were going to be tried by fire, and each resolved to
himself that he would not be found wanting. About this time Captain
Cook received instructions to select five good shots from his company
and have them report to Major Burdick. Sergt. A. F. Ramm, Privates
G. Claussenius, Frech, Perry, and Bannan were the fortunate ones
chosen. These, with an equal number of men from the other companies,
were posted by Major Burdick along the line of the freight-cars as
skirmishers, and instructed to fire upon any one who showed himself
upon the opposite bank of the river. The rest of the company was
ordered to the opposite side of the street, and told to stand close
into the side of the building, where they remained until the skirmish
was completely over.
The firing ceased almost as suddenly as it began. The strikers on the
opposite bank of the river had received such a warm reception that
they concluded to withdraw from the game; and it was when one or two
of these worthies would make their way across the opening, with the
intention of making their exit, that the reports of several rifles
would be heard.
It would be a task indeed to attempt to analyze the feelings of the
members of the company. The excitement was very great. To shoot at and
be shot at was certainly a novel experience, but one that was not an
unmixed pleasure. To shoot at was all right; but being shot at is a
questionable enjoyment. The former, however, so outweighs the latter,
that all the members of the company were anxious to be called to the
skirmish line, willing to be shot at for the sake of the pleasure of
shooting.
The effect of the first shot was more violent upon some than it was
upon others. Upon Private Gille the effect was especially marked. He
was repairing the hammer of his gun when the first shot went off. The
thought that in case of a conflict he would be without a gun with which
to defend himself played havoc with his brain cells. It liberated
a vast amount of motor energy, and this running down the outgoing
nerves caused them to vibrate rapidly. His knees knocked against each
other, his fingers trembled violently, his teeth chattered, and his
tongue could only frame, “Somebody fix my gun; I’ll be killed! I’ll be
killed.” Thrusting the gun into the hands of Lieutenant Filmer standing
near by, he excitingly beseeched half the members of the company to fix
his gun. Lieutenant Filmer was all this time breaking his thumbnail
turning the screw of the gun hammer to the tune of “Fix my gun; I’ll be
killed.” Fortunately the gun was repaired, or there is no knowing what
might have happened to Private Gille. The way Gille grabbed the now
useful gun boded ill to the man who invited its contents.
How the world was going with those on the skirmish line was a matter
of speculation. Was it possible that after all the firing no one
was killed or even wounded? Anxiously the company waited for news.
Private Bannan was seen presently coming from the skirmish line, and
on nearer approach it was discovered that his thumb was covered with
blood, and that he was bound for the hospital. Ha! a man wounded? How
did it happen? Private Bannan did not know; he only knew that he was
wounded when he saw the blood. The probabilities are that the wound
was received from the hammer of his gun, though most of the company
would not surrender the idea that it was caused by a bullet. Even when
convinced otherwise they would exclaim, “Well, we say it was done by
a bullet.” For the company to possess a man wounded by a bullet was a
special honor; it was something that could be pointed out to scoffers
with great gratification.
The details of the skirmish were learned from Private Bannan. It
seemed that, just after the regulars had landed, Colonel Barry of the
Third Regiment, stationed two blocks above L street, was fired upon
by a striker from the Yolo side of the river. A part of one of the
companies of the Third Regiment was ordered immediately out upon the
skirmish line and returned the fire. The line was then reinforced by
skirmishers from the first and second battalions of the First Regiment.
About sixty shots were fired. From what Private Bannan could gather,
four or five strikers at least were killed. Later reports proved that
this number was incorrect and that a solitary Jap was the only victim.
The reason why more execution was not done is due to the fact that the
strikers were hidden behind the levee, and, on account of the distance
across the river not being properly gauged, sights were set all the way
from 250 to 600 yards.
When we first took up our position, owing to the earliness of the hour,
there was a comparatively small number of people abroad. But as the
time went on the crowd gathered around the lines became larger, many
strikers being gathered there in response to the three blasts of a
steam-whistle. While the firing was going on the crowd became excited,
and looked as though they might attempt to break through the lines. The
sentinels, however, proved themselves equal to the occasion.
Our friend Dr. O’Malley, who was attached to second battalion station
on K street, at which point the firing was undoubtedly the warmest,
describes the situation as one, while being of liveliest excitement,
was rather uncomfortable for a man who follows the peaceful calling
of prescribing pills. Especially, he says, was his position one of
discomfort when, at the very time the fire was the warmest, some one
called out, “Ambulance Corps this way.” Now, Billy is quite a doctor,
and thought it would be for the benefit of the regiment for him not
to go forward and risk his life together with his skill. He thought,
however, that he would leave it for Doctor O’Brien to decide. So he
inquired, “Shall I go, Doctor?” He did not have to go, Doctor O’Brien
saying “No, Billy, we need you here. Send the field music.”
[Illustration: THE FIRST TRAIN LEAVING SACRAMENTO DEPOT, JULY 11, 1891;
FRIGHTFULLY WRECKED 15 MINUTES LATER.]
