CHAPTER X.

OFF FOR TRUCKEE.

“No matter what the journey be,

Adventurous, dangerous, far;

To the wild deep, or black frontier;

To solitude, or war--

Still something cheers the heart that dares

In all of human kind,

And they who go are happier

Than those they leave behind.”

EDWARD POLLOCK.

As the train started off, our thoughts reverted to those left behind.

There were two, private William Tooker, and Doc. O’Malley. Tooker

was absent from camp on a furlough, and was expected to return the

following day; while the doctor, in response to a call for medical

assistance, had been sent that morning to the guard stationed at the

American river bridge.

Concerning Tooker, we felt sorry at the thought of the disappointment

and suffering our absence would cause him; for who would care for

William now? It pained us to think that he would be ordered about

by rude and thoughtless officers, and made to do that which is so

distasteful to his gentle nature--work. We anticipated the effect

that our departure would have upon O’Malley. As the train rushed over

the bridge and past the station where the guard was posted, we saw

him sitting listlessly upon a camp-stool, dreaming his life away, and

living, perhaps, only in the hopes that the night was drawing nigh,

when once again he would be united to his dear comrades. But, alas!

So perfect was his listlessness that even the rattling of the train

over the bridge failed to produce the slightest signs of life. He sat,

like a lifeless mass; and it was only when our cries of “O’Malley,

O’Malley, good-bye; we’re off to Truckee!” echoed through the air, that

he sprang to his feet and gazed around in a bewildered manner, as if

doubtful what he heard or saw was real or fanciful. His face “grew sad

by fits, by starts--was wild.” Then, realizing only that he was being

left behind, he started after the train at his topmost speed, crying,

frantically: “Stop that train! Sto--p!” The last thing the company saw

of O’Malley, on its upward journey, was a small, indistinct figure,

waving its arms madly, as if it were trying to fly.

Tooker came back the next day and joined O’Malley in his grief and

lamentations. They tried to console each other, not by making the

best of a bad job, but by cursing and denouncing every one for miles

around. Tooker couldn’t see why the Colonel wouldn’t send him up to

Truckee to join his company, and took every opportunity of arguing with

those he came in contact with, why he should be sent, and how foolish

it was to keep him at Sacramento. He convinced every one, to his own

satisfaction, that such was the case. O’Malley made life unbearable at

the hospital, refusing to do any thing but nurse his own grief.

These two unhappy mortals met one day on the deserted and tentless

street of the company, and, with clasped hands and bowed heads,

silently contemplated the deserted spot, and, as they thought of

their dear comrades far away, great tears rolled down their cheeks.

“Billy,” sobbed Doc., “we’re the only ones left.” Then they threw their

arms around each other, and with their heads resting on each other’s

shoulders, their whole frames vibrating with convulsive sobs, stood

for hours. It was while in one of these attitudes that Dr. Galwey came

along, and, with his Kodak, took the picture which adorns the head of

the chapter.

During our ride to Truckee, a guard was kept continually on the

platform of the cars, with orders to drop off at each stop and prevent

any one from interfering with the air-brakes. A guard also rode on the

engine. We found, as we proceeded, that each bridge and trestle was

guarded by United States soldiers, and it was then that the nature of

the work intended for us became apparent.

As we advanced into the Sierras, we were entranced with the beautiful

scenery that surrounded us. Nature was in all its summer glory--not a

cloud in the sky to diminish the radiance of the sun. On all sides the

mighty and everlasting mountains reared themselves, height upon height,

until their snow-topped summits seemed to join the earth and sky; and

far beyond we caught glimpses of glistening, snow-clad tops, which

looked like the foaming crests of mighty waves. Deep in the wooded

canyons, seen through a maze of green, streams, like silver threads,

pursued their tortuous and winding course.

The mighty effects of water caused in hydraulic mining were everywhere

discernible, huge mountains having been worked away to get at the gold.

The water used for this purpose was carried to the miner through miles

of sluices. These sluices now, on account of the cessation of hydraulic

mining, are neglected. Where they bridge a gully the water leaks out

and falls in rainbow-tinted sheets into the depths below.

We arrived at Blue Canyon, where we had supper, about dusk. Here a

great number of the “boys” were taken in by their curiosity to see the

red bat (brick-bat) that this mountain town has on public exhibition.

Night brought with it a glorious moon and the snowsheds. Oh! how we

did anathematize those snowsheds! What panorama of mountain, vale, and

lake, bathed in moonlight, their rough boards shut out from our view!

The little glimpses caught here and there at breaks in the sheds were

only an aggravation.

Shortly before our arrival at Truckee, Major Burdick stepped into the

car and made a little speech, the substance of which was as follows:

He said he had been given to understand that the situation in Truckee

had assumed a very serious aspect; that he would expect us to meet

this condition bravely and with becoming gravity, and, by showing a

serious and determined front to the strikers, impress them with the

fact that we meant business. Furthermore, we would be under the eye of

Col. Gunther of the regular army; and he hoped that, by our soldierly

conduct, we would favorably impress the colonel with the worth of the

National Guard in general and the First Regiment in particular.

This speech had its desired effect, for, during our stay in Truckee,

not a striker approached the camp. No doubt, when they saw our fierce

and warlike appearance, they fled to their mountain fastnesses, not to

return “till the flying of the snow.”

[Illustration: COMPANY B’S KITCHEN AT TRUCKEE, CAL., JULY, 1894.]

We arrived in Truckee at 10:15 P. M. Our cars, with two freight-cars,

were side-tracked and became our home while there. The cars were

tourist cars, and we were therefore able to make ourselves very

comfortable. It was a luxury to sleep on a mattress once more.

Thursday morning, July 19th, was ushered in with the regular camp

routine, roll-call, Captain’s speech, and breakfast. Clifford, with

the aid of our head cook, Paul Rupp, had a breakfast prepared for us,

consisting of fried ham and bacon, bread and butter, and coffee. We

dined standing. Each man, before leaving Sacramento, was provided with

a tin cup, knife, fork, spoon, and plate, and, of course, was supposed

to see to the cleaning thereof himself, the result being that the

dishwashing detail was done away with altogether--a great improvement

indeed. The cleaning of pots and pans was looked after by the culinary

department.

It may be just as well here to preface the history of our week at

Truckee with a short account of the trials and tribulations of those

who presided over the culinary department, together with the trials and

tribulations of those who looked to it for three meals a day. For the

first three days, Thursday, Friday,and Saturday, all meals were cooked

at camp. A kitchen was improvised in the road by the side of the cars,

a wind-break erected, and a fireplace built. Sergeant Sturdivant was

appointed commissary for the company, and in a short time was able to

quote prices on canned goods and other kinds of provisions. He tried to

do his best, poor man, but overlooked the fact that life was a howling

wilderness to the dudes of the company without milk and sugar for their

coffee and butter for their bread. There always seemed to be a great

shortage in these articles. The tall sergeant explained this matter by

stating that the lack of railroad communication was the cause in one

case, and a scarcity of cows the cause in the other.

Sergeant Clifford, Musician Paul Rupp, and an able assistant developed

in the person of Gus Ungerman, an old-time cook, who went about the

pots and pans in a very professional way, presided over the kitchen.

The great waves of disgust caused by internal strife and outward

“kicking” occasioned the tendering of daily, or we might say “mealy,”

resignations of some one of the cooks. It is needless to say that

the resignations were not accepted. Heated arguments with any of our

cooks was out of the question; they were all able-bodied men, and were

invariably armed with a stout ladle or long cooking-fork, which they

flourished in a most threatening manner.

At meal hours, or at times when the cooks started to prepare the meal,

the adjustable tables in the cars were lowered, tin cups, tin plates,

knives, forks, and spoons were put in place, and each man jack sat

with a wolfish appetite and impatiently waited for an hour or more

the arrival of the food. The waiters’ lives were not happy ones;

fortunately they were relieved every day, or the chances are we would

have developed a number of raving maniacs.

The following is a pretty fair illustration of the service that

prevailed: A man with a pot of mush dashes into the car yelling, “Who

wants mush?” and, with a flourish of his ladle, goes down the aisle

filling the outstretched plates. Close on his heels comes another man

with a pot of potatoes bawling, “Who wants murphies?” Another meanders

through with fried meats of some kind.

All this time the men are shrieking for milk and sugar for their

mush. The coffee now makes its appearance, and men, whose cups had

mysteriously disappeared, have been known to offer their plates as

a receptacle for this dark colored fluid. The bread puts in its

appearance now, but no butter. Meanwhile, from the car windows, the

hungry soldiery are hurling anathemas at the bewildered waiters, or

beseeching them for an extra allowance of stew or a little more hash, a

conglomeration that would give an ostrich the dyspepsia. Finally, after

the men in despair have waded through their mush, potatoes, coffee, and

meat, the sugar and butter, with a very limited allowance of milk, put

in their appearance. Men with foresight and taking ways committed the

wholesale larceny of butter and sugar and took their chances as to the

milk. Much butter and sugar seemed to stick to the long slender fingers

of the learned McCulloch, who only let the replenishment of the inner

man interfere with his study and discussion of recondite subjects. The

strong military instinct of Burtis and Hayes impelled them to keep a

good reserve of these dainties always on hand. Frequent battles took

place upon the platforms, between rival waiters of each car, for the

possession of some coveted pot of beans or stew, while the onlookers

held their breath expecting every moment to see the contents of the pot

dashed to the ground.

By Sunday the officers came to the conclusion that it would be more

economical and convenient to eat in town, and were successful in

making arrangements for board at the Truckee hotel for the balance

of our stay. This was a change that was hailed with joy by all,

particularly Beseman, who developed a fearful and wonderful appetite

while at this place. He was the first to sit down and the last to

reluctantly leave the table.

Before proceeding further, we feel it our duty to gratefully recognize

the efforts of our patriotic cook, Paul Rupp. His was a thankless job;

and only a man of an extremely good natured disposition could have put

up with the trials he was subjected to. Cooking for 50 or 60 men three

times a day with the most primitive appliances, good Lord deliver us!

