THE FIRST REGIMENT AT NINTH AND D STREETS.
On receiving the order to go into camp the regiment was formed at
the east end of the depot and marched down the tracks to Ninth and D
streets, where we were met by the baggage wagons conveying our camp
outfit, tents, knapsacks, etc., from the Capitol grounds, which were
henceforth occupied only by the 6th and 8th regiments.
Headquarters were quickly established on the grounds of a vacant
house occupying the northwest corner of Ninth and D streets, and the
order to establish camp given. Now every thing became a scene of
confusion. Willing hands soon unloaded the baggage-wagons and men
from each company carried the rolled tents to the ground they were to
respectively occupy. Now did the rule of “taking” as established by
that king of vandals, Clifford, again come into use. Far-seeing men
of the Jack Wilson and Sam Wise type, scenting a chance for plunder,
generously offered their services to that greatly worried individual
Commissary Sergeant Fitzgerald. Thankfully accepting the extraordinary
offer, he set them to work carrying the commissary stores, including
a great many boxes of pears and plums, into the vacant building in
rear of the headquarters. On this fruit, it soon appeared, had Wilson
and Wise and their cohorts cast an evil eye. Thus does it now appear,
though, in justice to these skillful foragers, it should be admitted
that they offered very plausible excuses when, a few hours later, a
dozen or so boxes of fruit were found carefully stowed away in their
tents. It was now plain that “Every man for himself and the devil take
the hindmost” had become a well-established rule.
[Illustration: BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF FIRST REGIMENT CAMP, NINTH AND D
STREETS, SACRAMENTO, CAL.]
The work of raising the tents went busily forward. On account of the
narrowness of the road company street formation was used, giving
each company a separate street of four tents on each side; the first
tents on the left of the street being occupied by the captain and
lieutenants. By this means simply the road was used, the sidewalk being
left open.
True it is that campaigning sharpens the wits. On every occasion that
one man thought to gain an advantage over his fellows he was sure to
find others carefully watching the same opportunity. Thus it was on
the Capitol grounds when one tent crowd thought to carry off an old
torn tent to use as a floor cloth, but found it necessary to have
a rough and tumble fight with every other tent crowd on the street
before they secured the coveted prize. And so it was at our new camp.
We had no sooner seen the ground on which we were to camp than we knew
hay would arrive to be used as beds, four bales for each company. Men
from B began to lay in wait for the hay, with the laudable object in
view of capturing an extra bale or so. They found men of the other
companies equally alert, however. The hay soon arrived, and in spite
of the efforts of Major Jansen, who tried to see even-handed justice
done, the bales first from one side and then from the other walked off
in the most mysterious manner. On taking stock after the scramble, it
was found that B, through the agency of Flanagan, McCulloch, Murphy,
and O’Brien, had become the proud possessors of six life-sized bales,
which were quickly cut up and distributed in order to avoid discovery.
Suspicion was also averted by sending the meek and lowly Bannan down
toward the now empty wagon to “raise a kick” for more hay.
The work of building the canvas city on Ninth street was soon
completed. At this place Ninth street had but one open end, at its
crossing with D the railroad track built upon the levee, which is
here about twelve feet above the street, cutting off the block at
about C street. The tents of C company, having the left of the second
battalion, were pitched close to this embankment, the others running
out towards D street in the order of their positions in the battalions.
The large building mentioned before, on the grounds of which the
headquarters tents had been pitched was taken possession of the
hospital corps in front and the commissary department in the rear.
This house, though large and apparently well built, appeared to have
been vacant for a year or two at the least; and it was not long before
the irrepressible Doc Sieberst, in the course of his wanderings after
adventure, learned (it is alleged from the members of the Japanese
mission across the street who sang so sweetly night and morning), that
this self-same house was haunted. This set his fertile brain at work,
and he appeared on B street a few minutes later with the light of
genius shining from his eyes, such as beams out upon us when he holds
us spellbound by his wonderful rendition of that classic German poem
“Schneider’s Ride.” Gathering his “heelers,” musical and otherwise,
around him, he explained his discovery and the use to which it was
to be put. As the dusk of evening fell o’er our quiet canvas city,
marshalled forward to the fence in full view of headquarters, with
outstretched arms and pointing fingers, we roared as in the Bells of
Corneville,
“That house is haunt-ed,
“That house is haunt-ed,
“That house is haunt-ed, ted, ted, ted, ted, ted.
“That house is haunt-ed,
“That house is haunt-ed,
“That house is haunt-ed, ted, ted, ted.”
The effect was said to have been beautiful, tho’ it must be confessed
we did not wait to investigate; we had pressing business elsewhere.
We knew, when the brigade was placed under the command of Colonel
Graham at the railroad yards, that our longed-for chance for active
service had come. Colonel Graham was too well known for us to imagine
for a moment that our idle days would continue. And he proved us
right; for on this first day at the new camp he called for a detail
from the First to relieve that of the regulars at the American river
bridge, about four miles northeast of our camp. Later on, on account
of the large number of men from the regiment on duty each day as track
and train and bridge guards, our colonel found it best to send to
each place details composed entirely of men from one company. On this
occasion, however, the guard was made up of details from the different
companies. B’s detail was composed of Corporal McCulloch, Privates
Heeth, Heizman, McKaig, O’Brien, and Keane, and detailed from the
hospital corps, as medical assistant, Dr. Tom McCulloch. A great deal
of interest centered round this guard, as, in heavy marching order,
it formed in front of headquarters under charge of First Lieutenant
Eggert of F. Amongst the enlisted men it was not known what duty was to
be assigned to it. The men on the guard joshed the unlucky ones, who
gathered round watching the preparations and trying to catch an idea of
its destination. Supper had not yet been served, so, standing in line,
while Quartermaster Cluff and Commissary Sergeant Fitzgerald filled
their canteens with black coffee and their haversacks with crackers,
the men munched greedily on canned corned beef sandwiches, by calling
the which “ham,” they succeeded in swallowing.
