War Letters of William Thompson Lusk.

[After the Battle of South Mountain]
(J. C. Wyatt To E. F. Lusk.)

MlDDLETOWN, Md.

Sept. 15th, 1862.

Mrs. Lusk:

Capt. Lusk desired me to pen you a line, as he did not have the time or opportunity, informing you that he has passed through another bloody and fearful carnage and is spared and in good health. I met him this morning as I was returning to the General Hospital at this place. The enemy has been badly beaten. Our Regt. has not suffered much comparatively. You have reason to be proud of your son. May God bless him and protect him. Yours truly,

Jas. C. Wyatt,

Chaplain 79th N. Y. V.

Norwich, Conn.

September 12th, 1862.

My own dear Son:

You see I am following out my resolution to write you every day, although I have many doubts about your receiving one half the letters I write. There is a great dearth of news. Pope’s report with its censures is exciting remark, and I trust the country will demand a full investigation as soon as the public necessity will permit. Jeff Davis’ Proclamation is highly entertaining in view of past acts; however, that we care little about, his words are nothing. I wish I knew where you are, and where the last turn in the wheel has placed you. I suppose Gen. Stevens’ part in the last battles, together with that of his Division, can never be known. It is specially hard, because his gallantry and the splendid fighting done by his troops were in the first accounts acknowledged.

The death of young Matteson I feel sorely on your account. It seems as though the storm had swept over you; your General killed, friends wounded or ill. I stop and think: “What am I that God should so preserve the precious life of my son? Should guard his health, should guide his steps? May I be grateful as I ought, may I be more trustful.”

We have so hoped we might see you, that Hunt and Mary have had a room furnished in the wing, hoping you would be the first to occupy it.

13th. I wrote Horace a day or two since, giving an account of Gen. Stevens’ death from your letter, saying if it possessed any interest for the public he might give it to Godwin of the Post, and this morning I saw it published there.[1] I am glad, because so little has been said of this brave man by any of the New-York papers except the Tribune. I have written Mrs. Stevens a letter of sympathy for her loss. I wanted her to know, and to feel, that the Nation weeps for her illustrious dead. I wrote her I took the liberty of offering her my sympathy, because personally I felt her husband’s loss most deeply for his kindness to my son.

Mr. Benedict is below in the library with Hunt. His brother, who was taken prisoner some time ago, but recently released, has been appointed Colonel of one of the new N. Y. regiments. Our Governor I hear excuses his want of consideration for you by saying it would have been different if you had belonged to a Conn. Regiment, so I suppose you are considered as belonging to New-York. Good-bye, my own dear son. God bless you always. I thank him for your perservation.

Love from all to you, and kind words to Major Elliott.

Lovingly,

Mother.

[1] N. Y. Evening Post of Sept. 12th, 1862.

(from E. F. Lusk To Horace Barnard)

Norwich, Sept. 10th, 1862.

Dear Horace:

I received your letter on Sunday morning. I am satisfied that you will manage the business intrusted to you as well as may be during these horrible times, and hope for a better future. I am sad, sick, despairing. Fifteen months ago I gave my son, my only one, to serve his country as he best might. How faithful he has been his General has testified. He has fought in five large battles and in ten or twelve small ones, not a day’s respite, always at the wheel, full of hope, full of energy, sacrificing home, University honors in Berlin, all that made life lovely, to serve his country in her hour of need. Look at the result. Gen. Stevens, his good friend, the best, the bravest, the truest patriot, the courageous soldier, the great man, is sacrificed, while blundering little men who can never fill his place are for political reasons reaping honors. My son is still performing the duties of an Assistant Adjutant-General, trying, as he says, to keep the concern in motion, but with gloomy prospects when the command passes into new hands. His regiment, the 79th, is reduced from its proud array of 1000 men to a regiment of cripples — only 230 men are left, wholly, I fear hopelessly, demoralized. Oh, my God, has he not one friend who can lift a hand to help? Are his services of no value? Loyal as I have ever been, loyal as I am still, now that his kind appreciative General is gone, I would, if I could, withdraw him from the army, where the faithful servant is unnoticed, and the scheming politician receives the honors.