Paul, a crown of glory awaits thee in heaven, for nothing mortal man

could do would, in our estimation, sufficiently reward you for all you

put up with while holding the position of head cook to the City Guard.

After breakfast the bedding was spread out on the road to air, with

orders that it should be taken in at 12 o’clock; the boys cleaned out

the cars, and got every thing in readiness for inspection of quarters.

During the forenoon, as no restrictions had been placed on the men

as yet, a number of them went into Truckee to make needed purchases,

and incidentally to inspect the town. This last did not take up much

time, as Truckee, though a railway center of some importance, is a very

small place. The Truckee river runs through the town, its banks lined

with the humble homes of the native American. As it is considered the

finest trout stream in the state, it yearly attracts a large number of

sportsmen. It is indeed an ideal stream, full of depths and shallows;

dashing, whirling, foaming over rocks, to find rest in quiet stilly

pools, or to move along with grandly irresistible force. Long stretches

of its banks are devoid of brush, giving the angler ample opportunity

to utilize his skill in casting. The fish caught is the gamest of the

game, and any one who has ever had the pleasure of dining on Truckee

trout will attest to its eating qualities.

Truckee is a great lumber district. A number of sawmills, driven both

by water and steam power, border the river’s banks. Apart from its

lumber interests, Truckee derives a great deal of its importance from

the handling of ice. Above Truckee there are a number of large ponds

of smooth water which produce annually two or three crops of ice from

twenty to forty feet thick. These two industries give employment to

large numbers of men.

Some of the boys, anticipating an opportunity to try their luck fishing

in the river, bought fish-hooks and lines. They met with very little

success, however. The noble game in these waters are not to be caught

by the primitive hook and line of the farmer boy.

Early in the afternoon five details were formed to guard bridges.

The commissary issued provisions for each detail, sufficient for

twenty-four hours, taking as a guide as to quantity the following list,

furnished by a regular army officer.

For seven men--one day--three meals.

7 lbs. of fresh meat or 5 lbs. of salt meat; 10 qts. of coffee; 7 lbs.

of potatoes; 3½ lbs. of beans; 11 lbs. of bread.

For four men--1 day--three meals.

4 lbs. fresh meat or 2¾ lbs. of salt meat; 6 qts. of coffee; 4 lbs. of

potatoes; 2 lbs. of beans; 6 lbs. of bread.

Thus supplied we were soon speeding to our destinations. On the way it

was discovered that one of the bridges to be guarded was beyond the

state line, therefore no detail was posted there, as it is against

the law to take the militia outside of the state for active duty. As

we arrived at each post, Major Burdick and a few of his officers left

the train to see what arrangements could be made for boarding the

men; the desire being, if possible, to do away with the necessity of

having the men do their own cooking. Their efforts were crowned with

success at Prosser Creek, Boca, and Cuba, but the last station, No.

24, a bridge about three miles from the state line, was too isolated

for any arrangement of the kind. The men at this post, therefore, had

to do their own cooking. At the first station, Prosser Creek, a detail

consisting of a corporal and three privates of Company A, were posted.

They slept in the bridge-tender’s house, and had their meals at an

eating-house about half a mile up the cañon. The rose-colored reports

brought back by these men about the goodly table set at this place made

every man anxious to go there. It was the duty of the guard to watch

the bridge vigilantly night and day, and allow no one to loiter on it,

or in its vicinity; to challenge all persons approaching the bridge

after dark, escort them across, and make sure that they continued

on their way. Private Sullivan of ours, a few nights later, had the

pleasure of doing the honors for a “Wandering Willie,” bent on crossing

the bridge. This character informed Mr. Sullivan that if he had known

he was to receive such distinguished consideration at the hands of so

courtly a gentleman (Mr. Sullivan was at one time the Ward McAllister

of Los Angeles society), he would have had a magnificent load aboard,

many opportunities having presented themselves to him during that day

for absorbing liquids that not only stimulate but intoxicate. The

dread, however, of crossing the bridge in an inebriated condition had

prevented him from embracing them. And as “Willie” shambled off, he

heaved a heart-breaking sigh for the delights that might have been,

resolving in his mind that should the tide of affairs ever be so

favorable to him again he would take advantage of them, despite the

dangers of a bridge or flood.

Prosser creek bridge is located almost nine miles east of Truckee. The

Union Ice Co. has made this one of its largest supply stations. The

company has built a dam across the cañon, imprisoning the waters of

Prosser creek so successfully that the average crop of ice each season

is sixty thousand tons. This immense crop necessitates the employment

of a large force of men. Substantial quarters have been built on the

lake shore for their accommodation. It was at this place the guard did

its most effective work, punishing good food three times a day.

Boca was the next post. Here Major Burdick made arrangements with the

Boca Hotel to provide the men with food. They bivouacked in a box-car.

The duties and instructions were the same as those in force at Prosser

Creek. Corporal J. N. Wilson, privates Frech, Fetz, and Gehret of our

company were dropped off here. From this place, also, the men returned

with expanded girths, in evidence of their sumptuous fare.

The next post proved to be a place called Cuba, distant about fifteen

miles west of the Nevada state line. The detail posted here were men

from our company, and consisted of Sergeant Walter Kelly, privates

Adams, Bowne, Bannan, Baumgartner, Beseman and Claussenius. The

property at Cuba to be guarded consisted of two trestle-bridges, one of

them of considerable length and covered, a culvert, switches, and an

ice-house. The men were quite comfortably situated. The superintendent

of the National Ice Company placed a small store-house near the track

at their disposal, and furnished them with large, thick, strong

mattresses. They had their meals at the superintendent’s house; but

after the second day he refused to feed the men any longer, giving as

his reason that he feared the strikers would wreak vengeance on him for

harboring them, by destroying the property under his charge when the

troops were removed. It is believed, however, that the appetites of

the men had more to do with his change of heart than any fear of the

strikers. He had not calculated to satisfy the cravings of men who had

for two weeks been living on bacon, ham, canned corn-beef, and leather

steaks, and whose appetites were sharpened by the bracing air of the

mountains.

[Illustration: THE COVERED BRIDGE AT CUBA.]

Negotiations were then opened with the superintendent of the People’s

Ice Co., and very satisfactory arrangements made for boarding the men.

The guard duty here was not arduous. The day watches were of one hour

each, and only one sentinel was necessary. The night watches were two

hours in duration, and during that period two sentinels were constantly

on guard, one being posted at the west end of the long bridge, and the

other patrolling the balance of the line, alternating hourly with his

comrade.

During that night two men presented themselves, claiming to be

section-hands sent there for the purpose of guarding the bridges. The

sergeant informed them that he and his men were there for that purpose,

and did not need their assistance. It was with difficulty that the

sergeant restrained the belligerent Bowne and Adams from falling on

these men and doing them great bodily harm. With a baleful gleam in his

bloodshot eye Bowne watched them until they disappeared in the darkness

to return no more.

The antiquated bridge-tender indulged in a fairy tale at the expense of

our “boys.” He told them that two wildcats came down to the clearing on

the mountain side every morning at 6 o’clock to bask in the sunlight.

The “boys” bit with avidity, and the bridge-tender had the pleasure

of seeing them take positions commanding a view of the spot, and with

loaded rifles watch and wait for the cats that never came.

The train containing the last detail continued in an easterly

direction, following the course of the Truckee, the scenery becoming

wilder and grander as we progressed. The mountains seemed to be

closing in around us; the waters of the stream, in keeping with its

surroundings, raced with maddening speed through narrowing channels,

foaming, whirling, tumbling over miniature falls, until, gliding into

broader space, it swept along with stately silent dignity, to be again

transformed into a roaring torrent between confining walls of rock.

Now and then the sides of the gamey trout flashed in the sunlight, as

if the exultant spirit of life and strength within it, disdaining the

confines of its watery home, longed to soar in the bright sunshine.

At last the train stopped at what seemed to be the most delightful

spot of all, the last railway bridge in the state of California, and

within three miles of its boundary lines. This is a solidly constructed

steel bridge, and spans the Truckee. To the left of the railroad, a

short distance from the bridge, was a small cabin; it was beautifully

situated, overhanging the stream, with a flight of steps leading down

to its waters. The most fastidious disciple of Isaac Walton could

not desire a more perfect spot for a camp. Corporal Burtis, privates

Hayes, Heizman, and Keane, with their rations, were put off here. A

more delighted quartet could not be found; the surroundings suited

their sensitive, æsthetic natures. They did not care if they were

stationed there for a month. Major Burdick, with Colonel Gunther,

United States Army, standing by his side, gave his instructions, to

the effect that stranded theatrical companies, “hobos,” etc., crossing

the bridge should be watched closely until they were out of sight.

He cautioned the men to be very careful about using their weapons,

delivering himself of a sentiment that should go down in history as

a shining illustration of the gallant major’s humanity, a sentiment

that no doubt will be found written in letters of gold upon the great

judgment book, “that he would rather have them not shoot at all, than

kill an innocent person.” Think of it, ye beetle-browed sons of Mars,

in whose breast the desire for martial strife is rampant, and whose

fiercest delight is found in the shedding of human ber-lud! Think of

the example set you by our dashing major; profit thereby, and let not

your thirst for gore steel your hearts to the cry of the innocent.

“And, corporal,” he continued, “I do not think it advisable to let your

men go in swimming.” As the men gazed down into the raging waters, they

wondered if the major thought them lunatics. No sane man surely would

risk his life by attempting to bathe in that swiftly flowing current.

From the burden and tenor of his closing remarks, it was quite plain

that the major felt sorry at leaving the men in this lonely spot, and

would no doubt have continued for some time longer with cautions and

fear-allaying words, had he not been interrupted by Corporal Burtis,

who respectfully saluted and told him “he need not be in any hurry

to relieve them.” This was too much for Colonel Gunther, who placed

his plump little hand over his face and chuckled audibly. “Oh! you’re

in no hurry to get back then, eh?” replied the major; then bidding

them good-bye, he clambered back into the car, the engine whistled,

the train rolled away and left them alone in their glory. The opening

of the cabin door revealed a very clean interior, and the men were

therefore nothing loth to drop their blankets and equipments on the

floor. One man was immediately detailed for guard duty, and the rest

placed their arms where they could instantly put their hands on them

and went out doors to inspect their surroundings. While wandering up

a small canyon to the right, one of them called the attention of the

others to a grave that he discovered; it was rudely fenced in and had

a gate that was padlocked. The loneliness of this last resting place

touched them deeply. Upon the humble mound were branches of withered

flowers in various stages of decay, showing that some one, to whom

the departed one was dear, had at different times made a pilgrimage to

offer sweet flowers on memory’s altar. After vain conjecture as to the

identity of the occupant of this isolated grave, they returned to camp.