While this hasty meal was going on, much advice, good and bad, though
generous, was offered by the facetious private, who stood with his
hands deep in his pockets, his head cocked on the side, and his
campaign hat hanging on by a few stiff hairs in back, as he viewed his
comrades with the critical eye he intended to use when _he_ became
colonel. He kept a close watch on Adjutant Williams, however, as he
shouted out his advice to “Shoot first, and then challenge.” “Keep ’im
covered ’till you can find out what the papers will say, Bill.” “Gimme
a lock of yer hair, Tommy”? or “If you get a chance, give ’em one for
us, boys.” The men on the guard simply grinned in answer as they ate
their scanty supper, feeling the superiority of their position. The
guard, having finished the meal, was marched to the tracks on the
levee above the camp, where they were placed on a train composed of
a flat-car in front and a day-coach in rear of an engine, and were
whirled off down the track toward the American River.
This guard having been dispatched, another detail was called for from
each company, and a guard formed and placed on duty at the lower end of
the yards.
The detail from B for this guard consisted of Corporal Wilson and
Privates Overstreet, Perry, Powleson, Radke R., Radke G., Sindler,
Shula, and Sieberst.
The work demanded of this guard was decidedly onerous. They had several
hundred yards of track to guard, all closely crowded with fruit-cars.
The beats of the sentries, too, were none of the safest. These, with
but one or two exceptions, lay between the crowded lines of cars, dark
as a pocket at night, and very little better during the day.
The practice firing of the Eighth Regiment, which so aroused the
American river bridge guard, startled these men as well, Privates
Perry and Shula, ever ready in an emergency, mounting to the top of a
box-car, and threatening to shoot the first man who showed his head
above the bushes in the marsh which stretched away for a mile north
to the river. Luckily, however, they were not called upon for an
exhibition of their prowess.
The work of pitching camp being finished, and the excitement over the
departure of their comrades having subsided, our hungry soldiers, as
is ever the case when at a loss for other amusement, turned their
attention to their appetites, which, on investigation, they found to
be quite keen. It was generally known on leaving the Capitol grounds
that company mess was to be established, and soon eager voices were
heard inquiring about supper. The meal served that night was one long
to be remembered. A meal prepared under a combination of disadvantages
rarely brought together on one occasion. Everything was confusion,
and kicking, growling, and general dissatisfaction reigned supreme.
The aching void felt by each lusty trencher-man urged him to lend
his individual presence, and the aid of his voice in adding to the
confusion, and causing greater delay. Our quartermaster was heard to
remark that he received enough punishment that night to counterbalance
all the “snaps he ever had.”
The commissary department was not yet ready to issue rations and would
not be until 7 o’clock. Some of the companies had bought food, prepared
a meal, and were eating before B had a sign of supper in sight. This
was soon discovered by our hungry warriors, and the wail of anguish
that went up in B street was heartrending. Captain Cook was, of course,
immediately notified, and getting on one of his proverbial moves, he
went to the quartermaster to learn why the other companies were eating
and B. still waiting. The quartermaster explained; and then, resolving
to make another effort to save the lives of his starving comrades, who
had not even yet ceased to make inquiries about that supper that was
not, started for the commissary department to see if it were possible
to get any thing to appease the appetites of those hungry mortals of
Company B. Presently loud words in the direction of the commissary
department, accompanied by a rattle of tinware, attracted the attention
of every one. Inquiry as to the cause elicited the fact that B’s
quartermaster was trying to “take” a ham, and, being caught, tried to
argue the point with Commissary Fitz, but was finally forcibly ejected.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF FIELD AND STAFF OFFICERS OF THE FIRST
REGIMENT INFANTRY.]
Seven o’clock came and went, and still no rations. Some thing must
be done immediately; and it was now that the little “takings” of the
quartermaster showed their value. A fire was quickly started, and
three scantlings lashed together at one end forming a tripod, were
placed over it; from the center a wire was suspended and the coffee-pot
(captured and held for ransom) placed thereon. In a short time water
was boiling and coffee made. The coffee and pot having played their
part, the prepared beans, which simply needed heating to be very
palatable, so neatly added to the company larder that afternoon by the
quartermaster, and that very apt pupil in the art of “taking,” Private
Hayes, were then brought into service. Emptying five cans of them into
a tin bucket they were placed over the fire to warm. About the time the
regimental commissary department issued one boiled ham, twelve loaves
bread, one roll of butter, and six dozen eggs. Willing hands and hungry
mouths set to work making and marring sandwiches. Prominent among the
mouth contingent was Sergeant Sieberst who was noticed to eat more than
he made, and after a heated argument with the Emperor’s finest, Paul
Rupp, was told to amuse himself keeping the fire up. He was nothing
loath, the beans being already very palatable. But Private Hayes, who
had noticed the facility with which the worthy Sergeant could “turn
a sandwich into a man,” told him not to bother about the fire. Hayes
was not a man to lend a hand to acquire anything and then get left
himself. Quartermaster Clifford has learned this to be a fact, as
since the campaign, he has discovered the cause of certain mysterious
disappearings of canned oysters and a few other articles of more or
less gastronomic value.
