“How many cowards wear yet upon their chinsThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,Who, inward searched, have livers white as milk.”
“How many cowards wear yet upon their chinsThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,Who, inward searched, have livers white as milk.”
“How many cowards wear yet upon their chinsThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,Who, inward searched, have livers white as milk.”
“How many cowards wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,
Who, inward searched, have livers white as milk.”
In the natural course of events Private Stealey had a somewhat similar experience. Meeting one who he took to be a striker, he ordered the man to throw up his hands, which command was obeyed with great alacrity. The man, on being searched, justified suspicion, as he was found to be armed with an ugly looking revolver. It is needless to say that he was relieved of it.
While the squad was searching the basement of the building, they were startled to hear from above the report of a gun. For awhile their position was a peculiar one; hearing, however, no further reports, they concluded that it was an accidental discharge—which it really was. It seems that while Lieutenant McIver was unloading one of the captured Winchesters, a shell was jammed and exploded, the bullet striking the bottom of the truck, and glancing upward entered one of the sacks of boiler slugs.
The buildings having been thoroughly searched, the searching parties and sentinels were called in and the companies re-formed.
Just as we were about to move, an incident occurred which showed how far a sympathetic strike can be carried. The driver of the truck upon which the confiscated articles were placed, when told to drive on, refused to do so and dismounted from the seat. Here was a man connected in no way with the strikers, except in the larger conception of the universal brotherhood of man, placing himself in jeopardy merely to show his sympathy for the strikers. This did not, however, cause any delay, for the sergeant major of the Sixth Regiment mounted the seat and manipulated the reins.
The two companies then marched to the corner of Second and J streets, at which point Lieutenant Filmer again led his merry squad of searchers out and proceeded to search the Pioneer Bakery. Corporals Burtis, McCulloch and Burdick, Privates M. Claussenius, Keane, Wise, and others, assisted by part of Company B of the Third, guarded the crossing of the streets below the bakery, while Privates O’Brien, Flanagan, Overstreet, with others of the Third Regiment, formed a line of sentinels across the street above the building. The searching squad was made up of very nearly the same men who composed it on the previous search.
In the bakery, the searching party was met by the proprietor, who informed them with great solemnity that there were no weapons of any kind on his premises. In spite of this assurance, the place was searched, and the results did not harmonize with the proprietor’s statement. The inside of the building was found to be a perfect labyrinth. Winding stairways and dark passages in such profusion that it was extremely difficult to make a thorough search. Besides this, the dirt and filth of the place was something frightful. It seemed to be more fit for a pigsty than a dwelling-place of men. Sergeant Clifford, by feeling his way, managed to reach the roof. On looking around he saw that the roof of the adjacent building was about twelve feet higher than that of the bakery. Against the wall of this building a ladder was leaning; so, thinking that the roof might be worthy of investigation, he was about to ascend, when he met a lieutenant of the Third coming down, and who mentioned that there was nothing up there. The sergeant, knowing that it was impossible for the lieutenant to make a careful search in the time he was upon the roof, proceeded up, and was well rewarded for his pains; for there, lying side by side, were five Winchester rifles, with a pile of ammunition stacked alongside of each gun. Sergeant Clifford also noticed that brickbats were piled around the edge of the roof, with the evident intention of throwing them down upon the militia on the streets. In descending to the ground floor, Clifford encountered in one of the small rooms a hard-looking citizen, who he promptly ordered to throw up his hands. On being searched, the man was found armed with an old powder-and-ball revolver, of 38-caliber, which was taken away. This Sergeant Clifford still retains as a memento. In addition, twelve pistols were also found in the different rooms.
While the search was going on inside, Private O’Brienhad a thrilling experience on the outside. Just above the bakery is a small alley running perpendicular to Second street, and as far as K. Here a number of strikers were gathered. These, Private O’Brien, assisted by a private from the Third, ordered back into the alley, and told them to keep moving until they reached the street a block above. The strikers moved back. But when they were about seventy-five yards from the corner, and near to the street above, they halted and faced about. Then, drawing revolvers and leveling them at O’Brien and the man from the Third, they yelled for them to get out of the alley.
The bluff didn’t work worth a cent. O’Brien merely seized a chair, and, placing it in the middle of the alley with its back toward the strikers, straddled it, and then, resting his arm upon the back of it, he drew a bead upon the strikers. The situation remained unchanged for a minute or so, when the strain proving too great for the strikers, they turned, fled up the alley and disappeared around the corner, shaking their fists and hurling imprecations at O’Brien as they did so.
