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.”