How did the field music feel? At first it was a struggle between love
and duty, and duty triumphed. Seizing hold of the litter with nervous
determination, they made their way forward by slow degrees, each step
taken being taken only after they had overcome the strong, glue-like
cohesion between the earth and their feet. At last they arrived upon
the skirmish line in safety, and had just emitted a sigh of relief
when Tommy Eckert, lying behind a car-wheel, cried out, “Down on
your knees”! The four dropped like a shot, and like the ostrich of
the desert, which, when hotly pursued, will bury its head in the
sand, and thus think itself safe from detection, these unfortunate
litter-bearers huddled themselves together on the ground, and crawled
under the litter for protection. Breathlessly, half dead with terror,
they lay there, expecting every moment to hear the reports of musketry.
Gaining a little confidence from the continued quietness, and feeling
desirous of finding out how the situation stood, one of their number,
A. Rupp by name and a German by birth, remembering the story of how a
man deluded a tiger, suggested that they raise a hat on the end of a
fife over the edge of the litter, and thus draw the fire of any striker
who should happen to be laying in wait to pop them. This suggestion,
which was at once followed, resulted in the hat, after being held aloft
for some time, remaining intact, untouched by bullets. Then gaining
still further confidence from this, one of their number quickly raised
his head and glanced over the edge of the litter, but, as if astonished
and startled by his own boldness and rashness, he as quickly dropped
it behind the litter again. No disastrous consequences following from
his hasty and courageous action, he took more courage and raised his
head again above the litter, this time, however, glancing around with
nervous rapidity. Seeing no signs of danger, he excitedly whispered
to his comrades, “quickly fellows, now’s our chance.” At this they
grasped the litter again and made their way hurriedly across the
opening on their hands and knees to the freight-cars, and there, safe
from bullets, behind the protecting wheels of the cars, they sank down
exhausted and helpless. Recovering, they were informed that their
assistance was needed at the other end of the line. They groaned,
and then started courageously down the track on all fours, dragging
the litter after them. By dodging from one car-wheel to another they
finally reached their destination, only to find that the man who needed
their aid was dead, buried, and forgotten.
Hostilities having completely ceased, and not being likely to be
renewed after the prompt action exhibited by the National Guard, the
skirmishers and sentinels were withdrawn. The battalion was then
re-formed and marched back to the Capitol grounds.
The effect of the exciting events of the morning upon the company was
electrifying. The discontented brightened up. Those who had hitherto
prayed for something to occur, which would compel them to return now
could not be driven away. Even the intense longing of Lieutenant Filmer
for one fond kiss from his baby girl was smothered for at least one
week. The men had tasted of the excitement of battle and were eager
for the fray. Their activities had at last found vent. Material had
been gathered that morning which would serve as food for thought for
many a day. Each man on his return from the skirmish had something to
say concerning the novel experience of being for the first time in his
life under fire; something to say of the feelings that ran through him
as the first shot rang out. Men had to relate again and again some
special incident of interest in which they played a large part. Billy
O’Malley was compelled to tell how he, being unarmed, courageously or
in other words by his immaculate gall, took a pistol away from a burly
striker; also how he felt, when the call rang out “Ambulance Corps
this way.” Phil Bannan was obliged to tell how he got his finger cut
or shot as some of the members would have it. Private Gille was given
the opportunity to explain how he took the chill that caused him to
nearly drop his rifle to the pavement. Private O’Brien had to entertain
a select audience with an account of how he relieved an ugly looking
customer of his weapon. Corporal Benny Burdick discoursed to another
gathering how he boldly challenged the United States Marshal Barry
Baldwin. First Sergt. A. F. Ramm had to tell about the men he did not
shoot and the number of shots he fired while on the skirmish line.
Others would relate how, when the first shot was fired, they tightened
their grip upon their rifles and started involuntarily forward. And
still others were discussing the number killed. None, however, were
considering the possibility of being called out again that day for
active duty. But such was the case.
The regulars, on landing, had proceeded direct to the depot. They found
it practically deserted, and entered without opposition. The troops,
once in possession of the depot, the railroad officials proceeded
almost immediately to open up the blockade. A train was made up and
placed under the guard of a detail of regular troops. And at 12:06
P. M. the first train since July 3d pulled out of the depot. Its
destination was Oakland.
[Illustration: THE DITCHED TRAIN, 1 HOUR AFTERWARDS, 3 MILES WEST OF
SACRAMENTO, CAL., JULY 11, 1894.]
The first attempt to break the blockade was destined to result in
fatality. About two miles outside of Sacramento, at Davisville, the
bolts had been withdrawn from the rails of a small trestlework and the
train, trying to cross, was ditched, and four soldiers were killed. The
news of the disaster was immediately sent to Colonel Graham, commanding
the regular troops at Sacramento, and thence spread rapidly. The
cavalry were ordered to hasten to the scene and capture any suspicious
looking characters in the vicinity. By this outrageous crime the
strikers lost more than they ever could hope to regain. Public opinion
and press, which had largely supported them, now, when they saw what
such support resulted in, turned against them. The public recognized
that a strike that carried with it destruction of property and life
must not be tolerated. Even the regular had sympathized with them in
their struggle against the thieving monopoly--the railroad. But now,
woe to the striker who would rub up against a regular. Every man’s hand
seemed to be turned against them.
Colonel Graham was much affected by the news, and resolved to show the
strikers no mercy. Hearing that they had secreted arms in various parts
of the city, he ordered four companies of the National Guard, under the
command of Colonel Nunan of the Sixth Regiment, to search the various
headquarters of the strikers. The companies chosen to perform this
dangerous duty were Companies A and B of the Sixth Regiment, Company B
of the Third, and, as luck will have it, Company B of the First.