The crowd that thronged around the lines of the sentinels at this place was much larger than it had been at the former place of search. The blockaded streets were the principal thoroughfares of the city, and many persons in the crowd were prevented by the blockade from transacting their regular business. Some of these became extremely angry at being stopped. One old, irascible gent, wearing a silk tile, which gave him a sort of a professional appearance, on being told that he could not go through the lines, but that if he had any business to transact he would have to go back and pass around the block, became very indignant at the thought that he, an important personage, should be treated like a common, everyday individual. He had to go around the block, just the same.
The bakery having been thoroughly searched, and the “spoils of war” deposited upon the truck, the sentinels were withdrawn and companies again re-formed. The march was then taken up and continued down L street. Soon, Company B detached itself from the column, and, turning to the left, marched to the Golden Eagle Hotel, where an excellent dinner awaited them.
The search, judged from every point of view, was a complete success. That it was a surprise is evidenced by the fact that no attempt was made to remove the weapons from anyof the buildings. The probabilities are that the strikers had no idea that a search would be instituted, and further, that they did not become cognizant of the movement until the searching party stood before their door. One thing, above all others, did the result of the search tend to show, and that is this, that the strikers, if not as a body, still to a considerable number, were prepared and really intended to engage in an actual conflict with the troops.
The scene of a truck loaded with weapons of war being driven through the streets in broad daylight, guarded on all sides by glittering bayonets, is one that will not be forgotten by the Sacramento citizens for some time to come. It brought facts home to the people and showed them that the strike was no peaceful affair, but some thing of a very serious nature. It revealed the true position of the strikers.
The events of the morning were exciting, but these were even more so. For on this occasion the men did not have to share the honors with any one. In the dining-room the noise of the conversation was almost deafening. To an outsider it would appear as if a Bedlam has broken loose. Each man had some thing more important than the other to relate, and consequently each bid against the other for the attention of the table he was at. Either a man was eating, or else he was talking, and between the two, his jaw was kept busy. Some were handicapped on account of not having so many personal experiences as others; but they made up for it, the one experience they had, they
“Told; retold it o’er.”
“Told; retold it o’er.”
“Told; retold it o’er.”
“Told; retold it o’er.”
One interesting subject was the manner in which the members of the company impressed the strikers. Their duty had been performed in such a way, with such snap and at the same time with such firmness, that the strikers were kept guessing as to whether they were regulars or the militia. Surely, the strikers argued, that man, pointing to Crowley, does not belong to the militia, or that one, pointing to Burtis, or that one, etc., pointing to Wilson, Keane, Heeth, Zimmerman, R. Radke in succession, and, above all, that one with the white diamond on his arm, meaning First Sergeant A. F. Ramm. Surely, he cannot belong to the militia! Their conception of the National Guard was altogether different from the appearance of the men. Weak-kneed, narrow-chested, goose-necked, pale-faced striplings were, with them, synonymousto the members of the National Guard. These men did not agree with their conception, so, consequently, they must be regulars. One of the women in the crowd, that Burtis forced back with no gentle hand, excused him to the strikers by saying that he could not help it, as he was a regular.
As soon as the meal was finished the company marched back to the Capitol grounds. As they passed into camp it was loudly cheered by the other companies. Company F especially showed its unselfishness by giving, as a company, three cheers and a tiger for Company B. Upon reaching the company’s street the men were dismissed, and for the rest of the evening until taps were besieged, at different times, by nearly the whole regiment, all anxious to hear about what took place during the raid.
This night pickets were again sent out. Gilkyson, Hayes, and O’Brien were sent from Company B. The strikers were as much excited over the events of the day as were the militia. Just as in the case of any undue excitement, those people who live out of town will proceed into town in order to hear the latest news, so the strikers gathered into town that night in order to discuss the latest phase in the course of the strike. All the hours of the night and the early hours of the the morning they passed and repassed the camp in groups. The pickets kept on the alert for any suspicious move on their part, and had plans formed for repulsing any advance that they might make. The strikers, however, were not looking for trouble, as they had enough for one day.
The following morning the company again omitted to take its accustomed walk for breakfast—it was served on the grounds. From this time on meals were prepared within the camp. The rapidity with which cooks sprang up on every hand passeth all understanding. Some were but an ephemeral growth—they blossomed but to die. Others, however, displayed a real native gift for cooking, which they themselves hitherto had never dreamt they possessed. This exhibition of latent genius reminds one of the lines in Gray’s Elegy:
“Full many a gem of purest ray sereneThe dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
“Full many a gem of purest ray sereneThe dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
“Full many a gem of purest ray sereneThe dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
“Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
Had the opportunity of developing their genius never presented itself to them the world would have never known thepower that lay within their mold of clay, and Company B would have been the loser, but perhaps not the sadder.