I have received two letters since the battles on the Rappahannock, in all of which he was engaged, through which, my God, “The God of the widow,” preserved him alive. He was “Acting A. A. General,” full of love and admiration for his General, and honored in return by his loving confidence. I now quote from his letter regarding his last battle: “Whenever anything desperate was to be performed, Kearny and Stevens were always selected, with this difference, though, that Stevens was rarely credited with what he did, while Kearny’s praises were very properly published. On Monday’s fight, the General’s son and I were walking together in the rear of the 79th Regiment, when Capt. Stevens was wounded. Finding that he was able to move off without assistance, I continued to follow the Regiment. Soon the General came up on foot. ‘Have you seen your son?’ I asked him. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I know that he is wounded,’ and then added, ‘Capt. Lusk, I wish you would pass to the left of the line, and push the men forward in that direction.’ I did as I was ordered, and on my return found the Gen. had been killed and the troops badly slaughtered. The General you have read was shot while holding the flag of the 79th Regiment in his hand. There were five shot holding the same flag in about 20 minutes time. I found the sixth man standing almost alone at the edge of some woods, still clinging hopelessly to the colors. I drew him back to the crest of a hill a couple of hundred yards, and gathered a few of the 79th about it. Kearny then came riding up, and asked the name of the little band. On being told, he said, ‘Scotchmen, you must follow me.’ They told him they had not a round of ammunition left. ‘Well,’ said he then, ‘stand where you are, and it may be you will be able to assist my men with the bayonet.’ The soldierly form moved on and it, too, soon was dust.

Stevens was a great man, and Kearny a courageous soldier.”

If these incidents would interest the public, and Mr. Godwin is inclined to publish them, I have no objection; you may do as you like. I wish the country knew all that occurred on those battlefields. The truth is beginning to dawn. I have written a long letter. Will is still at the Headquarters of the 1st Division, Reno’s Command. He shudders at the thought of returning to his Regiment. The General and all the best friends of the 79th felt that it had suffered so much from constant active service, was so terribly decimated, and so demoralized from the loss of officers, it should be recalled from the service. If my son has friends who can help, beg them to think of him now—his General killed, his intimate friends wounded, Major Matteson, his tried friend, dead of typhoid fever—his cup is more than full, and my heart is ready to burst with its grief for him.

Well, good-bye; give much love to all who care for us, and believe me,

Truly yours,

E. F. Lusk.

Norwich, Conn.

September 9th, 1862.

My own dear Son:

I am half sick, very sad, grieved, and troubled on your account, yet very thankful for the wonderful preservation of your life through so many dangers. I cannot but feel that a life so cared for has been saved for the accomplishment of good and wise purposes, which will be wrought out in God’s own time. Take courage, and strengthen your heart, my own precious son, in the remembrance of what He has done for you, through the whole course of your life, and especially for his goodness amid the dangers of the past year. Well may we all lament the loss of your General. I feel, and mourn as for a personal friend, and the nation too late acknowledges the want of appreciation of one of its greatest men and ablest military commanders. Gen. Kearny’s staff, I noticed, returned with his body, and so we have hoped that, sad as the journey might be, you would be permitted to accompany your General’s remains to their last home.

I have just received two letters from you, one of the 4th, the other of the 6th. May God be with you, my dear son, to comfort and guide. A dark cloud seems to have gathered around you; may it soon pass and the brightness shine again. The Herald and Times have contained little regarding Gen. Stevens, but the Tribune correspondent sounds his praises, and dwells upon his memory. There was a statement in yesterday’s Tribune, that while he was engaged in his last battle, prominent men, though political opponents, had decided to request that he might command the Army of Virginia, his splendid fighting on Friday and Saturday having at last awakened the remembrance of his superior abilities, and his distinction at West Point, as well as in Mexico, and whereever he had opportunities to show himself. The Express says he was sacrificed to political opinion.