It was at 3:30 P. M. when First Sergeant Ramm gave the command, “Fall
in.” As Company B marched out of camp, much envied by the rest of the
regiment, a scene took place in front of the guard tent the memory of
which the “boys” will never forget. Shortly after we had returned in
the morning from the river Company H was relieved from guard duty, and
details were taken from each company to make up the new guard. Those
taken from Company B were Lieutenant Lundquist, who acted as officer
of the guard, Sergeant Kelly, who acted as sergeant of the guard, and
four privates, Gilkyson, Murphy, Flanagan, and Sieberst. Lieutenant
Lundquist and Sergeant Kelly were standing on the right as the company
passed by. Privates Sieberst and Gilkyson were on the left, having been
just relieved from a tour of guard duty. The beseeching look of Van
Sieberst’s face was painful to behold. His wail of “Captain, take me
with you,” was hard to refuse. But it had to be done. Private Gilkyson,
at the thought of being left behind, became perfectly wild and
threatened to whip the first man who addressed him. This happened to
be Murphy, who came up after the company had marched off and wanted to
know what was the matter. It is needless to say that his escape was of
a hairbreadth nature. Sergeant Kelly was another study. He may not have
cursed loud, but he did deep. There was gnashing of teeth as all hope
vanished with the disappearance of the company. Lieutenant Lundquist,
what of him? He too felt the strong desire to be with the boys. But it
is hard to kick against the pricks. So he had to content himself with
guarding the camp. The leaving of these behind was the only thing the
men regretted.
The company halted on the street just outside of camp. Here Captain
Cook, according to instructions ordered Sergeant Clifford to report
to Colonel Nunan. Upon reporting, Colonel Nunan said, “Sergeant, you
are to select from your company four men whom you have the greatest
confidence in, men who you can trust to stay with you in any danger.
We will proceed into town and halt in front of a certain building; at
a given signal from me you are to enter the building with your squad,
and search the house from top to bottom. If you meet with resistance
use force. Seize every firearm or weapon likely to do bodily harm. The
company will remain on the outside, and will respond to any call you
may give for assistance.”
Sergeant Clifford selected as his squad Corporal J. N. Wilson, Privates
Unger, Hayes, and Crowley.
The four companies, two from the sixth, one from the third, and one
from the first, were formed into a battalion, and the command “March,”
was given. The companies proceeded to a building in which was situated
the headquarters of the A. R. U. Company B of the Sixth was detached
from the column and sent to search the building. The other three
companies continued the march. The next halt was made in front of the
Fremont building. Company A of the Sixth was detailed to search this
building. B of the First and B of the third then proceeded to the
corner of Front and I streets. Here the companies were wheeled into
line and halted.
The building to be searched was a two-story dwelling, the ground
floor of which, being one large room, was used for a meeting place
by the strikers. It was removed from the corner of the street by a
three-story building, the first floor being occupied by a saloon,
while, on the left of it, was another two-story building. Owing to the
intimate relation between these three buildings it was deemed advisable
to search all three. Consequently, on account of the increased
magnitude of the search, the original searching squad was increased
by the addition of Privates O’Brien and Bannan and placed under the
command of Lieutenant Filmer. On receiving the signal agreed upon from
Colonel Nunan, Lieutenant Filmer led the way into the building. The
outer door was opened, on demand, by the proprietor of the place, who
invited the squad to step in, assuring them that they would encounter
no resistance. Entering the building, the squad found themselves in a
large room where some fifty men were seated round. Sizing up the the
place, Lieutenant Filmer gave the command, “Search the house.” The
squad immediately spread out, part passing upstairs, while the others
searched the ground floor and basement.
The company was now, for the first time in the campaign, really face
to face with danger. A man’s castle was being invaded. Would he submit
peacefully, or would he resist? This was a question that time alone
could answer.
After the searching squad had been some minutes at work Private Unger
appeared at the door and asked for assistance. Reenforcements were sent
in, and in a few minutes they reappeared, bearing a large number of
Italian swords and sheaths, which they piled upon the street.
In the mean time the crowd began to assemble and press up toward
the building in which the search was going on. Seeing the necessity
of keeping the crowd back, Captain Cook ordered Corporal Burtis and
Private M. Claussenius to clear the sidewalk as far as the corner.
Fixing their bayonets, they advanced upon the crowd and commanded, “Get
back!” at the same time pressing the crowd back with their rifles.
“I live here,” was the response, “Get back!” “Don’t you force me,
I won’t get back, I have a right here.” “Get back or I’ll put this
through you,” emphasizing the commands by giving the refractory ones
several sharp prods in the back with the bayonet, which overcame their
resistance and accelerated their motion towards the corner, where
they stood and relieved their wounded feelings by taunting and jeering
the men. “You people think you’re great, but we’ll fix you yet, coming
up here to down us, eh? By God, we hope you scrubs will get it in the
neck,” and etc.
Beneath this shower of abuse Claussenius and Burtis stood impervious.
Whatever satisfaction the crowd might have derived from jeering, and
thus giving vent to their injured feelings, they certainly derived
none, if such satisfaction depended upon their irritating the objects
of their displeasure, from the men themselves.
Corporal Burtis’ work was much admired by Lieutenant McIver of the
regular army and inspector of the National Guard of California. He
was heard to remark to one of the officers that “that man is a fine
corporal.” Corporal Burtis did not display a single sign of weakness.
