Chapter X: Off for Truckee (2)

George Claussenius remarked that the majority of the trees were firs, and that the balsam extracted was worth $20.00 a quart. At this Dick Radke pricked up his ears, and looked at the trees with renewed interest. Clifford took exception to the conclusions of Claussenius as to the identity of the trees, and insisted they were spruce. Every once in a while they would stop before some young sapling, and argue in a most learned manner as to its variety. One listening to them would imagine they were members of the State Board of Forestry. The others, not wishing to display their ignorance, never ventured an opinion till Lundquist, realizing that these gentry were as much at sea as to the identity of the trees as the rest were, put up a job on them. He got the others to promise they would coincide with him, and then, with all the confidence of one able to judge, he proclaimed them apple trees. True to their promise they all agreed with the lieutenant. Clifford and Claussenius wasted much breath in trying to show them that they erred in their conclusions.

Meanwhile Radke had wandered away by himself. As he progressed he gave every tree he met the closest scrutiny. “Twenty dollars a quart! twenty dollars a quart! if I could only run across a fir tree that was spouting balsam, why it would be better than a gold mine; my fortune would be made.” A yell of joy apprised the boys that Radke had surely struck a bonanza this time. When they reached his side they found him with his hands full of a sticky substance, and, with a look of triumph on his face, he invited all hands to help themselves to balsam. “Balsam!” said Clifford, “Balsam! why, what are you talking about? that’s pitch.” And so it proved to be.

They resumed their journey, and in due course of time reached an eminence, from which they beheld Donner lake. The scene was a beautiful one, and well repaid them for their journey. The lovely body of water lay calm and serene, reflecting the sun’s rays like a sheet of silver. Precipitous mountains rose on all sides of it; to the left, for miles along the sides of the mountains, the eye could trace the snowsheds. Considerable time was spent in contemplating the beauties of nature, and it was with reluctance that they finally turned their faces toward the camp. They descended the hill on the side leading down to the Truckee river, and, when they reached its banks, discovered Bob Williams making his way down the river on the logs that covered its surface to the sawmill about a mile away; this easy and direct way of reaching camp appealed to the eye of our easy lieutenant at once, and soon they were all hopping from log to log, and in a short time reached the mill without accident of any kind, then slowly retraced their steps to camp, all agreeing that they had a most enjoyable tramp.

The relieved squads that daily returned from the different posts brought with them moving tales of flood and field. The squad, composed of Corporal McCulloch, and privates A. Fetz, A. Gehret, and F. Sindler, had relieved a similar number of Company A’s men at Post 24. No sooner had the train left, than the learned corporal pounced upon the rations that were to keep the wolf from the door for the next twenty-four hours. A wail of anguish arose from him as the provender was exposed to view; no sugar, no milk, no butter, three “measly” steaks, a small quantity of beans, a smaller quantity of rice, about a pound of coffee, a small piece of bacon, and two loaves of bread. Ye gods! what had he done? He called upon all the great divinities of heaven to bear witness to his just and honorable career, a life spent in gathering a mass of learning, that, rarified by the fires of his poetic soul, was in the future to cast its electrical and beneficent rays upon the sons of men. How could they expect him to continue on the long and wearisome road to glory, the uncertain and treacherous pathways that lead to fame, to efficiently fill the exalted position for which he was ordained, if the springs of his young life were to be warped and dried up by the lack of sufficient nourishment.

While thus bewailing his sad fate, and comparing their unhappy lot with that of the men at the other posts, who were living on the fat of the land, they entered the lowly cabin that was to afford them shelter, when lo! and behold! there before his wondering eyes were sugar, pepper and salt, two potatoes, the gods be praised, one carrot, and a piece of bacon. Here, indeed, was a miracle; the gods were not unmindful; their faithful servant was not to be left to starve in the wilderness; these edibles were surely placed there by divine hands, for had not A’s men just left, and were they ever known to leave any thing behind them? Overcome by this revelation of the justice and goodness of an all-seeing Providence, the learned corporal reverently removed his cap, and with upraised eyes, that seemed, from the glad and holy light that shone from them, to be contemplating heavenly scenes, silently gave thanks to his Creator.

The men, like others stationed there before them, were enchanted with their surroundings. The corporal, however, did not enchant until he had inquired into the cooking abilities of his command. He, after a careful consideration of their qualifications, appointed Al Gehret cook. This momentous subject off his mind, he went forth into the sunshine and began to rave about the mountains that reared their solid bastions to the sky, declaring that a being must be indeed callous, who, when cut off from the rest of the world, and alone in nature’s mighty solitude, did not feel the omnipotence of the Creator.