The afternoon was now drawing to a close, and they began to make

preparations for the evening meal. A fireplace was built, and George

Heizman elected cook. Corporal Burtis took a can and went down the

road to get some milk. A hatchet was part of their allowance, and

with it Hayes chopped the wood; Keane was on guard. The flight of

steps before mentioned placed a large supply of water conveniently at

their disposal. By some men this convenience would not meet with the

appreciation it deserves; water might be useful to float ships or bathe

in once in a while, but for drinking purposes it failed to meet the

requirements. Rather would they be camped in the shade cast by some

brewery of vast proportions, and be lulled to rest with the hum of its

machinery, than rest beneath the overhanging cliffs of giant mountains,

and have their slumbers disturbed, their dreams of revelry by night

broken in upon, by the varied sounds of water--water--water.

In due course of time Burtis returned with butter and milk. He and

Hayes then went to their haversacks and each drew forth a can of

oysters. Now some foolish people will wonder how they came to have

these oysters. In accounting for their possession we will have

to take our readers back to the day when camp was broken at the

Capitol grounds. As related, Hayes took part in the raid made on the

commissary’s stores on that occasion. The spoils of this raid were

placed in the safe-keeping of Quartermaster Clifford. Hayes heard

nothing further of them. Not a cracker, not even a spoonful of deviled

ham, something he dotes on, no, not even an empty oyster can did he get

as a reward for his dash and daring. This ingratitude on the part of

Clifford caused Hayes much inward grief and loss of sleep, and when,

a few evenings later, through the flaps of Number One tent, he caught

a glimpse of Clifford and a small coterie of his friends banqueting

on the proceeds of his iniquity, a moan of anguish escaped his lips,

and in that night of sleepless sorrow he resolved to be revenged. Into

the ear of Corporal Burtis he poured his tale of woe, and enlisted his

sympathies. Next day with unwearying eyes they watched the movements

of the wary Clifford. Towards evening, in an unguarded moment, he left

his chest wide open in his tent, in answer to a call from the kitchen

at the end of the street. Like eagles Hayes and Burtis swooped down

upon this chest, and, with the aid of Doc. Sieberst, got away with a

goodly store of dainties. The wailing of “the widows of Ashur” was

nothing compared to the howl that went up from Clifford on discovering

his loss. His suspicions fixed on poor Al Ramm, who vainly pleaded

his innocence. When ordered to Truckee, four cans of oysters were

left; they were divided between Burtis, Frech, Shula, and Hayes for

transportation. Two of them helped to garnish the meal about to be

described. Shula, tired of carrying his around, returned it to Hayes

while at Truckee, but Frech retained his, and while he was away on

train guard, Hayes took it from his haversack; these two remaining cans

of oysters were carried all the way back to San Francisco.

The repast now prepared by Geo. Heizman at this secluded spot was the

best cooked and the most enjoyable had by the boys since they left the

city. George certainly missed his vocation; the stew he made with those

two cans of oysters, milk, butter, and the rest, would have tickled the

palate of the most _blasé_ gourmand. Then they had some nice chops that

in some mysterious manner got mixed in with their rations, a little

fried bacon, bread and butter, and coffee. They feasted until they were

black in the face. About dusk they received a visit from the section

boss, who was accompanied by several of his men. In the course of

conversation he was questioned as to the occupant of the grave on the

side of the mountain. He informed them that it was a woman who had died

a couple of winters back, and who, with her husband, had lived in the

humble cabin in which they were bivouacked.

At the departure of the section hands the first watch of the night was

posted. Beneath the careless and reckless demeanor of this little band

was a stern realization of the responsibilities of their position,

and they were prepared to protect and defend the property under their

charge to the bitter end. With this idea in view, beside the sentinel

on duty, the corporal remained awake and on the alert the greater part

of the night, and those who slept had their loaded weapons lying by

their sides. The queen of night now rose with regal splendor above the

mountain tops and sailed slowly and serenely through the starry realms

of heaven, shedding her beauteous and mysterious rays on mountain and

cañon, stream and bridge, and on waving trees, giving life to shadows

that ever and anon startled the sleepy guardsman. The beauty of the

scene and the mysterious influences of the night throw a subtle spell

around him; dreamily his thoughts turn with a sweet pleasure to the

dear ones at home.

Who has not felt how sadly sweet,

The dream of home, the dream of home,

Steals o’er the heart, too soon to fleet,

When far o’er sea or land we roam?

He recalls them all, one by one. Never before did they seem so dear to

him. In fond contemplation he lingers on each little characteristic;

the sweet voice and the merry laugh rings in his ears; and he wonders

if, at this hour, while bound in slumber’s chain, some loving spirit,

winging its flight across the land, mounts higher and higher, and looks

down on him with dreamful eye, as he paces his lonely beat.

Ha! What’s that? He cocks his piece--it has gone. No, there it is

again, moving around yonder rock; it disappears. There it is again,

and then the straining look relaxes; a feeling of relief comes over

him. It is but a shadow cast by a tree whose boughs are tossing in the

wind that sweeps up the cañon with the river, chilling him to the bone.

He shakes himself, increases his pace, and wonders what time it is.

Surely, his two hours are up. The relief at last comes, and he gladly

surrenders his lonely beat for a comfortable blanket.

After a hearty breakfast next morning, Hayes shouldered his gun and

started for a walk. The others staid around camp, and tried a little

fishing, with no success. In the course of a couple of hours Hayes

returned and reported interviewing a number of tramps in the course of

his peregrinations and, further, that he had extended his walk into the

confines of the state of Nevada. He seemed to be greatly put out that

the governor of the state and a brass band were not there to receive

him.

“This life is made up of disappointments,” soothingly said Joe Keane.

While the noon meal was in course of preparation, the relief train

rolled in upon the sylvan scene. The detail was relieved by acting

Corporal Pariser and privates Heeth, Powleson, and Stealy.

The ride back to Truckee was a long and wearisome one, not so much as

to distance, but as to time. Endless stopping, bumping, and jerking,

the result of making up a long train of cars containing ice, tortured

the weary men beyond endurance. Almost worn out, but thankful, they

finally arrived at Truckee at about dark.

Every morning the relief train went out with its quota of men, dropping

them off at the different posts and on the return picking up those

relieved, while at 8 o’clock every morning the camp guard was relieved.

This morning Corporal Burdick, Privates Flanagan, Crowley, Gille, Wise,

Overstreet, and Sullivan were relieved from camp guard.

The trains (both passenger and freight) now began to go through. We

supplied guards for every west-bound train. These guards ate at Blue

Cañon and at Colfax, and were relieved at the latter place by soldiers

of the regular army. They returned to Truckee guarding east-bound

trains. For the first two or three days part of the guard had to

ride on the tender and engine. This was any thing but pleasant. From

exposure to the heat of the sun, the flying cinders and smoke, the men,

on their arrival at Colfax, looked like blackamoors. Finding there was

no necessity for this, the practice was discontinued, the men riding

in the cars, and dropping off at stations, to prevent any interference

with the air-brakes or the running of the train.

The men were now kept constantly on the go; very few, if any, could

boast of a continuous night’s sleep. Those who were not away on post

duty, or on camp guard, were liable to be awakened at any hour of the

night, and ordered out as train guards. A list of the men who from this

time on did various guard duties will illustrate the manner in which

they were shuffled about. Friday, July 20th, privates Heeth, Powleson,

Pariser, and Stealy went to post 24, Pariser acting as corporal. On

the same day private Perry went to Boca, private Van Sieberst to

Prosser Creek, and private Monahan on camp guard. Lieutenant Filmer

was officer of the day. Sergeant H. B. Taylor, Corporal McCulloch,

privates Flanagan, Frech, Gille, McKaig, O’Brien, and Radke went

west with trains. Saturday, July 21st, Sergeant Sieberst, privates

Crowley, Casebolt, Wise, Radke, Snell, and Unger went to Cuba. Privates

Bannan, Beseman, Baumgartner, and G. Claussenius were on camp guard,

and Captain Cook was officer of the day. Sergeant A. H. Clifford,

who had thrown up his job in the kitchen, privates Adams, Bowne, and

Gilkyson went out with trains. Sunday, July 22d, privates R. E. Wilson

and Williams went to Prosser; Corporal Burdick, privates McKaig,

Monahan, and O’Brien to Boca; Corporal McCulloch, privates Fetz,

Gehret, and Sindler, to Post 24; Corporal Burtis, privates Hayes,

Heeth, and Keane were on camp guard, and Sergeant Kelly, Corporal

Wilson, privates Pariser and Perry went out with trains. Monday, July

23, privates Bannan, Claussenius, Flanagan, and Gille went to Prosser

Creek, Claussenius acting as corporal. Sergeant H. B. Taylor, privates

F. Shula, Gilkyson, Frech, Heizman, R. Radke, and our late cook,

musician Rupp, whose occupation gone, now shouldered a gun, and who,

while pacing his beat during the witching hours of the night, communed

with the moon on the smallness of human greatness, went to Cuba. 1st

Lieutenant E. C. Lundquist was officer of the day, and privates Bowne,

Beseman, Baumgartner, and Overstreet were on camp guard, while privates

Casebolt, Crowley, Powleson, Stealy, and Van Sieberst took a trip

to Colfax. Tuesday, July 24th, the last day at Truckee, privates G.