His work was characterized by firmness and determination, the essential
elements of a good soldier.
The crowd, seeing it was impossible to get past the sentinels at the
corner, made a wide detour and attempted to gain a position upon a
freight platform on the opposite side of the street. A few succeeded
in doing so, only, however, to be scared into a hasty flight a moment
later. Corporal J. N. Wilson and a private from Company B of the Third
were guarding this platform. The man from the Third had a voice that
would awaken the dead. When he shouted, “Get off there,” it had almost
the opposite effect, it bound them to their seats. But, when the
ominous click of Corporal Wilson’s rifle struck their ears, the spell
was broken, and a rapid retreat ensued.
A line of sentinels, consisting of Corporals Burtis and McCulloch,
Privates M. Claussenius, G. Radke, and W. Crowley, were posted across
the street to the right of the building facing east, while Company B of
the Third was posted similarly across the street to the left and facing
west, both lines holding in check a large crowd.
It might be mentioned here that Company B of the Third did excellent
work on this occasion, and showed that they could be relied upon in any
emergency. They presented a very formidable appearance--big, brawny
fellows. Whatever else might be said, this fact remains, they are
fighters, every inch of them.
Captain Cook, in making a tour of investigation, made the discovery
that in the rear of the buildings being searched was an alleyway
leading out onto a side street. Instantly it flashed through his
strategic brain that the sentinels were not posted to the best
advantage. What was to prevent the strikers from making their exit with
arms and ammunition through this passageway, or what was to hinder them
from receiving reinforcements through it? He lost no time in reaching
the street and remedying this defect. He ordered the sentinels posted
at the corner to force the crowd down I street for about one hundred
feet. The sentinels fulfilled the orders in short notice; a few sharp
commands, a prod with the bayonet here and there, did the work, and
our position was safe. Fortunately the weakness of our position was
discovered before the strikers had the opportunity of making use of
it; if this were not so, there is no telling how the day might have
resulted. What if a crowd of desperate strikers had rushed through this
entrance, overpowered the searching squad, taken away their guns, and
then fired down upon the company in the street, perhaps massacring the
whole body. One shudders to think of what might have happened. But let
it be said that as long as we have at the head of our company a man
whose brain in the time of battle is so clear, so far reaching, and
at the same time so quick, there is no need to be alarmed that such
disastrous results will flow from any neglect to guard our position
well.
Private Tooker, while acting as a sentinel, by his firmness and
unrelentless severity in forcing the crowd back, incurred the dislike
of several of the strikers. On a high-boarded fence near by was a
lithographic poster of Mephistopheles. Pointing to this lithograph, one
of the strikers remarked that Tooker’s face looked very much like the
face of the devil on the fence. This was not at all complimentary, I
can assure you. Tooker is conceded to be one of the best looking, and
at the same time one of the most unassuming, young men in the company;
and the beauty of it all is, that he is unconscious of the fact.
During the late excursion of the company to Stockton an insane man
actually said that he would like to have Tooker’s face, as it was such
a handsome one, and this, let me tell you, with all due earnestness, is
no sign of the man’s insanity. So you can see that the transformation
must have been wonderful for it even to be possible to conceive of
making a comparison between Tooker’s face and that of the devil’s.
It was just after the sentinels had forced the crowd down I street
that the cavalry, which had been ordered to the scene of the wreck,
with instructions to arrest all suspicious characters in the vicinity,
came up I street with a number of prisoners they had rounded up. The
prisoners were on foot in the center of the troop, while behind them,
also on foot, was a line of soldiers urging them along at the point of
the bayonet.
Following in the trail of the cavalry was a large crowd, curious to
see and find out what was going to be done with the prisoners. In
their anxiety to satisfy their curiosity, they were oblivious of every
thing else. As the commander of the cavalry rode through the lines he
told the sentinels to keep back the crowd, which was consequently very
much astonished when their attention was attracted, by a sudden and
unexpected challenge, “Halt,” to the points of the bayonets held by
the sentinels those in front came to such an abrupt stop that those
in the rear almost piled on top of them before they realized what had
happened. The crowd then remained stationary at a respectable distance
from the points of the bayonets, until the cavalry, retracing their
steps, passed through the lines again, when they once more attached
themselves to the rear of the troop and moved away.
While the sentinels were dealing with the crowd on the outside the
searching party, now augmented by Privates G. Claussenius, R. Radke,
Stealy, F. Shula, and Sindler, were having, on the inside of the
building, an exciting time carrying out their instructions. Of the
original searching squad, Sergeant Clifford made the first discovery.
Going directly to the rear of the house, and putting his hand into the
corner of a closet, he pulled out a jar containing several pistols, a
few knives, and some ammunition. Private Hayes was the next successful
explorer. In one of the rooms on the upper floor he ran across a pile
of about seventy Italian swords and sheaths. These were carried to the
street and deposited upon a truck.
The “crust” broken, the searching squad entered into the spirit of
the duty. Every room in the house was thoroughly searched. Doors that
were locked and were not opened on demand were burst open, either with
a swinging blow of the canteen, or else one of the squad would take
a short run and launch the whole weight of his body against it. No
nook in the room was left unsearched. Trunks were opened and their
contents inspected, beds were turned completely over and the clothes
well explored, closets were ransacked and the miscellaneous articles
in them minutely examined. No ceremony was used. And while the search
was thorough, we are glad to say that the searching party, under the
careful eye of Lieutenant Filmer, was particular to replace everything
they inspected in the same condition it was before the search began.