The sandwiches were finally all made; and after the beans were
thoroughly warmed, the eggs were put on and in a short time boiled
hard. Imagine the inconvenience of cooking one article at a time, with
a lot of hungry men waiting, like vultures, to devour it. It was fully
8 o’clock when supper was ready to be served. Each man stepped up and
received two sandwiches, one egg, a small quantity of beans, and a cup
of coffee. Another great disadvantage was the lack of tin plates,
cups, forks, and spoons. There had been enough for about one-half the
company served out to us, and when one man finished with a cup or
plate, it was passed to another who had not yet been served. This, it
was rumored among the boys, was another stroke of economic genius on a
par with that “ample” breakfast and dinner of the 4th of July, by our
brilliant minded Adjutant General Allen, late 2d Lieutenant Commissary
Department Missouri State Volunteers. Nobody, on this occasion, waited
for fork or spoon, but used a piece of wood or any thing else that
might answer the purpose. Occasionally the quartermaster’s voice could
be heard denouncing some hungry man for “repeating.” After all had
“scored,” some being still hungry, sent to a neighboring store and
purchased canned stuffs and crackers. Some took the entire situation
good naturedly, but all seemed to think it necessary to stand round and
echo the appeals of their inner man.
Had we been camped in a strange country, with no base of supplies, we
could hardly have been thrown more on our own resources than we were,
camped in the city of Sacramento, the very town in which our adjutant
general, who is quartermaster and commissary general also of the
National Guard of California has his headquarters.
Here was a commissary department under the direct eye of its chief
thrown into such confusion by a simple change of camp that in a
regiment of seven companies, six were forced to buy their own
provisions, and the Seventh, waiting to be served, finally received
enough to satisfy about one-half their number, the coffee and beans, be
it remembered, not being issued by the commissary department. And as
if this alone were not bad enough, the men were obliged, on account of
the scarcity of tin cups and plates, on which valuable articles some
military wiseacre had thought well to economise, to wait in squads for
their meal, which some did not taste until after 9 o’clock.
Tattoo, at 9:15, found the men of B still airing their grievances; yet,
having at least partially appeased their appetites, they willingly
retired to their tents, where, of course, the orator of each tent crowd
continued to hold forth. Taps came, and still the flow of oratory
continued. On all such occasions as this, our watchful captain would
wander down one side of the street and up the other, pull back the fly
of each tent as he passed, poke his head slowly in and make his usual
request to “Let’s have a little quiet.” It was on this occasion, we
believe, that Johnny Gilkyson, of the wild Irish tent, the fighting
drummer, stunned our worthy captain and nearly convulsed his tentmates
by replying “How much worth, Captain?” Surprised at his own audacity,
Johnny dived under the blanket of his bunky, who was nearly choked in
his efforts to smother his laughter.
Breakfast the next morning, that of Friday the 13th, served at 6
o’clock, found the men waiting and willing. This meal, prepared in
the same manner as that of the previous evening, consisted of boiled
eggs, bread, and coffee. This was, really, our first day at this new
camp, work having been begun so late the day before that little more
had been done than pitch the tents. After breakfast had been disposed
of, the men of B, as of the other companies too, set to work with a
will to put the street, their future home for nobody knew how long,
into a habitable condition. Few shirked the work, and all seemed
anxious to show that they had recovered from last night’s ordeal. Some
secured planks from a neighboring sidewalk and stretched them across
their tents at about the center to keep the hay used for beds from
spreading; others made gun-racks of stray pieces of lumber to keep
their rifles from the dust; while others took a hand-car, made a trip
up the line some three or four hundred yards to the lumber-yard and
secured material, out of which Monahan was soon busy manufacturing
tables and benches. But by far the most important work undertaken was
the improvision of a fireplace over which all future meals must be
prepared. During the morning the captain issued orders giving full
charge of the kitchen to Quartermaster Clifford and appointing Musician
Paul Rupp company cook. Having been given charge of the kitchen,
Clifford, aided by Sergeant Sturdivant, set to work at the fireplace.
Taking the hand-car previously used that morning to carry lumber, Ramm,
Clifford, Kelly, Monahan, and Flanagan went on a foraging expedition to
the railroad shops to secure the necessary material. Needless to say,
they took every thing in sight light enough to carry. They overhauled
a “dead” engine, securing wrenches, shovel, pick, pokers, and several
other more or less handy articles. Longing eyes they cast on a pile
of lanterns locked up in a caboose, but house-breaking, at least,
was beyond them. In the yard they discovered a piece of sheet-iron
to be used as a top for the stove, which was made of bricks, a short
stovepipe, and a piece of iron pipe about twelve feet long, by bending
which, at about four feet from each end, and driving the ends into
the ground, a very serviceable substitute for fork and spit was made
and used thenceforth to hang pots and kettles over an open fire. Thus,
in a comparatively short time, our company kitchen was created and in
operation. The railroad tracks, with the exception of the main line,
were blocked at this place by hundreds of fruit-cars, loaded before
the strike for Eastern shipment. During the day some skillful operator
or break-beam artist managed to open one of these, and a general raid
was made on the fruit by the regiment. It seems needless to add that B
secured a few boxes of pears; only a few, thirty or forty or so. Pears,
raw or stewed, appeared on the menu at each meal from now until we left
for Truckee.