In appointing Al Gehret cook, the learned Corporal had made no mistake, (how could he) for Al proved himself to be very capable; he so ably manipulated the provisions placed in his charge that one and all sang his praises. But the look of contentment and pleasure that came over the faces of his boarders as each delicious morsel disappeared through their lips into the cavernous depths below brought more joy to Al than all the encomiums which could be heaped upon him. So intent was he in watching their joyous emotions that he forgot to eat himself, and the others were so absorbed in the enjoyment of the fare, that they failed to take notice of his forgetfulness. No high salaried chef contemplated with more pride the results of his skill than Al the results of his labors. The potato soup he concocted made the corporal, whose weakness is soup, his lifelong friend.

McCulloch, Fetz, and Sindler now vied with each other to perform some special feat that would render them envied by the rest. McCulloch, while wandering along the bank of the river, with the intention of baiting the wary trout, on springing from one rock to another, lost his footing and was precipitated head first into the cold stream. Withdrawing himself hurriedly out of the water, he hastened back to the cabin, where the others were gathered, and, showing them his dripping clothes, dared them to do some thing that would rival his adventure. The wet clothes were discarded and laid out in the sun to dry, while the corporal, picturesquely draped in an army blanket, squatted all the afternoon in the sun, like a Digger Indian. Both Sindler and Fetz took up the challenge. Sindler started out with line and hook, determined to catch a string of trout, that would lie for itself, and forever make him famous. He fished and fished until the gathering twilight warned him it was time to return. He quietly stole back into camp, with but three fish to show for his efforts, a humbled and heartbroken man. Not so with Fetz, who after a long absence returned to camp, proclaimed his name to be Fetz, and that he was the only man in the crowd that had stood in Nevada. For this he claimed the honor of having performed the greatest feat. This was the subject of a prolonged and undecided argument between himself and McCulloch, which is renewed whenever they meet. The relations of the boys had become so harmonious, and their environment so pleasing to them, that Fetz, the following morning, declared that he would be satisfied to stop where they were another twenty-four hours; but McCulloch, casting a side glance at their depleted larder, said that, under the circumstances, he thought he would rather return. Not that he appreciated their company less, they were all good fellows, or their beautiful surroundings, but there were other claims more strong that made him yearn once more to return to Truckee, and the bosom of the company. So they packed their little belongings, and awaited the train which was to bear them back to camp.

The squad composed of Corporal Burdick, privates Monahan, McKaig, and O’Brien, relieved the guard at Boca, Sunday afternoon, July 22d, at 3 P. M. Not having had any thing to eat since breakfast, and being anxious to try the fare of the Boca Hotel, which their comrades had praised so enthusiastically, Monahan, McKaig, and O’Brien, not content to wait until 6 o’clock, decided to try and get some thing to eat, though of course the noonday meal at the hotel had long since passed into history.

Burdick stood guard, saying that he would save his appetite, and endeavor to do justice to his dinner at 6 o’clock. By dint of tales of starvation that would do credit to Baron Munchausen, our three worthies prevailed on the hotel clerk, whose face, O’Brien said, seemed very familiar, to give them what he could get in the kitchen. A very good lunch was improvised, and during the course of its disappearance it flashed across the mind of O’Brien that this same clerk so strangely met with in a small town high up in the rocky passes of the Sierra Nevada’s was none other than Jimmy Madden, an old schoolmate, and resident of the Mission. Mutual recognition was in order, and the future well feeding of this detail, at least, was assured. Even at midnight a fine meal of hot coffee, boiled eggs, tongue sandwiches, and (hold your breath) cream puffs! was furnished them by their kindly host. In regard to these same cream puffs “Kinky” Mac claimed, to use the common parlance, to “have a kick coming.” Monahan and Burdick had gone up to the hotel at twelve to get the midnight repast, leaving O’Brien on guard, and “Kinky” asleep on the lee side of a clump of sage brush with his hat for a pillow. On their return, the can holding the solids was quickly opened, and O’Brien, holding the lantern above it, saw before his wondering eyes _three_ cream puffs. The sight of such luxuries made him gasp and press his hand to his palpitating heart. But _three_ cream puffs for four men, what could it mean? He glanced quickly at lengthy Monahan and the little corporal who has read Gulliver’s Travels, and saw a guilty look flit across their faces, half shown by the feeble light of the lantern which he still held above the precious can. He discreetly held his peace, however, and busied himself disposing of his share, which, of course, included _one cream puff_. They did the same and then wakened Kinky. He was enchanted with his eggs, sandwiches, and coffee. All would still have been lovely, but Monahan, intoxicated with good fortune, asked Ben how he liked the cream puffs!

