War Letters of William Thompson Lusk.

Headquarters 2d Brigade S. C.

Beaufort, S. C. March 2d, 1862.

My dear Mother:

In the short letter I wrote you last week, I mentioned that I would not encourage your visiting Beaufort, and will now state my reasons more at length. In the first place, we have here some four thousand men on the island, of whom the best are long separated from the refining influence of home, and, in consequence, the two or three ladies who are visiting here are subject to a deal of coarse remark, to which I would not be willing that any woman should be subjected, where it lay in my power to prevent. Again, it would be quite impossible to provide you with such accommodations as would enable you to spend a few days without more suffering than you could well bear. It is all well for Quartermasters, who are not liable to be removed from this Post at a moment’s notice, to provide themselves with bedding and comforts from the North, suitable for lady friends, but this cannot be the case with those of us who are liable to an order to move at any moment, and to whom only a certain number of lbs. of baggage is allowed. We are not, moreover, so absolutely secure from the probability of an attack, that it is with perfect safety a lady may venture here. Should an attack take place, there would be a double duty to perform, the one to place my mother in security, and at the same time to assist in providing for the safety of the Brigade. I fear it would be hard to combine the two. However, I will say this, a hotel is soon to be opened here. If it has the effect to draw many lady visitors to Beaufort, I would not then say nay to your coming, but I imagine it will become more the resort of topers than of fine ladies. Well, dear mother, let us trust that there will soon be some way opened to us by which we may meet happily.

I tell you what I think would be a capital idea though — that is for Hunt or Walter, or both, to make me a flying visit one of these days. I think that would really be capital.

I was round to dine with Alfred Rockwell to-day. He is certainly a real good fellow, and if I have not given him the credit for rapidity of action, he certainly is doing what he attempts exceedingly well. His whole soul is absorbed in his battery, and he makes a better officer every day. I wrote Horace a few days ago, and trust he may receive my letter. We are getting, in indirect ways, glorious news from the North concerning the capture of Fort Donelson, and are now impatiently awaiting the arrival of a steamer with particulars. We can hardly credit a report now current, regarding a convention to be called by the Governor of Tennessee to repeal the Secession Ordinance in that State. Our latest dates are Feb. 16th, and here it is the 2d of March.

There was quite a funny affair happened last night among the pickets. Fresh meat has long been scarce in the Command, and we are forced to await the arrival of a steamer from the North before we can indulge in such a luxury. This morning, among the “Reports” sent in to these Headquarters from the “Advanced Posts,” was one containing the following remarkable account: That about 1 o’clock last night, the pickets guarding a causeway were startled by the steady tramp of advancing footsteps. On looking in the direction whence the sound came, they saw — Oh wonderful! a cow marching steadily toward them, a secessionist grasping her by the tail, and five men following in single file, protected from harm by the flanks of this redoubtable cow. Our pickets, instead of running, fired upon the foe. The cow fell groaning to the earth, and the secessionists fled and were seen no more. I hardly need add, that those pickets had fresh meat for breakfast, and though the laws against killing cattle are very stringent, in such a case nothing could be said. Capt. Elliott has not yet arrived, so I am not yet in receipt of the wine Uncle Phelps has been kind enough to send me. Still I thank him very much for his kind remembrance.

It is getting late, so many kisses, mother, and good night.

I am very affec’y.,

W. T. Lusk

Headquarters 2d Brigade, S. C.

Beaufort, S. C. Feb. 16th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Pleasant land of South Carolina! Roses blooming in the gardens, mocking birds whistling sweet notes in the forests, trees green and beautiful as dense foliage can make them — quite different from the cold winter you are spending—but Ugh, how the wind does blow here to-night though! It makes little difference to us here in the house, for the bright wood-fire blazes cheerfully, and around it is gathered by no means a dejected party smoking cigars, and good-naturedly cursing the slowness of the campaign. Out of door, the pickets perhaps, blowing their fingers, may be using deeper expressions, and may be having different motives for wishing the war to wag along a little faster. Would that our little General with his big shaggy head, were in command! I think he would set them dancing over on the mainland to the merry old tune of Malbrook, but Sherman is slow and cautious, and the biggest figure he allows us to execute is a sort of dos-a-dos performance at best.

