The "City Guard": A History of Company "B" First Regiment Infantry, N. G. C. During the Sacremento Campaign, July 3 to 26, 1894 / Including a Brief History of the Company Since Its Organization March 31, 1854, to July 3, 1894

by California. Infantry. First Regiment. Company B; Irving B. Cook; George Filmer; W. J. Hayes; A. McCulloch; William D. O'Brien

CHAPTER VII.

THE APPEARANCE OF THE REGULARS AND ITS EFFECT UPON
THE SITUATION.

THE second week, that opened up at the Capitol, found the men somewhat discontented. There is no rest for the wicked; if the reverse of this be true, that one who does not rest is wicked, then all the members of Company B are wicked. The conditions were perfect for resting; lying awake during the daytime and lying asleep during the night-time made up practically the twenty-four hours of each day, of most of the members of the company. And still they were weary. There was no rest for them; amidst this almost perfect inactivity they yearned to be again at their daily and peaceful callings:

“The counter and the desk.”

(I. B. Cook.)

Any thing to break the stagnation of doing nothing. Besides this the men were disgusted with the situation. The strikers held the depot while they, who had traveled eighty miles to dislodge them from that place, held down the Capitol grounds. Every day, since the Fourth, saw the men expectant of marching upon the depot; every night saw the men disappointed and more disgusted. Is it any wonder that the men were discontented and strongly desirous of leaving the field of strife?

Inside of the camp of the strikers harmonious relations did not prevail. Their temporary victory on the Fourth was slowly turning into a defeat. Its effect had been contrary to what they had expected. The continued presence of the militia at the Capitol, the announcement that the regulars had been ordered to Sacramento, the growing stronger of the opposition of the railroad, all tended to show them the hopelessness of expecting to coerce the Southern Pacific Company into submission. Beside this, Poverty, the great ally of the capitalist, was forcing breaches in their hitherto determined front. A number of the strikers counting upon a swift victory were ill-prepared to stand a long siege. Many were now secretly prepared to desert the cause at the first opportunity. Compromise by arbitration was talked about, but nothing came of it. With some of the strikers, however, the hopelessness of success only tended to make them more desperate. Reinforced by the crowd of armed ruffians from Dunsmuir they were preparing themselves to resist every advance the troops made against them, even though that resistance amounted to bloodshed. Such actions as these could have but one result. Instead of bolstering up the cause of the strikers it was in reality weakening it. The peaceably inclined were repelled from such associates and disavowed their relationship with them. How well these desperate individuals kept their resolutions will be seen hereafter.

That things were approaching a crisis was evident by the increased precautions taken to guard the camp. It had been reported that the strikers were preparing to sweep down upon the camp and capture the Gatling guns. In order to prevent the camp from being surprised by any such movement men were selected from each company and detailed to act as pickets. They were posted a block beyond the line of sentinels of the camp guard and in such a way that the camp was now guarded by a double line of sentinels. By this plan it was almost an impossibility for any body of the strikers to approach within three hundred feet of the camp without being detected. Sergeant Kelly, Privates Hayes and Crowley were selected from Company B to act in this capacity. The strikers on the other hand were also exercising the greatest vigilance. Every movement made by the militia was carefully watched by the strikers’ pickets, who were always present in the vicinity of the camp, and who transmitted any suspicious movement on the part of the troops to their leaders. And, if the movement was of sufficient importance, three shrill blasts of a steam whistle could be heard; and down all the streets leading to the depot strikers could be seen hurrying along to gather there in a body. This great vigilance on the part of the strikers seemed to give the affair a much more serious aspect than it really deserved. The establishing of pickets on both sides added to the reality and picturesqueness of the scene.

All during the week different rumors had been flying around camp. First it was, that the militia were going to do this, then that; until finally, on account of their proverbial unreliableness, not much faith was placed in them. So, on July 10th, when it was rumored about camp that the regulars would arrive the following day, and that the militia would be ordered to co-operate with them in securing the depot, not much dependence was placed upon its authenticity. When, however, later in the evening each member of the company was notified to hold himself in readiness to be called at an early hour in the morning, and to sleep with his rifle at his side, it began to look that after all there was something in this rumor. It is safe to say that the men retired that night praying—that is, those who knew how—that the rumor would become a fact. At three A. M. the men of Company B were awakened by 1st Sergt. A. F. Ramm, and told to dress as quietly and as quickly as possible. This they did. Save now and again of the murmur of subdued conversation no one would know but what the camp was wrapped in sound slumber. On emerging from the tents, an air of mystery seemed to be hovering around. The day was just beginning to break. The gray dawn almost isolated us from the world without. Not a wreath of smoke, that would betoken life stirring in the adjacent closely barred houses was visible. Now and again could be heard coming along the stone pavement, breaking the peculiar stillness of the air, the tramp of feet, and some poor unfortunate would emerge out of the gray gloom and pass the camp on his way to his daily toil. Here and there could be discerned the dim form of some vigilant picket. Within the camp men were moving noiselessly to and fro. Few lights were discernible. Every one seemed to be awake to the necessities of the hour. They were preparing themselves for a rapid and noiseless movement; so that they would be well on their way towards the prospective scene of action before their absence from the camp was made known to the strikers. As one now thinks of the events of that morning it seems as if the men were preparing

“To fold their tents like the Arabs;

And as silently steal away.”

The men were awakened at this early hour, so, that when the order for marching did come no time would be lost.

During the hours of the night while the men slept the gods were busy. A load of haversacks and canteens had been brought into camp during the night. These haversacks and canteens, which are the same as are used in the regular army, were distributed among the men, every man receiving one of each. Provisions, consisting of canned corned beef. O! blessed Corned Beef would that thou wert never made, and crackers, were then packed in the haversack for future use, while the canteens were filled with coffee. The usual march up town for breakfast was omitted this morning and a rough and ready meal of sandwiches and coffee was substituted in its place.

While busy with the preparations for marching, the members of the company had failed to notice how silently and unperceived the day had crept into existence. The sun was now slowly rising. The apparent dead and silent world by which the camp had been surrounded was awakening into life. The windows of the adjacent houses were being thrown back. Chimneys were emitting their smoke. Workmen were passing by. Up in the dome of the Capitol could be seen a human form waving a hat to and fro; first, several times on this side, then on that, then he would poise it for a few seconds directly in front of him, and then he would commence again. Inquiry elicited the fact that he was a member of the Signal Corps, and that from his position of vantage he was transmitting signals, made by other signalmen stationed at the river, to one stationed below on the ground. These messages were then carried to headquarters.

In the mean time preparations had been made to guard the camp during the absence of the troops. The various details, that composed the camp guard, were relieved and sent back to their respective companies. Company H was detailed to take their place.

At 5:30 A. M. the command “Fall in” was given. With the haversack and canteen slung over the shoulders, the haversack on the left side, the canteen on the right, and the cartridge belt strapped over both to keep them from interfering with the movements of marching by swinging, the company presented a picturesque appearance. On the night of our departure from the city we were compared to the regulars in the morning papers thus:

“There was a marked contrast between the 675 sunny faced expectant scrambling young fellows and the 300 bronzed regulars that swung along the Oakland mole with clocklike precision.... They moved like a machine, passionless, steady, with their eyes fixed on one man, the captain. The militia ... went off in a happy fashion as if they were starting on an annual summer camping trip. They laughed and called to each other as they marched along.”