Do write as often as possible, my son. My nerves are greatly shaken, although my health is far better in most respects than it used to be, yet I feel sensibly this strain upon my spirits. I cannot write as long a letter as I wish to-day, but I intend in future to write a little every day, to always have something ready for you.

The Lt.-Col. of the Eighteenth is not all that could be desired, and Ely, I am told, regrets that you are not with him. Political interests are paramount everywhere. Alfred Goddard called on us last night. He said he had followed your course, and everywhere heard your noble conduct spoken of. I will write again to-morrow. I am very sorry you have lost your back letters which have gone from my pen, as well as one from Lillie. All are well at home. Poor Matteson, how you must lament for him! Major Elliott, see, is wounded.

God bless you, my own dear son. In Him is our only trust. Would that we could meet if only for one short hour.

Your sisters send love and warmest sympathy. We all feel for you, and I pray earnestly to God for His help and blessings.

Lovingly and anxiously,

Mother.

Hunt’s suggestions are dictated by his kind heart, but I think you deserve and must receive a higher appointment than that of Aide.

Headquarters 1st Division,

9th Army Corps, Meridian Hill, Washington, D. C.

Sept. 6th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Now that our General is dead, a Colonel commands the old Division temporarily, and I continue to superintend the office, running the old machine along until different arrangements can be made, when I suppose I shall be set adrift with no pleasant prospects before me. I would resign, were I permitted to do so, and would gladly return to my medical studies this winter, tired as I am of the utter mismanagement which characterizes the conduct of our public affairs. Disheartened by the termination of a disastrous campaign — disasters which every one could and did easily foresee from the course pursued—we find, as a consolation, that our good honest old President has told a new story apropos of the occasion, and the land is ringing with the wisdom of the rail-splitting Solomon. Those who were anxious and burning to serve their country can only view with sullen disgust the vast resources of the land directed not to make our arms victorious, but to give political security to those in power. Men show themselves in a thousand ways incompetent, yet still they receive the support of the Government. Politicians, like Carl Schurz, receive high places in the army without a qualification to recommend them. Stern trusty old soldiers like Stevens are treated with cold neglect. The battle comes—there is no head on the field —the men are handed over to be butchered—to die on inglorious fields. Lying reports are written. Political Generals receive praises where they deserve execration. Old Abe makes a joke. The army finds that nothing has been learned. New preparations are made, with all the old errors retained. New battles are prepared for, to end in new disasters. Alas, my poor country! The army is sadly demoralized. Men feel that there is no honor to be gained by the sword. No military service is recognized unless coupled with political interest. The army is exhausted with suffering—its enthusiasm is dead. Should the enemy attack us here, however, we should be victorious. The men would never yield up their Capital. There is something more, though, than the draft needed to enable us to march a victorious host to the Gulf of Mexico. Well, I have been writing freely enough to entitle me to accommodations in Fort Lafayette, but I can hardly express the grief and indignation I feel at the past. God grant us better things in future.

I had said my own prospects are somewhat gloomy. When the changes are made in this command, and new hands shall take charge of it, I will have to return to the 79th Regiment — a fate at which I shudder. The Regiment has been in five large battles, and in ten or twelve smaller engagements. While adding on each occasion new luster to its own reputation, it has never taken part in a successful action. The proud body that started from the city over a thousand strong, are now a body of cripples. The handful (230) that remains are foreigners whose patriotism misfortunes have quenched. The morale is destroyed — discipline relaxed beyond hope of restoration. The General and all the true friends of the Regiment were of the opinion that it should be mustered out of the service. After performing hard duties in the field for fifteen months I find there is nothing left me but to sink into disgrace with a Regiment that is demoralized past hope of restoration. This for a reward. I am writing this from the old scene of the mutiny of last year. A strange year it has been. God has marvellously preserved my life through every danger. May he be merciful to my mother in the year to come. My old friend Matteson is dead. He was a Major in Yates’ Regiment of Sharpshooters which distinguished itself at Corinth. He died at Rosecrans’ Headquarters, of typhoid fever.