On the rear porch Sergeant Clifford discovered ten sacks filled with
hard material. When he went to examine them carefully a bystander
remarked to him, “It’s only coal.” On examination they were found to
contain a species of coal known as boiler punchings. Sergeant Clifford
called Colonel Nunan’s attention to the sacks, who immediately ordered
them to be taken out.
On the roof of the building were found a number of Winchester rifles
and a quantity of ammunition.
Captain Cook, on examining one of these rifles, noticed that a quantity
of sand was adhering to the barrel, and that there were signs of the
rifle having been recently used. From this he naturally inferred that
it was one of the weapons used by the strikers during the morning
skirmish, but which had been deposited in the building after the
skirmish was over.
Private Bannan, hunting around, stumbled across, in one of the rooms,
a basket of lint, which seemed to indicate that the strikers were
prepared for the worst.
Several times in the course of the search critical moments were
experienced. Some of the lodgers objected to having their rooms
searched, and it was only by a determined front, aided materially by
the click of the rifle, that they unwillingly submitted.
The first building having been completely searched, the squad passed
into the other buildings. Private Hayes discovered a lot of cartridges
on a shelf in the rear of the saloon. He was about to confiscate them
on the behalf of the state, when an outsider interfered, saying that
the property belonged to him, at the same time putting his hands upon
the ammunition. The cocking of Sergeant Clifford’s rifle reminded the
man that his hands were needed some place else.
Private G. Claussenius taught one striker a lesson not to lay his hands
on a National Guardsman with impunity. As Claussenius was passing
through one of the rooms in the rear of the saloon, he was astonished
to receive a shove and a command to get out of here. Turning, he was
confronted by a fierce looking individual who reiterated the command
to get out and made another attempt to put his command into execution.
The attempt was about as far as he got. Claussenius cocked his piece,
and jabbing it up against the fellow’s breast, with his finger on the
trigger ready to fire instantly on the least further provocation, he
ordered the man to get out of the room. The fellow never hesitated, but
in a weakened voice said, “All right, don’t shoot!” and passed out of
the room. The action of this individual reminds one of the following
lines:
“How many cowards wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,
Who, inward searched, have livers white as milk.”
In the natural course of events Private Stealey had a somewhat similar
experience. Meeting one who he took to be a striker, he ordered the man
to throw up his hands, which command was obeyed with great alacrity.
The man, on being searched, justified suspicion, as he was found to be
armed with an ugly looking revolver. It is needless to say that he was
relieved of it.
While the squad was searching the basement of the building, they were
startled to hear from above the report of a gun. For awhile their
position was a peculiar one; hearing, however, no further reports, they
concluded that it was an accidental discharge--which it really was. It
seems that while Lieutenant McIver was unloading one of the captured
Winchesters, a shell was jammed and exploded, the bullet striking the
bottom of the truck, and glancing upward entered one of the sacks of
boiler slugs.
The buildings having been thoroughly searched, the searching parties
and sentinels were called in and the companies re-formed.
Just as we were about to move, an incident occurred which showed how
far a sympathetic strike can be carried. The driver of the truck upon
which the confiscated articles were placed, when told to drive on,
refused to do so and dismounted from the seat. Here was a man connected
in no way with the strikers, except in the larger conception of the
universal brotherhood of man, placing himself in jeopardy merely to
show his sympathy for the strikers. This did not, however, cause any
delay, for the sergeant major of the Sixth Regiment mounted the seat
and manipulated the reins.
The two companies then marched to the corner of Second and J streets,
at which point Lieutenant Filmer again led his merry squad of
searchers out and proceeded to search the Pioneer Bakery. Corporals
Burtis, McCulloch and Burdick, Privates M. Claussenius, Keane, Wise,
and others, assisted by part of Company B of the Third, guarded the
crossing of the streets below the bakery, while Privates O’Brien,
Flanagan, Overstreet, with others of the Third Regiment, formed a line
of sentinels across the street above the building. The searching squad
was made up of very nearly the same men who composed it on the previous
search.
In the bakery, the searching party was met by the proprietor, who
informed them with great solemnity that there were no weapons of
any kind on his premises. In spite of this assurance, the place was
searched, and the results did not harmonize with the proprietor’s
statement. The inside of the building was found to be a perfect
labyrinth. Winding stairways and dark passages in such profusion that
it was extremely difficult to make a thorough search. Besides this,
the dirt and filth of the place was something frightful. It seemed
to be more fit for a pigsty than a dwelling-place of men. Sergeant
Clifford, by feeling his way, managed to reach the roof. On looking
around he saw that the roof of the adjacent building was about twelve
feet higher than that of the bakery. Against the wall of this building
a ladder was leaning; so, thinking that the roof might be worthy of
investigation, he was about to ascend, when he met a lieutenant of the
Third coming down, and who mentioned that there was nothing up there.