Had the reporter who wrote the above seen the Company on this morning he would have recognized that a transformation had taken place. He would not have found the contrast so obvious. Instead of sunny-faced, expectant, scrambling young fellows, he would have found bearded youths, bronzed with heat from the sun, determination written on their faces, and ready to obey explicitly the orders, be what they may, of their Captain. Added to all this, he would discover that the places of the holiday and neatly fitting uniforms were taken by worn and tattered ones covered with innumerable grease spots and dust. The leggings he would see had ceased to be new, while the hats he would not have recognized.

The regiment was formed into two battalions. The first battalion was under the command of Major Burdick, the second under the command of Major Jansen. Company B was the left company of the first battalion. The ambulance corps were divided into two sections. One section, under the command of Major Galwey, regimental surgeon, was attached to the first battalion. The other section, under command of Captain O’Brien, assistant regimental surgeon, was attached to the second battalion. The field music was detailed as litter bearers. The first battalion marched out of the Capitol grounds down L street and took up a position at the end of L street, which runs perpendicular to the river.

The march to the levee showed the week passed at the Capitol grounds had not been profitless. Its good effects were seen on both officers and men. Instead of doing as they did on the Fourth, using their aftersight, the officers on this occasion used a good deal of foresight. On that memorable day, it will be remembered, that no attempt was made to keep the masses that obstructed the passage of the troops into the depot from being augmented by constantly arriving forces. This time, however, whenever a halt was made, sentinels were immediately posted, and no one was allowed to pass through who would impede the progress of the troops.

While the battalion was on the march, and somewhere near to the place it was to occupy, men were selected from each company and sent forward to act as scouts. Privates A. Fetz and Unger were selected from Company B; Fetz was sent to the left, while Unger was sent to the right. Both were told to patrol along the next streets parallel with the march of the battalion, halting whenever the battalion halted. Any commotion they observed they were to report to the commanding officer of the battalion. The battalion, arriving at the point of occupation, was wheeled to the left by fours, formed into line, and halted. “Rest” was given, and the men, making themselves at ease, proceeded to view their surroundings. The ambulance corps, it was discovered, had taken up a position in a small alley running at right angles to the street of occupation. Here they erected a temporary hospital in anticipation of a large number of wounded. The young doctors attached to the corps, and especially Drs. O’Malley and McCulloch, were anxious to try their instruments and skill upon some one. On the southeast corner of Front and L streets is a large two-story building occupied by a hide and pelt establishment. Upon the roof of this building part of the signal corps, it was found, had established themselves and were busy at work transmitting signals to the captain of the corps standing below on the opposite side of the street. To the south of the battalion’s position, at the intersection of L and First streets, Corporal Burdick with a squad of braves (?), consisting of Privates Wise, R. Radke, and Sindler, could be seen on duty guarding the rear of the position by refusing to allow any one to pass without proper authority. Directly in front of the battalion on Front street, which runs parallel to the river, were several trains of freight-cars. Beginning at L street, and running to the left towards K street, on Front street, was a long, low platform, which was used for handling freight. Upon a parallel street, a block to our right, the second battalion was posted. The Third Regiment was a block farther up still.

It was while the company was thus taking in its surroundings that an incident occurred which attracted their attention and in which the captain of the Signal Corps and an employee of the hide and pelt establishment figured. It was an incident which tended to impress upon the members the reality and the seriousness of their position. An employee of the hide and pelt establishment was seen by the captain of the signal corps in the act of ascending to the roof of the building. Feeling that every thing depended upon prompt and decisive action, he drew a Colt’s revolver, and, pointing it at the man on the ladder, cried out sharply, “Come down from there.” The man turned, looked at the threatening revolver, then at the one behind it, grew pale, muttered something about pointing a pistol at a man, descended the ladder and disappeared within the building. There was no parleying here about coming down. It was a command that could only be disobeyed at the risk of life. The moment between the giving of the command and its being obeyed was a moment of dead silence; the man’s life depended upon the twitching of a finger. As the man disappeared the members of the company almost unanimously cried out, “That’s the way to do it.” A valuable lesson was inculcated into the members which proved of value later in the day. The “boys” saw that if they were to accomplish any thing they must be prompt and determined.

Hardly had the undue excitement of the above-mentioned incident subsided when attention was attracted to a sort of commotion taking place at a point where Corporal Burdick was stationed. It seems, from what could be gathered afterwards, that a hack drawn by a spirited pair of horses came dashing up L street and attempted to pass through the lines. Corporal Burdick, assisted by Private Wise, was not to be denied. The horses were brought to a standstill, and Sam Wise informed the driver that he couldn’t go through. The Jehu explained that his business was imperative, his fare being none other than the Fourth of July famous United States Marshal Barry Baldwin. The marshal had to introduce himself, however, before he was allowed to go through the lines.

Private O’Brien of Company B, together with several members from Company G, were now ordered by Major Burdick to force the crowd that was gathering down Front street until they connected with the scouts who had been sent along K street. This was done, and a line of sentinels was formed diagonally across the intersection of Front and K streets, and a busy time they had of it.

The strange things that some men will do when they haven’t a gun are beyond all comprehension; but even beyond this is the strange thing that O’Malley did this morning without his gun. A line of sentinels was established across M street, holding at bay a large crowd. Inside of this line our friend, the Doctor, with a red cross pinned upon his arm to show his superior breed, was pacing impatiently up and down with the restlessness of a caged lion, his fierce and terrible mien exciting terror in the crowd. Occasionally he would pause in his wild march and take a few steps towards the panic-stricken mob; then, changing his mind, he would turn and continue pacing his beat. A dread silence fell upon the multitude. Who is this man, this supernatural being? Woe unto me, they cried inwardly. Take him away! Their terror was further increased by O’Malley, after casting several dark glances from under his heavy, lowering eyebrows, suddenly springing forward and grasping one of their number, a big, burly ruffian, by the throat. Dragging him forward O’Malley fiercely shouted:

“Give me your gun.”

“I haven’t any,” screamingly replied the fellow, falling upon his knees and beseeching mercy with uplifted hands.

“You lie, darn you”! And jerking the fellow to his feet O’Malley put his hand into the man’s pocket and drew out a small-sized Gatling gun.

“Now vamoose,” he said, emphasizing the words with a kick that hastened the departure.

The crowd, on seeing what had happened, cried out, “A devil!” and fled in the wildest confusion.[6]

[6] This above account was written by O’Malley, and therefore the committee do not certify to its accuracy. O’Malley, however, is generally truthful.

The signalmen, by rolling up their paraphernalia and descending from the roof, indicated that the regulars had landed. This was verified by a low rumbling noise coming from Front street. The battalion was called to “attention” just as the regulars, headed by Colonel Graham, turned into L street.

