War Letters of William Thompson Lusk.

Near Fredericksburg,

Nov. 19th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Here we are at last on familiar ground, lying in camp at Falmouth, opposite to Fredericksburg. I have been unable while on the march for the few days past, to write you, but am doing my best with a pencil to-night, as one of our Captains returns home to-morrow, and will take such letters as may be given him. It was my turn to go home this time, but my claim was disregarded. You know Lt.-Col. Morrison has command of the Regiment in Col. Farnsworth’s absence, and Morrison never omits any opportunity to subject me to petty annoyances. I am an American in a Scotch Regiment, and in truth not wanted. Yet I cannot resign. The law does not allow that, so I have to bear a great deal of meanness. Stevens in his lifetime, knowing how things stood, kept in check the Scotch feeling against interlopers like Elliott and myself. … I do not exaggerate these things. I used to feel the same way in old times, but had been so long separated from the regiment as almost to forget them. I have borne them of late without complaint, hoping the efforts of my friends might work my release. In the Regiments of the old Division I think no officer had so many strong friends as I. In my own Regiment I may say that I am friendless. (I except McDonald). In the Division I had a reputation. In my Regiment I have none. After eighteen months of service I am forced to bear the insults of a man who is continually telling of the sacrifices he has made for his country because he abandoned, on leaving for the war, a small shop where he made a living by polishing brasses for andirons.

Forgive me, my dear mother, for complaining. It does me good sometimes, for then, after speaking freely, I always determine afresh that if these things must be, I will nevertheless do my duty, and in so doing maintain my self-respect. Love to all, dear mother. Good-bye.

Very afFec’y.,

William T. Lusk.

Norwich, Conn. November 17th, 1862.

My own dear Son:

I think I will commence the week by writing a letter to you who in these times of trouble occupy so large a share of my thoughts. Sam Elliott was here on Saturday, dined with us and stayed some hours. His sad condition makes me feel very melancholy. Poor fellow! How he has suffered. I sometimes wish you were all withdrawn from the Army. Oh! my poor, poor country! It is so grievous to see our sons and friends maimed, sick, or to know that they are dead. He (Elliott) tells me you are well, and seem strong. God has indeed been merciful to spare your life and strength amid such great dangers as you have passed through during the last eighteen months. Elliott talks of returning to his duties this week. He certainly ought not, for he is weak, sick, and unfit for exertion; besides that, he requires the most nourishing diet. He told me that he found you at breakfast on mouldy bread and sloppy coffee, while we who are at home doing nothing are fattening on luxuries.

Oh! my dear, dear son, I feel so anxious about the effect of this coming cold winter, and I cannot help a feeling of bitterness that you are not provided with proper food. If you should have an attack of rheumatism, do get permission to return to be taken care of properly. I hear nothing more of your prospects in New-York, but am sure your friends will not relax their exertions. We are all well here, and the Grands are doing finely, especially the last. A week from Thursday is our Thanksgiving Day in Conn., so we are expecting Thomas and Lillie to pass the day, after which I shall return with them to New-York for the winter. Elliott told me when he reached New-York, being cold, he wrapped around him the blanket Hunt gave him, and as he staggered from weakness, a police officer arrested him for drunkenness, but released him immediately on discovering that he was ill. What is the general feeling in the Army regarding the removal of McClellan, as far as you can judge? Uncle John is violently opposed to him, and Hunt, I think, partakes of his feelings. Whether justly, or unjustly, there is certainly a strong party against him. The Post and Tribune oppose him, the World and Express uphold him, while the Herald humbly submits its judgment to the will of the President.

