However, the breakfast, which had been a fine one, consisting of coffee, green corn, potatoes (secured at a Chinese ranch some distance up the American), and corned beef hash, in which form alone would the boys now consent to eat that awful canned corned beef, had vanished; and the first detail had still to be fed. Realizing this, George Heizman, who is a real chef, set to work making more coffee and hash, and explained the locality of the ranch from which the corn had been secured. Resolved not to feed less highly than the gourmands of the guard, Kinky McKaig, Billy O’Brien, and a private of A started up the river toward the ranch, which they found after a tramp of about two miles and a half. Here, by means of promises to have the trains running inside of a few days, they secured a sack of corn, half a sack of potatoes, and enough garlic, which they thought were onions, to have sent an Italian army into paroxysms of glee. Returned to camp, they found that Doc Tom McCulloch, had, by using moral suasion, secured a five-gallon can of milk from a rancher on the other side of the river. After such a scramble we may well imagine the meal was enjoyed; and so it might, as it was the best consolation to be obtained, sarcasm making not the slightest impression on their well-fed comrades. The rest of the morning passed quietly, some of the men taking a plunge in the river, and the others stretched lazily about the remains of the previous night’s fire “swapping lies.” A visit was paid the guard by Corporal Jack Wilson, that worker—of other men—who came down the line on a hand-car, which, however, he kindly allowed others to pump. Not much information was derived from him as to the condition of affairs in town, the amount of pumping he had done on the way down, and who would have to do the work going back, being his sole topic of conversation.
Shortly before noon the guard was startled by a few shots heard in the direction of town, then a volley, and soon round after round was fired as from a gatling gun. The excitement soon became intense, and as the firing continued, the excited men climbed up the bridge at a point from which the white clouds of powder smoke could be seen rising, apparently, just to the left of the Capitol dome which could be plainly seen high above the trees which hid the rest of the town from view. Many were the explanations offered, tho’ none seemed to doubt it was a battle, and seemingly a very serious one. Some thought the strikers had attacked the depot; others that they had attacked the Third Regiment camp; but far the most popular explanation was that the attack was on the camp of the First at Ninth and D streets. Some stormed furiously at the luck which kept them all this distance from the place where the “fun was going on,” while others were perfectly contented thus far out of bullet range, and seemed to think this bridge guard a greater snap than ever. Soon a hand-car bearing Major Burdick came rushing down the line pumped furiously by an excited squad of soldiers. Seeing the car coming, the men rushed down, rolled their blankets, slung their haversacks and canteens, and were starting to climb up onto the bridge, the whole excited guard of about twenty or more expecting to be carried off on a hand-car large enough to hold six.
The major, however, blasted their hopes by telling them that he knew as little about the firing as themselves. He thought, he said, that the regulars were breaking up a camp of strikers farther down toward the Sacramento, and explaining that the strikers would retreat in this direction, ordered out a squad of skirmishers under a corporal to check their advance toward the bridge. Now, as usual, the volunteers were importunate, but the detail was taken by roster and the majority of the volunteers left disconsolate. They were comforted, however, when, shortly after the departure of our anxious major up the line, and of the squad through the bushes down the river, the firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun. It gradually dawned on those left behind that this could not have been a battle, could, in fact, be none other than practice by the batteries still on the Capitol grounds; and then the realization of the work before that now unlucky squad made them smile in quiet contentment. Two hours later, worn, weary, and bedraggled, the luckless men straggled into camp, paying no attention to the sarcastic grins of their heartless comrades, but stretching themselves on the ground where they were dismissed, were soon sound asleep. Never a word of thrilling adventure did they offer. The subject was tabooed.
So the day passed. The bridge guards now numbered only four and were posted every hour. Posted by telling the next man for duty to go out and relieve the man who had been on an hour.
Later in the day Tom McCulloch and Billy O’Brien, who had gone to the south side of the bridge to get more milk, provided they had the persuasive powers, met Sergeant Kelly of the Irish gang, Billy Unger the “regular from Arizona,” and Lengthy Monahan, who had come down on a hand-car on a foraging expedition, having heard of the green corn. They had bravely ventured down the line armed only with revolvers, scorning the escort of Springfields. Every resident or harmless tramp met on the way was instantly covered by two open mouthed bull-dog revolvers, while the other of the trio of heroes calmly pumped the car out of range. Hearing about the milk McCulloch and O’Brien had come for, Kelly accompanied them to the dairy, where another five-gallon can of milk was secured for the company. Crossing to the other side, O’Brien volunteered to lead them to the Chinese ranch from which the corn had been secured. The distance surprised them greatly, as they had been told the ranch was just outside our lines. This time the Chinaman was very reluctant, but finally picked two sacks of corn, when, in addition to the arguments used by our foragers, he was shown the mechanism of O’Brien’s Springfield and the size of a cartridge. In addition to the corn a quantity of potatoes was secured, and, slinging the sacks over their shoulders, the tramp back began. Their surprise at the distance now soon gave place to disgust, and resolutions to quit work for the rest of the campaign were quickly made and broken by these hardy warriors.
As the day advanced Tommy Eggert, of negro minstrel fame, struck up an acquaintance with the bridge-tender’s family, and learning they had a banjo, quickly possessed himself of it, promising, with the aid of the guard, to furnish an entertainment unrivaled in history. This he did, to the satisfaction of the guard and his new-made friends, at least. No one acquainted with the versatile Tommy, who has, since the “war,” made a record as the nominator of unsuccessful candidates at the late municipal convention, can doubt for a moment the success of his impromptu entertainment. All the musically inclined of the guard stretched themselves on the ground in the deepening shadows and chorused to Tommy’s negro ditties.
Shortly before sunset the train bearing the guard for the next twenty-four hours arrived, and the men reluctantly boarded the train which was to carry them back to Sacramento, away from the only pleasant duty they had yet been called upon to perform, already looking anxiously forward to the time when they would again be detailed to guard the American river bridge.
The next day, Saturday, the 16th, little of any importance occurred. B street was comparatively deserted, at least half of the company being on guard. Those not on duty were to be found either reclining in the shades of the trees on the grounds of the “Haunted House,” or assisting at the few things still necessary to be done about the company street. Monahan, aided by a corps of amateurs, was manufacturing benches. Rupp and his assistant cooks were busy improving the store and preparing for the noon meal. McKaig and O’Brien were taking turns at the washtub, while O’Malley and half a dozen others were stretching a large hospital tent fly, which this same O’Malley, the pill-roller, had purloined from the regimental baggage, over the street from tent to tent, making a most welcome shade. This fly was the envy of all the companies, as the sultry heat of the sun had not abated in the least since our move from the soft grass of the capitol grounds to the hot, dusty street at the railroad yards.
Bearing in mind the grand success achieved by the patent shower bath at our last camp, and longing for the delights of cold water on a warm day, the boys of the regiment soon improvised in a deserted stable in the rear of headquarters another bath quite as successful, tho’ not as fancy as the last. This, in fact, needed two to operate—one man “playing the hose,” while the other, between gasps, scrubbed himself.
During the morning old “Lou the Vet” had his picture taken. Come, now, don’t laugh! Of course, we know Lou never yet missed an opportunity to pose, but in connection with this picture an incident occurred which showed the effect of Lou’s forty years of discipline. He had arranged this morning with Lieutenant Hosmer to have himself “kodaked,” and was proceeding toward the battalion adjutant’s tent, carrying his rifle with him (“parade rest” is Lou’s only pose), when he met the colonel and promptly saluted.