The battalion was brought to “present arms.” As the regulars marched past on the way to the depot each man involuntarily made a comparison between the National Guardsman and the regular. And it is safe to say that the result was not overwhelmingly in favor of the regular. True, the regular on the average, is a larger and an older man, and walks with a more deliberate and measured stride. But what of this? The militia has a quicker and a more sprightly step. Besides this, the National Guardsman lacks the dull passiveness which characterizes the face of the regular, and which is so often taken by the public for determination. But this is not determination. Determination is measured by the strength of the will. The militiaman may not move like a passionless machine, but that very life which shines forth from his eyes is the thing that in the hour of danger is going to generate such an amount of determination that the regular can never possess.

The regulars this morning presented a very dirty appearance, both men and uniforms being covered with dust. The National Guardsmen had considered that their uniforms were about as dirty as it was possible for a uniform to become, but when they compared them to the uniforms of the regulars they were compelled to say that their uniforms were not half dirty. The condition of the National Guard uniforms was between their condition on the night of the Guard’s departure from the city and the condition presented by the uniforms of the regulars this morning. The only difference in equipments of the two bodies of troops was that the regulars carried the Webb belt, while the National Guard wore the cartridge-box. In this comparison the result is vastly in favor of the Webb belt. It is capable of carrying more ammunition; it is more easily accessible, and interferes less with the movement of marching, especially running. There was one thing about the regulars that the members of Company B thought worthy of being imitated, and that is the long, slow, swinging stride. This has been found from experience to be particularly serviceable for long marches. Concerning the regular army officers, the transformation was something wonderful. In the dirty and dusty looking officer no one would have recognized the “petted darling” of society.

The regulars having marched past, the command “rest” was again given. The members of the company were soon at ease upon the sidewalks communicating with each other what they thought about the appearance of the regulars, and what would be the effect upon the strike of their entrance on the stage of action. While thus resting, with an easy state of mind, believing now that as the regulars had landed, that the climax in the morning’s operations had been reached, and that as the strikers had not shown themselves by attempting to interfere with the landing of the troops, that they would not now indulge in any violent demonstrations in our vicinity, the “boys” were ill-prepared for what followed a moment later. For scarcely had the tail end of the regulars disappeared when the members of the company were very much startled at hearing a shot ring out. As if an electric current had passed through the entire company and battalion, every man sprang to his feet and his place in ranks. As the first shot was followed by a second, and that by another and another, until the firing became a regular fusillade, the excitement of the men arose correspondingly with the increase of the fire to a higher and higher pitch. A strange feeling crept over the men. At last they were going to be tried by fire, and each resolved to himself that he would not be found wanting. About this time Captain Cook received instructions to select five good shots from his company and have them report to Major Burdick. Sergt. A. F. Ramm, Privates G. Claussenius, Frech, Perry, and Bannan were the fortunate ones chosen. These, with an equal number of men from the other companies, were posted by Major Burdick along the line of the freight-cars as skirmishers, and instructed to fire upon any one who showed himself upon the opposite bank of the river. The rest of the company was ordered to the opposite side of the street, and told to stand close into the side of the building, where they remained until the skirmish was completely over.

The firing ceased almost as suddenly as it began. The strikers on the opposite bank of the river had received such a warm reception that they concluded to withdraw from the game; and it was when one or two of these worthies would make their way across the opening, with the intention of making their exit, that the reports of several rifles would be heard.

It would be a task indeed to attempt to analyze the feelings of the members of the company. The excitement was very great. To shoot at and be shot at was certainly a novel experience, but one that was not an unmixed pleasure. To shoot at was all right; but being shot at is a questionable enjoyment. The former, however, so outweighs the latter, that all the members of the company were anxious to be called to the skirmish line, willing to be shot at for the sake of the pleasure of shooting.

The effect of the first shot was more violent upon some than it was upon others. Upon Private Gille the effect was especially marked. He was repairing the hammer of his gun when the first shot went off. The thought that in case of a conflict he would be without a gun with which to defend himself played havoc with his brain cells. It liberated a vast amount of motor energy, and this running down the outgoing nerves caused them to vibrate rapidly. His knees knocked against each other, his fingers trembled violently, his teeth chattered, and his tongue could only frame, “Somebody fix my gun; I’ll be killed! I’ll be killed.” Thrusting the gun into the hands of Lieutenant Filmer standing near by, he excitingly beseeched half the members of the company to fix his gun. Lieutenant Filmer was all this time breaking his thumbnail turning the screw of the gun hammer to the tune of “Fix my gun; I’ll be killed.” Fortunately the gun was repaired, or there is no knowing what might have happened to Private Gille. The way Gille grabbed the now useful gun boded ill to the man who invited its contents.

How the world was going with those on the skirmish line was a matter of speculation. Was it possible that after all the firing no one was killed or even wounded? Anxiously the company waited for news. Private Bannan was seen presently coming from the skirmish line, and on nearer approach it was discovered that his thumb was covered with blood, and that he was bound for the hospital. Ha! a man wounded? How did it happen? Private Bannan did not know; he only knew that he was wounded when he saw the blood. The probabilities are that the wound was received from the hammer of his gun, though most of the company would not surrender the idea that it was caused by a bullet. Even when convinced otherwise they would exclaim, “Well, we say it was done by a bullet.” For the company to possess a man wounded by a bullet was a special honor; it was something that could be pointed out to scoffers with great gratification.

The details of the skirmish were learned from Private Bannan. It seemed that, just after the regulars had landed, Colonel Barry of the Third Regiment, stationed two blocks above L street, was fired upon by a striker from the Yolo side of the river. A part of one of the companies of the Third Regiment was ordered immediately out upon the skirmish line and returned the fire. The line was then reinforced by skirmishers from the first and second battalions of the First Regiment. About sixty shots were fired. From what Private Bannan could gather, four or five strikers at least were killed. Later reports proved that this number was incorrect and that a solitary Jap was the only victim. The reason why more execution was not done is due to the fact that the strikers were hidden behind the levee, and, on account of the distance across the river not being properly gauged, sights were set all the way from 250 to 600 yards.

When we first took up our position, owing to the earliness of the hour, there was a comparatively small number of people abroad. But as the time went on the crowd gathered around the lines became larger, many strikers being gathered there in response to the three blasts of a steam-whistle. While the firing was going on the crowd became excited, and looked as though they might attempt to break through the lines. The sentinels, however, proved themselves equal to the occasion.

Our friend Dr. O’Malley, who was attached to second battalion station on K street, at which point the firing was undoubtedly the warmest, describes the situation as one, while being of liveliest excitement, was rather uncomfortable for a man who follows the peaceful calling of prescribing pills. Especially, he says, was his position one of discomfort when, at the very time the fire was the warmest, some one called out, “Ambulance Corps this way.” Now, Billy is quite a doctor, and thought it would be for the benefit of the regiment for him not to go forward and risk his life together with his skill. He thought, however, that he would leave it for Doctor O’Brien to decide. So he inquired, “Shall I go, Doctor?” He did not have to go, Doctor O’Brien saying “No, Billy, we need you here. Send the field music.”

THE FIRST TRAIN LEAVING SACRAMENTO DEPOT, JULY 11, 1891; FRIGHTFULLY WRECKED 15 MINUTES LATER.