Mary Wells and her husband have returned from Europe, and are expected here this week. Hannah has nearly or quite recovered her strength. I have not much news to tell you. The Twenty-sixth Regt. left last Thursday, to the relief of some of our citizens. They were in town at all hours, and a hundred or more at once would run past the guard and rush to their tents when they pleased. The Lt.-Col., when issuing his orders, would address them thus: “Gentlemen, please to stand back,” or, “Gentlemen, please to stop,” when he wished them to halt. This is the gossip. Very few of them were known in town, and consequently less interest was felt for them than for the Eighteenth and Twenty-First. Edward Ells, and young Meech who married Louisa Bond went with them. Gen. Tyler and Ned, Dr. Osgood saw last week in Chicago. He reports that they are having a rather forlorn time. It is some time since their paroled prisoners have seen the paymaster. I hear you have been inconvenienced by the same cause. The papers state that all are now being paid, so I hope you too will receive your own. Uncle Thomas heard somewhere, that the “De Soto” was off New Orleans on her way home for repairs. If this is true, Charles may soon be home.

Good-bye, my own dear son, may the Almighty God be ever your defence and shield.

Always very lovingly,

Mother.

Elliott said, if the Medical Examiner forbids his return this week, he should come and see me again. His brother William is in Washington. His arm is still useless.

Near Rectorville, Va.

November, 1862.

My dear Mother:

I received your half reproachful letter last night just after I had gone to bed, and thought that perhaps I might have made a little too much of the difficulties of writing without pens, ink, stand, and oftentimes in the cold with numb fingers after a day’s march. These things make me disinclined to write letters, yet I should know by the pleasure the receipt of your missives affords me, that to occasion like pleasure in return should be sufficient incentive to exertion. I am commencing well to-night with a small stub of a pencil, sitting in McDonald’s tent. But remember do, dear mother, when at times I prove neglectful, that all is necessarily well; that “no news is good news.”

I hardly can give you any hint of the intentions of the Army. We do not see the papers often enough to study the general movement of our troops, and cannot even make conjectures. We all hope , though, that we are engaged on some earnest and important undertaking. We feel that it is vital to act, and wish to act successfully. Burnside and McClellan are near us, and we have faith in them. I judge from some remark I read in the papers, that Connecticut has given her vote to the Democracy in the late elections. A test-vote was taken on election day in our Regiment to try the relative strengths of Seymour and Wadsworth. 168 votes were polled, of which Wadsworth received only 52. This was not so much because Seymour or his principles were popular, as for the reason that Wadsworth, long before his nomination for Governor of New-York, was generally known to the army as rather the leader of the clique, so obnoxious to the soldier, which was loud and virulent in its abuse of McClellan. The feeling was rather McClellan versus Fremont, than Seymour versus Wadsworth.

While I think of it, I will deny the story that Rockwell did not command his battery in the James Island battle. He did so, and I do not think Porter meant to deny it. Porter probably said that he (Porter) commanded Rockwell’s Battery the most of the time they were on James Island, without specifying anything regarding the fight. You know Rockwell was sick a good deal of the time, and Porter, as next in rank, did command in many of the almost daily skirmishes. Porter did first-rate service, and is too good a man, I think, to injure his own reputation by decrying another. On the day of the battle Rockwell was well enough to command in person, and to the entire satisfaction of General Stevens.

I had a letter from Horace yesterday, and should judge he was blue. The poor fellow has had discouragements enough. He writes that if the draft falls upon him, he shall enter the ranks and come out to the war. This is wrong. He should secure a Commission, or stay at home. With my present experience, I would not have leaped blindly as I did at the commencement of the war. I have had a hard struggle with pride and duty to make me persist, but a little of the caution displayed by most of my friends would have saved me many difficulties. If my friends have generally been more successful than I, I can at least feel consoled by the thought that what I have gained has been won by my own exertion. There, that is pretty egotism! Little boy blue, come blow your horn!

I wish I had seen Charley Johnson when in my neighborhood. I suppose I was off to Frederick. Charley must have been journeying to the moon, I guess, when he so narrowly escaped Stuart’s Cavalry.

Believe me,

Affec’y.,

Will.

79th Regiment, Oct. 28th, 1862.

Camp Near Southville, Va.

