The train containing the last detail continued in an easterly direction, following the course of the Truckee, the scenery becoming wilder and grander as we progressed. The mountains seemed to be closing in around us; the waters of the stream, in keeping with its surroundings, raced with maddening speed through narrowing channels, foaming, whirling, tumbling over miniature falls, until, gliding into broader space, it swept along with stately silent dignity, to be again transformed into a roaring torrent between confining walls of rock. Now and then the sides of the gamey trout flashed in the sunlight, as if the exultant spirit of life and strength within it, disdaining the confines of its watery home, longed to soar in the bright sunshine. At last the train stopped at what seemed to be the most delightful spot of all, the last railway bridge in the state of California, and within three miles of its boundary lines. This is a solidly constructed steel bridge, and spans the Truckee. To the left of the railroad, a short distance from the bridge, was a small cabin; it was beautifully situated, overhanging the stream, with a flight of steps leading down to its waters. The most fastidious disciple of Isaac Walton could not desire a more perfect spot for a camp. Corporal Burtis, privates Hayes, Heizman, and Keane, with their rations, were put off here. A more delighted quartet could not be found; the surroundings suited their sensitive, æsthetic natures. They did not care if they were stationed there for a month. Major Burdick, with Colonel Gunther, United States Army, standing by his side, gave his instructions, to the effect that stranded theatrical companies, “hobos,” etc., crossing the bridge should be watched closely until they were out of sight. He cautioned the men to be very careful about using their weapons, delivering himself of a sentiment that should go down in history as a shining illustration of the gallant major’s humanity, a sentiment that no doubt will be found written in letters of gold upon the great judgment book, “that he would rather have them not shoot at all, than kill an innocent person.” Think of it, ye beetle-browed sons of Mars, in whose breast the desire for martial strife is rampant, and whose fiercest delight is found in the shedding of human ber-lud! Think of the example set you by our dashing major; profit thereby, and let not your thirst for gore steel your hearts to the cry of the innocent. “And, corporal,” he continued, “I do not think it advisable to let your men go in swimming.” As the men gazed down into the raging waters, they wondered if the major thought them lunatics. No sane man surely would risk his life by attempting to bathe in that swiftly flowing current. From the burden and tenor of his closing remarks, it was quite plain that the major felt sorry at leaving the men in this lonely spot, and would no doubt have continued for some time longer with cautions and fear-allaying words, had he not been interrupted by Corporal Burtis, who respectfully saluted and told him “he need not be in any hurry to relieve them.” This was too much for Colonel Gunther, who placed his plump little hand over his face and chuckled audibly. “Oh! you’re in no hurry to get back then, eh?” replied the major; then bidding them good-bye, he clambered back into the car, the engine whistled, the train rolled away and left them alone in their glory. The opening of the cabin door revealed a very clean interior, and the men were therefore nothing loth to drop their blankets and equipments on the floor. One man was immediately detailed for guard duty, and the rest placed their arms where they could instantly put their hands on them and went out doors to inspect their surroundings. While wandering up a small canyon to the right, one of them called the attention of the others to a grave that he discovered; it was rudely fenced in and had a gate that was padlocked. The loneliness of this last resting place touched them deeply. Upon the humble mound were branches of withered flowers in various stages of decay, showing that some one, to whom the departed one was dear, had at different times made a pilgrimage to offer sweet flowers on memory’s altar. After vain conjecture as to the identity of the occupant of this isolated grave, they returned to camp.
The afternoon was now drawing to a close, and they began to make preparations for the evening meal. A fireplace was built, and George Heizman elected cook. Corporal Burtis took a can and went down the road to get some milk. A hatchet was part of their allowance, and with it Hayes chopped the wood; Keane was on guard. The flight of steps before mentioned placed a large supply of water conveniently at their disposal. By some men this convenience would not meet with the appreciation it deserves; water might be useful to float ships or bathe in once in a while, but for drinking purposes it failed to meet the requirements. Rather would they be camped in the shade cast by some brewery of vast proportions, and be lulled to rest with the hum of its machinery, than rest beneath the overhanging cliffs of giant mountains, and have their slumbers disturbed, their dreams of revelry by night broken in upon, by the varied sounds of water—water—water.