How did the field music feel? At first it was a struggle between love and duty, and duty triumphed. Seizing hold of the litter with nervous determination, they made their way forward by slow degrees, each step taken being taken only after they had overcome the strong, glue-like cohesion between the earth and their feet. At last they arrived upon the skirmish line in safety, and had just emitted a sigh of relief when Tommy Eckert, lying behind a car-wheel, cried out, “Down on your knees”! The four dropped like a shot, and like the ostrich of the desert, which, when hotly pursued, will bury its head in the sand, and thus think itself safe from detection, these unfortunate litter-bearers huddled themselves together on the ground, and crawled under the litter for protection. Breathlessly, half dead with terror, they lay there, expecting every moment to hear the reports of musketry. Gaining a little confidence from the continued quietness, and feeling desirous of finding out how the situation stood, one of their number, A. Rupp by name and a German by birth, remembering the story of how a man deluded a tiger, suggested that they raise a hat on the end of a fife over the edge of the litter, and thus draw the fire of any striker who should happen to be laying in wait to pop them. This suggestion, which was at once followed, resulted in the hat, after being held aloft for some time, remaining intact, untouched by bullets. Then gaining still further confidence from this, one of their number quickly raised his head and glanced over the edge of the litter, but, as if astonished and startled by his own boldness and rashness, he as quickly dropped it behind the litter again. No disastrous consequences following from his hasty and courageous action, he took more courage and raised his head again above the litter, this time, however, glancing around with nervous rapidity. Seeing no signs of danger, he excitedly whispered to his comrades, “quickly fellows, now’s our chance.” At this they grasped the litter again and made their way hurriedly across the opening on their hands and knees to the freight-cars, and there, safe from bullets, behind the protecting wheels of the cars, they sank down exhausted and helpless. Recovering, they were informed that their assistance was needed at the other end of the line. They groaned, and then started courageously down the track on all fours, dragging the litter after them. By dodging from one car-wheel to another they finally reached their destination, only to find that the man who needed their aid was dead, buried, and forgotten.

Hostilities having completely ceased, and not being likely to be renewed after the prompt action exhibited by the National Guard, the skirmishers and sentinels were withdrawn. The battalion was then re-formed and marched back to the Capitol grounds.

The effect of the exciting events of the morning upon the company was electrifying. The discontented brightened up. Those who had hitherto prayed for something to occur, which would compel them to return now could not be driven away. Even the intense longing of Lieutenant Filmer for one fond kiss from his baby girl was smothered for at least one week. The men had tasted of the excitement of battle and were eager for the fray. Their activities had at last found vent. Material had been gathered that morning which would serve as food for thought for many a day. Each man on his return from the skirmish had something to say concerning the novel experience of being for the first time in his life under fire; something to say of the feelings that ran through him as the first shot rang out. Men had to relate again and again some special incident of interest in which they played a large part. Billy O’Malley was compelled to tell how he, being unarmed, courageously or in other words by his immaculate gall, took a pistol away from a burly striker; also how he felt, when the call rang out “Ambulance Corps this way.” Phil Bannan was obliged to tell how he got his finger cut or shot as some of the members would have it. Private Gille was given the opportunity to explain how he took the chill that caused him to nearly drop his rifle to the pavement. Private O’Brien had to entertain a select audience with an account of how he relieved an ugly looking customer of his weapon. Corporal Benny Burdick discoursed to another gathering how he boldly challenged the United States Marshal Barry Baldwin. First Sergt. A. F. Ramm had to tell about the men he did not shoot and the number of shots he fired while on the skirmish line. Others would relate how, when the first shot was fired, they tightened their grip upon their rifles and started involuntarily forward. And still others were discussing the number killed. None, however, were considering the possibility of being called out again that day for active duty. But such was the case.

The regulars, on landing, had proceeded direct to the depot. They found it practically deserted, and entered without opposition. The troops, once in possession of the depot, the railroad officials proceeded almost immediately to open up the blockade. A train was made up and placed under the guard of a detail of regular troops. And at 12:06 P. M. the first train since July 3d pulled out of the depot. Its destination was Oakland.

THE DITCHED TRAIN, 1 HOUR AFTERWARDS, 3 MILES WEST OF SACRAMENTO, CAL., JULY 11, 1894.

The first attempt to break the blockade was destined to result in fatality. About two miles outside of Sacramento, at Davisville, the bolts had been withdrawn from the rails of a small trestlework and the train, trying to cross, was ditched, and four soldiers were killed. The news of the disaster was immediately sent to Colonel Graham, commanding the regular troops at Sacramento, and thence spread rapidly. The cavalry were ordered to hasten to the scene and capture any suspicious looking characters in the vicinity. By this outrageous crime the strikers lost more than they ever could hope to regain. Public opinion and press, which had largely supported them, now, when they saw what such support resulted in, turned against them. The public recognized that a strike that carried with it destruction of property and life must not be tolerated. Even the regular had sympathized with them in their struggle against the thieving monopoly—the railroad. But now, woe to the striker who would rub up against a regular. Every man’s hand seemed to be turned against them.

Colonel Graham was much affected by the news, and resolved to show the strikers no mercy. Hearing that they had secreted arms in various parts of the city, he ordered four companies of the National Guard, under the command of Colonel Nunan of the Sixth Regiment, to search the various headquarters of the strikers. The companies chosen to perform this dangerous duty were Companies A and B of the Sixth Regiment, Company B of the Third, and, as luck will have it, Company B of the First.

It was at 3:30 P. M. when First Sergeant Ramm gave the command, “Fall in.” As Company B marched out of camp, much envied by the rest of the regiment, a scene took place in front of the guard tent the memory of which the “boys” will never forget. Shortly after we had returned in the morning from the river Company H was relieved from guard duty, and details were taken from each company to make up the new guard. Those taken from Company B were Lieutenant Lundquist, who acted as officer of the guard, Sergeant Kelly, who acted as sergeant of the guard, and four privates, Gilkyson, Murphy, Flanagan, and Sieberst. Lieutenant Lundquist and Sergeant Kelly were standing on the right as the company passed by. Privates Sieberst and Gilkyson were on the left, having been just relieved from a tour of guard duty. The beseeching look of Van Sieberst’s face was painful to behold. His wail of “Captain, take me with you,” was hard to refuse. But it had to be done. Private Gilkyson, at the thought of being left behind, became perfectly wild and threatened to whip the first man who addressed him. This happened to be Murphy, who came up after the company had marched off and wanted to know what was the matter. It is needless to say that his escape was of a hairbreadth nature. Sergeant Kelly was another study. He may not have cursed loud, but he did deep. There was gnashing of teeth as all hope vanished with the disappearance of the company. Lieutenant Lundquist, what of him? He too felt the strong desire to be with the boys. But it is hard to kick against the pricks. So he had to content himself with guarding the camp. The leaving of these behind was the only thing the men regretted.

The company halted on the street just outside of camp. Here Captain Cook, according to instructions ordered Sergeant Clifford to report to Colonel Nunan. Upon reporting, Colonel Nunan said, “Sergeant, you are to select from your company four men whom you have the greatest confidence in, men who you can trust to stay with you in any danger. We will proceed into town and halt in front of a certain building; at a given signal from me you are to enter the building with your squad, and search the house from top to bottom. If you meet with resistance use force. Seize every firearm or weapon likely to do bodily harm. The company will remain on the outside, and will respond to any call you may give for assistance.”