My dear Mother:

We are once more on the march and have recrossed into Virginia. Let us pray for success — and hope. I am in first rate health and spirits. It seems as though exposure was a good thing for a soldier. All the time I lay in camp I did not feel well. The day we marched it rained hard, and the air was excessively cold at night. I was appointed Division Field Officer for the day, and had to spend hours in a cold dark rainy night wandering through marshes and wet fields examining picket posts. Well, instead of killing me, as my good mother would have supposed, I lost all my ill-feelings, and, after a night’s sleep, am in better condition than I have been in for weeks. I regret only one thing — that we can no longer receive our mails regularly. In our last camp things were so arranged that we received the mail daily, which was very pleasant.

I had a letter from Coz. Lou a day or two ago, and enjoyed it greatly. It seems to me that Lilly has forgotten her offer to become my correspondent, that is to say, to do all the corresponding herself. I am sure I grasped her offer most warmly. I received a kind and friendly letter from Col. Farnsworth some days since, which I forwarded to Walter. The Colonel promised me all the influence he possessed for my advancement. A call has been lately made for men of the Volunteer Army to enlist in the Regulars. It speaks well for the discipline of the Highlanders, that, while from other Regiments from 75 to 100 men eagerly sought the opportunity to enter a new service, hardly a dozen of our men have been found ready to change their present condition. In my own company not one has volunteered.

Affec’y.,

Will.

If I get disabled, I think I shall keep a candy store — with so many nephews I would be so popular. Tell Mrs. Dodge that, for the benefit of her little girl, I shall keep an assortment of the biggest goggle-eyed wax dolls.

W. T. L.

79th Regiment, Camp Israel,

Pleasant Valley,

Oct. 19th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

It is some little time since I have had an opportunity to write you, for a few days ago we were suddenly sent to Frederick for the protection of that place, apprehensive of an attack from Stuart’s troopers. While there, we had no conveniences for inditing epistles, little to eat, and plenty of exposure. When I left for Frederick, I was quite ill with camp dysentery, but it left me very soon, although I have no doubt, could you have seen me lying out of doors without shelter in the cold night air, you would have predicted certain death to me. I find men don’t die easy, unless they are shot. Atmospheric exposure doesn’t kill. Men grow and thrive with hardship.

Well, so I am another Uncle, bless my heart! As well as the little heart of the new youngster who wouldn’t be a girl for any consideration! The female sex don’t seem to smile upon me, but then boys are such “rare birds,” as Dr. Tyng said of Billy Willson’s Zouaves. There’s some consolation in that. I think I shall accept the Uncleship of Ellen’s baby, so that when I get old and a busybody, I can make a match between this last nephew of mine and little Miss Dodge. Hey! Won’t it be fun! Give the small boy a good kissing, tell him I am going to arrange all his love matters for him when he gets old enough, and most charming of all, will buy him a new drum as soon as he can handle the drumsticks. For the rest I do not doubt but that he is a phenomenon of a beautiful mottled cherry color, in fact beyond comparison, unequalled by any other baby of his age living. Give my congratulations to Hunt and Mary, and tell them, like a good, brother I rejoice with them, and only wish I could be present with them for a few days to share their joy.

It is raining hard to-night and we think that cold weather will follow. As for promotion, I do not bother my head about that. I have enough to disgust me in a thousand ways to make me sick of soldiering. However, duty is duty, so I put my nose to the grindstone and say, “Grind away.” . . . My own tent—we are five of us together—has a pretty good set of fellows. The only trouble is, with the exception of my old first Lieutenant (appointed Capt. today), they sadly lack interest in the cause they are engaged upon. These new Regiments have destroyed the enthusiasm of the old. The newly enlisted men have already in advance, in the way of bounties, received more money than old soldiers can hope to earn in the entire war. The old officers who have been in many battles and by hard service have learned their duty, are obliged to receive instructions when on picket or other extra duty, from some Major just entering on military life, who very likely pegged shoes for them, without an inspiration for military glory, a year ago. These things are hard to gulp down, and unless the sense of duty is very strong the murmurings are loud indeed.

