March 5, 1865
. . . Well, the
rain held up and some blue sky began to show, and I mounted on what I shall
have to call my Anne of Cleves — for, in the choice words of that first of
gentlemen, Henry VIII, she is “a great Flanders mare” — and rode forth for a
little exercise. Verily I conceived we should rester en route, s[u]ch
was the mud in one or two places! She would keep going deeper and deeper, and I
would strive to pick out a harder path and would by no means succeed.
Nevertheless, I made out to find some terra firma, at last, and, by holding to
the ridges got a very fair ride after all. I found not much new out there,
towards the Jerusalem plank: some cavalry camped about, as usual, and a new
railroad branch going to supply them, and called Gregg's branch. Gregg, by the
way, has resigned. He is a loss to the service, and has commanded a cavalry
division very successfully for a long time. I don't know why he went out, since
he is a regular officer. Some say it is a pretty wife, which is likely, seeing
the same had worked in that style with others. Then there is Major Sleeper,
resigned too. He has served long and well, and been wounded; so I say, what a
pity that he should not stick to the end. It is human nature to expect a full
performance of duty, when once a man has done decidedly well. These branch
railroads are like mushrooms, and go shooting out at the shortest notice. The
distinguished Botiano was entirely taken down by the performances of this sort.
Just at the time of our new extension to the left, he went for a few days to
Washington. When he got back, he was whisked over five miles of new railroad,
including a number of bridges! This upset him wholly, and it was hard to make
him believe that there hadn't been an old line there before. Now where do you
suppose I went last night? Why, to the theatre! Certainly, in my private
carriage to the theatre; that is to say, on horseback, for may high powers
forfend me from an ambulance over corduroys and these mud-holes! Rather would I
die a rather swifter death. To explain, you must understand that good Colonel
Spaulding commands a regiment of engineers, a fine command of some 1800 men. As
they are nearly all mechanics, they are very handy at building and have
erected, among other things, a large building, which is a church on Sundays,
and a theatre on secular occasions. Thither the goodly Flint rode with me. On
the outside was about half the regiment, each man armed with a three-legged
stool, and all waiting to march into the theatre. We found the edifice quite a
rustic gem. Everything, except the nails, is furnished by the surrounding woods
and made by the men themselves. The building has the form of a short cross and
is all of rustic work; the walls and floors of hewn slabs and the roof covered
with shingles nailed on beams, made with the bark on. What corresponds to the
left-side aisle was railed off for officers only, while the rest was cram-full
of men. The illumination of the hall was furnished by a rustic chandelier, that
of the stage by army lanterns, and by candles, whose rays were elegantly
reflected by tin plates bought from the sutler. The entertainment was to be “minstrels”;
and, to be sure, in walked an excellent counterpart of Morris, Pell, and
Trowbridge, who immediately began an excellent overture, in which the
tambourine gentleman, in particular, was most brilliant and quite convulsed the
assembled engineers. The performances were, indeed, most creditable, and there
was not a word of any sort of coarseness throughout. A grand speech on the
state of the country, by a brother in a pair of gunny-bag trousers, was quite a
gem. He had an umbrella, of extraordinary pattern, with which he emphasized his
periods by huge whacks on the table. I think the jokes were as ingeniously
ridiculous as could be got up, and that, you know, is the great thing in
minstrels. Brudder Bones came a little of the professional by asking his
friend: “What can yer play on dat banjo?” “Anyting,” says the unwary friend. “Well,
den, play a game o' billiards!” “Can't play no billiards! kin play a tune” cries
the indignant friend. “Well den, if yer kin play a tune, jis play a pon-toon!”
All to the inextinguishable delight of the engineers. After the play the good
Colonel, who is one of the salt of the earth, insisted on my taking pigs’ feet
as a supper.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 310-2