Sergeant Clifford selected as his squad Corporal J. N. Wilson, Privates Unger, Hayes, and Crowley.

The four companies, two from the sixth, one from the third, and one from the first, were formed into a battalion, and the command “March,” was given. The companies proceeded to a building in which was situated the headquarters of the A. R. U. Company B of the Sixth was detached from the column and sent to search the building. The other three companies continued the march. The next halt was made in front of the Fremont building. Company A of the Sixth was detailed to search this building. B of the First and B of the third then proceeded to the corner of Front and I streets. Here the companies were wheeled into line and halted.

The building to be searched was a two-story dwelling, the ground floor of which, being one large room, was used for a meeting place by the strikers. It was removed from the corner of the street by a three-story building, the first floor being occupied by a saloon, while, on the left of it, was another two-story building. Owing to the intimate relation between these three buildings it was deemed advisable to search all three. Consequently, on account of the increased magnitude of the search, the original searching squad was increased by the addition of Privates O’Brien and Bannan and placed under the command of Lieutenant Filmer. On receiving the signal agreed upon from Colonel Nunan, Lieutenant Filmer led the way into the building. The outer door was opened, on demand, by the proprietor of the place, who invited the squad to step in, assuring them that they would encounter no resistance. Entering the building, the squad found themselves in a large room where some fifty men were seated round. Sizing up the the place, Lieutenant Filmer gave the command, “Search the house.” The squad immediately spread out, part passing upstairs, while the others searched the ground floor and basement.

The company was now, for the first time in the campaign, really face to face with danger. A man’s castle was being invaded. Would he submit peacefully, or would he resist? This was a question that time alone could answer.

After the searching squad had been some minutes at work Private Unger appeared at the door and asked for assistance. Reenforcements were sent in, and in a few minutes they reappeared, bearing a large number of Italian swords and sheaths, which they piled upon the street.

In the mean time the crowd began to assemble and press up toward the building in which the search was going on. Seeing the necessity of keeping the crowd back, Captain Cook ordered Corporal Burtis and Private M. Claussenius to clear the sidewalk as far as the corner.

Fixing their bayonets, they advanced upon the crowd and commanded, “Get back!” at the same time pressing the crowd back with their rifles. “I live here,” was the response, “Get back!” “Don’t you force me, I won’t get back, I have a right here.” “Get back or I’ll put this through you,” emphasizing the commands by giving the refractory ones several sharp prods in the back with the bayonet, which overcame their resistance and accelerated their motion towards the corner, where they stood and relieved their wounded feelings by taunting and jeering the men. “You people think you’re great, but we’ll fix you yet, coming up here to down us, eh? By God, we hope you scrubs will get it in the neck,” and etc.

Beneath this shower of abuse Claussenius and Burtis stood impervious. Whatever satisfaction the crowd might have derived from jeering, and thus giving vent to their injured feelings, they certainly derived none, if such satisfaction depended upon their irritating the objects of their displeasure, from the men themselves.

Corporal Burtis’ work was much admired by Lieutenant McIver of the regular army and inspector of the National Guard of California. He was heard to remark to one of the officers that “that man is a fine corporal.” Corporal Burtis did not display a single sign of weakness. His work was characterized by firmness and determination, the essential elements of a good soldier.

The crowd, seeing it was impossible to get past the sentinels at the corner, made a wide detour and attempted to gain a position upon a freight platform on the opposite side of the street. A few succeeded in doing so, only, however, to be scared into a hasty flight a moment later. Corporal J. N. Wilson and a private from Company B of the Third were guarding this platform. The man from the Third had a voice that would awaken the dead. When he shouted, “Get off there,” it had almost the opposite effect, it bound them to their seats. But, when the ominous click of Corporal Wilson’s rifle struck their ears, the spell was broken, and a rapid retreat ensued.

A line of sentinels, consisting of Corporals Burtis and McCulloch, Privates M. Claussenius, G. Radke, and W. Crowley, were posted across the street to the right of the building facing east, while Company B of the Third was posted similarly across the street to the left and facing west, both lines holding in check a large crowd.

It might be mentioned here that Company B of the Third did excellent work on this occasion, and showed that they could be relied upon in any emergency. They presented a very formidable appearance—big, brawny fellows. Whatever else might be said, this fact remains, they are fighters, every inch of them.

Captain Cook, in making a tour of investigation, made the discovery that in the rear of the buildings being searched was an alleyway leading out onto a side street. Instantly it flashed through his strategic brain that the sentinels were not posted to the best advantage. What was to prevent the strikers from making their exit with arms and ammunition through this passageway, or what was to hinder them from receiving reinforcements through it? He lost no time in reaching the street and remedying this defect. He ordered the sentinels posted at the corner to force the crowd down I street for about one hundred feet. The sentinels fulfilled the orders in short notice; a few sharp commands, a prod with the bayonet here and there, did the work, and our position was safe. Fortunately the weakness of our position was discovered before the strikers had the opportunity of making use of it; if this were not so, there is no telling how the day might have resulted. What if a crowd of desperate strikers had rushed through this entrance, overpowered the searching squad, taken away their guns, and then fired down upon the company in the street, perhaps massacring the whole body. One shudders to think of what might have happened. But let it be said that as long as we have at the head of our company a man whose brain in the time of battle is so clear, so far reaching, and at the same time so quick, there is no need to be alarmed that such disastrous results will flow from any neglect to guard our position well.

Private Tooker, while acting as a sentinel, by his firmness and unrelentless severity in forcing the crowd back, incurred the dislike of several of the strikers. On a high-boarded fence near by was a lithographic poster of Mephistopheles. Pointing to this lithograph, one of the strikers remarked that Tooker’s face looked very much like the face of the devil on the fence. This was not at all complimentary, I can assure you. Tooker is conceded to be one of the best looking, and at the same time one of the most unassuming, young men in the company; and the beauty of it all is, that he is unconscious of the fact. During the late excursion of the company to Stockton an insane man actually said that he would like to have Tooker’s face, as it was such a handsome one, and this, let me tell you, with all due earnestness, is no sign of the man’s insanity. So you can see that the transformation must have been wonderful for it even to be possible to conceive of making a comparison between Tooker’s face and that of the devil’s.

It was just after the sentinels had forced the crowd down I street that the cavalry, which had been ordered to the scene of the wreck, with instructions to arrest all suspicious characters in the vicinity, came up I street with a number of prisoners they had rounded up. The prisoners were on foot in the center of the troop, while behind them, also on foot, was a line of soldiers urging them along at the point of the bayonet.

Following in the trail of the cavalry was a large crowd, curious to see and find out what was going to be done with the prisoners. In their anxiety to satisfy their curiosity, they were oblivious of every thing else. As the commander of the cavalry rode through the lines he told the sentinels to keep back the crowd, which was consequently very much astonished when their attention was attracted, by a sudden and unexpected challenge, “Halt,” to the points of the bayonets held by the sentinels those in front came to such an abrupt stop that those in the rear almost piled on top of them before they realized what had happened. The crowd then remained stationary at a respectable distance from the points of the bayonets, until the cavalry, retracing their steps, passed through the lines again, when they once more attached themselves to the rear of the troop and moved away.