The sergeant, knowing that it was impossible for the lieutenant to make
a careful search in the time he was upon the roof, proceeded up, and
was well rewarded for his pains; for there, lying side by side, were
five Winchester rifles, with a pile of ammunition stacked alongside
of each gun. Sergeant Clifford also noticed that brickbats were piled
around the edge of the roof, with the evident intention of throwing
them down upon the militia on the streets. In descending to the ground
floor, Clifford encountered in one of the small rooms a hard-looking
citizen, who he promptly ordered to throw up his hands. On being
searched, the man was found armed with an old powder-and-ball revolver,
of 38-caliber, which was taken away. This Sergeant Clifford still
retains as a memento. In addition, twelve pistols were also found in
the different rooms.
While the search was going on inside, Private O’Brien had a thrilling
experience on the outside. Just above the bakery is a small alley
running perpendicular to Second street, and as far as K. Here a
number of strikers were gathered. These, Private O’Brien, assisted
by a private from the Third, ordered back into the alley, and told
them to keep moving until they reached the street a block above. The
strikers moved back. But when they were about seventy-five yards from
the corner, and near to the street above, they halted and faced about.
Then, drawing revolvers and leveling them at O’Brien and the man from
the Third, they yelled for them to get out of the alley.
The bluff didn’t work worth a cent. O’Brien merely seized a chair,
and, placing it in the middle of the alley with its back toward the
strikers, straddled it, and then, resting his arm upon the back of it,
he drew a bead upon the strikers. The situation remained unchanged for
a minute or so, when the strain proving too great for the strikers,
they turned, fled up the alley and disappeared around the corner,
shaking their fists and hurling imprecations at O’Brien as they did so.
The crowd that thronged around the lines of the sentinels at this
place was much larger than it had been at the former place of search.
The blockaded streets were the principal thoroughfares of the city,
and many persons in the crowd were prevented by the blockade from
transacting their regular business. Some of these became extremely
angry at being stopped. One old, irascible gent, wearing a silk tile,
which gave him a sort of a professional appearance, on being told that
he could not go through the lines, but that if he had any business to
transact he would have to go back and pass around the block, became
very indignant at the thought that he, an important personage, should
be treated like a common, everyday individual. He had to go around the
block, just the same.
The bakery having been thoroughly searched, and the “spoils of war”
deposited upon the truck, the sentinels were withdrawn and companies
again re-formed. The march was then taken up and continued down L
street. Soon, Company B detached itself from the column, and, turning
to the left, marched to the Golden Eagle Hotel, where an excellent
dinner awaited them.
The search, judged from every point of view, was a complete success.
That it was a surprise is evidenced by the fact that no attempt
was made to remove the weapons from any of the buildings. The
probabilities are that the strikers had no idea that a search would
be instituted, and further, that they did not become cognizant of the
movement until the searching party stood before their door. One thing,
above all others, did the result of the search tend to show, and that
is this, that the strikers, if not as a body, still to a considerable
number, were prepared and really intended to engage in an actual
conflict with the troops.
The scene of a truck loaded with weapons of war being driven through
the streets in broad daylight, guarded on all sides by glittering
bayonets, is one that will not be forgotten by the Sacramento citizens
for some time to come. It brought facts home to the people and showed
them that the strike was no peaceful affair, but some thing of a very
serious nature. It revealed the true position of the strikers.
The events of the morning were exciting, but these were even more so.
For on this occasion the men did not have to share the honors with
any one. In the dining-room the noise of the conversation was almost
deafening. To an outsider it would appear as if a Bedlam has broken
loose. Each man had some thing more important than the other to relate,
and consequently each bid against the other for the attention of the
table he was at. Either a man was eating, or else he was talking,
and between the two, his jaw was kept busy. Some were handicapped on
account of not having so many personal experiences as others; but they
made up for it, the one experience they had, they
“Told; retold it o’er.”
One interesting subject was the manner in which the members of the
company impressed the strikers. Their duty had been performed in such a
way, with such snap and at the same time with such firmness, that the
strikers were kept guessing as to whether they were regulars or the
militia. Surely, the strikers argued, that man, pointing to Crowley,
does not belong to the militia, or that one, pointing to Burtis, or
that one, etc., pointing to Wilson, Keane, Heeth, Zimmerman, R. Radke
in succession, and, above all, that one with the white diamond on his
arm, meaning First Sergeant A. F. Ramm. Surely, he cannot belong to
the militia! Their conception of the National Guard was altogether
different from the appearance of the men. Weak-kneed, narrow-chested,
goose-necked, pale-faced striplings were, with them, synonymous to
the members of the National Guard. These men did not agree with their
conception, so, consequently, they must be regulars. One of the women
in the crowd, that Burtis forced back with no gentle hand, excused
him to the strikers by saying that he could not help it, as he was a
regular.
As soon as the meal was finished the company marched back to the
Capitol grounds. As they passed into camp it was loudly cheered by
the other companies. Company F especially showed its unselfishness by
giving, as a company, three cheers and a tiger for Company B. Upon
reaching the company’s street the men were dismissed, and for the rest
of the evening until taps were besieged, at different times, by nearly
the whole regiment, all anxious to hear about what took place during
the raid.
This night pickets were again sent out. Gilkyson, Hayes, and O’Brien
were sent from Company B. The strikers were as much excited over the
events of the day as were the militia. Just as in the case of any undue
excitement, those people who live out of town will proceed into town in
order to hear the latest news, so the strikers gathered into town that
night in order to discuss the latest phase in the course of the strike.