“Cream puffs!” shouted Kinky, “Where’s mine?”

Consternation in the enemy’s camp. Explanations were useless. He wanted his cream puff and on its nonproduction branded all three as land pirates and highwaymen. The punishment of the guilty had overtaken them. “Kinky” talked, and when he talks “stand from under,” for tho’ he says little and rambles much, he keeps it up incessantly. All that night were the hapless men punished for yielding to the temptation which had been too great; and in the morning promises to reform were eagerly made if “Kinky” would only drop the cream-puff subject.

On leaving the hotel after their impromptu repast our three boys saw that, this being Sunday, the veranda was crowded with mountaineers of all descriptions. They were passing down the steps, when they were accosted by one, who wanted to know “Who the fourteen-year-old kid was you had on there last night, and waked the town crying for his mamma?” Answering him, not sharply, but decidedly, that “they didn’t know who was on there last night, but they _did_ know who would be on to-night, and would guarantee them,” they passed on down the steps feeling that such a performance last night must be offset by a very decided tone to-day. This was a Sunday crowd and liable to be all drunk by night. Later in the evening one drunken lumberman informed Corporal Burdick that he intended to go up on the bluff above the bridge and fire off blank cartridges at the sentry; but no notice was taken of him by the corporal, and he was finally persuaded by a very sensible friend that “he’d better not try it. This was not the same crowd that was on last night.”

Another approached private O’Brien while on guard, and wanted to know what four soldiers could do against all the men in town if they wanted to take the bridge and burn it. He was promptly answered that the four soldiers considered themselves enough to hold the bridge until relieved, and proposed to do it, too. All this questioning seemed to indicate, at least, a desire to try to take the bridge, and to provide against surprise, the guard vacated the empty box-car, which was used as a guard-house, and carried their blankets, etc., across the bridge and onto a bluff which overhung it and held a commanding view of its entire length and all the approaches to it. Here they felt well able to hold their ground until relieved next day. No disturbance occurred, however, the night passing quietly, with the exception of the noise created by McKaig’s tirade against criminals in general and cream-puff thieves in particular. The night was divided into watches of two hours each, one man standing guard on the edge of the bluff overhanging the bridge, while his comrades slept in the sage brush, rolled in their blankets, within reach of his hand.

The next morning, Monday, was spent by those off guard fishing in the Truckee or in Boca creek, half a dozen fish being secured, or in wandering over the ruins of the famous Boca Brewery, which had been burned the year previous. On account of the purity of the water used, this beer had the reputation of being the best made.

The belligerent spirits of the night before had all gone off to work, and no more excitement was furnished the squad.

At about 10 o’clock the relieving train passed through, dropping off the squad for the next day. Our squad did not have to wait for the return of the train, however, the details at Boca and Prosser being ordered to ride in on a freight train just arrived at Boca, and now, having taken on some extra ice-cars was ready to leave.

The ride in was uneventful, the two details arriving in Truckee at noon, just in time for dinner at the Truckee hotel.

The evenings, at the Truckee camp, were passed around a huge fire, singing songs and spinning yarns. One night Doc. Sieberst produced a huge roll of paper, and, with a voice containing as much music as the screech of a jackass, sang a parody on the song “Two little girls in blue,” entitled: “Few little boys in blue.” It contained thirty-two verses; but, ere he had waded through half of it, his audience had stolen away, and, deep in the seclusion of their bunks, with heads buried beneath blankets, tried to shut out the sounds of his voice, at last falling into a sleep, visited by frightful dreams and distorted visions.

The Doc. was the originator of our famous Truckee war cry, which commends itself for its brevity.

“Hoopla! Hooplo! Hooplee!
We were lucky,
We went to Truckee.
Not! what! A and B; don’t you see?”

The tide of travel east and west was daily becoming greater--huge freight trains slowly rolled in, and rolled away again. Their favorite stopping-place was the sidetrack adjoining the one on which our cars stood. They were a nuisance by night and by day--by night disturbing our slumbers, by the never-ending sounds of escaping steam and throbbing machinery; and by day a great annoyance to both officers and privates, particularly to the officers, who, on the approach of a passenger train, were compelled to climb through the vulgar freight train in order to see, and more especially to be seen, by the fair sex traveling in the Pullman cars.