While the sentinels were dealing with the crowd on the outside the searching party, now augmented by Privates G. Claussenius, R. Radke, Stealy, F. Shula, and Sindler, were having, on the inside of the building, an exciting time carrying out their instructions. Of the original searching squad, Sergeant Clifford made the first discovery. Going directly to the rear of the house, and putting his hand into the corner of a closet, he pulled out a jar containing several pistols, a few knives, and some ammunition. Private Hayes was the next successful explorer. In one of the rooms on the upper floor he ran across a pile of about seventy Italian swords and sheaths. These were carried to the street and deposited upon a truck.

The “crust” broken, the searching squad entered into the spirit of the duty. Every room in the house was thoroughly searched. Doors that were locked and were not opened on demand were burst open, either with a swinging blow of the canteen, or else one of the squad would take a short run and launch the whole weight of his body against it. No nook in the room was left unsearched. Trunks were opened and their contents inspected, beds were turned completely over and the clothes well explored, closets were ransacked and the miscellaneous articles in them minutely examined. No ceremony was used. And while the search was thorough, we are glad to say that the searching party, under the careful eye of Lieutenant Filmer, was particular to replace everything they inspected in the same condition it was before the search began.

On the rear porch Sergeant Clifford discovered ten sacks filled with hard material. When he went to examine them carefully a bystander remarked to him, “It’s only coal.” On examination they were found to contain a species of coal known as boiler punchings. Sergeant Clifford called Colonel Nunan’s attention to the sacks, who immediately ordered them to be taken out.

On the roof of the building were found a number of Winchester rifles and a quantity of ammunition.

Captain Cook, on examining one of these rifles, noticed that a quantity of sand was adhering to the barrel, and that there were signs of the rifle having been recently used. From this he naturally inferred that it was one of the weapons used by the strikers during the morning skirmish, but which had been deposited in the building after the skirmish was over.

Private Bannan, hunting around, stumbled across, in one of the rooms, a basket of lint, which seemed to indicate that the strikers were prepared for the worst.

Several times in the course of the search critical moments were experienced. Some of the lodgers objected to having their rooms searched, and it was only by a determined front, aided materially by the click of the rifle, that they unwillingly submitted.

The first building having been completely searched, the squad passed into the other buildings. Private Hayes discovered a lot of cartridges on a shelf in the rear of the saloon. He was about to confiscate them on the behalf of the state, when an outsider interfered, saying that the property belonged to him, at the same time putting his hands upon the ammunition. The cocking of Sergeant Clifford’s rifle reminded the man that his hands were needed some place else.

Private G. Claussenius taught one striker a lesson not to lay his hands on a National Guardsman with impunity. As Claussenius was passing through one of the rooms in the rear of the saloon, he was astonished to receive a shove and a command to get out of here. Turning, he was confronted by a fierce looking individual who reiterated the command to get out and made another attempt to put his command into execution. The attempt was about as far as he got. Claussenius cocked his piece, and jabbing it up against the fellow’s breast, with his finger on the trigger ready to fire instantly on the least further provocation, he ordered the man to get out of the room. The fellow never hesitated, but in a weakened voice said, “All right, don’t shoot!” and passed out of the room. The action of this individual reminds one of the following lines:

“How many cowards wear yet upon their chins

The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,

Who, inward searched, have livers white as milk.”

In the natural course of events Private Stealey had a somewhat similar experience. Meeting one who he took to be a striker, he ordered the man to throw up his hands, which command was obeyed with great alacrity. The man, on being searched, justified suspicion, as he was found to be armed with an ugly looking revolver. It is needless to say that he was relieved of it.

While the squad was searching the basement of the building, they were startled to hear from above the report of a gun. For awhile their position was a peculiar one; hearing, however, no further reports, they concluded that it was an accidental discharge—which it really was. It seems that while Lieutenant McIver was unloading one of the captured Winchesters, a shell was jammed and exploded, the bullet striking the bottom of the truck, and glancing upward entered one of the sacks of boiler slugs.

The buildings having been thoroughly searched, the searching parties and sentinels were called in and the companies re-formed.

Just as we were about to move, an incident occurred which showed how far a sympathetic strike can be carried. The driver of the truck upon which the confiscated articles were placed, when told to drive on, refused to do so and dismounted from the seat. Here was a man connected in no way with the strikers, except in the larger conception of the universal brotherhood of man, placing himself in jeopardy merely to show his sympathy for the strikers. This did not, however, cause any delay, for the sergeant major of the Sixth Regiment mounted the seat and manipulated the reins.

The two companies then marched to the corner of Second and J streets, at which point Lieutenant Filmer again led his merry squad of searchers out and proceeded to search the Pioneer Bakery. Corporals Burtis, McCulloch and Burdick, Privates M. Claussenius, Keane, Wise, and others, assisted by part of Company B of the Third, guarded the crossing of the streets below the bakery, while Privates O’Brien, Flanagan, Overstreet, with others of the Third Regiment, formed a line of sentinels across the street above the building. The searching squad was made up of very nearly the same men who composed it on the previous search.

In the bakery, the searching party was met by the proprietor, who informed them with great solemnity that there were no weapons of any kind on his premises. In spite of this assurance, the place was searched, and the results did not harmonize with the proprietor’s statement. The inside of the building was found to be a perfect labyrinth. Winding stairways and dark passages in such profusion that it was extremely difficult to make a thorough search. Besides this, the dirt and filth of the place was something frightful. It seemed to be more fit for a pigsty than a dwelling-place of men. Sergeant Clifford, by feeling his way, managed to reach the roof. On looking around he saw that the roof of the adjacent building was about twelve feet higher than that of the bakery. Against the wall of this building a ladder was leaning; so, thinking that the roof might be worthy of investigation, he was about to ascend, when he met a lieutenant of the Third coming down, and who mentioned that there was nothing up there. The sergeant, knowing that it was impossible for the lieutenant to make a careful search in the time he was upon the roof, proceeded up, and was well rewarded for his pains; for there, lying side by side, were five Winchester rifles, with a pile of ammunition stacked alongside of each gun. Sergeant Clifford also noticed that brickbats were piled around the edge of the roof, with the evident intention of throwing them down upon the militia on the streets. In descending to the ground floor, Clifford encountered in one of the small rooms a hard-looking citizen, who he promptly ordered to throw up his hands. On being searched, the man was found armed with an old powder-and-ball revolver, of 38-caliber, which was taken away. This Sergeant Clifford still retains as a memento. In addition, twelve pistols were also found in the different rooms.

While the search was going on inside, Private O’Brien had a thrilling experience on the outside. Just above the bakery is a small alley running perpendicular to Second street, and as far as K. Here a number of strikers were gathered. These, Private O’Brien, assisted by a private from the Third, ordered back into the alley, and told them to keep moving until they reached the street a block above. The strikers moved back. But when they were about seventy-five yards from the corner, and near to the street above, they halted and faced about. Then, drawing revolvers and leveling them at O’Brien and the man from the Third, they yelled for them to get out of the alley.