Affec’y.,

Will.

(W. W. Phelps to E. F. Lusk)

New-York, Oct. 8th, 1862.

My dear Mrs. Lusk:

I inclose Willie’s letter, in hopes that it has not yet been too long at hand to be the latest from his Headquarters.

I have pleasure in announcing the result of an application at Albany, which Mr. Phelps wrote you about.

I saw the Gov.

“If the position were vacant I should give it to you now. All I can say under the circumstances is this, if the vacancy occurs, and the facts are as stated about your friend, he shall have it. I will bear it in mind.”

I wrote Will immediately that what he had to do was to get Elliott to resign, and proof that he was the Senior Captain, when he could mount his gold leaf as Major.

You can imagine how difficult it is to obtain a Commission out of regular order, from the fact that the Gov. has been trying for a month to get a simple Lieutenancy for a ward of his.

Very truly,

W. W. Phelps.

Norwich, Oct. 6th, 1862.

My own dear Son:

I certainly did not intend writing you to-day, and have but little time, yet I must acknowledge the reception of Special Order No. 8 from the Headquarters of the 9th Army Corps, and the pleasure it affords me. Thomas Perkins obtained a letter from the Gov. of Conn. to the Gov. of New-York. Walter has written you the favorable result of his application so far, but of Gov. B’s[1] letter I wish to make special mention. It was in the highest degree complimentary to you, and stated in conclusion that had you served in a Conn. Reg’t he should have promoted you long since. In fact, my son, even I felt he had written as handsome a letter recommending your promotion as I could desire. So N. Y. I think is fairly the State of your adoption, and your claims rest upon her, as you have served with her sons. Should E. resign, Gov. M.[2] has promised, upon proof of your being first Captain, that you shall receive the commission. However, it is best that you should keep your friends advised, and we will do what we can. I have so much to say, I wish I could talk to you. Good-bye, God will bless you, trust Him for all things.

Very lovingly,

Mother.

Hannah has a son three days old. I have sent Special Order No. 8 to your Uncle Phelps and Walter who will use it as they like.

[1] Buckingham.

[2] Morgan.

Mouth Of Antietam Creek,
79th Regiment,

Sept. 28th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

I have been sitting smoking my pipe by moonlight, pleasantly chatting with my old friend Dr. McDonald, till remembering my anxious mother, I have returned to say cheering words to that most estimable and precious lady. At last your kind pains have been rewarded. A mail-bag has arrived from Washington, and made me the happy possessor of nine letters. What a treasure! Eight from you, and one full of kindness from dear Lilly, who promises, moreover, to write me more, though I should prove a negligent correspondent myself. Tell her to do so by all means. Such proofs of love are very delightful. I wrote you last, that I was entertaining some idea of joining McDonald as his Asst. Surgeon. We had the thing all nicely arranged — had consulted and received the approval of the Medical Director, when a young man presents himself duly commissioned for the position by the Governor of New-York. My lucky star is not in the ascendant.

Another change has taken place in my affairs. A new brigade has been formed, and the 79th Highlanders transferred to it. I was obliged to follow with my Regiment, and consequently resigned the position of A. A. A. G. to the old Brigade. The same position was offered me in the New Brigade, but, not liking the Brigadier, I declined the honor. So now I am back again, a simple Captain in the 79th, sole commander in chief of a company numbering some 20 effective men. So much for “Glory.” It may perhaps console you that Col. Christ, who had charge of five Regiments in the late battles, writes in his reports: “While I have reason to commend in general the conduct of the officers of my command, my special thanks are due to Capt. Lusk for the valuable services he rendered me.” I quote it (as nearly as I can remember) because in the mass of reports which are sent in, few, if any, will ever come to light again.