On the first day or two of this system of company mess, affairs did
not seem to run as smoothly as was anticipated. The cooks were forced
to chop their own wood and wash the dishes; and though there was food
thrown away after each meal, many of the men were growling about not
getting enough to eat. This was finally remedied by having the first
sergeant detail squads each day to do the necessary kitchen work. This
system proved an entire success and a great improvement, the meals
being prepared more quickly, served better, and less food wasted. As a
sample of the detail made each morning, we insert that for Wednesday,
July the 18th, the last day of our stay in this camp at Ninth and D
streets.
DETAIL FOR CAMP WORK JULY 18, 1894.
Keane, Wise, McKaig, dishwashers; T. McCulloch, O’Brien, woodchoppers;
Monahan, Overstreet, O’Malley, cook helpers; Perry, Powlesen, R. Radke,
G. Radke, Stealey, Sieberst, waiters.
Later on, when enough plates, cups, knives, and forks had been issued
by the commissary department to furnish each man with a separate kit,
the necessity for appointing dishwashers was done away with, as each
man was supposed to use and keep clean his own kit.
[Illustration: CO. B STREET WHILE CAMPED AT NINTH AND D STREETS,
SACRAMENTO, CAL.]
During the day several trips were made from the camp down the line
to the American river bridge. One in the forenoon by Major Burdick,
escorted by some of B’s best marksmen, another under Corporal Jack
Wilson, who was looking for adventure, but found only hard work;
and still another in the afternoon by Kelly, Unger, and Monahan,
who were out on a foraging expedition. These latter went armed with
revolvers, pumping with one hand and holding their instruments of
destruction in the other. On returning from their successful expedition
they noticed an empty car just outside the lines of the lower track
guard crowded with a dozen or more disreputable looking characters,
tramps in all probability. On arriving at the guard-house of the
track guard they informed the officer in charge, who sent a detail
down on their car to make the arrest. We have received information
from a reliable source that a most determined resistance, a fight to
the death, would have been made had not the opposing forces caught
sight of Van Sieberst, thirsting for gore, whose face with its hirsute
adornment of curly black whiskers, one “Wandering Willie” was heard to
remark, would get up steam in a dead engine. So the arrest was made and
the prisoners, a dozen or more, were marched up the line to general
headquarters.
At 6 P. M. the guards for the succeeding twenty-four hours were
formed and sent out, Company G, as a whole, relieving the American
river bridge guard, and guards, formed of details from the different
companies, relieving the lower and upper track guards; that relieving
the lower having no men from B, though commanded by Lieutenant Filmer,
and that relieving the upper, under charge of Lieutenant Lundquist,
having with them Sergeant Kelly, Corporal Burdick, and privates
Bannan, Williams, Gilkyson, Frech, Flanagan, Crowley, Zimmerman, and
Baumgartner, detailed from B.
The work required of this, as of the lower track guard, was most
decidedly none of the easiest. Many narrow, dark streets and alleys ran
into the tracks along which the sentries of this guard were posted,
the tracks running within a few feet of the corners of these streets,
necessitating extreme watchfulness on the part of the men. An unwary
sentinel could be knocked senseless at any of these dark corners
without the least difficulty or chance of exposing the assailant to the
view of the other sentries.
We in camp passed the evening quietly. This splitting up of the company
seemed to act as a damper on the spirits of the men. Little of such
hilarity as was indulged in on the Capitol grounds being even thought
of here. Doubtless one of the main reasons for this could be found
in the fact that it was more the rule than the exception that out
of a tent crowd of six or seven there would be but three or two, or
sometimes only one, left in camp to occupy the tent.
“The shades of night were falling fast”
o’er our little city of white, tattoo had sounded, and those who had
not already retired were sleepily preparing to do so, when bang!
bang! bang! went several shots down the line in the direction of the
lower track guard over whose destinies Lieutenant Filmer, of “Ours,”
presided. Not waiting for the long roll, which was quickly sounded, nor
for the calls of our first sergeant to “Fall in!” “Fall in!” those of
us who were awake and dressed quickly buckled on our belts, snatched
our rifles from the racks, and “Fell in” in the company street. The
excitement was intense, and increasing every moment. Excitable men were
dodging in and out of their tents, forgetting their belts, forgetting
their rifles, forgetting every thing, it would seem, but the fact that
some one either was or had been “blazing away” down the line. One,
almost delirious, was racing back and forth, shouting to our busy
first sergeant, high above the noise created by the others: “Al, will
I get my leggins?” “Al, will I get my belt?” “Al, will I get my gun?”
“Al, will I----.” “Shut up, and fall in,” almost yelled our harassed
sergeant, as he wheeled round on the luckless wanderer, who jumped into
his tent, and appeared the next moment, shouting: “Al, will I get----,”
but “Al” was not to be seen, and the anxious questioner who “was not
scared, far from it,” he only wanted to be told what regalia to appear
in on such an august occasion, was compelled to fall in with the less
punctilious members of the company.
At the other end of the street an equally amusing scene was enacting.
Charlie Perry, who had just finished a long twenty-four hours of guard
duty, had gone soundly to sleep, but at the first note of alarm,
dimly realizing that long roll had sounded, jumped from his blankets,
dressed like a flash, grasped his rifle, and sprang forth from his
tent. Still half asleep, he arrived in the middle of the street,
brandishing his rifle, and threatening to “blow the head off” of every
striker in Sacramento. It took all of the muchly-overworked “Al’s”
persuasive powers to get the redoubtable Charlie into the ranks, where
he undoubtedly would have done much to make his promise good had the
opportunity offered.
The opportunity did not offer, however. At the first note of the long
roll the captain dispatched two men down a narrow alley, which appeared
to afford a short cut in the direction of the firing, to investigate
how far the alley was open. They reported it open for at least a block,
affording a chance for a quick passage to the street below, which led
directly to the tracks at the point where the track guard was posted.
