The officers' wives and the soldiers' wives followed the troops
to the dock. The soldiers marched single file over the gang-plank
of the boat, the officers said good-bye, the shrill whistle of
the "General McPherson" sounded - and they were off. We leaned
back against the coal-sheds, and soldiers' and officers' wives
alike all wept together.
And now a season of gloom came upon us. The skies were dull and
murky and the rain poured down.
Our old friend Bailey, who was left behind on account of illness,
grew worse and finally his case was pronounced hopeless. His
death added to the deep gloom and sadness which enveloped us all.
A few of the soldiers who had staid on the Island to take care of
the post, carried poor Bailey to the boat, his casket wrapped in
the flag and followed by a little procession of women. I thought
I had never seen anything so sad.
The campaign lengthened out into months, but the California
winters are never very long, and before the troops came back the
hills looked their brightest green again. The campaign had ended
with no very serious losses to our troops and all was joyous
again, until another order took us from the sea-coast to the
interior once more.
