November 14,
1864
If doctors and quartermasters had not quarrelled, I should not have come unto sorrow;
thus, a hospital was placed nigh to a place on the railroad where the
quartermasters would fain have a platform. “Move your tents,” said the quartermasters.
“We won't,” said the doctors. “You shall,” retorted the quartermasters. “We
shan't,” reiterated the M.D's. The strife waxed hot. Inspectors were called:
they inspected much and shook their heads; that being a negative conclusion,
the Major-General Commanding the Army of the Potomac was appealed to, and he
rode out to enter a fiat. In riding out he took me, and I took a chill.
So confusion to all doctors and quartermasters! But the former shall be forced
to cure me and the latter to make me comfortable in mine house. There came
over, for a visit, the Colonel Russell, of the funny turn, who commands now a
brigade of negro troops. He has always something funny to relate of their
manners and customs. It would appear that his nigs were once relieved by troops
of the 2d Corps, and, as both parties had just been paid off, the ivory and the
ebony sat down to play poker, wherein the ebony was rapidly getting the better
of their opponents. The enemy meanwhile began to fire shells over the woods,
but the players were too interested to leave off. At last one cute Yankee, who,
despite his cuteness, had been entirely cleaned out, wandered off and found an
empty shell, which he carefully filled with damp gunpowder, adding a paper
fuse. Approaching the group that seemed to have most money on the board, he
lighted the innocent combustible, screamed “Look out!” and threw it into the
midst of them, following up himself, to secure the greenbacks left by the fugitives.
Russell said when the recruits first come down they get into all sorts of
snarls. As, for example, two of them found what they call “one er dese ere
mortisses,” by which they would say mortar shell. “Hullo, dar's er mortiss:
s'pose dat ar’ll ’splode?” “Splode! ‘corse it'll ’splode.” “No, it wun't; how's
gwine to 'splode, when's been shot out uv er cannon?” “Bet yer five dollars '11
'splode.” “Bet yer it wun't!” The next thing the Colonel knew was a tremendous
report, and two or three bits of iron flying through his tent. He rushed forth
and collared a handful of the darks, and demanded immediate explanation.
Whereunto one replied, with the utmost simplicity: “Didn't mean nuphin, Kernul;
all fault er dat ar stupid nigger — said er mortiss wouldn't 'splode!” This day
was further remarkable by the erection of a stately flagstaff, which seemed to
imply that General Williams thought we should stay some time; but I think it
will doubtless make us move at once; just as building log huts has a similar
effect.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 269-70
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