About nine o’clock in the morning the regiment was assembled and marched to the depot. At last we were to enter the long-desired building. But under what disgraceful conditions! Only after the regulars had driven out the strikers. How humiliating it was for the men of the National Guard to walk into the depot under the protection, as it were, of three hundred and fifty regulars. It should have been the opposite. Ay, and it would have been so had the rank and file had their way. But the Fates decided it otherwise, and the militia had to be content with what “pie” the regulars did not use.
Arms were stacked in the depot and the men given liberty to move about the building. Observation showed that the regulars had the place well guarded. Two Gatling guns were placed at one of the outlets, pointing threateningly towards the crowd gathered around. The building was also surrounded by a line of sentinels. One of these, a marine, attracted especial attention by his activity and particularly on account of an encounter he had with a burly striker who was evidently not very much impressed with his appearance; for, when told to stand back, he doggedly refused and made an attempt to draw a weapon. No movement ever resulted more disastrously to the mover. The marine quickly threw up his piece, and, catching it by the barrel, struck the fellow a terrific blow with the stock between the neck and shoulder, placing him “hors de combat.” Had the blow struck him fairly upon the neck it would have killed him. As it was, it broke the stock of the gun. The striker was made a prisoner, and a sorry time he had of it too. The case being reported, the officer of the day coolly remarked that the next time, in case of trouble, to use powder and ball, as it was cheaper than breaking guns.
To be a prisoner in the ordinary sense of the term and to be a prisoner under the surveillance of the regular army, especially during the Sacramento campaign, are two entirely different things. One who has ever undergone the experience of being a prisoner for twenty-four hours under the charge of the regulars would most emphatically object to its repetition. The prisoners whom the regulars had rounded up the day previous to the militia reporting at the depot presented this day a pitiful appearance. They had been handcuffedtogether and incarcerated in one of the small rooms of the depot. Here they stood for twenty-four hours without being permitted to sit or lie down. The sentinels placed over them received orders to shoot them if they persisted in doing so. These were harsh orders, but the occasion demanded them. The poor wretches were certainly in a dilemma. To sit down was death; to stand up was almost as bad. This way of dealing with the prisoners had undoubtedly a salutory effect. The striker, by the time he was released, learned sufficient to make him extremely cautious in the future about drawing a revolver, especially upon a marine.
In the depot there was a small dining-room where coffee and buns could be had for fifteen cents. This dining-room had a fascination for certain of the “boys”; partly because it had a familiar look, and partly because the meal that morning was unusually scanty. At any rate, the place was soon doing a thriving business. Those members of the guard who did not possess the necessary fifteen per, gazed wistfully at their more fortunate brethren performing the magical operation of turning eatables into men. Now, here was a problem for solution; how were they, without money and without friends, going to participate in the performance. Dr. O’Malley was the first to solve the problem. Nor did he find any difficulty in doing so. Seeing no reason why a man in the service of the state should be denied anything that would contribute to the comfort of his stomach, he walked boldly into the place and sat himself down at the counter. He gave the necessary order, and in such a way that one would think he was loaded down with wealth. No doubt the proprietor of the place thought of him in this light. But if he did, how sadly he must have been disappointed; for when O’Malley had sufficiently satisfied his wants, he called the proprietor to him, and in a matter of fact way told him that he was sorry but he had no money to pay for what he had eaten. The man was astounded; but what could he do? His property was gone and could never be recalled. Grin and bear it was all that was left for him.
O’Malley never waited to see the effect of his words, but slowly walked away, as though what he had done was perfectly proper. Not satisfied with this, he made others acquainted with his solution. Running across two of the members of the company, who were loudly bemoaning their sad fate of being without money in a strange land, and thus barred, asthey thought, from disposing of a large cup of extra fine coffee, he offered to aid them in securing what they wished. Telling them to follow him, he made his way to the counter again. The proprietor had hardly recovered from the previous shock, when O’Malley, addressing him again, saying, “Now, here is an opportunity for you to do an act of charity. These two men left their homes in such a hurry that they neglected to take with them any money. Give them something to eat, and you will be rewarded for it at some future day.” The man collapsed. It was impossible to refuse such a request, when backed by such a powerful battery of gall. The men received what they wished for. And O’Malley was twice blessed. First, he was blessed by the proprietor of the place. This blessing, however, was of a negative nature. Secondly, he was blessed—and this was a positive blessing—by his two comrades. The way being once known, many worked out the problem. It is safe to say that about half of the business that that coffee establishment did that day was charged to profit and loss.
At about three o’clock in the afternoon the regiment was formed and marched to Ninth and D streets. Here it was decided that the First Regiment should pitch its tents. A lot of work was planned out by Col. Graham for the militia, and in order that this work be done well, it was necessary to break camp at the Capitol grounds, and pitch camp near the field of action. From this time on the men could not complain of not having something to do.