We were now out nearly three weeks, and the majority of us were longing to get back to ’Frisco; particularly as now all danger seemed to be passed, the report that the strike was off being verified by the employees of the railroad company who had returned to work. The men began to worry about the security of their positions in town, and the business and professional men connected with the company, feeling that their business interests were receiving serious injury by their prolonged absence, were impatient to return.

Time hung heavily on the hands of all, and, as no one had yet been to Donner lake, Monday afternoon, of July 23d, Corporal Burtis and private Hayes decided to take to themselves the distinction of being the only members of the company to visit that beautiful sheet of water. Forgetting to ask permission, they quietly meandered out of camp unobserved, and made for the high road that led to the lake.

This lake, glimpses of which were caught from the many bends of the road, the beautiful little stretch of country approaching it, now green with luxuriant verdure, in which mild-eyed cattle cropped the plentiful fodder, and the hills to the right upon which sheep are now feeding, were, one winter many years ago, the natural theater of a sickening tragedy, the horror of which thrilled all the country at the time. It was here that, after many wanderings, a party of emigrants, who had left their eastern homes early in the spring of ’46, and, taking a new route which led through the Great Basin--lying between the Rocky mountains and the Sierra Nevadas--found themselves stalled in the impassable snows of these mountains which reared themselves like a white wall on all sides. Out of the party of eighty, thirty-six perished. A cross now marks the last resting-place of the unfortunate ones.

Squads of men were constantly going and coming. And now that so many trains were getting through at all hours of the night and day, the first sergeant was busy making up squads to accompany them. The novelty of post duty had not yet worn off, the men being so much changed about, that hardly one of them went to the same post twice; and, as each squad went out, the members of it felt like men going to an undiscovered country. The men detailed to Prosser Creek, Boca, and Cuba, went there with light hearts, because the men who returned from these posts were never tired of praising the food with which they were supplied. The men, when not on guard, divided the time between eating and fishing. Degeneration had already set in--they seemed not to have a soul above their stomachs--meal time was hungrily looked forward to, and the bill of fare considered the only subject worthy of discussion. So when the squad, composed of privates George Claussenius, Bannan, King Flanagan, and Gille--Claussenius acting as corporal--arrived at Prosser Creek near noontime, on Monday, July 23d, Gille wanted immediately to locate the rotisserie that had earned such a reputation for itself. This he was not long in doing, and soon returned reporting that dinner would be ready for them at 1 o’clock. As it was near that time Bannan and Flanagan, with many misgivings, watched Claussenius and Gille depart for the eating-place. Both of these young men are long and thin, and, as is usually the case with young people so constructed, have enormous appetites. For over an hour and a half they dallied with the good things placed before them, and, after casting a last fond, lingering look at the table, reluctantly tore themselves away, and with difficulty waddled back to their companions. They were received with all kinds of reproaches by the hungry and disgruntled Flanagan and Bannan. “Why didn’t they spend the afternoon?” or “Were they at a summer resort?” were some of the sarcastic questions that greeted them. The heel and toe pace that Flanagan and Bannan set, as they departed for their dinner, would have surprised the veteran pedestrian O’Leary.

At Cuba Sergeant Taylor, musician Rupp, and private Frech opened the eyes of some of the residents with astonishment by some wonderfully accurate shooting, at 800, 400, and 200 yards. An old mountaineer, who was watching them, remarked: “Waal, they may say youse fellows ain’t much good; but, I be gol darned, if I’d like to have any of ye shooting at me.”

While at this place, Rupp, our ex-cook, assisted the cook of the eating-place to get up their meal. One of the principal features of the menu was pie. If there is one thing they can do better than another in the country, it is to make pie, and this place was no exception. It was looked forward to as a fitting climax, a delicious top-off to the meals that will ever be borne in mind with pleasant remembrance.

This guard found Frank Shula a very heavy sleeper--that beautiful and enlivening German song, entitled: “Oh! the little Augustine!” sung and danced by “the entire strength of the company,” with all the force of their lungs and power of their legs and feet, hardly aroused him. The only thing that will awaken Frank is the sound of his own snore. This sounds so blood-curdling at times that it even startles himself, and with a gasp and grunt he sits bolt upright in his blankets, and stares around, panting with affright.