By this time the cause of the firing had been discovered. A sentry,
posted near the crossing of Tenth street and the tracks close to
the point at which Tenth street becomes simply a road through the
marsh between the levee and the river, was the primary cause of the
excitement. He had been one of our later arrivals. Coming up the river
on the boat he had come in contact with two disreputable looking
characters, who made it their business to advertise the fact that they
were ex-convicts, and boasted loudly of what they intended to do, on
their arrival, to the “blue coats.”
While pacing his beat he noticed these same two strolling round, just
outside the lines, in a most suspicious manner. Finally, making up his
mind to question them, he challenged. Not waiting for a second call,
the supposed ex-convicts rushed across the road, and over a low fence
into a barnyard. The sentry opened fire in the direction in which
they had run, and kept it up lustily, though the night was so dark he
could not see objects clearly thirty feet from his beat. Great was the
excitement of the guard, as, led by Lieutenant Filmer, the reliefs
not on duty rushed down to the scene of the firing. But by this time
the rattle of musketry had ceased, and the only sound to be heard was
the groan of some wounded creature in the barnyard. On investigation
it proved to be a horse, so badly hurt as to make it necessary, next
morning, to put the poor animal beyond reach of pain.
This, indeed, proved a rather tame ending to all the excitement at
camp, but thus it was.
To go back to the American river bridge guard. After a cautious run
of about fifteen minutes the train arrived at the bridge. Most of
the railroads in this county are built on the levees. At this point
on the American the levees on either side are about one-half a mile
from the banks of the river. Consequently, while the bridge over the
river proper is of no great length, the approaches of trestle-work on
each side from the levee to the bridge form a very extensive work to
guard, in all fully a mile and a quarter in length. There were two
bridge-tender’s houses raised on piles, and connected with the track
by a small platform large enough to hold a hand-car for the use of the
tender. These houses were built one at each end of the bridge proper,
or just over the banks of the river. On account of the nature of the
ground, the guard was divided into three sections, the first of about
twenty-five men, under Lieutenant Dumbrell of C, relieving the regulars
on guard at the nearer end of the trestle; the second of about ten men,
under First Sergeant McNally of G, relieving those who, stationed at
the first tender’s house, guarded about one hundred yards of trestle
and the bridge; and the third, composed of the remainder of the guard,
under Lieutenant Eggert of F, relieving those who guarded the half-mile
of trestle on the farther side of the river. With this latter guard
went the squad from B, under Corporal McCulloch. His brother, the
doctor, expecting this to be the point at which his services would be
most liable to be called for, was also stationed here. This bridge
duty proved to be what the boys called a “snap.” The third division of
the guard bivouacked on the bank of the river, a little to the rear of
the bridge-tender’s house. A camp fire was lighted, details for guard
made, and the sentries for the succeeding two hours posted at intervals
in the shadow of the trestle, along its half-mile of length. The men,
tired with their day’s work at pitching camp, and one at least of
B’s men, having served night and day on the two just preceding days,
rolled in their blankets, stretched themselves on the windward side
of the fire, with their feet as close to it as the combustibility of
leather would allow, and composed themselves to sleep. This sleeping,
however, quickly proved a most difficult undertaking. They thought
that their Sacramento experience had made them “skeeter proof”; but
the present experience surpassed their wildest imagination. They heard
not the hum, but the flapping of the wings, of countless swarms. One
facetious young man claimed he had killed a bat; but it was found to
be only an innocent mosquito, who had intended relieving the soldier
of one of his brass buttons. Now the smoke of the fire came into
use; but these did not seem to be the kind of mosquitoes you read
about; they were impervious to smoke, much to the disgust of the men.
Lying there, the lucky ones with handkerchiefs over their faces, the
poor harassed soldiers would hear, first, a song of “cousin-n-n,”
as a thirsty skeeter hovered over his prey, and then a vindictive
“ping-ng-ng” as he swooped down on some exposed spot. The victim’s
turn would now come, however, and a vigorous slap would be heard, then
a grunt of satisfaction, or a growling voice inviting the escaped
marauder to take a pleasant journey to unknown regions. However, sleep
will come under almost any circumstances to the really tired, and the
men gradually fell asleep in spite of their winged tormentors. They
had rested less than half an hour when they were sharply wakened by
four or five shots fired in quick succession, followed by yells for
the “Corporal of the guard.” In a flash a dozen or more had thrown off
their blankets, grasped their rifles, and were running along over the
uneven ground, led by Lieutenant Eggert, in the direction of the shots.
This run proved how ineffective was this method of posting the sentries
on the ground. At places a sentry who had to patrol one hundred yards
of bridge could not see ten paces from him, and had to pick his way
carefully over the uneven ground, and, in one place, around the edge
of a swamp. Calling as they went, the guard continued to run in the
direction in which the shots had been heard, and came upon the sentry,
after having run a full half-mile. He was stationed at the extreme
end of the trestle, at the point where it meets the levee on which
the remainder of the road is built. He had fired, he said, on two men
coming along the levee toward the trestle, and who had run down the
embankment and across the field on being challenged. The commander of
the guard, after questioning the sentry closely, decided to double
the number of sentries, and consequently the length of time to serve,
and stationed them on instead of under the bridge, warning the men to
avoid, as far as possible, exposing themselves against the sky-line.
The new sentries were posted in squads of two at about every third
water barrel along the bridge. B’s men, all of whom had joined in the
run toward the firing, were placed on this new detail. Nothing further
of an exciting nature happened during the night; but some thing of a
most disgraceful nature did happen during the four hours, from 10 P.