While we were at the depot orders had been given to each company to detail six men, one from each tent, to assist in breaking camp at the Capitol grounds. These details were placed under the command of Captain Marshall, of Company A, and Lieutenant Filmer of Company B, and marched back to the camp. The reason why one man was selected from each tent was that the man selected would see that the property of his tent crowd was packed together and rolled inside of the tent, so that when it came to pitching camp at Ninth and D streets each tent crowd would have no trouble in finding their property. Quartermaster Sergeant Clifford, Privates Hayes, Overstreet, Baumgartner, Gilkyson and Warren were detailed from Company B.
Arriving at the camp about noon the detail of Company B decided to lunch before starting to work. Baumgartner, whois quite partial to the frothed liquid, and who, at the same time, knew his comrades’ fondness for the beverage, suggested that a magic wand in the shape of a tin pail and about fifty cents be employed to make the liquid materialize. Lieutenant Filmer generously contributed the fifty, while the rest of the detail contributed the pail. Baumgartner was then passed through the lines, magic wand in hand, in search of a rock to smite.
While waiting, Quartermaster Sergeant Clifford went about preparing lunch. It was the same old menu that had been served for seven days—corned beef, cheese, and bread. The men were used to it now, and looked for it as they would for the coming of the night. Being a little short of butter, the Quartermaster hastened to the officers’ mess tent to see if a slice happened to remain from the morning meal. There was, “Praise Jehovah,” more than a slice of butter. Boxes, containing canned oysters, corn, tongue, lobster, prepared beans, and deviled ham, carelessly left open, met his gaze. His thoughts, as his eyes lingered fondly upon these delicacies, seemed to say, “You’ll be mine, by and by.” Hastily opening his shirt, he placed, in a lovable way, can after can next to his breast. (Anyone who has ever seen Clifford on an expedition of this kind knows the expansive qualities of his shirt.) Then, laden with spoils, or rather luxuries, he darted like a flash down the company’s street into his tent, where that noble box, could it but speak, would tell of many such takings, was waiting to receive the treasure. Private Hayes, noticing the hasty move, followed the Quartermaster, and desired to know where such things could be had. Learning their whereabouts, he lost no time in also relieving the mess tent of a fair shirtfull, and then returning to have them stowed away in the Quartermaster’s box. Sergeant Clifford, not wishing to do any thing by halves, innocently inquired, “Billy, did you leave any thing?” Hayes, in surprise, answered, “Why, yes, I think there is a couple of cans left.” “Well, now, that’s too bad,” says Clifford, and away he hastened, thinking of the remorse he would have to endure should he fail to secure those remaining cans. Quickly securing these, he made another grand bolt for the noble box. Scarcely had he reached his tent, when Commissary Sergeant Fitzgerald entered the officers’ mess tent; he wasn’t in that tent a second when he staggered backward out again, his eyes bulging out of his head. Throwing his arms convulsively in the air, he exclaimed in heartrending tones, “Oh, God! what is this?” The shock he received was a terrible one.Recovering himself, the agonizing look on his face gave place to one of fierceness. A bloodthirsty look came into his eyes. Suddenly realizing Clifford’s taking propensities, he made a bee line for the company’s street. Woe to the man upon whom Fitz laid his heavy hand. Hayes, however, was on the lookout. Seeing Fitz charging for the street, he immediately warned the quartermaster sergeant that Fitz was on the warpath. Quick as a flash the box was closed and locked. It was none too soon, for immediately after Fitz appeared upon the scene perfectly wild. “Clifford,” he yelled, “did you take any thing out of that tent?” “What tent?” asked Clifford. The apparent innocence displayed by the quartermaster seemed to lift any doubt that Fitz entertained concerning his connection with the affair. So he quickly started off on another trail. Clifford came very near to owing the company a dollar, for it nearly terminated in being a complete shave for him instead of a close one.
Baumgartner having returned from his mission, all hands made ready for lunch. A couple of cans of oysters and tongue were opened in honor of the raid on the commissary stores. It is needless to say that the meal was relished. Right after lunch the men started to take down the tents. Owing to limited number of trucks the work of removal was very slow.
In the course of the afternoon the brigade commissary sent over for a few men to carry the commissary stores to the sidewalk, and thence be loaded upon the trucks. Quartermaster Clifford and Private Overstreet volunteered their assistance, not, however, from entirely selfish motives. In the natural run of events they succeeded in relieving the brigade larder of a number of useful things, such as canned beans, sugar, potted ham, and soap.
At about five o’clock the work of demolishing was completed. The details were united and marched to Ninth and D streets, where the opposite process, of erecting tents, was going on.