Radke, Sullivan, and Ungerman went to Prosser Creek, Sullivan acting

as corporal, Sergeant Clifford, privates Heeth, Keane, Wise, Wear, and

Zimmerman went to Cuba. Privates Adams, Monahan, McKaig, and Snell were

on camp guard, and privates Fetz, Gehret, Hayes, and Sindler guarded an

early morning train to Colfax.

In spite of our activity life became very monotonous towards the last

of our stay in Truckee, so much so that it occasioned a very apt

scriptural quotation from Corporal Burtis:--“Jesus Christ, the same

yesterday, to-day, and forever.”

The men now began to shave right and left, particularly the older ones,

privates Wear and Unger. Their beards grew out in patches of gray and

black, giving them an old and grizzled appearance. A supreme disgust

overcame private Hayes when he heard some one call him Red Mike, and

his razor separated him from his whiskers forever. No man would blame

Corporal Burdick for shaving, but he clung to the very end to an

atrocious whisker of vermillion hue that adorned his face in patches,

the hair bristling forth like copper wires. His brother, the major,

would look at him with wonder and amaze, and say: “Well! if your mother

could only see you now.” (A tidy sum will be realized from that list of

fines when the men get their money from the state.)

While around camp the men put in their time throwing quoits and

reading. Horseshoes were used as quoits, while the reading matter

consisted of a large number of magazines and papers, which were

presented to the companies by kindly disposed people in the vicinity.

About three-quarters of a mile from camp, we located a very good place

for bathing, which, despite the icy coldness of the water, received

a number of visitors daily. The orders were that no one was to leave

camp without permission, but the man who asked permission made a fatal

mistake. To ask permission to do any thing was a great mistake, for one

invariably met with a refusal. Now, when a sensible man discovers that

he has made a mistake, he is not likely to repeat it. The result was,

that a number of luminous minds, when they yearned to go into town,

or explore the surroundings, or breathe the purer air from some hilly

height, and view Donner lake from afar, naturally took French leave.

An object of particular interest to us all since our arrival at

Truckee, and the subject of much conjecture when we saw it for the

first time, on the night of our arrival, ablaze with electric lights,

was a small, circular building, on the crest of the hill to our left.

We soon found it was a museum, containing a large number of interesting

curios, relics of the Donner party, and the famous rocking stone.

Admission on Saturday to the museum being free, a number of us were

piloted up there by Lieutenant Filmer. The center of interest, situated

in the center of the building, and resting exactly in the center of a

huge, flat-topped boulder, was the rocking stone. This stone weighs in

the neighborhood of sixteen tons, and is so balanced that with a very

slight pressure of the hand it can be rocked to and fro. Our attention

was drawn by the exhibitor to its peculiar shape and significant

position, and, in order that these peculiarities might be more easily

discerned, we mounted a ladder that led to a little gallery that

overlooked the rocking stone. From this position the stone appeared

heart-shaped and pointed north. The exhibitor told us the boulder upon

which the stone and building rested was in shape a fac simile of the

smaller stone, only that it was flat on the top. Before this building

was put up, and while the stones were exposed to the elements, it was

the subject of much comment why the snow which falls to a great depth

in these parts, never collected on the top of these stones. This was

due to their situation. The wind had a constant sweep over them, and

carried off the snow before it collected.

The peculiar position of these rocks is attributed by scientists to the

action of glaciers, or floods.

After giving some time to an examination of the numerous interesting

curios with which this little building was stocked, we proceeded up

the mountain side, until we came to a circular fence, that aroused

our curiosity, and, on looking over it, we found a froggery in full

operation. Myriads of frogs. More frogs than the boys, collectively,

had seen in all their lives. It was a frog Elysium. In the center of

the inclosure was a small pond fed with fresh mountain water that was

borne to the spot by a miniature V-shaped flume made of two planks. In

the center of the pond a little fountain gently murmured, soothing,

no doubt, the poetic soul of Mr. Frog who sat on a convenient plank,

blinking at the sun and all creation. A stone cast among them created a

small panic; frogs hopped in all directions.

Still further up the side of the hill we climbed until, reaching its

crest, there, far away in the distance, we beheld Donner lake. A

desire to go to the lake filled the breast of every man present. The

lieutenant was also of the same mind, but in a moment of weakness, as

we were making for the road that led to the lake, he dispatched private

O’Brien with his compliments to Major Burdick, asking permission to

go to Donner lake. We waited on the road for O’Brien’s return. Though

William has no wings attached to his feet, his shoulders, or his cap,

he is very speedy, and soon returned bearing to Lieut. Filmer the

compliments of Major Burdick, and a message to the effect that he did

not think it advisable to take the men such a great distance from camp,

as they might be called upon at any time for train guard or other

duties. We then reluctantly retraced our steps along the road towards

camp. No further compliments were sent to Major Burdick that day,

though under the guidance of our gallant lieutenant we cut across the

country and visited the sawmill on the banks of the Truckee, and wound

up the trip with a swim.

Shortly after our return to camp, the redoubtable Bowne and Adams were

seen coming from the direction of town. They had just arrived from

Colfax, as train guards, where they had been sent the day previous on a

similar mission. A peculiar characteristic of these two gentlemen is,

that once they don the uniform of a soldier their whole nature seems

to change, and a more desperate looking, or bloodthirsty pair it would

be hard to find. On this occasion, when they returned begrimed with

soot and dirt, glaring at us through bloodshot eyes, with sunburnt,

perspiring unshaven faces, their ferocious appearance was enough to

strike terror into the heart of any one. Private Adams, when asked to

explain the reason of this wondrous transformation, answered with the

following lines from the immortal Shakespeare:

“In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man

As mild behavior and humility;

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

Let us be tigers in our fierce deportment.”

The train they took out the day previous consisted of about twenty ice

cars. The trip was uneventful until they reached Blue Cañon, where they

satisfied the yearnings of the inner man, Bowne scaring the female

who waited on the table half to death by asking her for a cup of hot

blood. At this place five prisoners were placed in their charge by

the sergeant of the guard located there, with instructions to carry

them safely through to Colfax. It is needless to remark that the duty,

having been committed to members of the City Guard, was duly performed.

Without deviating from the strict rule of military discipline, they

were considerate, and accommodated their prisoners with berths in a

refrigerator car, bringing them into Colfax literally on ice. They were

subsequently passed through to Sacramento.

The guard at Blue Cañon were very anxious to have these individuals,

whom they regarded with great suspicion, well out of their district,

which included miles of snowsheds. The great danger feared was

incendiary fires; so all characters who could not give a satisfactory

account of themselves were promptly transported to other regions.

While the train stopped at Alta station, strains of music, mingled with

happy laughter, were wafted to their ears from a school-house near by,

where a dance was in progress. They longed to trip the light fantastic

too for a few blissful moments with the comely country lasses. But

“some must work, while others play”; so from afar, with envious eyes,

they viewed the merry throng, seeking doubtful consolation in the

thought that it was just possible that distance lent enchantment to the

scene. They arrived at Colfax about 10:30 P. M., and at 1 P. M. the

following day boarded the train that bore them back to Truckee.

The marvelous way in which such articles as soap, towels, and washing

laid out to dry disappeared was astonishing. George Claussenius late

one night was heard bemoaning to his bunkmate Adams the loss of a pair

of socks, expressing it as his opinion, that it was a shame that a man

could not put out a pair of socks to dry without some one taking them.

(It will no doubt be noticed that we always used the word take during

that three weeks campaign; the harsh word steal was dropped from our

vocabulary altogether.) Hayes, hearing the sad little tale of woe,

whispered in the ear of Corporal Burtis the question, “Did he have

those socks”? a chuckle, and “I don’t know,” was the answer received.

As trophies of the war, Rupp bore away with him from Sacramento a nice

pair of russet shoes which had found their way into his tent, and

Corporal Burtis, a navy blue flannel shirt. Shortly after his arrival

at Truckee the handsome little corporal bought a dark blue cotton

handkerchief with white polka dots for ten cents, and thus added ten

dollars’ worth of improvement to his appearance, by the coquettish

manner in which he arranged it about his neck.

Our gallant major also seemed to give more attention to his personal

appearance than usual, blossoming forth in a very becoming light blue

and white striped negligee shirt, with a very deep collar which he wore

turned over on the collar of his blouse, producing a charming effect,

and giving him a most debonair and youthful appearance. So much so

in fact, that one of the wags of the company dubbed him “Little Lord

Fauntleroy Burdick.”

The example, set by our handsome Major, stirred up a spirit of

emulation among the rest of our officers, all of whom have more than

the average share of good looks. Captain Dr. O’Brien, the scientist

and bonesetter of the expedition, is tall, and of athletic build,

and a handsome man under all conditions, and so is Adjutant Hosmer,

photographer-in-chief; but when these two valiant warriors returned

from town, after a seance with the village barber, with a few cents

worth of handkerchief arranged with studied negligence about their

shapely throats, they were a vision of loveliness. What lent their

personality an additional charm was their utterly utter seeming

unconsciousness of their good looks; they appeared to be totally

oblivious of the unfeigned admiration of us poor privates, who felt

like tramps in the splendor of their presence.

Our handsome captain, who disdains the petty details of the toilet,

was most of the time wrapt in meditation, or lost in the contemplation

of his astral form. Not so our first lieutenant (easy), Lundquist; he

slicked up perceptibly; the hair of his head, from constant brushing,

rose in all the glory of the bristling pompadour from off his classic

forehead, like the feathers of an Indian chief. While the graceful

form of our second Lieutenant, with sloping waist and curving hips,

seemed to take on added charms daily. Time or space will not permit

any further digression or dilation on the personal attributes of the

officers connected with the Truckee contingent. Suffice it is to say

that the proximity of the young and beautiful femininity, for which

this town is noted, caused these gallant men to spend much time before

the small looking-glass that hung in the toilet compartment of the car.

