Though our time was considerably taken up with camp duties there was plenty of time for amusement during the long day. Friday, July 6th, saw the birth of the Vigilantes. This crowd, made up from the different companies, created any amount of fun. Any one seen by a Vigilante doing any thing out of the ordinary (shaving and hair-cutting were capital offenses) was immediately reported; his person was apprehended, and brought before the Chief of the Vigilantes, to whom both sides of the case were presented, he judging whether the defendant was guilty or not. The scales of justice were badly balanced in this court, for the unfortunate one was always found guilty. Then the joy began, willing hands stripped the victim to the waist, he was blacked all over, balanced on his head and the State hose turned on him. The Yolo Farmer fell into the clutches of these worthies, but not without a heroic struggle; pursued by the ruthless mob, he rushed into his tent and, on emerging, gun in hand and bayonet fixed, presented a formidable appearance, as, thus armed, he defied his enemies. But their numbers were too much for him, he was taken from the rear, and borne in triumph to the place of execution. After a trial of great brevity, he was stripped to the waist and, while suspended by the ankles, plentifully watered by the hose. His Keeley brothers, Lang and Hayes, fearing the same fate, made a hurried departure across the park and enjoyed his discomfiture at a safe distance. Van Sieberst was the next unfortunate; poor Van wasn’t doing any thing either; but that was just the trouble; he had stretched his huge form upon the earth and was indulging in the creations of fancy, when a savage tribe of Vigilantes rushed upon him, tore him from out his ethereal world and bore him to the place of execution. The shriek that Van gave on being torn from his world of fancy, was heart-rending. He was arraigned before the all-powerful chief of the Vigilantes, who inquired, “Why comest this man here? Speak.” Thereupon a great silence fell upon the assembly and forthwith there leapt from out of the throng Tooker, the favorite son of the most renowned god of all Work, and thus he spake: “Most noble Vigilantes, this man doth never work; to the corporals of the all-powerful ‘City Guard’ he is a constant bane; he is ever quick, most noble chief, to lie down, but slow to arise; he was never known to shake the blankets of the tents of his people. Oh, noble and great-hearted brothers, I bow my head with humiliation; he is the laziest man in camp.” Thereupon, throughout that great multitude there arose a loud cry, “Him we honor.” “Him we make our chief.” “Him we obey.” There was much rejoicing among the Vigilantes. And, thus it came to pass, that after passing many days and nights in lowliness, Van Sieberst, the heaven-descended son of Bacchus, became chief ruler of the Vigilante Tribe. Verily, I say unto you, that many strange things have come to pass.