This beer was ordered to be given to the men at the beginning of the campaign by Major Galwey, medical attendant and commander of the hospital corps of the regiment. He held that more sickness was caused on July 4th by drinking Sacramento water than by heat, and consequently, when camp was established, ordered the men to drink nothing but black coffee, and the beer issued to them at noon each day. To set the fears of our temperance friends at rest, we will explain that this was issued in a small five-gallon keg—enough, when carefully measured, to furnish each man with an ordinary glassful per day. Later a keg of barley water was kept standing in each camp, and, though not very palatable, was well patronized during the heat of the day.
Not having sent for the beer our center squad resolved to stop their rivals as they passed on toward the north guard at all costs. Shortly before the noon meal was over the sentry on guard called “Here comes the beer!” Grasping a can in one hand and a log of wood in the other, Monahan rushed up the track, threw the wood across the rails, and awaited developments. Rushing along without any apparent slackening of speed the car struck the log, rose in the air and came down again on the tracks with the wood jammed between the front and rear wheels, the car immovable until lifted from the track and the log removed. Having halted them Monahan had no trouble drawing the beer, paying no attention to the abuse heaped upon him. Having drawn more than the proper allowance, we are afraid, he helped them remove the log and sent them on their way warning them to treat the center squad with more courtesy in future.
So the day passed. Swimming, disputing, guarding, and sleeping in turns, we made the most of this our first company “picnic.” No such opportunity for the perfect enjoyment of camp life had before presented itself, nor did we expect such another. Our reluctance to leave them may be imagined when about dusk the usual combination flat-car and day coach train arrived, bearing our relieving company and ready to carry us back to our camp in town. Slowly and sadly we climbed on board, the engine whistled, and, casting longing eyes toward the quickly disappearing bridge, we were rushed on toward town.
Some time before the company left the bridge our cooks went to camp on a handcar with the praiseworthy object in view of having the company meal ready on its arrival. Despite the fact that a member of the company had been detailed, at his own request, to take charge of the company street while we were away, no preparation for the company’s arrival had been made. The street was unclean, the table and benches were thrown together in a heap, and not even a stick of wood chopped. What our worthy private could have been doing with himself for the last twenty-four hours was a mystery to our thoroughly disgusted cooks. We must be careful to mention, though, that one thing had been done. The rations had been drawn, and were now tossed in a heap in the quartermaster’s tent.
Despite the unsatisfactory appearance of things, however, our cooks managed to have a hot supper ready by the time their hungry comrades appeared at camp.
Monday, the 16th, was for us of B Company essentially a day of rest. No guard details were called for, some of our men having already served forty-eight consecutive hours.
An event of this day, however, served to open our eyes to the awful depths to which we had fallen; how, as members of society, we had deteriorated during our short campaign. At dinner on this day Doc Sieberst, who was acting as waiter, carrying round a pot of stew in one hand and a ladle in the other, noticed Frank Sindler narrowly scanning a very doubtful looking plate, before calling for his rations. Stepping over and looking at the plate, Doc carelessly remarked: “It’s only dirt.”
“Oh, is that all,” answered Sindler. “Give me some stew,” he resumed, as he held out the plate, and busily assaulted the meat and potatoes which Doc ladled out for him.
The evening of this day saw our turn for guard duty come round again. A guard of thirty privates, three corporals, and a sergeant under Lieutenant Filmer relieved that on duty at the upper yards. The ground to be covered by this guard extended from the crossing of Seventh, D, and the tracks, along the tracks to Sixth and E streets, and thence along the spur tracks on Sixth street, running in front of the Southern Pacific foundry, to H street, at the point where the latter street runs into the China slough or Sutter lake, in all a distance of about one-third of a mile. Ten sentries were posted at equal distances along this line, their orders being to allow no person without a written permit to cross the tracks towards the Southern Pacific buildings, but not to interfere with any person passing along the open highway on the opposite side of the tracks. The sentries whose beat brought them near the corner of any street also received orders to disburse any crowd gathering on the cross streets.
The night, both in camp and on guard, passed quietly. The men had by this time become veterans to a certain extent, and each night now saw them quietly retire to their tents, even before tattoo, all thought of skylarking and “horse play” apparently left behind at the old camp on the Capitol grounds.