All the hours of the night and the early hours of the the morning
they passed and repassed the camp in groups. The pickets kept on the
alert for any suspicious move on their part, and had plans formed for
repulsing any advance that they might make. The strikers, however, were
not looking for trouble, as they had enough for one day.
The following morning the company again omitted to take its accustomed
walk for breakfast--it was served on the grounds. From this time on
meals were prepared within the camp. The rapidity with which cooks
sprang up on every hand passeth all understanding. Some were but an
ephemeral growth--they blossomed but to die. Others, however, displayed
a real native gift for cooking, which they themselves hitherto had
never dreamt they possessed. This exhibition of latent genius reminds
one of the lines in Gray’s Elegy:
“Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
Had the opportunity of developing their genius never presented itself
to them the world would have never known the power that lay within
their mold of clay, and Company B would have been the loser, but
perhaps not the sadder.
About nine o’clock in the morning the regiment was assembled and
marched to the depot. At last we were to enter the long-desired
building. But under what disgraceful conditions! Only after the
regulars had driven out the strikers. How humiliating it was for the
men of the National Guard to walk into the depot under the protection,
as it were, of three hundred and fifty regulars. It should have been
the opposite. Ay, and it would have been so had the rank and file had
their way. But the Fates decided it otherwise, and the militia had to
be content with what “pie” the regulars did not use.
Arms were stacked in the depot and the men given liberty to move about
the building. Observation showed that the regulars had the place well
guarded. Two Gatling guns were placed at one of the outlets, pointing
threateningly towards the crowd gathered around. The building was also
surrounded by a line of sentinels. One of these, a marine, attracted
especial attention by his activity and particularly on account of
an encounter he had with a burly striker who was evidently not very
much impressed with his appearance; for, when told to stand back, he
doggedly refused and made an attempt to draw a weapon. No movement ever
resulted more disastrously to the mover. The marine quickly threw up
his piece, and, catching it by the barrel, struck the fellow a terrific
blow with the stock between the neck and shoulder, placing him “hors
de combat.” Had the blow struck him fairly upon the neck it would have
killed him. As it was, it broke the stock of the gun. The striker was
made a prisoner, and a sorry time he had of it too. The case being
reported, the officer of the day coolly remarked that the next time,
in case of trouble, to use powder and ball, as it was cheaper than
breaking guns.
To be a prisoner in the ordinary sense of the term and to be a prisoner
under the surveillance of the regular army, especially during the
Sacramento campaign, are two entirely different things. One who has
ever undergone the experience of being a prisoner for twenty-four hours
under the charge of the regulars would most emphatically object to its
repetition. The prisoners whom the regulars had rounded up the day
previous to the militia reporting at the depot presented this day a
pitiful appearance. They had been handcuffed together and incarcerated
in one of the small rooms of the depot. Here they stood for twenty-four
hours without being permitted to sit or lie down. The sentinels placed
over them received orders to shoot them if they persisted in doing
so. These were harsh orders, but the occasion demanded them. The
poor wretches were certainly in a dilemma. To sit down was death; to
stand up was almost as bad. This way of dealing with the prisoners
had undoubtedly a salutory effect. The striker, by the time he was
released, learned sufficient to make him extremely cautious in the
future about drawing a revolver, especially upon a marine.
In the depot there was a small dining-room where coffee and buns
could be had for fifteen cents. This dining-room had a fascination
for certain of the “boys”; partly because it had a familiar look, and
partly because the meal that morning was unusually scanty. At any rate,
the place was soon doing a thriving business. Those members of the
guard who did not possess the necessary fifteen per, gazed wistfully
at their more fortunate brethren performing the magical operation of
turning eatables into men. Now, here was a problem for solution; how
were they, without money and without friends, going to participate
in the performance. Dr. O’Malley was the first to solve the problem.
Nor did he find any difficulty in doing so. Seeing no reason why a
man in the service of the state should be denied anything that would
contribute to the comfort of his stomach, he walked boldly into the
place and sat himself down at the counter. He gave the necessary order,
and in such a way that one would think he was loaded down with wealth.
No doubt the proprietor of the place thought of him in this light. But
if he did, how sadly he must have been disappointed; for when O’Malley
had sufficiently satisfied his wants, he called the proprietor to him,
and in a matter of fact way told him that he was sorry but he had no
money to pay for what he had eaten. The man was astounded; but what
could he do? His property was gone and could never be recalled. Grin
and bear it was all that was left for him.
O’Malley never waited to see the effect of his words, but slowly walked
away, as though what he had done was perfectly proper. Not satisfied
with this, he made others acquainted with his solution. Running across
two of the members of the company, who were loudly bemoaning their
sad fate of being without money in a strange land, and thus barred,
as they thought, from disposing of a large cup of extra fine coffee,
he offered to aid them in securing what they wished. Telling them to
follow him, he made his way to the counter again. The proprietor had
hardly recovered from the previous shock, when O’Malley, addressing
him again, saying, “Now, here is an opportunity for you to do an act
of charity. These two men left their homes in such a hurry that they
neglected to take with them any money. Give them something to eat, and
you will be rewarded for it at some future day.” The man collapsed. It
was impossible to refuse such a request, when backed by such a powerful
battery of gall. The men received what they wished for. And O’Malley
was twice blessed. First, he was blessed by the proprietor of the
place. This blessing, however, was of a negative nature. Secondly, he
was blessed--and this was a positive blessing--by his two comrades. The
way being once known, many worked out the problem. It is safe to say
that about half of the business that that coffee establishment did that
day was charged to profit and loss.