Sunday afternoon, July 22d, another party, under the leadership of

Lieutenant Lundquist, received permission to go and see the rocking

stone. The party was composed of Sergeants Ramm and Clifford, privates

George Claussenius, R. Radke, Frech, Baumgartner, Murphy, Gilkyson,

Flanagan, McKaig, and Beseman. On arriving at the tower they found it

closed, and, being unable to find the proprietor, concluded to take a

tramp over the hills. The frog farm before mentioned first attracted

their attention, and soon the curious city boys were deep in the study

of the domestic life of frogdom. But just as the debate concerning the

habits of frogs had reached its most interesting phase, the stone was

thrown that caused an unfortunate remark by Al Ramm, that linked hops

and beer together, causing the immediate desertion of King Flanagan,

McKaig, and Gilkyson to some symposium where hops already brewed could

be obtained. The rest, in line of skirmishers, continued the tramp,

with eyes wide open and ears laid back, constantly on the alert for

any thing that would be of interest, the fresh, bracing air making

Lundquist, Ramm, and Clifford feel real young again. Suddenly they were

startled by a yell from Dick Radke, and, on rushing to the rescue,

found him in a great state of excitement: he had discovered a gold

mine, and wanted every one to know it. George Claussenius, the mining

expert of the party, after a cursory examination, declared it to be a

worked-out claim, much to the disappointment of Dick, who thought he

had struck a bonanza.

Hardly had Radke resumed his normal state, when Frech caused another

sensation by announcing that he had found an ax. He placed it in

evidence, and his active brain began immediately to cast a halo of

romance about it. He asserted with much earnestness (and Frech can

be very earnest) that it was his belief that the ax was a relic of

the Donner party, who perished in the neighborhood many years ago.

Noticing how serious he was, they all concluded, after a very grave

and critical examination, that it was a real curio. He clung to the ax

lovingly, saying he would take it back to Frisco, and have some razors

made out of the blade. Becoming enthusiastic over his find, he at once

developed into a confirmed curio fiend, and was constantly finding

other articles which he declared were relics of the “days of ’49.”

With right good will his comrades aided and abetted him in his search.

Things that had long since been cast away as worn out or useless, and,

having fulfilled their humble offices to mankind, lay upon the face of

mother earth, calmly awaiting the end of all things, suddenly leaped

into a new and transitory value, and soon Frech was laden with an

assorted collection of oyster cans, old shoes, bottles, etc. As each

new find was made he discarded one of the old ones, insisting that the

last find was always the best. When he reached camp, all that he had

left was his ax, and the skeleton of an old pack-saddle found on the

banks of the Truckee.

Lieutenant Lundquist suggested that they continue their tramp till a

view of Donner lake could be obtained; so, like a bevy of seminary

girls out with their chaperone, the lieutenant and his men went merrily

on their way. They were traveling through what was once, apparently,

the pathless forest, for all around them were the charred stumps of

trees. The strong and relentless hand of man had spread destruction

and death among the giants of the forest. But even here, where the

nymph of the wood might well weep for the leafy shades that were no

more, contrasting with the gruesome spectacle of destruction, the

eye was gladdened with the sight of new, lusty, glorious life. In

the intervening spaces young trees were putting forth their slender

branches, the green foliage rustling and waving in the gentle summer

breezes.

George Claussenius remarked that the majority of the trees were firs,

and that the balsam extracted was worth $20.00 a quart. At this Dick

Radke pricked up his ears, and looked at the trees with renewed

interest. Clifford took exception to the conclusions of Claussenius

as to the identity of the trees, and insisted they were spruce. Every

once in a while they would stop before some young sapling, and argue in

a most learned manner as to its variety. One listening to them would

imagine they were members of the State Board of Forestry. The others,

not wishing to display their ignorance, never ventured an opinion till

Lundquist, realizing that these gentry were as much at sea as to the

identity of the trees as the rest were, put up a job on them. He got

the others to promise they would coincide with him, and then, with all

the confidence of one able to judge, he proclaimed them apple trees.

True to their promise they all agreed with the lieutenant. Clifford and

Claussenius wasted much breath in trying to show them that they erred

in their conclusions.

Meanwhile Radke had wandered away by himself. As he progressed he

gave every tree he met the closest scrutiny. “Twenty dollars a quart!

twenty dollars a quart! if I could only run across a fir tree that was

spouting balsam, why it would be better than a gold mine; my fortune

would be made.” A yell of joy apprised the boys that Radke had surely

struck a bonanza this time. When they reached his side they found

him with his hands full of a sticky substance, and, with a look of

triumph on his face, he invited all hands to help themselves to balsam.

“Balsam!” said Clifford, “Balsam! why, what are you talking about?

that’s pitch.” And so it proved to be.

They resumed their journey, and in due course of time reached an

eminence, from which they beheld Donner lake. The scene was a beautiful

one, and well repaid them for their journey. The lovely body of water

lay calm and serene, reflecting the sun’s rays like a sheet of silver.

Precipitous mountains rose on all sides of it; to the left, for miles

along the sides of the mountains, the eye could trace the snowsheds.

Considerable time was spent in contemplating the beauties of nature,

and it was with reluctance that they finally turned their faces

toward the camp. They descended the hill on the side leading down to

the Truckee river, and, when they reached its banks, discovered Bob

Williams making his way down the river on the logs that covered its

surface to the sawmill about a mile away; this easy and direct way of

reaching camp appealed to the eye of our easy lieutenant at once, and

soon they were all hopping from log to log, and in a short time reached

the mill without accident of any kind, then slowly retraced their steps

to camp, all agreeing that they had a most enjoyable tramp.

The relieved squads that daily returned from the different posts

brought with them moving tales of flood and field. The squad, composed

of Corporal McCulloch, and privates A. Fetz, A. Gehret, and F. Sindler,

had relieved a similar number of Company A’s men at Post 24. No sooner

had the train left, than the learned corporal pounced upon the rations

that were to keep the wolf from the door for the next twenty-four

hours. A wail of anguish arose from him as the provender was exposed

to view; no sugar, no milk, no butter, three “measly” steaks, a small

quantity of beans, a smaller quantity of rice, about a pound of coffee,

a small piece of bacon, and two loaves of bread. Ye gods! what had he

done? He called upon all the great divinities of heaven to bear witness

to his just and honorable career, a life spent in gathering a mass of

learning, that, rarified by the fires of his poetic soul, was in the

future to cast its electrical and beneficent rays upon the sons of men.

How could they expect him to continue on the long and wearisome road

to glory, the uncertain and treacherous pathways that lead to fame, to

efficiently fill the exalted position for which he was ordained, if the

springs of his young life were to be warped and dried up by the lack of

sufficient nourishment.

While thus bewailing his sad fate, and comparing their unhappy lot with

that of the men at the other posts, who were living on the fat of the

land, they entered the lowly cabin that was to afford them shelter,

when lo! and behold! there before his wondering eyes were sugar, pepper

and salt, two potatoes, the gods be praised, one carrot, and a piece

of bacon. Here, indeed, was a miracle; the gods were not unmindful;

their faithful servant was not to be left to starve in the wilderness;

these edibles were surely placed there by divine hands, for had not

A’s men just left, and were they ever known to leave any thing behind

them? Overcome by this revelation of the justice and goodness of an

all-seeing Providence, the learned corporal reverently removed his cap,

and with upraised eyes, that seemed, from the glad and holy light that

shone from them, to be contemplating heavenly scenes, silently gave

thanks to his Creator.

The men, like others stationed there before them, were enchanted with

their surroundings. The corporal, however, did not enchant until he had

inquired into the cooking abilities of his command. He, after a careful

consideration of their qualifications, appointed Al Gehret cook. This

momentous subject off his mind, he went forth into the sunshine and

began to rave about the mountains that reared their solid bastions to

the sky, declaring that a being must be indeed callous, who, when cut

off from the rest of the world, and alone in nature’s mighty solitude,

did not feel the omnipotence of the Creator.

In appointing Al Gehret cook, the learned Corporal had made no mistake,

(how could he) for Al proved himself to be very capable; he so ably

manipulated the provisions placed in his charge that one and all sang

his praises. But the look of contentment and pleasure that came over

the faces of his boarders as each delicious morsel disappeared through

their lips into the cavernous depths below brought more joy to Al than

all the encomiums which could be heaped upon him. So intent was he in

watching their joyous emotions that he forgot to eat himself, and the

others were so absorbed in the enjoyment of the fare, that they failed

to take notice of his forgetfulness. No high salaried chef contemplated

with more pride the results of his skill than Al the results of his

labors. The potato soup he concocted made the corporal, whose weakness

is soup, his lifelong friend.

McCulloch, Fetz, and Sindler now vied with each other to perform some

special feat that would render them envied by the rest. McCulloch,

while wandering along the bank of the river, with the intention of

baiting the wary trout, on springing from one rock to another, lost

his footing and was precipitated head first into the cold stream.

Withdrawing himself hurriedly out of the water, he hastened back to the

cabin, where the others were gathered, and, showing them his dripping

clothes, dared them to do some thing that would rival his adventure.

The wet clothes were discarded and laid out in the sun to dry, while

the corporal, picturesquely draped in an army blanket, squatted all the

afternoon in the sun, like a Digger Indian. Both Sindler and Fetz took

up the challenge. Sindler started out with line and hook, determined to

catch a string of trout, that would lie for itself, and forever make

him famous. He fished and fished until the gathering twilight warned

him it was time to return. He quietly stole back into camp, with but

three fish to show for his efforts, a humbled and heartbroken man. Not

so with Fetz, who after a long absence returned to camp, proclaimed

his name to be Fetz, and that he was the only man in the crowd that

had stood in Nevada. For this he claimed the honor of having performed

the greatest feat. This was the subject of a prolonged and undecided

argument between himself and McCulloch, which is renewed whenever they

meet. The relations of the boys had become so harmonious, and their

environment so pleasing to them, that Fetz, the following morning,

declared that he would be satisfied to stop where they were another

twenty-four hours; but McCulloch, casting a side glance at their

depleted larder, said that, under the circumstances, he thought he

would rather return. Not that he appreciated their company less, they

were all good fellows, or their beautiful surroundings, but there were

other claims more strong that made him yearn once more to return to

Truckee, and the bosom of the company. So they packed their little

belongings, and awaited the train which was to bear them back to camp.