Late Monday afternoon the rumor reached us that we were to be relieved, and that part of the regiment had been sent home already. This was, indeed, joyful news, uncertain as it was.

At 3 o’clock Tuesday morning July 24th, a squad consisting of privates Fetz, Gehret, and Hayes were ordered out, and together with a similar squad from Company A, formed the guard of a passenger train, that finally pulled out of Truckee between 5 and 6 A. M. While stopping at one of the stations, in the snowsheds, a train pulled in from the opposite direction laden with militia. The men soon found out that they were companies from Grass Valley, and that they had been ordered to relieve the Companies A and B stationed at Truckee. The country boys were as fresh as new mown hay, their uniforms were spotless, and even at that early hour in the morning, think of it, had on immaculate white gloves. It was with light hearts that our boys continued their journey. A sumptuous breakfast was served at Blue Cañon. Colfax was reached about 10 A. M. They found Casebolt, Crowley, Powleson, and Stealy there. They also were birds of passage, and were taking things very easy, as the new arrivals proceeded likewise to do.

It was rumored that morning in Colfax, that the night previous an armed body of strikers had captured the gatling guns from the regulars at Truckee. This made the boys smile, when they remembered that one of the last scenes their eyes rested on that morning before leaving Truckee was the peaceful camp of the regulars, the two gatling guns safely anchored on a flatcar, with the sleeping forms of soldiers on each side of them, and the alert sentinel pacing his beat by the side of the cars. So much for the rumors of war.

Captain O’Connor was the officer in command at Colfax. He is quite a martinet, and as exclusive as an “Indian king.” The captain is quite an elderly man, and for hours he would sit on the veranda of the hotel with chair tilted back, and feet elevated above his head, his chin resting on his chest and his clasped hands lying in his lap. In this position, he seemed to be thinking mighty thoughts, or gazing down the vale of untold years, contemplating his glorious military achievements. His first sergeant, a tall, red-haired, quick, intelligent fellow and thorough soldier, was his _charge d’affaires_, and the only man who dared approach him. Our friend Stealy had the temerity the night previous to ask him for permission to attend a dance or fandango that was to take place in the town that night. The frowns that gathered o’er his wrinkled visage portended dreadful things for the then trembling Stealy, but he was ordered back to where he belonged, and told to kick up his heels there if he must.

It was here that poor Al Gehret lost his heart forever and a day. She was not fair to look upon, this copper-colored mountain maid, who won him at first sight, neither would you care to press her cheek. Her once lissome form had long since developed and filled out until the extent of her broadness was equivalent to her height. Those ebon locks were strangers to both comb and curling tongs. Hands had she like feet, and feet like flatirons. We are not prepared to say but that she might be able to make up in affection what she lacked in appearance. Some men are won by a pair of witching eyes. A wave of golden hair has often captured the hearts of others. Some succumb to a shapely form, some go in raptures over the classic curve of some fair girl’s neck. A refined intellectuality often appeals to others. But Al loved her for her arm alone, her brawny arm, part of which was exposed to view.

During the afternoon Casebolt, Crowley, Powleson, and Stealy left on different trains for Truckee.

The news of the arrival in Truckee of the Grass Valley contingent was hailed with joy by the members of both companies, and the delights of “pitching horseshoes” were given over for the pleasure of discussing the chances of an early return home. The arrival of the two companies made no difference in the regular routine of our camp duties, and the relieving squads were taken out to the different posts as usual. Our high hopes were blasted later on that morning by the report, that Colonel Gunther was unable to issue any orders with regard to the new companies, as he had not received any concerning them himself. The boys, however, put their little belongings together, and in various ways made ready for an early departure. With sleeves tucked up to the elbows Corporal Burtis presided over the washtub, and after a few hours hard work spread his own clean clothes and those of his absent comrade Hayes out to dry, and then with loaded gun stood watch over them.

Early in the afternoon orders were received relieving A and B, with instructions to be prepared to leave town at 7 P. M. Now the men began to hustle in real earnest; knapsacks were packed and blankets strapped to them; all hands were ordered out to scour pots innumerable. Doc. Sieberst secured a corner on the water-carrying job, and then would only work when his life was threatened. Corporal McCulloch, who was deeply interested in a yellow-covered book entitled “All for Her,” treated the request of his comrades to join them in the wild hilarious occupation of scouring pots and pans, with fine scorn. Was he not a noncommissioned officer? How could they expect him to degrade the standard of his rank by mingling with rude uncouth privates? and as for scouring pots and pans, Ugh! every fiber of his æsthetic nature revolted at the idea. The boys in despair appealed to the captain. The wily McCulloch soon had him entangled in the meshes of an argument, the subtleties of which being too deep for the captain, he peremptorily put an end to it by ordering the corporal to join his comrades mid the pots and pans. This he did under protest, but showed by the dexterity with which he brought forth the shining qualities of tin and copper, through a mass of black, much familiarity with that branch of kitchen work.