So our little General, with nothing better to do, contents himself with having the best managed Brigade in the Command, lectures us young men occasionally on Strategy, and at times, in sheer despair, reads novels with the same energy and vigor with which he conducts his operation on the battlefield. He is, indeed, a prodigious little man, and it would rejoice many a one, were he to receive a larger, and more splendid field of action — such a one as his talents demand.

Dear, dear! I am impatient to hear from home, but our transport vessels are needed elsewhere, and we have no idea when we are to receive another mail.

I see Captain __________ quite often. He is like Sherman, very slow. I try to give him some hints about flying around more, and I trust experience will teach him the necessary lesson.

By-the-by, who is George Martin, now Quartermaster of the 79th Regiment, who talks about “Uncle Lusk” and “Uncle Olmstead ” and “Uncle Thompson” and “Henry G.,” etc? He heard me say I was from Connecticut — “What, you don’t belong to the Enfield Lusks?” I explained my relationship. . . . Wishing to ascertain the relationship existing between us, I found he was born somewhere in Suffield, and that his using the title of “Uncle” was merely intended to show that he was accustomed to mingle familiarly in the Aristocratic Circles of Enfield. Indeed we kept up quite a running talk about Enfield. While talking rapidly upon the topics suggesting themselves on finding our “relationship,” we were somewhat interrupted by a loud haw-haw from a bed in the corner of the room. Then a voice, deep and gruff, cried: “Haw-haw! Oh Lord, haw-haw! One would think there were no people in the world except those that come from Connecticut, haw-haw!” This proceeded from a drunken Captain, who was so amused at his own wit, that he continued to laugh, and roll, and shake his fat sides until the room was in a roar, and as I left, way down the street you could hear the same “haw-haw” from the jolly drunken Captain.

Love to all.

Affec’y.,

Will.

Headquarters 2d Brigade, S. C.

Beaufort, S. C. Feb. 6th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

… I have received the little prayer-book from Nannie Day and thank the dear soul many times for a remembrance that by no means is needless to a soldier. You may tell her that I have several times carried it in my pocket, when circumstances have been such as to prevent my using the larger book which was packed in my trunk. I must not forget now either, Tom’s photograph which I display with pride along with those of Hunt, Uncle John, and my own mother. To-day the “Ellwood Walter” arrived at Beaufort where the Connecticut battery is to be landed. I went on board immediately, hoping, notwithstanding his illness, Captain Rockwell might be aboard, but learned he would in all likelihood arrive by the next steamer. The “Atlantic” is looked for now hourly, and I trust he may be aboard. I was not a little disappointed to learn from the officers of the battery, that not a man of them all, except the Captain, had ever fired a gun (cannon) in his life, for I had boasted much of the Connecticut battery which was to be sent to Port Royal. Any time the good Governor of Connecticut, or the sons of the worthy state, see fit to honor me, I am open to anything like promotion. So goes the world. I have only held as a secure and settled thing, my position as Captain about three weeks, when I talk of something better. I will confess to you now, that though, since deserted by Lieut- (now Captain) Sam Elliott,[1] I have held command of a company of Highlanders, and though I had been led to suppose for a time (on my first being transferred to the Staff) I held it as Captain, under which supposition I wrote you, stating the -same, my real title to the rank of Captain has only dated since the short time I have mentioned. But having made the mistake once, there was nothing left for me to do but to try to get a Captaincy as soon as possible, and now that I have received the congratulations of the Regiment and Brigade, I think I may mention the matter candidly. Dear old Walter, I shall be glad to hear from him. I have lately written Hall, and trust he will forget my neglect in times past. There is going to be a “Nigger shout” to-night, which a number of the officers are going to attend. As I have no definite idea of the character of the performance except that it is a relic of native African barbarism, I shall attempt no description. Give my best love to all my dear friends at home. I do not forget their kind words, or wishes, though I do not often mention them.

Your Affec. Son,

W. T. Lusk.

[1] Lieutenant Samuel R. Elliott resigned from the 79th Highlanders Sept., 1861. He subsequently served as Surgeon in other regiments, up to the close of the war.