M. till 2 A. M., this same detail were on guard. Private O’Brien of B,
who, with Private McKaig of the same company, was stationed at posts 6
and 7, growing cramped and cold in his crouching position, decided, at
about 1 A. M., to warm himself by patroling in the direction of posts
8 and 9. He was promptly challenged by the sentries at these posts,
and, on his coming back, McKaig decided to patrol in the direction of
Nos. 4 and 5. Moving carefully along over the ties, and keeping a sharp
lookout, he expected each moment to be challenged. He was not, however,
and, wondering whether he had miscalculated the distance, kept on. Soon
a most surprising sight met his eyes. The two sentries, not men of B
company, we are most heartily glad to say, were stretched across the
ties, sound asleep, with their loaded rifles lying by their sides. No
punishment is too severe for such a crime. Little account need be taken
of such an occurrence were the worthless lives of the culprits the only
ones in jeopardy; but a sentry on duty at a camp, where the lives of
his comrades depend on his watchfulness, or when on any other important
guard duty, who deliberately lies down and sleeps at his post, as these
two had evidently done, merits any punishment, no matter how severe. In
the case of these two worthies it would seem to be a common practice,
for they were again found asleep under the bridge while on duty next
day.
At 2 A. M. the first detail, which had now served four hours, was
relieved, use being made for that purpose of a hand-car on which Major
Burdick, accompanied by his Adjutant, Lieutenant Hosmer, had come down
the track on a tour of inspection a few moments before, bringing with
him a most welcome pot of coffee and can of sandwiches. Of the latter,
however, the detail just relieved saw little, each man getting about
half a sandwich, the other men of the guard, who had been refreshed
by four hours of sleep, having thought it their duty to see that the
sandwiches were properly disposed of before these really tired men
arrived at the campfire.
The men on this guard were a most voracious set, as B’s detail found
out to its sorrow next morning. The rest of the night passed quietly,
and daybreak found our men, with the exception of George Heizman, again
on guard. On being relieved these men found that breakfast had been
already cooked, served, and eaten, great care being taken, as during
the night, that nothing should be left for the men who were yet to be
relieved. All this, too, in spite of the fact that a B man, Heizman,
of whose comrades the present detail was mainly formed, had kindly
acted as cook. The tired and hungry men of course “raised a kick,”
but as usual each individual warmly denied having “doubled up” on his
allowance. It was in a heated argument with one of these lusty eaters,
whom he had found seated near the fire letting out a hole or two in his
belt, that a B man held that he of the belt was not singly a hog but
one of a drove close at hand.
However, the breakfast, which had been a fine one, consisting of
coffee, green corn, potatoes (secured at a Chinese ranch some distance
up the American), and corned beef hash, in which form alone would the
boys now consent to eat that awful canned corned beef, had vanished;
and the first detail had still to be fed. Realizing this, George
Heizman, who is a real chef, set to work making more coffee and hash,
and explained the locality of the ranch from which the corn had been
secured. Resolved not to feed less highly than the gourmands of the
guard, Kinky McKaig, Billy O’Brien, and a private of A started up the
river toward the ranch, which they found after a tramp of about two
miles and a half. Here, by means of promises to have the trains running
inside of a few days, they secured a sack of corn, half a sack of
potatoes, and enough garlic, which they thought were onions, to have
sent an Italian army into paroxysms of glee. Returned to camp, they
found that Doc Tom McCulloch, had, by using moral suasion, secured a
five-gallon can of milk from a rancher on the other side of the river.
After such a scramble we may well imagine the meal was enjoyed; and
so it might, as it was the best consolation to be obtained, sarcasm
making not the slightest impression on their well-fed comrades. The
rest of the morning passed quietly, some of the men taking a plunge in
the river, and the others stretched lazily about the remains of the
previous night’s fire “swapping lies.” A visit was paid the guard by
Corporal Jack Wilson, that worker--of other men--who came down the line
on a hand-car, which, however, he kindly allowed others to pump. Not
much information was derived from him as to the condition of affairs in
town, the amount of pumping he had done on the way down, and who would
have to do the work going back, being his sole topic of conversation.
Shortly before noon the guard was startled by a few shots heard in
the direction of town, then a volley, and soon round after round was
fired as from a gatling gun. The excitement soon became intense, and
as the firing continued, the excited men climbed up the bridge at a
point from which the white clouds of powder smoke could be seen rising,
apparently, just to the left of the Capitol dome which could be plainly
seen high above the trees which hid the rest of the town from view.
Many were the explanations offered, tho’ none seemed to doubt it was a
battle, and seemingly a very serious one. Some thought the strikers had
attacked the depot; others that they had attacked the Third Regiment
camp; but far the most popular explanation was that the attack was on
the camp of the First at Ninth and D streets. Some stormed furiously
at the luck which kept them all this distance from the place where the
“fun was going on,” while others were perfectly contented thus far out
of bullet range, and seemed to think this bridge guard a greater snap
than ever. Soon a hand-car bearing Major Burdick came rushing down
the line pumped furiously by an excited squad of soldiers. Seeing the
car coming, the men rushed down, rolled their blankets, slung their
haversacks and canteens, and were starting to climb up onto the bridge,
the whole excited guard of about twenty or more expecting to be carried
off on a hand-car large enough to hold six.
