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stopped at the house of one Thompson and, that afternoon, camped near by, just close to Mangohick Church. . . . Mr. Thompson was an odd specimen.
He talked just like a nigger, and with a squeaky voice.
He was sharp withal, and pretended to have been entirely stripped; but I presently discovered he had a good deal, or, as he would have said, right smart, of corn.
I discovered to-day that the Lieutenant-General has sick-headaches periodically--one now, for example, for which he put some chloroform on his head.
May 28, 1864
A little before eight we left the neighborhood of the squeaky Mr. Thompson and, turning presently to the right, pushed along towards the Pamunkey.
We now had struck a classic ground where the old McClellan men began to have “reminiscences,” worse than you and Anna Curtis, when you get together.
“Ah,” says Cadwalader, “that is the house, the very house, where I came up with my regiment — Rush's Lancers.
We drove the Rebs across that field, and then we burned the bridge, and picketed the river,” etc. The bridge destroyed by the valiant Cadwalader had never been replaced, and now our engineers had thrown a pontoon, over which the artillery of the 6th Corps was rapidly passing, while the flat was full of batteries, and of waggons waiting their turn.
These canvas pontoons are funny looking; they consist of a boat-shaped frame, which is wrapped in a great sheet of canvas and put in the water, this making a boat, on which part of the bridge-floor may rest.
It looks as if the Commander-in-Chief had undertaken the washing business on a large scale, and was “soaking” his soiled clothing.
At about half-past 10 I crossed (having been told to go back and inform General Grant of General Meade's whereabouts) 