Washington, D. C., was the site of our mobilization. Every member of the battalion was exempt from duty, save that which tended to the arduous exhibit of military evolutions, calisthenics, and bayonet exercise. The drill in these was strenuous; five hours each day under the tutorage of a skilful drill-master soon brought the battalion to a state of perfection. The famous United States Marine Band furnished the music during these drills, and the pleasure
derived from this alone offset the tedium of manœuvre.
Each man was perfectly fitted by a tailor for the eight uniforms which he was required to have; these were of blue, khaki, and white duck. Every article of his wearing apparel had to be an exact fit, from shoes to cap. Every article of equipment and all accoutrements were issued brand new. Flags, tents, ditty-boxes, cots, blankets, mosquito-bars, rifles, six-shooters, bayonets, belts, canteens, haversacks, toilet-sets were all fresh and new.
The Louisiana Purchase Exposition, which commemorated the centennial of the purchase of the Louisiana Territory in 1803, opened April 30, 1904, and closed December 1, of the same year.
The site of the Marine Camp was near and on the west side of the Palace of Liberal Arts, lying between the Liberal Arts building and the Intramural Railway, near the Government building, and north of the Tyrolean Alps, lagoons, and cascades.
May 20, 1904, the day set for our departure from Washington to St. Louis, was an ideal day in every respect. The Marine
Band discoursed inspiring music, and, as the battalion of two hundred marines, under the command of Major (now Colonel) Mahoney, made their appearance on the parade-ground, the band took a position reaching from the arcade of Marine Headquarters to the street. First call was sounded, followed by assembly, each marine took his place in line, the roll was called, and the battalion formed. As the stentorian voice of the battalion commander rang out, “Battalion, attention! Right forward, fours right! March!” the Marine Band struck up, “Under the double eagle,” as the entire column swung into Pennsylvania Avenue. All along the route to the Pennsylvania Railroad station, from sidewalks and windows, the battalion met with expressions of popular applause. Boarding two sections of Pullman sleepers with baggage- and dining-cars attached, each man adjusted himself conformably to his surroundings, with that decorum born only of military experience. The signal given, the train rolled out of the station, the band playing, “Meet me in St. Louis, Louis, meet me at the Fair.”
The men who comprised this “Guard of Honor” were tried and seasoned veterans: some had been with Dewey at the battle of Manila Bay, some with the American squadron at Santiago, while others had taken part in the Philippines insurrection, the “Boxer” campaign in China, the campaign against hostile Moros, and the Samar expedition. Several had been awarded certificates of merit for valor by Congress, while at least one man—namely, Sergeant John Quick, “the hero of Guantanamo”—was distinguished as possessing that most coveted emblem of heroism, “the Medal of Honor,” which can be gained only by exceptional gallantry in action in the presence of the enemy.
To these soldiers of the sea this trip was of considerable moment as regards the novelty thereof. Thousands of miles had been covered by land and sea by the majority, who had touched at the ports of every country on the face of the globe, many of whom having served in the City of Pekin, China, as members of the Legation Guard; so that this variation from the irksome duties aboard
a man-of-war, or the burning sun of the tropics, to the more tranquil atmosphere of a model camp at a “world’s fair,” was more than rejuvenating. The trip was devoid of the usual skylarking attending a body of raw and untried recruits, and it is a matter of fact, that, a few days after the arrival at the Exposition, Major Mahoney received, from the management of the Pennsylvania Railroad, a letter commending him on the excellent deportment of his command.