The squad composed of Corporal Burdick, privates Monahan, McKaig, and

O’Brien, relieved the guard at Boca, Sunday afternoon, July 22d, at

3 P. M. Not having had any thing to eat since breakfast, and being

anxious to try the fare of the Boca Hotel, which their comrades had

praised so enthusiastically, Monahan, McKaig, and O’Brien, not content

to wait until 6 o’clock, decided to try and get some thing to eat,

though of course the noonday meal at the hotel had long since passed

into history.

Burdick stood guard, saying that he would save his appetite, and

endeavor to do justice to his dinner at 6 o’clock. By dint of tales of

starvation that would do credit to Baron Munchausen, our three worthies

prevailed on the hotel clerk, whose face, O’Brien said, seemed very

familiar, to give them what he could get in the kitchen. A very good

lunch was improvised, and during the course of its disappearance it

flashed across the mind of O’Brien that this same clerk so strangely

met with in a small town high up in the rocky passes of the Sierra

Nevada’s was none other than Jimmy Madden, an old schoolmate, and

resident of the Mission. Mutual recognition was in order, and the

future well feeding of this detail, at least, was assured. Even at

midnight a fine meal of hot coffee, boiled eggs, tongue sandwiches,

and (hold your breath) cream puffs! was furnished them by their kindly

host. In regard to these same cream puffs “Kinky” Mac claimed, to use

the common parlance, to “have a kick coming.” Monahan and Burdick had

gone up to the hotel at twelve to get the midnight repast, leaving

O’Brien on guard, and “Kinky” asleep on the lee side of a clump of

sage brush with his hat for a pillow. On their return, the can holding

the solids was quickly opened, and O’Brien, holding the lantern above

it, saw before his wondering eyes _three_ cream puffs. The sight of

such luxuries made him gasp and press his hand to his palpitating

heart. But _three_ cream puffs for four men, what could it mean? He

glanced quickly at lengthy Monahan and the little corporal who has read

Gulliver’s Travels, and saw a guilty look flit across their faces, half

shown by the feeble light of the lantern which he still held above

the precious can. He discreetly held his peace, however, and busied

himself disposing of his share, which, of course, included _one cream

puff_. They did the same and then wakened Kinky. He was enchanted with

his eggs, sandwiches, and coffee. All would still have been lovely,

but Monahan, intoxicated with good fortune, asked Ben how he liked the

cream puffs!

“Cream puffs!” shouted Kinky, “Where’s mine?”

Consternation in the enemy’s camp. Explanations were useless. He wanted

his cream puff and on its nonproduction branded all three as land

pirates and highwaymen. The punishment of the guilty had overtaken

them. “Kinky” talked, and when he talks “stand from under,” for tho’

he says little and rambles much, he keeps it up incessantly. All that

night were the hapless men punished for yielding to the temptation

which had been too great; and in the morning promises to reform were

eagerly made if “Kinky” would only drop the cream-puff subject.

On leaving the hotel after their impromptu repast our three boys saw

that, this being Sunday, the veranda was crowded with mountaineers of

all descriptions. They were passing down the steps, when they were

accosted by one, who wanted to know “Who the fourteen-year-old kid was

you had on there last night, and waked the town crying for his mamma?”

Answering him, not sharply, but decidedly, that “they didn’t know who

was on there last night, but they _did_ know who would be on to-night,

and would guarantee them,” they passed on down the steps feeling that

such a performance last night must be offset by a very decided tone

to-day. This was a Sunday crowd and liable to be all drunk by night.

Later in the evening one drunken lumberman informed Corporal Burdick

that he intended to go up on the bluff above the bridge and fire off

blank cartridges at the sentry; but no notice was taken of him by the

corporal, and he was finally persuaded by a very sensible friend that

“he’d better not try it. This was not the same crowd that was on last

night.”

Another approached private O’Brien while on guard, and wanted to know

what four soldiers could do against all the men in town if they wanted

to take the bridge and burn it. He was promptly answered that the

four soldiers considered themselves enough to hold the bridge until

relieved, and proposed to do it, too. All this questioning seemed to

indicate, at least, a desire to try to take the bridge, and to provide

against surprise, the guard vacated the empty box-car, which was used

as a guard-house, and carried their blankets, etc., across the bridge

and onto a bluff which overhung it and held a commanding view of its

entire length and all the approaches to it. Here they felt well able

to hold their ground until relieved next day. No disturbance occurred,

however, the night passing quietly, with the exception of the noise

created by McKaig’s tirade against criminals in general and cream-puff

thieves in particular. The night was divided into watches of two hours

each, one man standing guard on the edge of the bluff overhanging the

bridge, while his comrades slept in the sage brush, rolled in their

blankets, within reach of his hand.

The next morning, Monday, was spent by those off guard fishing in

the Truckee or in Boca creek, half a dozen fish being secured, or in

wandering over the ruins of the famous Boca Brewery, which had been

burned the year previous. On account of the purity of the water used,

this beer had the reputation of being the best made.

The belligerent spirits of the night before had all gone off to work,

and no more excitement was furnished the squad.

At about 10 o’clock the relieving train passed through, dropping off

the squad for the next day. Our squad did not have to wait for the

return of the train, however, the details at Boca and Prosser being

ordered to ride in on a freight train just arrived at Boca, and now,

having taken on some extra ice-cars was ready to leave.

The ride in was uneventful, the two details arriving in Truckee at

noon, just in time for dinner at the Truckee hotel.

The evenings, at the Truckee camp, were passed around a huge fire,

singing songs and spinning yarns. One night Doc. Sieberst produced a

huge roll of paper, and, with a voice containing as much music as the

screech of a jackass, sang a parody on the song “Two little girls in

blue,” entitled: “Few little boys in blue.” It contained thirty-two

verses; but, ere he had waded through half of it, his audience had

stolen away, and, deep in the seclusion of their bunks, with heads

buried beneath blankets, tried to shut out the sounds of his voice, at

last falling into a sleep, visited by frightful dreams and distorted

visions.

The Doc. was the originator of our famous Truckee war cry, which

commends itself for its brevity.

“Hoopla! Hooplo! Hooplee!

We were lucky,

We went to Truckee.

Not! what! A and B; don’t you see?”

The tide of travel east and west was daily becoming greater--huge

freight trains slowly rolled in, and rolled away again. Their favorite

stopping-place was the sidetrack adjoining the one on which our cars

stood. They were a nuisance by night and by day--by night disturbing

our slumbers, by the never-ending sounds of escaping steam and

throbbing machinery; and by day a great annoyance to both officers

and privates, particularly to the officers, who, on the approach of a

passenger train, were compelled to climb through the vulgar freight

train in order to see, and more especially to be seen, by the fair sex

traveling in the Pullman cars.

We were now out nearly three weeks, and the majority of us were

longing to get back to ’Frisco; particularly as now all danger seemed

to be passed, the report that the strike was off being verified by

the employees of the railroad company who had returned to work. The

men began to worry about the security of their positions in town, and

the business and professional men connected with the company, feeling

that their business interests were receiving serious injury by their

prolonged absence, were impatient to return.

Time hung heavily on the hands of all, and, as no one had yet been

to Donner lake, Monday afternoon, of July 23d, Corporal Burtis and

private Hayes decided to take to themselves the distinction of being

the only members of the company to visit that beautiful sheet of water.

Forgetting to ask permission, they quietly meandered out of camp

unobserved, and made for the high road that led to the lake.

This lake, glimpses of which were caught from the many bends of the

road, the beautiful little stretch of country approaching it, now

green with luxuriant verdure, in which mild-eyed cattle cropped the

plentiful fodder, and the hills to the right upon which sheep are now

feeding, were, one winter many years ago, the natural theater of a

sickening tragedy, the horror of which thrilled all the country at the

time. It was here that, after many wanderings, a party of emigrants,

who had left their eastern homes early in the spring of ’46, and,

taking a new route which led through the Great Basin--lying between

the Rocky mountains and the Sierra Nevadas--found themselves stalled

in the impassable snows of these mountains which reared themselves

like a white wall on all sides. Out of the party of eighty, thirty-six

perished. A cross now marks the last resting-place of the unfortunate

ones.

Squads of men were constantly going and coming. And now that so many

trains were getting through at all hours of the night and day, the

first sergeant was busy making up squads to accompany them. The novelty

of post duty had not yet worn off, the men being so much changed about,

that hardly one of them went to the same post twice; and, as each squad

went out, the members of it felt like men going to an undiscovered

country. The men detailed to Prosser Creek, Boca, and Cuba, went there

with light hearts, because the men who returned from these posts were

never tired of praising the food with which they were supplied. The

men, when not on guard, divided the time between eating and fishing.

Degeneration had already set in--they seemed not to have a soul above

their stomachs--meal time was hungrily looked forward to, and the bill

of fare considered the only subject worthy of discussion. So when the

squad, composed of privates George Claussenius, Bannan, King Flanagan,

and Gille--Claussenius acting as corporal--arrived at Prosser Creek

near noontime, on Monday, July 23d, Gille wanted immediately to locate

the rotisserie that had earned such a reputation for itself. This he

was not long in doing, and soon returned reporting that dinner would

be ready for them at 1 o’clock. As it was near that time Bannan and

Flanagan, with many misgivings, watched Claussenius and Gille depart

for the eating-place. Both of these young men are long and thin,

and, as is usually the case with young people so constructed, have

enormous appetites. For over an hour and a half they dallied with

the good things placed before them, and, after casting a last fond,

lingering look at the table, reluctantly tore themselves away, and

with difficulty waddled back to their companions. They were received

with all kinds of reproaches by the hungry and disgruntled Flanagan

and Bannan. “Why didn’t they spend the afternoon?” or “Were they at a

summer resort?” were some of the sarcastic questions that greeted them.

The heel and toe pace that Flanagan and Bannan set, as they departed

for their dinner, would have surprised the veteran pedestrian O’Leary.

At Cuba Sergeant Taylor, musician Rupp, and private Frech opened the

eyes of some of the residents with astonishment by some wonderfully

accurate shooting, at 800, 400, and 200 yards. An old mountaineer, who

was watching them, remarked: “Waal, they may say youse fellows ain’t

much good; but, I be gol darned, if I’d like to have any of ye shooting

at me.”

