As master of ceremonies Scot, in a long red sash, mounted on a beautiful white horse, rode at the head of the procession. The stage came next, followed by Virginia’s young and exuberant brass band. After this marched the fire organizations in their red shirts and helmets. Empty ore wagons fell into line and were quickly filled with miners. A mixed crowd of residents on foot brought up the rear.
The contributions already collected had been poured from the hats into a tub. This was tied to the back of the stage, in the place where trunks and packages usually rested. All along A Street and back along B Street men fought to get at the tub with their money. The band played “Old Dan Tucker” and other popular airs, but out of deference to a divided public opinion did not give either “Yankee Doodle” or “Dixie.”[[6]] There were speeches, of course, full of bombast, eloquence, and local patriotism, all of which were vociferously applauded.
[6] The Civil War was being fought at this time, and though Nevada was far from the scene of action, sectional feeling was high. A fairly large minority of those in Virginia City and Carson were Southerners—W. M. R.
It was while the band was playing that the guest of honour began to cry.
“Stop that damn band and give the kid a chance,” someone shouted.
A hundred light-hearted sons of mirth took up the word. The band stopped in the middle of a bar, and to her mother’s embarrassment Miss Virginia Dodson entertained with a solo.
The marshal of the parade rode back to the coach and smiled up at the young mother.
“Don’t mind the boys,” he advised. “It’s just their way of showing how much they think of our baby. You know, ma’am, this town claims the young lady. We’ve adopted her, but if you say ‘Please’ real nice we’ll let you bring her up.”