Later on Adjutant Hosmer, Lieutenant Filmer, Doc. Sieberst, Gilkyson, and O’Brien went for their last swim in the cool waters of the Truckee. Jack Wilson, Pariser, and Gille’s boon companion, Wilson, left camp ostensibly for the same purpose, but slipped off to a dancehall from which they returned just in time to catch the train.

About 6 o’clock the men were ordered to remove their belongings from the cars, guns were stacked, and the knapsacks and blankets piled around them. Great was the dissatisfaction when it was found out that instead of going back in our tourist cars, to which we had become attached, and in which we had managed to make ourselves very comfortable, we were to return in ordinary day coaches. In consideration of the faithful way in which we had guarded the property of the railroad company, the least they might have done to show some degree of appreciation was to make our home-going as agreeable as possible; instead we were piled into ordinary coaches, the seats of which, with malicious intent, were locked, so that it was impossible to even derive the small comfort obtained by reversing them. But it will require the destruction of some millions of property before the upholders of law and order and protectors of life and property receive the recognition due them.

Lieutenant Lundquist, with a detail from the new arrivals, was sent out to relieve our boys at the various posts, and bring them back. His appearance at that time of day caused much surprise, and the object of his visit much satisfaction. The detail under Sergeant Clifford stationed at Cuba had settled down to the quiet and peaceful enjoyment of country life; the Sergeant had just started off in quest of a fishing-pole when the relief train arrived. He was hastily recalled, and the new detail turned over to him for instructions. Clifford found them “as green as they make ’em.” They were all big, strapping country boys, clad in brand new uniforms, and were a marked contrast to the smaller men from the city, whose service in the field had given them and their uniforms--to use a most expressive slang term--a “dead hard” appearance. The new sergeant of the guard posted three of his men at once, but on Clifford’s representation that only one was necessary during the daytime, withdrew two of them. As Clifford never lost an occasion to indulge in his little joke, he made the situation appear very serious, and showed the place to be a very dangerous locality. He told them that a band of desperate strikers were expected about 6 o’clock. On hearing this one of the new guards turned very pale, grabbed a fishing-pole, and, saying that he would try a little fishing, made tracks for the river. The sentry, slowly pacing his beat, was told to increase his gait, to prevent his being shot by strikers hiding in the brush. The poor fellow almost ran.

The returning relief train now rolled in, the boys climbed on board, and, as they moved away, waved a last adieu to the new guard, leaving them in a very unenviable frame of mind.

The train arrived in Truckee in time to give the boys a chance to hastily eat a half cold dinner, and join their comrades on the train that at 7 o’clock, started westward, amid much heartfelt rejoicing among the members of Company B. While on the way the different members of the company met with on trains bound for Truckee were taken off. All were now accounted for but Fetz, the lovelorn Gehret, and Hayes. As night had settled down upon them, and being fearful that they would pass the missing ones in the darkness, the long snowsheds echoed with the cries of “Michael Hayes come into court!” Each train and station passed was greeted with the same yell for the absent Hayes and his companions. The train finally pulled into Colfax, and the missing ones were found peacefully sleeping on the floor of the baggage-room. After getting “Michael Hayes into court,” together with Fetz and Gehret, our journey homeward was continued, amid continued rejoicing.

As the night advanced some sang songs, while the majority, tired and worn out with the hardships and trials of three weeks’ campaigning, had fallen into merciful sleep, a happy sleep, pervaded with the pleasant sensation of being borne swiftly home.

There they lay, in all positions, on the floor, across seats, doubled up, some with their heads thrown back and mouths open, snoring lustily, some with their heads hung forward--not one in a comfortable position. But comfort by this time had become of secondary importance to the members of the City Guard. The habit of sleeping any and every where had inured them to all discomforts. And now the irrepressible Doc. Sieberst again broke out. Small pieces of paper were put into the hands or mouths of the insensible sleepers; a match was then applied to the paper. The awakening of the unfortunate victim was watched with fiendish glee by the onlookers. Some of the victims would toss the burning paper from them and fall back, dead to the world again; others would start up in a dazed sort of way, claw the air a bit, a piece of paper stuck in the victim’s open mouth making him look laughably ridiculous, and stare around at their tormentors with comical gravity. This is what sleep amounted to that night. To feel that before another twenty-four hours we could rest in a nice, warm, soft bed, was a comfort and a joy. Through the long night’s journey sentinels were posted on the platforms, allowing no one to go in or out.