The bluff didn’t work worth a cent. O’Brien merely seized a chair, and, placing it in the middle of the alley with its back toward the strikers, straddled it, and then, resting his arm upon the back of it, he drew a bead upon the strikers. The situation remained unchanged for a minute or so, when the strain proving too great for the strikers, they turned, fled up the alley and disappeared around the corner, shaking their fists and hurling imprecations at O’Brien as they did so.

The crowd that thronged around the lines of the sentinels at this place was much larger than it had been at the former place of search. The blockaded streets were the principal thoroughfares of the city, and many persons in the crowd were prevented by the blockade from transacting their regular business. Some of these became extremely angry at being stopped. One old, irascible gent, wearing a silk tile, which gave him a sort of a professional appearance, on being told that he could not go through the lines, but that if he had any business to transact he would have to go back and pass around the block, became very indignant at the thought that he, an important personage, should be treated like a common, everyday individual. He had to go around the block, just the same.

The bakery having been thoroughly searched, and the “spoils of war” deposited upon the truck, the sentinels were withdrawn and companies again re-formed. The march was then taken up and continued down L street. Soon, Company B detached itself from the column, and, turning to the left, marched to the Golden Eagle Hotel, where an excellent dinner awaited them.

The search, judged from every point of view, was a complete success. That it was a surprise is evidenced by the fact that no attempt was made to remove the weapons from any of the buildings. The probabilities are that the strikers had no idea that a search would be instituted, and further, that they did not become cognizant of the movement until the searching party stood before their door. One thing, above all others, did the result of the search tend to show, and that is this, that the strikers, if not as a body, still to a considerable number, were prepared and really intended to engage in an actual conflict with the troops.

The scene of a truck loaded with weapons of war being driven through the streets in broad daylight, guarded on all sides by glittering bayonets, is one that will not be forgotten by the Sacramento citizens for some time to come. It brought facts home to the people and showed them that the strike was no peaceful affair, but some thing of a very serious nature. It revealed the true position of the strikers.

The events of the morning were exciting, but these were even more so. For on this occasion the men did not have to share the honors with any one. In the dining-room the noise of the conversation was almost deafening. To an outsider it would appear as if a Bedlam has broken loose. Each man had some thing more important than the other to relate, and consequently each bid against the other for the attention of the table he was at. Either a man was eating, or else he was talking, and between the two, his jaw was kept busy. Some were handicapped on account of not having so many personal experiences as others; but they made up for it, the one experience they had, they

“Told; retold it o’er.”

One interesting subject was the manner in which the members of the company impressed the strikers. Their duty had been performed in such a way, with such snap and at the same time with such firmness, that the strikers were kept guessing as to whether they were regulars or the militia. Surely, the strikers argued, that man, pointing to Crowley, does not belong to the militia, or that one, pointing to Burtis, or that one, etc., pointing to Wilson, Keane, Heeth, Zimmerman, R. Radke in succession, and, above all, that one with the white diamond on his arm, meaning First Sergeant A. F. Ramm. Surely, he cannot belong to the militia! Their conception of the National Guard was altogether different from the appearance of the men. Weak-kneed, narrow-chested, goose-necked, pale-faced striplings were, with them, synonymous to the members of the National Guard. These men did not agree with their conception, so, consequently, they must be regulars. One of the women in the crowd, that Burtis forced back with no gentle hand, excused him to the strikers by saying that he could not help it, as he was a regular.

As soon as the meal was finished the company marched back to the Capitol grounds. As they passed into camp it was loudly cheered by the other companies. Company F especially showed its unselfishness by giving, as a company, three cheers and a tiger for Company B. Upon reaching the company’s street the men were dismissed, and for the rest of the evening until taps were besieged, at different times, by nearly the whole regiment, all anxious to hear about what took place during the raid.

This night pickets were again sent out. Gilkyson, Hayes, and O’Brien were sent from Company B. The strikers were as much excited over the events of the day as were the militia. Just as in the case of any undue excitement, those people who live out of town will proceed into town in order to hear the latest news, so the strikers gathered into town that night in order to discuss the latest phase in the course of the strike. All the hours of the night and the early hours of the the morning they passed and repassed the camp in groups. The pickets kept on the alert for any suspicious move on their part, and had plans formed for repulsing any advance that they might make. The strikers, however, were not looking for trouble, as they had enough for one day.

The following morning the company again omitted to take its accustomed walk for breakfast—it was served on the grounds. From this time on meals were prepared within the camp. The rapidity with which cooks sprang up on every hand passeth all understanding. Some were but an ephemeral growth—they blossomed but to die. Others, however, displayed a real native gift for cooking, which they themselves hitherto had never dreamt they possessed. This exhibition of latent genius reminds one of the lines in Gray’s Elegy:

“Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”

Had the opportunity of developing their genius never presented itself to them the world would have never known the power that lay within their mold of clay, and Company B would have been the loser, but perhaps not the sadder.

About nine o’clock in the morning the regiment was assembled and marched to the depot. At last we were to enter the long-desired building. But under what disgraceful conditions! Only after the regulars had driven out the strikers. How humiliating it was for the men of the National Guard to walk into the depot under the protection, as it were, of three hundred and fifty regulars. It should have been the opposite. Ay, and it would have been so had the rank and file had their way. But the Fates decided it otherwise, and the militia had to be content with what “pie” the regulars did not use.

Arms were stacked in the depot and the men given liberty to move about the building. Observation showed that the regulars had the place well guarded. Two Gatling guns were placed at one of the outlets, pointing threateningly towards the crowd gathered around. The building was also surrounded by a line of sentinels. One of these, a marine, attracted especial attention by his activity and particularly on account of an encounter he had with a burly striker who was evidently not very much impressed with his appearance; for, when told to stand back, he doggedly refused and made an attempt to draw a weapon. No movement ever resulted more disastrously to the mover. The marine quickly threw up his piece, and, catching it by the barrel, struck the fellow a terrific blow with the stock between the neck and shoulder, placing him “hors de combat.” Had the blow struck him fairly upon the neck it would have killed him. As it was, it broke the stock of the gun. The striker was made a prisoner, and a sorry time he had of it too. The case being reported, the officer of the day coolly remarked that the next time, in case of trouble, to use powder and ball, as it was cheaper than breaking guns.

To be a prisoner in the ordinary sense of the term and to be a prisoner under the surveillance of the regular army, especially during the Sacramento campaign, are two entirely different things. One who has ever undergone the experience of being a prisoner for twenty-four hours under the charge of the regulars would most emphatically object to its repetition. The prisoners whom the regulars had rounded up the day previous to the militia reporting at the depot presented this day a pitiful appearance. They had been handcuffed together and incarcerated in one of the small rooms of the depot. Here they stood for twenty-four hours without being permitted to sit or lie down. The sentinels placed over them received orders to shoot them if they persisted in doing so. These were harsh orders, but the occasion demanded them. The poor wretches were certainly in a dilemma. To sit down was death; to stand up was almost as bad. This way of dealing with the prisoners had undoubtedly a salutory effect. The striker, by the time he was released, learned sufficient to make him extremely cautious in the future about drawing a revolver, especially upon a marine.

