The fourth tent was known as the Keeley tent. Under the canvas covering of this tent the great leaders of the Keeley Club held forth. The high priest of the inner circle of the flowing bowl was Harry J. Lang and his assistant was P. J. Kennedy. The tent leader was none other than the well-known celebrity, Corporal Benjamin Burdick; during the silent watches of the night his still small voice would be heard telling of hairbreadth escapes in far away India and lion hunts in the wilds of Africa. Kennedy was dubbed the Yolo Farmer the second day at camp, and he looked like one. The two Bohemians, Lang and Kennedy, were the life of the company, Lang never knew a quiet moment; a most sunny disposition, and as brave as a lion; he was well paired with his comrade Kennedy. Sam Wise, an honorary member of the company was in this tent. At the call to arms he offered his services to the company commander, and they were gladly accepted. It is entrancing to sit and hear him tell about the first thing he did when he went to work. Sam’s working periods are so few and far apart that he has occasion to remember every little detail concerning them. Joe Keane, the basso barrello, with a faraway look in his eye; the little hero, Bob Williams, and E. M. Stealey, who sang “A Soldier’s Life’s the Life for Me--Not,” made up the balance of the crowd. [Illustration: L. ZIMMERMAN A. C. GEHRET WM. BAUMGARTNER H. B. SULLIVAN A. FETZ SERGT. B. B. STURDIVANT] [Illustration: W. A. BESEMAN. SERGT. H. B. TAYLOR. J. BRIEN. T. HAMMERSON. G. UNGERMAN.] The fifth tent was called the Irish tent, headed by the Irish Sergeant Walter Kelly, a splendid soldier and officer. Wm. Flanagan, good old nine, we called him; a very active man when our daily keg of beer was on tap. He claimed descent from one of Ireland’s famous kings. W. S. McKaig, dubbed kinky on account of his curly hair, was always writing letters when there would be any work to do. W. W. Crowley, the most desperate looking character in the camp and as desperate as he looked. Johnny Gilkyson, drummer and willing worker, had no use for a drum when there was sterner work to do, and soon attached himself to a gun. Phil Bannan, always quiet and passive, a disciple of Wm. Tooker’s and quite a society man; Flanagan called him piano Irish and sneered at his social aspirations. Wm. O’Brien, always ready to volunteer for dangerous work, was the last, but not the least of this crowd. Upon the hearts of the members of this tent was emblazoned the motto, “We Love Our Sarg.”[3] [3] Sergeant Kelly. [Illustration: R. E. WILSON AL. HEETH H. C. CASEBOLT GEO. BOWNE. J. MONAHAN W. W. WILSON E. M. STEALY]