While at this place, Rupp, our ex-cook, assisted the cook of the

eating-place to get up their meal. One of the principal features of the

menu was pie. If there is one thing they can do better than another in

the country, it is to make pie, and this place was no exception. It was

looked forward to as a fitting climax, a delicious top-off to the meals

that will ever be borne in mind with pleasant remembrance.

This guard found Frank Shula a very heavy sleeper--that beautiful and

enlivening German song, entitled: “Oh! the little Augustine!” sung and

danced by “the entire strength of the company,” with all the force of

their lungs and power of their legs and feet, hardly aroused him. The

only thing that will awaken Frank is the sound of his own snore. This

sounds so blood-curdling at times that it even startles himself, and

with a gasp and grunt he sits bolt upright in his blankets, and stares

around, panting with affright.

Late Monday afternoon the rumor reached us that we were to be relieved,

and that part of the regiment had been sent home already. This was,

indeed, joyful news, uncertain as it was.

At 3 o’clock Tuesday morning July 24th, a squad consisting of privates

Fetz, Gehret, and Hayes were ordered out, and together with a similar

squad from Company A, formed the guard of a passenger train, that

finally pulled out of Truckee between 5 and 6 A. M. While stopping

at one of the stations, in the snowsheds, a train pulled in from the

opposite direction laden with militia. The men soon found out that they

were companies from Grass Valley, and that they had been ordered to

relieve the Companies A and B stationed at Truckee. The country boys

were as fresh as new mown hay, their uniforms were spotless, and even

at that early hour in the morning, think of it, had on immaculate white

gloves. It was with light hearts that our boys continued their journey.

A sumptuous breakfast was served at Blue Cañon. Colfax was reached

about 10 A. M. They found Casebolt, Crowley, Powleson, and Stealy

there. They also were birds of passage, and were taking things very

easy, as the new arrivals proceeded likewise to do.

It was rumored that morning in Colfax, that the night previous an armed

body of strikers had captured the gatling guns from the regulars at

Truckee. This made the boys smile, when they remembered that one of the

last scenes their eyes rested on that morning before leaving Truckee

was the peaceful camp of the regulars, the two gatling guns safely

anchored on a flatcar, with the sleeping forms of soldiers on each side

of them, and the alert sentinel pacing his beat by the side of the

cars. So much for the rumors of war.

Captain O’Connor was the officer in command at Colfax. He is quite a

martinet, and as exclusive as an “Indian king.” The captain is quite

an elderly man, and for hours he would sit on the veranda of the hotel

with chair tilted back, and feet elevated above his head, his chin

resting on his chest and his clasped hands lying in his lap. In this

position, he seemed to be thinking mighty thoughts, or gazing down the

vale of untold years, contemplating his glorious military achievements.

His first sergeant, a tall, red-haired, quick, intelligent fellow

and thorough soldier, was his _charge d’affaires_, and the only man

who dared approach him. Our friend Stealy had the temerity the night

previous to ask him for permission to attend a dance or fandango that

was to take place in the town that night. The frowns that gathered o’er

his wrinkled visage portended dreadful things for the then trembling

Stealy, but he was ordered back to where he belonged, and told to kick

up his heels there if he must.

It was here that poor Al Gehret lost his heart forever and a day. She

was not fair to look upon, this copper-colored mountain maid, who won

him at first sight, neither would you care to press her cheek. Her once

lissome form had long since developed and filled out until the extent

of her broadness was equivalent to her height. Those ebon locks were

strangers to both comb and curling tongs. Hands had she like feet, and

feet like flatirons. We are not prepared to say but that she might be

able to make up in affection what she lacked in appearance. Some men

are won by a pair of witching eyes. A wave of golden hair has often

captured the hearts of others. Some succumb to a shapely form, some go

in raptures over the classic curve of some fair girl’s neck. A refined

intellectuality often appeals to others. But Al loved her for her arm

alone, her brawny arm, part of which was exposed to view.

During the afternoon Casebolt, Crowley, Powleson, and Stealy left on

different trains for Truckee.

The news of the arrival in Truckee of the Grass Valley contingent was

hailed with joy by the members of both companies, and the delights of

“pitching horseshoes” were given over for the pleasure of discussing

the chances of an early return home. The arrival of the two companies

made no difference in the regular routine of our camp duties, and the

relieving squads were taken out to the different posts as usual. Our

high hopes were blasted later on that morning by the report, that

Colonel Gunther was unable to issue any orders with regard to the new

companies, as he had not received any concerning them himself. The

boys, however, put their little belongings together, and in various

ways made ready for an early departure. With sleeves tucked up to the

elbows Corporal Burtis presided over the washtub, and after a few hours

hard work spread his own clean clothes and those of his absent comrade

Hayes out to dry, and then with loaded gun stood watch over them.

Early in the afternoon orders were received relieving A and B, with

instructions to be prepared to leave town at 7 P. M. Now the men began

to hustle in real earnest; knapsacks were packed and blankets strapped

to them; all hands were ordered out to scour pots innumerable. Doc.

Sieberst secured a corner on the water-carrying job, and then would

only work when his life was threatened. Corporal McCulloch, who was

deeply interested in a yellow-covered book entitled “All for Her,”

treated the request of his comrades to join them in the wild hilarious

occupation of scouring pots and pans, with fine scorn. Was he not a

noncommissioned officer? How could they expect him to degrade the

standard of his rank by mingling with rude uncouth privates? and as

for scouring pots and pans, Ugh! every fiber of his æsthetic nature

revolted at the idea. The boys in despair appealed to the captain. The

wily McCulloch soon had him entangled in the meshes of an argument, the

subtleties of which being too deep for the captain, he peremptorily put

an end to it by ordering the corporal to join his comrades mid the pots

and pans. This he did under protest, but showed by the dexterity with

which he brought forth the shining qualities of tin and copper, through

a mass of black, much familiarity with that branch of kitchen work.

Later on Adjutant Hosmer, Lieutenant Filmer, Doc. Sieberst, Gilkyson,

and O’Brien went for their last swim in the cool waters of the Truckee.

Jack Wilson, Pariser, and Gille’s boon companion, Wilson, left camp

ostensibly for the same purpose, but slipped off to a dancehall from

which they returned just in time to catch the train.

About 6 o’clock the men were ordered to remove their belongings

from the cars, guns were stacked, and the knapsacks and blankets

piled around them. Great was the dissatisfaction when it was found

out that instead of going back in our tourist cars, to which we

had become attached, and in which we had managed to make ourselves

very comfortable, we were to return in ordinary day coaches. In

consideration of the faithful way in which we had guarded the property

of the railroad company, the least they might have done to show some

degree of appreciation was to make our home-going as agreeable as

possible; instead we were piled into ordinary coaches, the seats of

which, with malicious intent, were locked, so that it was impossible

to even derive the small comfort obtained by reversing them. But it

will require the destruction of some millions of property before the

upholders of law and order and protectors of life and property receive

the recognition due them.

Lieutenant Lundquist, with a detail from the new arrivals, was sent

out to relieve our boys at the various posts, and bring them back. His

appearance at that time of day caused much surprise, and the object

of his visit much satisfaction. The detail under Sergeant Clifford

stationed at Cuba had settled down to the quiet and peaceful enjoyment

of country life; the Sergeant had just started off in quest of a

fishing-pole when the relief train arrived. He was hastily recalled,

and the new detail turned over to him for instructions. Clifford found

them “as green as they make ’em.” They were all big, strapping country

boys, clad in brand new uniforms, and were a marked contrast to the

smaller men from the city, whose service in the field had given them

and their uniforms--to use a most expressive slang term--a “dead hard”

appearance. The new sergeant of the guard posted three of his men at

once, but on Clifford’s representation that only one was necessary

during the daytime, withdrew two of them. As Clifford never lost an

occasion to indulge in his little joke, he made the situation appear

very serious, and showed the place to be a very dangerous locality.

He told them that a band of desperate strikers were expected about

6 o’clock. On hearing this one of the new guards turned very pale,

grabbed a fishing-pole, and, saying that he would try a little fishing,

made tracks for the river. The sentry, slowly pacing his beat, was told

to increase his gait, to prevent his being shot by strikers hiding in

the brush. The poor fellow almost ran.

The returning relief train now rolled in, the boys climbed on board,

and, as they moved away, waved a last adieu to the new guard, leaving

them in a very unenviable frame of mind.

The train arrived in Truckee in time to give the boys a chance to

hastily eat a half cold dinner, and join their comrades on the train

that at 7 o’clock, started westward, amid much heartfelt rejoicing

among the members of Company B. While on the way the different members

of the company met with on trains bound for Truckee were taken off.

All were now accounted for but Fetz, the lovelorn Gehret, and Hayes.

As night had settled down upon them, and being fearful that they would

pass the missing ones in the darkness, the long snowsheds echoed with

the cries of “Michael Hayes come into court!” Each train and station

passed was greeted with the same yell for the absent Hayes and his

companions. The train finally pulled into Colfax, and the missing ones

were found peacefully sleeping on the floor of the baggage-room. After

getting “Michael Hayes into court,” together with Fetz and Gehret, our

journey homeward was continued, amid continued rejoicing.

As the night advanced some sang songs, while the majority, tired and

worn out with the hardships and trials of three weeks’ campaigning, had

fallen into merciful sleep, a happy sleep, pervaded with the pleasant

sensation of being borne swiftly home.

There they lay, in all positions, on the floor, across seats, doubled

up, some with their heads thrown back and mouths open, snoring lustily,

some with their heads hung forward--not one in a comfortable position.

But comfort by this time had become of secondary importance to the

members of the City Guard. The habit of sleeping any and every where

had inured them to all discomforts. And now the irrepressible Doc.

Sieberst again broke out. Small pieces of paper were put into the

hands or mouths of the insensible sleepers; a match was then applied

to the paper. The awakening of the unfortunate victim was watched with

fiendish glee by the onlookers. Some of the victims would toss the

burning paper from them and fall back, dead to the world again; others

would start up in a dazed sort of way, claw the air a bit, a piece

of paper stuck in the victim’s open mouth making him look laughably

ridiculous, and stare around at their tormentors with comical gravity.