About 7:30 in the morning we reached the Sacramento depot. Here a great disappointment awaited us. Instead of going through to the city as we expected, the cars containing the two companies were sidetracked, we were ordered out, and amid some of the most fearful, though low-toned, “kicking,” shouldered our knapsacks and blankets, and were marched back along the tracks to the camp of our regiment. As we approached the camp we made the echoes ring with our Truckee battle cry: “Hoop-la! Hoop-lo! Hoop-lee! We were lucky, we went to Truckee! Not! What! A and B; don’t you see?”--and were soon answering hundreds of questions all at once. We took possession of our tentless street and there piled our blankets and equipments. The weary ones spread their blankets and were soon asleep. The dreadful rumor then spread that we should not have left the train, and had not some mistake been made we would now be whirling on our way to the city. The question then arose, Who dared make such a mistake? The subject was quickly canvassed, and soon upon the luckless head of P. J. Conly, acting battalion sergeant-major, was poured the wrath of the whole company.

While in our tentless street, awaiting orders, the Irish crowd, headed by Flanagan, became involved in a little fracas with another crowd, composed of Jack Wilson, Gille, Wilson, and a few others. The neutral bystanders, in the heat of the battle, managed, unobserved, to occasionally get in an upper cut, and some one threw a brick. Through all the best of humor prevailed. About ten men were struggling for the possession of a barrel stave, with which Jack Wilson had been doing some great execution, when the appearance of Colonel Sullivan put an end to the enjoyable proceedings. The Colonel shook hands with the boys, and expressed himself as being glad to see them all back safe. From beneath the flap of an adjoining tent appeared the head of Brien, who had arrived in Sacramento while we were at Truckee. Tooker now put in his appearance, a sadder but wiser man, but with the aversion to work as strong within him as ever. Later on we were joined by Sergeant Sturdivant; he was compelled to leave us the Monday previous to attend to some important business in the city, and had just returned.

Lieutenant Filmer obtained permission to take the men down town to breakfast, and the majority went. On our return we were greeted with the good news that the regiment would leave for home that day at 3 P. M. We got our equipments and blankets together, and were ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Volunteers were called for to take down the officers’ tents, and the hardy and experienced men of Company B became at once very scarce. We were the lions of the hour, and swaggered around like heroes, giving exaggerated accounts of our wonderful adventures to a crowd of open-mouthed listeners.

The week spent at Truckee had enabled our boys to overcome the prostrating effects of their stay in Sacramento, and was of incalculable benefit to them physically. There were a few, however, on whom the malaria contracted in Sacramento had taken such a firm hold that it was not to be so easily shaken off, and who only reached home to take to a bed of sickness. Notably Al Gehret; nature supported him until he reached home and received the welcoming embraces of friends and relations; he then succumbed, and for two months was confined to bed, his life at times being despaired of. George Claussenius and Frank Monahan were both laid up with severe sick spells.

At noon we had a very sensible and appetizing lunch, ham sandwiches and beer. Clifford, as usual, with an eye to the future, managed to get away with half a ham, and a few other sundries which were duly appreciated during our long ride to the city. Thus did Clifford to the very end remain faithful to his charge, and in a blaze of glory bring his official career to a close.

Why we refer to the lunch of that day as a sensible one is because we were in the habit, when doing our own cooking, of preparing a hot lunch; this entails a lot of work, without satisfactory results. Cooking three meals a day is unnecessary. Men are satisfied with a light repast at the noon hour, when they have a good breakfast and supper. A lunch of sandwiches and beer (when you can get it), or coffee, answers every purpose, and is thoroughly enjoyed. During hot weather the man who abstains from cold drinks at meal time, and satisfies his thirst with warm tea or coffee, will find he is better able to stand the heat. Lengthy Monahan presided over the liquid refreshments on this occasion, and his administration was far from being satisfactory; it lacked the impartiality that characterized the _regime_ of Jimmy Wear and Van Sieberst. William Flanagan sat at the right hand of Monahan, and his little tin cup was always kept full, with the result that William soon began to boast of his royal lineage, and to cast reflections on the “stuck-up, piano parlor Irish” at the same time looking very hard at their champion, Phil Bannan. On occasions of this kind the captain always had a big advantage over us, for he drank from a tin cup, which had the holding capacity of a dipper. This cup he became the proud possessor of in the early part of the campaign, and he clung to it to the last. It is believed by the members of the company that he bought it himself; others claim he had it made to order.

