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.