The major, however, blasted their hopes by telling them that he knew
as little about the firing as themselves. He thought, he said, that
the regulars were breaking up a camp of strikers farther down toward
the Sacramento, and explaining that the strikers would retreat in this
direction, ordered out a squad of skirmishers under a corporal to check
their advance toward the bridge. Now, as usual, the volunteers were
importunate, but the detail was taken by roster and the majority of
the volunteers left disconsolate. They were comforted, however, when,
shortly after the departure of our anxious major up the line, and of
the squad through the bushes down the river, the firing ceased as
suddenly as it had begun. It gradually dawned on those left behind that
this could not have been a battle, could, in fact, be none other than
practice by the batteries still on the Capitol grounds; and then the
realization of the work before that now unlucky squad made them smile
in quiet contentment. Two hours later, worn, weary, and bedraggled, the
luckless men straggled into camp, paying no attention to the sarcastic
grins of their heartless comrades, but stretching themselves on the
ground where they were dismissed, were soon sound asleep. Never a word
of thrilling adventure did they offer. The subject was tabooed.
So the day passed. The bridge guards now numbered only four and were
posted every hour. Posted by telling the next man for duty to go out
and relieve the man who had been on an hour.
Later in the day Tom McCulloch and Billy O’Brien, who had gone to
the south side of the bridge to get more milk, provided they had the
persuasive powers, met Sergeant Kelly of the Irish gang, Billy Unger
the “regular from Arizona,” and Lengthy Monahan, who had come down on a
hand-car on a foraging expedition, having heard of the green corn. They
had bravely ventured down the line armed only with revolvers, scorning
the escort of Springfields. Every resident or harmless tramp met on
the way was instantly covered by two open mouthed bull-dog revolvers,
while the other of the trio of heroes calmly pumped the car out of
range. Hearing about the milk McCulloch and O’Brien had come for,
Kelly accompanied them to the dairy, where another five-gallon can of
milk was secured for the company. Crossing to the other side, O’Brien
volunteered to lead them to the Chinese ranch from which the corn had
been secured. The distance surprised them greatly, as they had been
told the ranch was just outside our lines. This time the Chinaman was
very reluctant, but finally picked two sacks of corn, when, in addition
to the arguments used by our foragers, he was shown the mechanism of
O’Brien’s Springfield and the size of a cartridge. In addition to the
corn a quantity of potatoes was secured, and, slinging the sacks over
their shoulders, the tramp back began. Their surprise at the distance
now soon gave place to disgust, and resolutions to quit work for the
rest of the campaign were quickly made and broken by these hardy
warriors.
As the day advanced Tommy Eggert, of negro minstrel fame, struck up
an acquaintance with the bridge-tender’s family, and learning they
had a banjo, quickly possessed himself of it, promising, with the aid
of the guard, to furnish an entertainment unrivaled in history. This
he did, to the satisfaction of the guard and his new-made friends,
at least. No one acquainted with the versatile Tommy, who has, since
the “war,” made a record as the nominator of unsuccessful candidates
at the late municipal convention, can doubt for a moment the success
of his impromptu entertainment. All the musically inclined of the
guard stretched themselves on the ground in the deepening shadows and
chorused to Tommy’s negro ditties.
Shortly before sunset the train bearing the guard for the next
twenty-four hours arrived, and the men reluctantly boarded the train
which was to carry them back to Sacramento, away from the only pleasant
duty they had yet been called upon to perform, already looking
anxiously forward to the time when they would again be detailed to
guard the American river bridge.
The next day, Saturday, the 16th, little of any importance occurred. B
street was comparatively deserted, at least half of the company being
on guard. Those not on duty were to be found either reclining in the
shades of the trees on the grounds of the “Haunted House,” or assisting
at the few things still necessary to be done about the company street.
Monahan, aided by a corps of amateurs, was manufacturing benches. Rupp
and his assistant cooks were busy improving the store and preparing for
the noon meal. McKaig and O’Brien were taking turns at the washtub,
while O’Malley and half a dozen others were stretching a large hospital
tent fly, which this same O’Malley, the pill-roller, had purloined from
the regimental baggage, over the street from tent to tent, making a
most welcome shade. This fly was the envy of all the companies, as the
sultry heat of the sun had not abated in the least since our move from
the soft grass of the capitol grounds to the hot, dusty street at the
railroad yards.
Bearing in mind the grand success achieved by the patent shower bath
at our last camp, and longing for the delights of cold water on a warm
day, the boys of the regiment soon improvised in a deserted stable in
the rear of headquarters another bath quite as successful, tho’ not
as fancy as the last. This, in fact, needed two to operate--one man
“playing the hose,” while the other, between gasps, scrubbed himself.
During the morning old “Lou the Vet” had his picture taken. Come, now,
don’t laugh! Of course, we know Lou never yet missed an opportunity to
pose, but in connection with this picture an incident occurred which
showed the effect of Lou’s forty years of discipline. He had arranged
this morning with Lieutenant Hosmer to have himself “kodaked,” and was
proceeding toward the battalion adjutant’s tent, carrying his rifle
with him (“parade rest” is Lou’s only pose), when he met the colonel
and promptly saluted.
“Corporal Townsend,” said the colonel, “what is the first duty of a
soldier?”
“To obey,” answered the corporal, again saluting.
Just at this critical moment, when the extent of Lou’s knowledge
of “tictacs,” as the new recruit once called it, was about to be
thoroughly investigated Lieutenant Hosmer appeared, bearing the kodak.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready!” answered Lou.
The kodak was about to snap, when the colonel ordered “About, face!”
Promptly obeying the order, Lou “came about,” and the picture became,
not a front, but a rear view.
Lou had shown that he could act as well as answer, and as a reward had
his much desired “parade rest” taken.