At last we received the order, “B Company fall in.” We were marched to the cars, and after considerable confusion, in which we were changed from one car to another while the train was in motion, thereby endangering life and limb, finally got settled, in an uncomfortable cushionless day coach. At the Sacramento depot the train was boarded by the Third Regiment, and amid howls and yells of joy the train pulled out for ’Frisco. It is with pleasure we can say that on this occasion the members of the company comported themselves with the dignity of tried soldiers, and preserved a silent passiveness that was a marked contrast to the demoniac yells that proceeded from the other companies. Passing over the bridge which was the scene of the wreck two weeks previous, we could not help but feel genuine regret for the brave fellows that met death beneath the cars, that still lay tossed about below the bridge. Such, indeed, might have been the fate of some of us, had events taken a different course. While the train was swiftly flying towards the city, Clifford doled out sandwiches for the last time; and a box of cakes and some bottles of wine that Fetz and Gehret found waiting for them at Sacramento were distributed among the boys with their compliments. At last the shores of the bay were reached, and across its shining waters we discerned the mansion-crowned hills of dear old ’Frisco. Long before it was necessary, the boys began to get their belongings together, and when we arrived at the end of the mole, every man was ready to step off the cars. On the other side of the bay we were received by a band, the Boys’ High School Cadets, and the members of our regiment who had returned home before us. Under their escort we marched up Market street. The appearance of these men formed such a contrast to our own, with their white gloves, white collars, jaunty caps, and clean-shaven faces, that we began to wonder if we ever looked like them, or would we ever look like them again. These, indeed, must be the tin soldiers we had heard people speak of. And yet not one of us would change places with any of them, though we were unshaven, begrimed with dust and dirt from our leggings to the crowns of our much-dented campaign hats, and laden with guns, knapsacks, haversacks, canteens, and blankets; we were proud of every grease spot, every stain, our bursted shoes, our worn leggings, our torn and dirty blouses, our campaign hats. Even our little tin cups had a new value for us. Around all these, dirty and worn, were clustered the memories and associations of our three weeks’ campaign. By the readiness with which we donned the uniforms that proclaimed us soldiers beneath the stars and stripes, and upholders of free institutions, did we prove ourselves not unworthy of the land we live in. And years hence, when the future members of this company are gathered around the festive board, the memory of the deeds of the City Guard during the Sacramento campaign will awake and fire the eloquence of the orator, and inspire the muse of the poet. Along San Francisco’s highways we marched to martial strains, the endless amount and variety of whiskers among the men affording much amusement to, and calling forth innumerable comments from, the small boy.

At length we reached the armory, where we were greeted by an immense crowd. After a short speech by Col. Sullivan, wherein he dwelt on the efficient services rendered by the First Regiment, we were dismissed, and were immediately surrounded by friends and relatives congratulating us on our safe return home. And thus ended the great Sacramento Campaign.

SONG OF THE SOLDIERS.

Comrades known in marches many,
Comrades tried in dangers many,
Comrades bound by memories many,
Brothers ever let us be.
Wounds or sickness may divide us,
Marching orders may divide us,
But whatever fate betide us,
Brothers of the heart are we.

Comrades known by faith the clearest,
Tried when death was near and nearest,
Bound we are by ties the dearest,
Brothers evermore to be;
And if spared and growing older,
Shoulder still in line with shoulder,
And with hearts no thrill the colder,
Brothers ever we shall be.

By communion of the banner,
Crimson, white, and starry banner,
By baptism of our banner
Children of one church are we.
Creed nor faction can divide us,
Race nor language can divide us,
Still whatever fate betide us,
Children of that flag we’ll be!

CHAS. G. HALPINE.

A HISTORY
OF THE
“CITY GUARD”

“B” Company, First Regiment Infantry
Second Brigade, N. G. C.

IN A CONCISE FORM

Embodying the Principal Features from its Original Organization
to the Railroad Strike of 1894

BY
CAPTAIN IRVING B. COOK
COMMANDING COMPANY

“SALUS PATRIAE ME EXCITAT.”