At about three o’clock in the afternoon the regiment was formed and
marched to Ninth and D streets. Here it was decided that the First
Regiment should pitch its tents. A lot of work was planned out by Col.
Graham for the militia, and in order that this work be done well, it
was necessary to break camp at the Capitol grounds, and pitch camp near
the field of action. From this time on the men could not complain of
not having something to do.
While we were at the depot orders had been given to each company to
detail six men, one from each tent, to assist in breaking camp at the
Capitol grounds. These details were placed under the command of Captain
Marshall, of Company A, and Lieutenant Filmer of Company B, and marched
back to the camp. The reason why one man was selected from each tent
was that the man selected would see that the property of his tent crowd
was packed together and rolled inside of the tent, so that when it came
to pitching camp at Ninth and D streets each tent crowd would have no
trouble in finding their property. Quartermaster Sergeant Clifford,
Privates Hayes, Overstreet, Baumgartner, Gilkyson and Warren were
detailed from Company B.
Arriving at the camp about noon the detail of Company B decided to
lunch before starting to work. Baumgartner, who is quite partial to
the frothed liquid, and who, at the same time, knew his comrades’
fondness for the beverage, suggested that a magic wand in the shape
of a tin pail and about fifty cents be employed to make the liquid
materialize. Lieutenant Filmer generously contributed the fifty, while
the rest of the detail contributed the pail. Baumgartner was then
passed through the lines, magic wand in hand, in search of a rock to
smite.
While waiting, Quartermaster Sergeant Clifford went about preparing
lunch. It was the same old menu that had been served for seven
days--corned beef, cheese, and bread. The men were used to it now, and
looked for it as they would for the coming of the night. Being a little
short of butter, the Quartermaster hastened to the officers’ mess tent
to see if a slice happened to remain from the morning meal. There
was, “Praise Jehovah,” more than a slice of butter. Boxes, containing
canned oysters, corn, tongue, lobster, prepared beans, and deviled
ham, carelessly left open, met his gaze. His thoughts, as his eyes
lingered fondly upon these delicacies, seemed to say, “You’ll be mine,
by and by.” Hastily opening his shirt, he placed, in a lovable way,
can after can next to his breast. (Anyone who has ever seen Clifford
on an expedition of this kind knows the expansive qualities of his
shirt.) Then, laden with spoils, or rather luxuries, he darted like a
flash down the company’s street into his tent, where that noble box,
could it but speak, would tell of many such takings, was waiting to
receive the treasure. Private Hayes, noticing the hasty move, followed
the Quartermaster, and desired to know where such things could be had.
Learning their whereabouts, he lost no time in also relieving the mess
tent of a fair shirtfull, and then returning to have them stowed away
in the Quartermaster’s box. Sergeant Clifford, not wishing to do any
thing by halves, innocently inquired, “Billy, did you leave any thing?”
Hayes, in surprise, answered, “Why, yes, I think there is a couple of
cans left.” “Well, now, that’s too bad,” says Clifford, and away he
hastened, thinking of the remorse he would have to endure should he
fail to secure those remaining cans. Quickly securing these, he made
another grand bolt for the noble box. Scarcely had he reached his
tent, when Commissary Sergeant Fitzgerald entered the officers’ mess
tent; he wasn’t in that tent a second when he staggered backward out
again, his eyes bulging out of his head. Throwing his arms convulsively
in the air, he exclaimed in heartrending tones, “Oh, God! what is
this?” The shock he received was a terrible one. Recovering himself,
the agonizing look on his face gave place to one of fierceness. A
bloodthirsty look came into his eyes. Suddenly realizing Clifford’s
taking propensities, he made a bee line for the company’s street. Woe
to the man upon whom Fitz laid his heavy hand. Hayes, however, was
on the lookout. Seeing Fitz charging for the street, he immediately
warned the quartermaster sergeant that Fitz was on the warpath. Quick
as a flash the box was closed and locked. It was none too soon,
for immediately after Fitz appeared upon the scene perfectly wild.
“Clifford,” he yelled, “did you take any thing out of that tent?”
“What tent?” asked Clifford. The apparent innocence displayed by the
quartermaster seemed to lift any doubt that Fitz entertained concerning
his connection with the affair. So he quickly started off on another
trail. Clifford came very near to owing the company a dollar, for it
nearly terminated in being a complete shave for him instead of a close
one.
Baumgartner having returned from his mission, all hands made ready for
lunch. A couple of cans of oysters and tongue were opened in honor of
the raid on the commissary stores. It is needless to say that the meal
was relished. Right after lunch the men started to take down the tents.
Owing to limited number of trucks the work of removal was very slow.
In the course of the afternoon the brigade commissary sent over for a
few men to carry the commissary stores to the sidewalk, and thence be
loaded upon the trucks. Quartermaster Clifford and Private Overstreet
volunteered their assistance, not, however, from entirely selfish
motives. In the natural run of events they succeeded in relieving the
brigade larder of a number of useful things, such as canned beans,
sugar, potted ham, and soap.
At about five o’clock the work of demolishing was completed. The
details were united and marched to Ninth and D streets, where the
opposite process, of erecting tents, was going on.
[Illustration]