We are going to move from here to-morrow, but your safest direction will be Capt. W. T. Lusk, A. A. A. G., 1st Div. 9th Army Corps, Washington (or elsewhere). All the letters sent me since I left Fredericksburg have miscarried, and I am very anxious for news.

Affec’y-,

Will.

[Battle of Chantilly]
Headquarters 1st Div. Reno’s Command,

Near Alexandria, Sept. 4th, 1862.

Dear Mother:

Once more, after a lapse of nearly five weeks, am I able to write you again. During this time we have been cut off from all communication with our friends, we have been busily employed, and have suffered much. I have lost my good friend, Genl. Stevens, who has been sacrificed by little men who can poorly fill his place. Whenever anything desperate was to be performed, Stevens and Kearny were always selected, with this difference, though, that Stevens rarely was credited with what he did, while Kearny’s praises were properly published. On Monday’s fight, the General’s son and I were walking together in the rear of the 79th Regiment, when Capt. Stevens was wounded. Finding that young Stevens was able to move off without assistance, I continued to follow the Regiment. Soon the General came up on foot. “Have you seen your son?” I asked him. “Yes,” said he, “I know he is wounded,” and then added, “Capt. Lusk, I wish you would pass to the left of the line, and push the men forward in that direction.” I did as I was ordered, and, on my return, found the General had been killed, and the troops badly slaughtered. The General you have read was shot while holding the flag of the 79th Regiment in his hand.

There were five shot holding the same flag in about twenty minutes time. I found the sixth man standing almost alone at the edge of some woods still clinging hopelessly to the colors. I drew him back to the crest of a hill a couple of hundred yards back and gathered a few of the 79th about it. Kearny then came riding up, and asked the name of the little band. On being told, he said, “Scotchmen, you must follow me.” They told him they had not a round of ammunition left. “Well,” said he then, “stand where you are and it may be you will be able to assist my men with the bayonet.” The soldierly form moved on, and it, too; soon was dust. Stevens was a great man, and Kearny a courageous soldier. It is not every man of whom this last can be said, though the country may have placed him high in power. I suppose I must not tell all I have seen in the last few days fighting, but I have seen enough to make it no matter of wonder at the extent of our disaster. I have read little truth as yet in the papers, though I see the people are beginning to feel the truth. So long as the interests of our country are entrusted to a lying braggart like Pope, or a foolish little Dutchman like Sigel, we have little reason to hope successfully to compete with an army led by Lee, Johnston and old “Stonewall” Jackson. Carl Schurz, our lately returned minister to Spain, I found blundering horribly. Schenck was a laughable instance of incompetence, and so with others. You must be careful to whom you repeat these things, and yet there is much which it were better were known, for our soldiers are not deceived by lying reports. They feel whom they can trust, and are not willing to fight for men like McDowell and that ilk. McClellan’s reappointment gives great satisfaction to the soldiers. Whether right or wrong they believe in him.

I expect to get my back letters to-day, and then what a treat. I am still very much fatigued by the last month, and like to rest all I can.

Good-bye. Kisses and love to all.

Affec’y.,

Will.

Aug. 26th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

I have an opportunity to smuggle a letter through the lines letting you know that I am well, and, in the stoppage of all communication with the army, assuring you that you must comfort your heart with the thought that “no news is good news.” If any accident should befall me, rest assured you will hear of it soon enough. If you hear nothing, then, dear Mother, rest content. I am still performing the duties of an Asst. Adj.-Gen. I saw today in the papers the arrival of the 18th Regt. C. V. in Baltimore, and saw, too, that my name was not printed in the Field. Never mind, these are too important times for the indulgence of mere petty ambitions. I am content to serve my country in my present position, and have all the responsibility I desire on my shoulders. We are very busy. I must not tell how we are employed.

Write me as usual. Occasionally your letters will reach me when an opportunity occurs, remaining in the meantime at Washington. Good-bye. Many, many kisses, and a deal of affection for you all at home. God bless you all. If I could only see the children, my sisters and my own dear mother! Still I am getting along swimmingly. Love to all.

