The question of bathing now became very important. The extreme heat and the general conditions were such that, for the preservation of health, some arrangement for bathing was necessary. It was not long, however, before the brainy young men from Frisco solved the problem. Wire screens, which had been used to protect shrubbery, were placed in position and fastened together, so as to form a square apartment. They were then covered with sheeting to the height of about six feet. One end of a government hose was attached to the water-pipe; the other was carried over the top of the enclosure. The green sod was used for a floor, and the sky for a ceiling. A more enjoyable shower bath could not be desired. Two strings led from this bath to the pipe about twenty-five feet away. To turn the water on, you pulled one string, to turn it off, you pulled the other. This bath was always well patronized. Necessity is indeed the mother of invention.
The small annoyances of this life are sometimes the most aggravating. The little whiskers on Dick Radke’s chin had worried us for some time. On this day we caught him stroking them. There is a limit to all patience. We rose in our might and removed them, after an ineffectual struggle on his part. Private Frech’s well-dyed, tiny mustache came near meeting the same fate, but he would make no resistance and only begged for the privilege of removing it himself, so we spared the mustache.
A number of guns were accidentally discharged while we were in camp on the Capitol grounds. None of the accidents, however, were attended with such frightful results as that of the Fourth of July, though there were several narrow escapes. Corporal Burtis gave the order to load while standing in front of his squad (he should have been in the rear). One of the pieces accidentally discharged, the ball entering the ground about twelve inches in front of him. He will never stand in front of a squad again and give the order to load. Private Hayes, also had a close “shave” one night when on picket duty, the rifle of the man next to him being discharged very close to his head. This is one of the great dangers to be guarded against. A man cannot be too careful when he has a loaded gun in his hands. The gun should be always carried with the muzzle up, but, when loading, the muzzle should be pointed to the ground. Do not stand in front of a man when he is loading his gun; watch yourself and those around you. Every man should be well grounded in these principles by his instructor.
About this time the sick and dying telegrams came pouring in from anxious parents. The mail was too slow for messages like these:
“Dear Charlie:
Mother dying, come home at once.
Father.”
or
“Dear Willie:
Father very sick, not expected to live, come home at once.
Sister.”
“Come home at once” was the largest part of telegrams whose brevity made the hair curl. The wires were kept hot with these missives. It looked very much as if there was going to be a boom in the undertaking business in San Francisco, and that many of the National Guard would soon be orphans. The letters received by the boys from their mothers were generally very tearful, each fond mother praying for the speedy and safe return of her darling boy. There were a few exceptions, however, one of our boys receiving a letter that was worthy the Spartan mother. She called upon him to do his duty manfully and courageously; she hoped that his conduct in time of danger would reflect credit upon himself and company. We are happy to say of him that he is a worthy son of such a mother, for he performed his duties, at all times fearlessly and well.
Clifford, Al Ramm and Jack Wilson were standing in front of No. 1 tent, having a little argument as to which of the favorite resorts along the San Francisco route made the best cocktails, when they heard strange sounds coming as if it were from the ground beneath their feet. They got down on their hands and knees, and, with ears pressed to the earth, listened. They had about come to the conclusion that the noise came from the water-pipe, which ran along the front of the tents about four inches underground, when Perry, keeper of the key, and Willie Overstreet, who had been sitting beneath the tree at the head of the street discussing the dynamite rumors, approached attracted by the strange actions of their comrades. An idea, Clifford, he has them on tap. In a stage whisper, of which Henry Irving would be proud, he said, “keep quiet boys, I hear them talking.” This gave Al and Jack the cue, and with grave faces they held their ears to the ground. “What’s the matter”? asked Overstreet, while Perry looked on with staring eyes and open mouth. “They are undermining the camp,” said Ramm in a sepulchral tone. “We’ll all be blown up by dynamite,” wailed Jack Wilson. “Hush,” said Clifford, with upraised hand, “I just heard one of them ask the other for a match to light his pipe.” In a trice Perry and Overstreet had their ears glued to the ground. What Perry heard confirmed his worst fears. He was in the act of dashing off to the General’s tent to give the alarm, when they caught and held him. They reasoned with him. “Any premature action,” they said, “might be the death of them all. They must be very circumspect, as the strikers might be watching their every movement, and, should their suspicions be aroused, the earth might open up at any moment and the whole camp be blown skyward.” It was finally decided that a committee be appointed to wait upon the General after dark and break the dreadful news to him, as gently as possible, for he was hardly over the effects of his late illness, poor man, and nervous prostration might be the result. All that afternoon the new danger which menaced the camp, was the subject of discussion. The relative powers of giant powder and dynamite were debated; Clifford declaring that enough dynamite could be put into the mine to blow the camp, and even the Capitol itself, off the face of the earth. The nervous strain Perry and Overstreet were under all the afternoon was comical to see, particularly Perry, who tugged excitedly at a mustache that wouldn’t make a decent pair of eyebrows. Night came on. It was growing late. Quiet had settled o’er the camp. All lights were out, save the candle that burned dimly in Jack Wilson’s tent. Wilson had retired to his blankets, but Perry and Overstreet still sat up, talking over the events of the day. For them there was no sleep. The silence of the camp was now oppressive and deathlike, when suddenly Billy O’Brien burst into the tent, breathless and wild eyed, saying, that the Colonel had ordered him to get twelve men to dig into the mine, and, as they were awake they should at once report to Lieutenant Lundquist, in the Captain’s tent, and be supplied with pick and shovel. Counseling them to make no noise for their lives and to hurry, he dashed off again. Poor Overstreet, gave a deep groan and nearly fainted, while Jack Wilson said, he did not like the job a bit, springing dynamite mines was not in his line; he wished that he was at home, but, as he was ordered, he supposed he’d have to go. Perry said nothing, but was doing some powerful thinking. Jack left them and proceeded to the Captain’s tent, where a crowd of choice spirits were collected, awaiting the coming of Charley. And he came buttoned and belted, with a bayonet at his side, ready to do or die. He saluted the Lieutenant, with nervous rapidity, no less than seventeen times. The Lieutenant, who had his head hidden behind a newspaper, was doing his best to control his feelings; but when Charley asked for a shovel he could stand it no longer, and burst into a roar of hearty laughter, which was joined in by the rest of the merry crowd. Charley, seeing it was a joke, beat a hasty retreat to his tent, and was soon locked in the arms of Morpheus.
As, during the campaign, we had to do our own washing we utilized our buckets at first, but soon found them too small for the ever-increasing wash. At the suggestion of Jack Gilkyson, a collection was taken up and a fine washtub and board were soon in operation. The washing, which was spread upon the tents and hung upon the guy ropes to dry, gave the street the appearance of a Chinese wash-house in full blast. On one occasion Sam Wise had just washed his socks; a little to the rear of his tent where the operation was performed Lang, Hayes, and a few others were stretched upon the grass. One and all thanked Sam for what he had done. Lang, to vary the monotony, threw a very soft peach at Hayes, which struck him in the ear and spread in all directions. Hayes seized Lang, and, in the struggle which followed, they neared the bucket which contained the soapy water in which Sam had just washed his socks. At this opportune moment, Hayes had Lang in a very advantageous position; reaching out he upset the contents of the bucket over Lang’s head, and then did some very pretty sprinting, with Lang in hot pursuit. In their path stood another bucket of water, which Lang picked up and threw with a wild swish at the fleeing Hayes; but the bucket turned in his hands and he received the contents in the neck. Dripping with water he picked up a scantling, the size of himself, and continued the pursuit; but the fleet Hayes had by this time reached a place of safety.