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.