Yours affec’y.,

Will.

Norwich, Aug. 23d, 1862.

My own dear Son:

Startling and conflicting rumors from the army in Virginia render us very uneasy to-day. I will not dwell upon them, but wait patiently until a reliable statement comes to us. The 18th took its departure yesterday. . . . Col. Ely, I am told, is not at all pleased. . . .

Mrs. Tyler was here last evening. I told her I regretted extremely ever having written you what I had heard of the efforts made by your friends for you. She replied, “I am glad you did, and tell him I say his friends are full of indignation, and my husband says that he will never again propose an officer to the Governor.” . . . Our whole attention is so absorbed by army movements I have scarcely anything to tell you. . . . Charlie Johnson, Mrs. T. tells me, is very indignant in your behalf, as well as Ned T., Ely, and several others. … It is now eleven days since I heard from you, my heart beats anxiously, nervously. I can only pray for your safety and trust in the mercy of God. . . . My heart cries out in constant prayers for your safety. Oh! God be with him everywhere, defend his body and his soul.

Always very lovingly,

Mother.

Headquarters Stevens’s Div.
9th Army Corps,

Fredericksburg, Aug. 19th, 1862.

My dearest Mother:

Here we are, occupying a fine house in the pleasant town of Fredericksburg, with the thermometer standing ever so high in the shade among a people whose glances are at zero in the hottest of this summer sunshine. I have seen nothing like this before, except in the single City of Venice., where the feeling is so intense toward the German soldiery. Yet it is not strange when one thinks that there are few left beside women. The men are away fighting in the pride of sons of the Old Dominion, and many a family here is clad in sombre colors for the loss of dear friends who have lost their lives at the hands of “Yankee Invaders.” So a military occupation of a disaffected town is less pleasant than the tented field. We will not remain a great while, though. We are now on the eve of great events. God only knows what the morrow has in store for us. I cannot say where I may be when I next write, but continue to direct to Stevens’ Division, 9th Army Corps, and the letters will reach me. I am sick at heart in some respects, and utterly weary of the miserable cant and whining of our Northern press. It is time that we assumed a manlier tone. We have heard enough of rebel atrocities, masked batteries, guerillas, and other lying humbugs. Pope’s orders are the last unabatable nuisance. Are we alone virtuous, and the enemy demons? Let us look at these highly praised orders of Pope which are to strike a death-blow at rebellion. We are henceforth to live on the enemy’s country, and to this, as a stern military necessity, I say “Amen!” But, mother, do you know what the much applauded practice means? It means to take the little ewe-lamb — the only property of the laborer — it means to force from the widow the cow which is her only source of sustenance. It means that the poor, and the weak, and the helpless are at the mercy of the strong — and God help them! This I say is bad enough, but when papers like the _____, with devilish pertinacity, talk of ill-judged lenity to rebels and call for vigorous measures, it makes every feeling revolt. We want vigorous measures badly enough to save us in these evil times, but not the measures the _____ urges. The last thing needed in our army is the relaxing of the bands of discipline. And yet our Press is urging our soldiers everywhere to help themselves to rebel property, and, instead of making our army a glorious means of maintaining liberty, would dissolve it into a wretched band of marauders, murderers, and thieves. If property is to be taken, let the Government take it. That is well — but I would have the man shot who would without authority steal so much as a fence rail, though it were to make the fire to cook his food. I would have no Blenkers and Sigels with their thieving hordes, but a great invincible army like Cromwell’s, trusting in God and marching on to victory.

Well, Mother, it is late. I am thankful we are under a commander who is a noble, high-minded, chivalrous man. Honor to Burnside! He is as generous as he is brave! Honor to my own dear commander, too, who has a heart to pity as well as the nerve to strike.

Kisses and love in liberal doses, prescribed in liberal doses to his absent loving friends,

By your most Affec.

Dr. Lusk.