This is what sleep amounted to that night. To feel that before another

twenty-four hours we could rest in a nice, warm, soft bed, was a

comfort and a joy. Through the long night’s journey sentinels were

posted on the platforms, allowing no one to go in or out.

About 7:30 in the morning we reached the Sacramento depot. Here a great

disappointment awaited us. Instead of going through to the city as we

expected, the cars containing the two companies were sidetracked, we

were ordered out, and amid some of the most fearful, though low-toned,

“kicking,” shouldered our knapsacks and blankets, and were marched back

along the tracks to the camp of our regiment. As we approached the camp

we made the echoes ring with our Truckee battle cry: “Hoop-la! Hoop-lo!

Hoop-lee! We were lucky, we went to Truckee! Not! What! A and B; don’t

you see?”--and were soon answering hundreds of questions all at once.

We took possession of our tentless street and there piled our blankets

and equipments. The weary ones spread their blankets and were soon

asleep. The dreadful rumor then spread that we should not have left

the train, and had not some mistake been made we would now be whirling

on our way to the city. The question then arose, Who dared make such a

mistake? The subject was quickly canvassed, and soon upon the luckless

head of P. J. Conly, acting battalion sergeant-major, was poured the

wrath of the whole company.

While in our tentless street, awaiting orders, the Irish crowd,

headed by Flanagan, became involved in a little fracas with another

crowd, composed of Jack Wilson, Gille, Wilson, and a few others. The

neutral bystanders, in the heat of the battle, managed, unobserved, to

occasionally get in an upper cut, and some one threw a brick. Through

all the best of humor prevailed. About ten men were struggling for the

possession of a barrel stave, with which Jack Wilson had been doing

some great execution, when the appearance of Colonel Sullivan put an

end to the enjoyable proceedings. The Colonel shook hands with the

boys, and expressed himself as being glad to see them all back safe.

From beneath the flap of an adjoining tent appeared the head of Brien,

who had arrived in Sacramento while we were at Truckee. Tooker now put

in his appearance, a sadder but wiser man, but with the aversion to

work as strong within him as ever. Later on we were joined by Sergeant

Sturdivant; he was compelled to leave us the Monday previous to attend

to some important business in the city, and had just returned.

Lieutenant Filmer obtained permission to take the men down town to

breakfast, and the majority went. On our return we were greeted with

the good news that the regiment would leave for home that day at 3

P. M. We got our equipments and blankets together, and were ready to

leave at a moment’s notice. Volunteers were called for to take down the

officers’ tents, and the hardy and experienced men of Company B became

at once very scarce. We were the lions of the hour, and swaggered

around like heroes, giving exaggerated accounts of our wonderful

adventures to a crowd of open-mouthed listeners.

The week spent at Truckee had enabled our boys to overcome the

prostrating effects of their stay in Sacramento, and was of

incalculable benefit to them physically. There were a few, however, on

whom the malaria contracted in Sacramento had taken such a firm hold

that it was not to be so easily shaken off, and who only reached home

to take to a bed of sickness. Notably Al Gehret; nature supported him

until he reached home and received the welcoming embraces of friends

and relations; he then succumbed, and for two months was confined to

bed, his life at times being despaired of. George Claussenius and Frank

Monahan were both laid up with severe sick spells.

At noon we had a very sensible and appetizing lunch, ham sandwiches

and beer. Clifford, as usual, with an eye to the future, managed to

get away with half a ham, and a few other sundries which were duly

appreciated during our long ride to the city. Thus did Clifford to the

very end remain faithful to his charge, and in a blaze of glory bring

his official career to a close.

Why we refer to the lunch of that day as a sensible one is because

we were in the habit, when doing our own cooking, of preparing a hot

lunch; this entails a lot of work, without satisfactory results.

Cooking three meals a day is unnecessary. Men are satisfied with a

light repast at the noon hour, when they have a good breakfast and

supper. A lunch of sandwiches and beer (when you can get it), or

coffee, answers every purpose, and is thoroughly enjoyed. During

hot weather the man who abstains from cold drinks at meal time, and

satisfies his thirst with warm tea or coffee, will find he is better

able to stand the heat. Lengthy Monahan presided over the liquid

refreshments on this occasion, and his administration was far from

being satisfactory; it lacked the impartiality that characterized

the _regime_ of Jimmy Wear and Van Sieberst. William Flanagan sat at

the right hand of Monahan, and his little tin cup was always kept

full, with the result that William soon began to boast of his royal

lineage, and to cast reflections on the “stuck-up, piano parlor Irish”

at the same time looking very hard at their champion, Phil Bannan. On

occasions of this kind the captain always had a big advantage over

us, for he drank from a tin cup, which had the holding capacity of a

dipper. This cup he became the proud possessor of in the early part of

the campaign, and he clung to it to the last. It is believed by the

members of the company that he bought it himself; others claim he had

it made to order.

At last we received the order, “B Company fall in.” We were marched

to the cars, and after considerable confusion, in which we were

changed from one car to another while the train was in motion, thereby

endangering life and limb, finally got settled, in an uncomfortable

cushionless day coach. At the Sacramento depot the train was boarded by

the Third Regiment, and amid howls and yells of joy the train pulled

out for ’Frisco. It is with pleasure we can say that on this occasion

the members of the company comported themselves with the dignity of

tried soldiers, and preserved a silent passiveness that was a marked

contrast to the demoniac yells that proceeded from the other companies.

Passing over the bridge which was the scene of the wreck two weeks

previous, we could not help but feel genuine regret for the brave

fellows that met death beneath the cars, that still lay tossed about

below the bridge. Such, indeed, might have been the fate of some of

us, had events taken a different course. While the train was swiftly

flying towards the city, Clifford doled out sandwiches for the last

time; and a box of cakes and some bottles of wine that Fetz and Gehret

found waiting for them at Sacramento were distributed among the boys

with their compliments. At last the shores of the bay were reached, and

across its shining waters we discerned the mansion-crowned hills of

dear old ’Frisco. Long before it was necessary, the boys began to get

their belongings together, and when we arrived at the end of the mole,

every man was ready to step off the cars. On the other side of the

bay we were received by a band, the Boys’ High School Cadets, and the

members of our regiment who had returned home before us. Under their

escort we marched up Market street. The appearance of these men formed

such a contrast to our own, with their white gloves, white collars,

jaunty caps, and clean-shaven faces, that we began to wonder if we

ever looked like them, or would we ever look like them again. These,

indeed, must be the tin soldiers we had heard people speak of. And yet

not one of us would change places with any of them, though we were

unshaven, begrimed with dust and dirt from our leggings to the crowns

of our much-dented campaign hats, and laden with guns, knapsacks,

haversacks, canteens, and blankets; we were proud of every grease spot,

every stain, our bursted shoes, our worn leggings, our torn and dirty

blouses, our campaign hats. Even our little tin cups had a new value

for us. Around all these, dirty and worn, were clustered the memories

and associations of our three weeks’ campaign. By the readiness with

which we donned the uniforms that proclaimed us soldiers beneath the

stars and stripes, and upholders of free institutions, did we prove

ourselves not unworthy of the land we live in. And years hence, when

the future members of this company are gathered around the festive

board, the memory of the deeds of the City Guard during the Sacramento

campaign will awake and fire the eloquence of the orator, and inspire

the muse of the poet. Along San Francisco’s highways we marched to

martial strains, the endless amount and variety of whiskers among the

men affording much amusement to, and calling forth innumerable comments

from, the small boy.

At length we reached the armory, where we were greeted by an immense

crowd. After a short speech by Col. Sullivan, wherein he dwelt on

the efficient services rendered by the First Regiment, we were

dismissed, and were immediately surrounded by friends and relatives

congratulating us on our safe return home. And thus ended the great

Sacramento Campaign.

SONG OF THE SOLDIERS.

Comrades known in marches many,

Comrades tried in dangers many,

Comrades bound by memories many,

Brothers ever let us be.

Wounds or sickness may divide us,

Marching orders may divide us,

But whatever fate betide us,

Brothers of the heart are we.

Comrades known by faith the clearest,

Tried when death was near and nearest,

Bound we are by ties the dearest,

Brothers evermore to be;

And if spared and growing older,

Shoulder still in line with shoulder,

And with hearts no thrill the colder,

Brothers ever we shall be.

By communion of the banner,

Crimson, white, and starry banner,

By baptism of our banner

Children of one church are we.

Creed nor faction can divide us,

Race nor language can divide us,

Still whatever fate betide us,

Children of that flag we’ll be!

CHAS. G. HALPINE.

[Illustration: OFFICERS OF THE SECOND REGIMENT ARTILLERY AND NAVAL

BATTALION, N. G. C., WHILE STATIONED AT OAKLAND, CAL. DURING THE

STRIKE, JULY, 1894.]

A HISTORY

OF THE

“CITY GUARD”

“B” Company, First Regiment Infantry

Second Brigade, N. G. C.

IN A CONCISE FORM

Embodying the Principal Features from its Original Organization

to the Railroad Strike of 1894

BY

CAPTAIN IRVING B. COOK

COMMANDING COMPANY

“SALUS PATRIAE ME EXCITAT.”

PREFACE.

In the absence of any previously compiled history of the “City Guard”

I am beholden to a host of ex-members, and to many other gentlemen

as well, for data and scraps of history which helped materially in

this work. To them I wish to express my most sincere thanks for all

kindnesses rendered. I wish also to express my appreciation for favors

received from public libraries, especially the Mercantile, for the free

use of their valuable collections of papers and books for reference,

many having been examined and consulted by me.

IRVING B. COOK,

Capt. “City Guard,” B Co., 1st Infantry, N. G. C.

Armory, 1327 Market St., San Francisco, Cal.

CHAPTER I.

“SAN FRANCISCO CITY GUARD.”

“Build me straight, O, worthy master!

Staunch and strong--a goodly vessel,

That shall laugh at all disaster,

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!”

LONGFELLOW.