Later in the day, Lou having occasion to drop in at the hospital, he
discovered that there were four unused hair mattresses, neatly covered
with bedclothes, stretched on the floor of one of the rooms. What a
shock the sight gave him, poor man. He began to feel “symptoms,” and
soon “had ’em bad.” He wandered round the grounds, casting longing
looks upward at the windows of the room in which those unused luxuries
lay.
“Was he sick enough yet?” he wondered, “or would Doc O’Brien give him
pills, not a bed?”
He finally settled the question to his own satisfaction, and seeing
Private Hayes standing by the fire, Lou, with a face twice its natural
length, slowly approached, and, leaning weakly on the shoulder of the
stalwart private, began, in a voice, “hoarse with suffering”:
“Hayes--I really--must go to the hospital. This is no--place for--me.
It’s a great mistake--I feel it now,” pressing his hand to his side.
“And Hayes, like a good fellow--they’re cooking something--here, will
you see--that I’m not forgotten--that I get some thing--to eat--when I
go to the--hospital?”
“Most certainly I will, Lou,” answered Hayes, feeling a great wave
of sympathy welling up in his heart of hearts for his poor, stricken
comrade.
“Thank you--Hayes,” answered poor Lou, in a pain-stricken voice,
as he wandered slowly and feebly off toward the hospital and those
four neat beds, where, by the practice of his arts, he succeeded in
establishing himself as an occupant of one. He now regained his voice
and spirits miraculously. Meantime Hayes, with whom pity was but
fleeting, went assiduously on with his work as scullery maid, and it
was not long before Lou and his sufferings were entirely forgotten.
The dinner was cooked and served, and the tired cooks and waiters had
seated themselves down to enjoy their own meal. They, too, had almost
finished, when O’Malley rushed across from the hospital and demanded
of Hayes the meal he had promised to send Lou. Consternation! What were
they to do? Rupp, the careful, never would cook too much; it took the
united efforts of all to persuade him to cook enough.
However, making a virtue of necessity, and well knowing Lou’s
capacity, sick or well, they gathered together a plateful of untouched
pieces of stew-meat and potatoes, heaping it to the full with the
remainder of their own meal, persuading Clifford, much against his
will, to contribute a plate of stewed pears he was then eating, and
O’Malley, himself, donating a plate of ice cream, so called, bought
at the Japanese mission. Lou’s dinner was sent to him, with many kind
inquiries as to his health. Later in the day Hayes made a party call on
Lou, who, thanking him profusely, declared that day’s meal the best he
had eaten in Sacramento. Future cooks on future campaigns many, many
years hence remember, when cooking for Lou, that quantity, not quality,
is the test.
Lou was so well pleased with himself and the world in general on this
occasion that he became very facetious, telling a certain visitor that
he had discovered, since his incarceration (?) in the hospital, “that
the house really was haunted; the spirits were in the closet; have a
drink.”
All this day the yard engines were busily steaming back and forth,
making up trains, and, in the fore part of the afternoon, the first
train for the East, carrying with it several Pullman cars, pulled out
of the yards. As it passed our camp, at Ninth and D streets, it was
cheered long and lustily by the soldiers, who felt that the leaving of
many more such trains would be the signal for their return home.
This day undoubtedly saw the breaking of the backbone of the strike.
Never was the Sacramento railroad yard so busy as now. Switch engines
were dashing back and forth, clearing the tracks and making up long
trains of freight and passenger coaches. Many of the firemen and
brakemen, who had been forced out against their will and better
judgment, were glad of the opportunity to return to work.
Little or no sympathy was felt by the soldiers for the strikers. The
majority of them wage-earners themselves, they felt that the great
cause of labor against capital was injured, not benefited, by such
strikes as these. Never in the history of the world has a strike,
great or small, been won by violence; and this was pre-eminently a
strike of violence. While professing to act peaceably, they had made
all possible preparations for even a revolution against the authority
of the government. They had sent to all parts of the state, gathering
together men the most lawless, and armed them with Winchesters and
stolen rifles. They had loaded a car with giant powder and dynamite
and rolled it into the station, ready for use--an awful engine of
destruction, which, had they succeeded in exploding at the right time,
as they most undoubtedly intended to attempt, would have shaken the
very city to its foundations, and sacrificed the lives of all, soldier
and civilian alike, within hundreds of feet of the depot. They had
loaded an old cannon to the muzzle with scrap iron and bullets and
planted it in the marsh within two hundred yards of the station, but
seemingly lacked the courage, not the desire, to discharge it. And
last, though by no means least, they had made the devilish preparations
for slaughter described in a former chapter.
Add to this terrible list of at least intended crime that most
cold-blooded, red-handed murder of their own comrade, Sam Clark, the
engineer, and of the four United States soldiers, who were doing a duty
they had taken a most solemn oath to perform when they swore to uphold
their country and its laws against all transgressors, and not only the
lack of sympathy, but the great and all-absorbing desire to mete out
deserving punishment for such a fearful crime, which possessed the
citizen soldiery, cannot seem strange. Who or what but a scurrilous
daily sheet, cringing and toadying even to such bloodthirsty murderers
as these, for the sake of an added subscription or a vote for its
owner, should he run for office, could feel kindly toward a cause
supported by such methods as these?
We are most heartily, profoundly glad to add here that at least one of
the assassins (Worden) who planned and executed the wreck of that train
and the murder of their fellow-beings has been sentenced to pay the
penalty with his life, and that over the lives of six others the same
fate hangs. May full justice be meted out to them.
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