The uproar in front continued. Suddenly the glittering line of bayonets fell and shouts from the mob of “Fall in there!” “Get in front!” “Don’t give a step!” resounded over the tumult. Anxiously we waited to hear the next order, which might ring the deathknell of many of our comrades, when shout after shout pealed out from the excited mob. A thrill ran along our ranks. “They had thrown down their arms.” We gritted our teeth and waited breathlessly for the order to charge. But that order was not to come during that whole trying day. Three times did the report run along the line that the Sacramento men had thrown down their arms and then taken them up again at the entreaty of their officers. The men in our ranks began to feel disgusted. Was this to be the performance gone through by each company in turn? Were they to be cheered and argued with, coddled and cajoled out of the ranks? Standing there in the dust, burning with thirst for water we dare not touch, with the thermometer above one hundred and five degrees in the shade, watching the farce in front, and looking off toward the vacant unprotected south front of the depot, knowing well that a corporal’s squad, if thrown in from the rear, could clear it, and yet powerless to move, it would have been little wonder if the best trained regular troops became disgusted. “Why do we not take the strikers in the rear while they palaver with the men in front?” “Where are our Generals, not a sign of whom have we seen since our arrival, and their staffs, numbering enough in themselves to clear the depot?” However, “Their’s not to reason why.” We must stand there and await developments. They were certainly improving our tempers to fight, for we would have fought an European host for the chance to get into that shady depot and escape the burning heat of the dusty road. The men continued to fall on all sides exhausted, and it seemed as if the laurels of victory would deck the brow of a third party--Old Father Sol. The uproar of shouts, cheers, and yells continued in front. Suddenly a wave of surprise, then of satisfaction, passed over us. The Sacramento troops were marching off the ground, followed by a frantic mob of men and boys. Our chance would come soon. Speculation now became rife. Would the Stockton men do the same, or would they press forward against the mob? A few minutes of tumult, mingled yells and cheers for “Stock” settled the question for us. We saw the flash of the bayonets as the pieces were brought to the right shoulder; fours right, column right, and the Stockton companies marched by, cheered to the echo by the strikers.