I am glad you proposed to visit Maj. Elliott in New London. He is a warm and true friend of mine. I wrote Horace to-day quite a long letter. Hunt’s letter, recommending me to accept the position of Aide on General Tyler’s staff came too late. I could not apply for it, as a Brigadier is not entitled to an Aide beyond the rank of Lieut., unless the officer receives his commission direct from the President. With Stevens I was simply detached for Staff duties. This could be done inside, but not outside, of the Brigade I may be attached to. I could therefore accept by Army Regulations nothing less than the position of Asst. Adjt.-General. Otherwise I would have fancied the thing right well, as, having consigned all ambitious project to him who is said to be the Father of them, I would like very much to see something of campaigning in the West, and the Western country. We are now resting, recruiting, and getting ready for new deeds. I trust we have inaugurated victory now, and mean to hear nothing more of Manassas.

Great must Uncle John’s faith be, if he still believes in Pope. I am sure there was not a man in his army who had any confidence in his capacity, even previous to his final disasters. We all considered him a very noisy, pretentious liar.

It is now so late that I must say Good-Bye.

Affec’y.,

Will.

Headquarters 1st Brig.

1st Div. 9th Army Corps,

Sept. 22d, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Heigh-ho! I do wish I could hear from home. We are promised a mail to-day, but I am not certain if my letters will reach me. I get piles of papers which travel down to South Carolina, make the tour of half the continent, and finally inundate me with news eight or ten weeks old; but the letters — where do they go to? I asked Genl. Burnside’s Postmaster this question the other day. “Why, let me see” was his answer, “there were some letters for you. I remember the name. It’s a queer sort of a name. Now where can they have gone to?” Consolatory, was it not? Here I am full of anxiety, and no relief.

However, most of us here stand on the same footing. We are resting now from past labors, near the mouth of Antietam Creek where it empties into the Potomac. This rest is indeed grateful to us all, for we were pretty well exhausted, ridding Maryland of its invaders. The rest can’t last long, though, I suppose. If possible I am going to abandon the immediate pursuit of arms, and return to medicine. Dr. McDonald, Surgeon of the 79th, urges me very strongly to accept the position as his 2nd assistant, and has well-nigh persuaded me that I could do more good in that position than anyone he would be apt to get elsewhere. I would like this first-rate, but how to accomplish the transfer from Brigade-Adjutant to Asst. Surgeon? The Government is not very obliging in these matters, and it is too difficult a thing to work, for me to hope much. I have a pretty good time now — am not too much pressed with work. The Col. commanding the Brigade treats me with flattering consideration, and I believe myself generally respected and beloved in the Brigade. I am not consequently very unhappy, am rather jolly than otherwise. Still I feel neglected, and have abandoned anything like military aspirations. It is vain to refer to long service, or to the estimation in which I have been held by commanding officers as shown on the records of the Division from the first. I cannot but feel that had I stayed at home until these last levies were raised, I might have held a much more responsible position than my present one. I have abandoned in future all care or thought of promotion, and content myself with doing simply and purely my duty. Now, my precious mother, if I am querulous, don’t let it trouble you. I do not mind it myself. I only write as I do to show you how it is that my feelings have so changed since we parted. You can remember how indignantly I repulsed every suggestion as to my entering the army in connection with the medical service, and yet would very gladly do so to-day were it in my power. As for the rest, not being one of your grand and gloomy geniuses oppressed by a sense of their own merits, and the world’s want of appreciation of them, although occasionally exercising a soldier’s privilege to grumble, I contrive to keep up my spirits, like a Mark Tapley in the township of Eden. Bother! I would like to see you all. Master Turly must wear breeches with pockets in them. Master Will has doubtless grown large enough to bully smaller boys than himself. (Such things are possible, my dear sister Mary, though I grant the improbability in this particular case). Lilly and Tom have grown staid and domestic. Walter can hear the heir-apparent talked about without blushing. Both the Ellens make charming young mothers. The old house, Hunt and Mary, and then my mother thinking of an absent scapegrace who now sits in his shirt-sleeves, having laid aside his shabby war-worn regimentals, and wants to be remembered lovingly by all his friends! Oh bother!

Affec’y.,

Will.
Capt. & A. A. A. G.