By night, there had been enough house-building accomplished for the sheltering of four batteries. The rest of the men stowed themselves in odd corners of the fort, large numbers bunking with their friends the regulars, and many picking out soft spots on the floor of the post recreation-room and gymnasium. As a matter of fact, it was four days before the entire command was settled in quarters—wet, windy days at that—lack of working tools for putting the houses together delaying the completion of the task. But when the village finally stood finished, it was a model village indeed—with a city hall, as exemplified by the office of the adjutant; a city hospital, in the shape of the surgeon's red cross shanty; eight straight, though narrow, streets, with six houses in each; and last, if far from least, a fire department, consisting of two hose-reels manned by detachments from "I" and "L" Batteries, with Captains Williamson and Whiting serving as the Board of Engineers. Later there was added a banquet hall, in the shape of a huge mess-tent, which loomed up grandly in fair weather, but tumbled ignominiously into the mud on the stormy days when it was most needed; but in the early days, officers and men took their rations as best they could, in the stuffy casemate of the gymnasium or amid the gloom of the "Dark Arch." And it may be said here that the messing problem was not a matter for easy solution, since the crowded condition of the fort made it impossible for the batteries to cook with their Buzzacot outfits, while the fixed kitchen appliances used by the regulars were inadequate for rationing a garrison of over nine hundred men. The question was finally settled, however, by employing a contractor to provide a general mess for the regiment, and this method was followed in the rationing of the command until it was broken up and sent to its various coast stations, late in May.