In due course of time Burtis returned with butter and milk. He and Hayes then went to their haversacks and each drew forth a can of oysters. Now some foolish people will wonder how they came to have these oysters. In accounting for their possession we will have to take our readers back to the day when camp was broken at the Capitol grounds. As related, Hayes took part in the raid made on the commissary’s stores on that occasion. The spoils of this raid were placed in the safe-keeping of Quartermaster Clifford. Hayes heard nothing further of them. Not a cracker, not even a spoonful of deviled ham, something he dotes on, no, not even an empty oyster can did he get as a reward for his dash and daring. This ingratitude on the part of Clifford caused Hayes much inward grief and loss of sleep, and when, a few evenings later, through the flaps of Number One tent, he caught a glimpse of Clifford and a small coterie of his friends banqueting on the proceeds of his iniquity, a moan of anguish escaped his lips, and in that night of sleepless sorrow he resolved to be revenged. Into the ear of Corporal Burtis he poured his tale of woe, and enlisted his sympathies. Next day with unwearying eyes they watched the movements of the wary Clifford. Towards evening, in an unguarded moment, he left his chest wide open in his tent, in answer to a call from the kitchen at the end of the street. Like eagles Hayes and Burtis swooped down upon this chest, and, with the aid of Doc. Sieberst, got away with a goodly store of dainties. The wailing of “the widows of Ashur” was nothing compared to the howl that went up from Clifford on discovering his loss. His suspicions fixed on poor Al Ramm, who vainly pleaded his innocence. When ordered to Truckee, four cans of oysters were left; they were divided between Burtis, Frech, Shula, and Hayes for transportation. Two of them helped to garnish the meal about to be described. Shula, tired of carrying his around, returned it to Hayes while at Truckee, but Frech retained his, and while he was away on train guard, Hayes took it from his haversack; these two remaining cans of oysters were carried all the way back to San Francisco.
The repast now prepared by Geo. Heizman at this secluded spot was the best cooked and the most enjoyable had by the boys since they left the city. George certainly missed his vocation; the stew he made with those two cans of oysters, milk, butter, and the rest, would have tickled the palate of the most blasé gourmand. Then they had some nice chops that in some mysterious manner got mixed in with their rations, a little fried bacon, bread and butter, and coffee. They feasted until they were black in the face. About dusk they received a visit from the section boss, who was accompanied by several of his men. In the course of conversation he was questioned as to the occupant of the grave on the side of the mountain. He informed them that it was a woman who had died a couple of winters back, and who, with her husband, had lived in the humble cabin in which they were bivouacked.
At the departure of the section hands the first watch of the night was posted. Beneath the careless and reckless demeanor of this little band was a stern realization of the responsibilities of their position, and they were prepared to protect and defend the property under their charge to the bitter end. With this idea in view, beside the sentinel on duty, the corporal remained awake and on the alert the greater part of the night, and those who slept had their loaded weapons lying by their sides. The queen of night now rose with regal splendor above the mountain tops and sailed slowly and serenely through the starry realms of heaven, shedding her beauteous and mysterious rays on mountain and cañon, stream and bridge, and on waving trees, giving life to shadows that ever and anon startled the sleepy guardsman. The beauty of the scene and the mysterious influences of the night throw a subtle spell around him; dreamily his thoughts turn with a sweet pleasure to the dear ones at home.
Who has not felt how sadly sweet,
The dream of home, the dream of home,
Steals o’er the heart, too soon to fleet,
When far o’er sea or land we roam?
He recalls them all, one by one. Never before did they seem so dear to him. In fond contemplation he lingers on each little characteristic; the sweet voice and the merry laugh rings in his ears; and he wonders if, at this hour, while bound in slumber’s chain, some loving spirit, winging its flight across the land, mounts higher and higher, and looks down on him with dreamful eye, as he paces his lonely beat.