In the depot there was a small dining-room where coffee and buns could be had for fifteen cents. This dining-room had a fascination for certain of the “boys”; partly because it had a familiar look, and partly because the meal that morning was unusually scanty. At any rate, the place was soon doing a thriving business. Those members of the guard who did not possess the necessary fifteen per, gazed wistfully at their more fortunate brethren performing the magical operation of turning eatables into men. Now, here was a problem for solution; how were they, without money and without friends, going to participate in the performance. Dr. O’Malley was the first to solve the problem. Nor did he find any difficulty in doing so. Seeing no reason why a man in the service of the state should be denied anything that would contribute to the comfort of his stomach, he walked boldly into the place and sat himself down at the counter. He gave the necessary order, and in such a way that one would think he was loaded down with wealth. No doubt the proprietor of the place thought of him in this light. But if he did, how sadly he must have been disappointed; for when O’Malley had sufficiently satisfied his wants, he called the proprietor to him, and in a matter of fact way told him that he was sorry but he had no money to pay for what he had eaten. The man was astounded; but what could he do? His property was gone and could never be recalled. Grin and bear it was all that was left for him.

O’Malley never waited to see the effect of his words, but slowly walked away, as though what he had done was perfectly proper. Not satisfied with this, he made others acquainted with his solution. Running across two of the members of the company, who were loudly bemoaning their sad fate of being without money in a strange land, and thus barred, as they thought, from disposing of a large cup of extra fine coffee, he offered to aid them in securing what they wished. Telling them to follow him, he made his way to the counter again. The proprietor had hardly recovered from the previous shock, when O’Malley, addressing him again, saying, “Now, here is an opportunity for you to do an act of charity. These two men left their homes in such a hurry that they neglected to take with them any money. Give them something to eat, and you will be rewarded for it at some future day.” The man collapsed. It was impossible to refuse such a request, when backed by such a powerful battery of gall. The men received what they wished for. And O’Malley was twice blessed. First, he was blessed by the proprietor of the place. This blessing, however, was of a negative nature. Secondly, he was blessed—and this was a positive blessing—by his two comrades. The way being once known, many worked out the problem. It is safe to say that about half of the business that that coffee establishment did that day was charged to profit and loss.

At about three o’clock in the afternoon the regiment was formed and marched to Ninth and D streets. Here it was decided that the First Regiment should pitch its tents. A lot of work was planned out by Col. Graham for the militia, and in order that this work be done well, it was necessary to break camp at the Capitol grounds, and pitch camp near the field of action. From this time on the men could not complain of not having something to do.

While we were at the depot orders had been given to each company to detail six men, one from each tent, to assist in breaking camp at the Capitol grounds. These details were placed under the command of Captain Marshall, of Company A, and Lieutenant Filmer of Company B, and marched back to the camp. The reason why one man was selected from each tent was that the man selected would see that the property of his tent crowd was packed together and rolled inside of the tent, so that when it came to pitching camp at Ninth and D streets each tent crowd would have no trouble in finding their property. Quartermaster Sergeant Clifford, Privates Hayes, Overstreet, Baumgartner, Gilkyson and Warren were detailed from Company B.

Arriving at the camp about noon the detail of Company B decided to lunch before starting to work. Baumgartner, who is quite partial to the frothed liquid, and who, at the same time, knew his comrades’ fondness for the beverage, suggested that a magic wand in the shape of a tin pail and about fifty cents be employed to make the liquid materialize. Lieutenant Filmer generously contributed the fifty, while the rest of the detail contributed the pail. Baumgartner was then passed through the lines, magic wand in hand, in search of a rock to smite.

While waiting, Quartermaster Sergeant Clifford went about preparing lunch. It was the same old menu that had been served for seven days—corned beef, cheese, and bread. The men were used to it now, and looked for it as they would for the coming of the night. Being a little short of butter, the Quartermaster hastened to the officers’ mess tent to see if a slice happened to remain from the morning meal. There was, “Praise Jehovah,” more than a slice of butter. Boxes, containing canned oysters, corn, tongue, lobster, prepared beans, and deviled ham, carelessly left open, met his gaze. His thoughts, as his eyes lingered fondly upon these delicacies, seemed to say, “You’ll be mine, by and by.” Hastily opening his shirt, he placed, in a lovable way, can after can next to his breast. (Anyone who has ever seen Clifford on an expedition of this kind knows the expansive qualities of his shirt.) Then, laden with spoils, or rather luxuries, he darted like a flash down the company’s street into his tent, where that noble box, could it but speak, would tell of many such takings, was waiting to receive the treasure. Private Hayes, noticing the hasty move, followed the Quartermaster, and desired to know where such things could be had. Learning their whereabouts, he lost no time in also relieving the mess tent of a fair shirtfull, and then returning to have them stowed away in the Quartermaster’s box. Sergeant Clifford, not wishing to do any thing by halves, innocently inquired, “Billy, did you leave any thing?” Hayes, in surprise, answered, “Why, yes, I think there is a couple of cans left.” “Well, now, that’s too bad,” says Clifford, and away he hastened, thinking of the remorse he would have to endure should he fail to secure those remaining cans. Quickly securing these, he made another grand bolt for the noble box. Scarcely had he reached his tent, when Commissary Sergeant Fitzgerald entered the officers’ mess tent; he wasn’t in that tent a second when he staggered backward out again, his eyes bulging out of his head. Throwing his arms convulsively in the air, he exclaimed in heartrending tones, “Oh, God! what is this?” The shock he received was a terrible one. Recovering himself, the agonizing look on his face gave place to one of fierceness. A bloodthirsty look came into his eyes. Suddenly realizing Clifford’s taking propensities, he made a bee line for the company’s street. Woe to the man upon whom Fitz laid his heavy hand. Hayes, however, was on the lookout. Seeing Fitz charging for the street, he immediately warned the quartermaster sergeant that Fitz was on the warpath. Quick as a flash the box was closed and locked. It was none too soon, for immediately after Fitz appeared upon the scene perfectly wild. “Clifford,” he yelled, “did you take any thing out of that tent?” “What tent?” asked Clifford. The apparent innocence displayed by the quartermaster seemed to lift any doubt that Fitz entertained concerning his connection with the affair. So he quickly started off on another trail. Clifford came very near to owing the company a dollar, for it nearly terminated in being a complete shave for him instead of a close one.

Baumgartner having returned from his mission, all hands made ready for lunch. A couple of cans of oysters and tongue were opened in honor of the raid on the commissary stores. It is needless to say that the meal was relished. Right after lunch the men started to take down the tents. Owing to limited number of trucks the work of removal was very slow.

In the course of the afternoon the brigade commissary sent over for a few men to carry the commissary stores to the sidewalk, and thence be loaded upon the trucks. Quartermaster Clifford and Private Overstreet volunteered their assistance, not, however, from entirely selfish motives. In the natural run of events they succeeded in relieving the brigade larder of a number of useful things, such as canned beans, sugar, potted ham, and soap.

At about five o’clock the work of demolishing was completed. The details were united and marched to Ninth and D streets, where the opposite process, of erecting tents, was going on.