“Hoopla! Hooplo! Hooplee!We were lucky,We went to Truckee.Not! what! A and B; don’t you see?”
“Hoopla! Hooplo! Hooplee!We were lucky,We went to Truckee.Not! what! A and B; don’t you see?”
“Hoopla! Hooplo! Hooplee!We were lucky,We went to Truckee.Not! what! A and B; don’t you see?”
“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 lefttheir 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 6A. 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. Colfaxwas reached about 10A. 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 hischarge 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. Arefined 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 7P. 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 withwhich 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 necessaryduring 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 irrepressibleDoc. 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 somegreat 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 3P. 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 isbecause 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 theregimeof 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 outsandwiches 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 immediatelysurrounded 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 bannerChildren 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.
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 bannerChildren 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.
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 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.
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 bannerChildren 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.
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.
OFFICERS OF THE SECOND REGIMENT ARTILLERY AND NAVAL BATTALION, N. G. C.,WHILE STATIONED AT OAKLAND, CAL. DURING THE STRIKE, JULY, 1894.
OFFICERS OF THE SECOND REGIMENT ARTILLERY AND NAVAL BATTALION, N. G. C.,WHILE STATIONED AT OAKLAND, CAL. DURING THE STRIKE, JULY, 1894.
A HISTORY
OF THE
“CITY GUARD”
“B” Company, First Regiment InfantrySecond Brigade, N. G. C.
IN A CONCISE FORM
Embodying the Principal Features from its Original Organizationto the Railroad Strike of 1894
BY
CAPTAIN IRVING B. COOK
Commanding Company
“SALUS PATRIAE ME EXCITAT.”