Beaufort, S. C. Jan. 26th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Another Sunday has come around, time slips quietly by — still nothing striking has taken place. We are all impatiently awaiting the advent of some steamer, bringing us news from the Burnside Expedition. Is our country really so prolific in great Commanders? Is there a Napoleon for each one of the dozen armies that compose the anaconda fold? Ay, ay, it would be a sad disappointment if the fold should happen to snap somewhere! Things look like action down here, and that not long hence. We have been gathering our troops gradually on the islands about the mouth of the Savannah river. Thither have gone our Connecticut friends, and yesterday three more steamers, loaded, took the remainder of Gen. Wright’s Brigade with them. We are left here quite unnoticed on Port Royal Island, in seeming safety, though there are many troops around us. An army, boasting much, awaits us on the mainland, but an army having still a wholesome dread of Yankees. I made them a sort of visit the other night (25th), passing up Hospa Creek in a light canoe, hidden by the darkness and the long grass of the marshes. A negro guide paddled so lightly that, as we glided along, one might have heard the dropping of a pin. It was fine sport and as we passed close by the enemy’s pickets we would place our thumbs to our noses, and gracefully wave our fingers toward the unsuspecting souls. This was by no means vulgarly intended, but as we could not speak, we thus symbolically expressed the thoughts that rose in our bosoms. We pushed on until coming to a point where a stream like a mere thread lay before us. Here we paused, for this was a stream we wished to examine. At the mouth of the stream stood the sentries of the enemy. We could hear their voices talking. We lay under the river grass, watching. Soon a boat pushed across the little stream to the opposite shore. We shoved our canoe far into the marsh, and lay there concealed. Then all was still and we thought it time to return, so back we went, and returned home unnoticed and in safety. Such little excursions give a zest to the dulnessof camp. I have not yet been able to give Miss Mintzing’s letter to any one who could send it to her friends, yet I hope such an opportunity will speedily come. What is Tom Reynolds now doing?

The paymaster has not visited us this long time, and I have but fifty cents in my pocket. However, when one has nothing to spend, he feels quite as happy down here, as money can buy but few luxuries in camp. We don’t starve though. Secession cows give us milk, speculators bring us butter, and the negroes sell us chickens.

Jan. 27th. We find all sorts of communication with home fairly cut off. Gen. Sherman has been long planning some expedition against Fort Pulaski. At length it has started from Hilton Head, and Gen. Sherman, with his characteristic caution, has closed all communication, fearful that otherwise, through letter or in some other manner his plans might be revealed. I trust when the embargo is raised, the same steamer that carries this to you, will bear accounts of some new success from our expedition.

I am sorry Uncle Phelps is disappointed that he did not have the pleasure of reading my name in print. Why, I read the other day (in the Herald), how I commanded an enterprise at which I was not even present. So much for newspaper glory! After Bull Run, numbers who never left New-York, had themselves puffed for gallant conduct by a mercenary press. Pooh! Mother, your reputation outside the circle of those who can see, is not worth the words that picture it. I have to laugh when I think of Brig.-Gen. _____ of the Irish Brigade, and the affrighted Captain beating a quick retreat from Bull Run, swearing that the South had fought well and deserved its independence — that it was useless to resist a free people, and the sooner we recognize the South the better.

Since then _____ _____has become a great hero, by the mighty powers of quackery.

Well, dear Mother, Good-bye.

Yours affectionately,

W. T. Lusk.

Headquarters 2d Brigade,

Beaufort, S. C. Jan. 9th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

It is with great pleasure I am able to write of my rapid recovery from a somewhat severe illness. I caught the fever prevalent in this country, and lost all those pounds of flesh of which I have boasted, but am thankful to be again restored to health, if not to full strength, and am gaining rapidly. There is little chance of obtaining a leave of absence, for, though delightful as it would be to see you all again, it is not well to look back when the hand is once put to the plough. You will ere this have received an account of our New Year’s call over on the mainland of South Carolina. It was very successful, but I was unable to be present, as excessive exhaustion, the result of the fever, kept me confined in bed. The weather down here is charming now, the sun is as warm as summer. I think of you suffering from cold. I would be willing to exchange the warm sun of Beaufort, though, for a couple of weeks in the chilly North where there are warm hearts ever ready to welcome me. I am going to enclose to you a copy of a Secession letter which may afford you some amusement.

I have not received either my trunk or sword yet, though they undoubtedly are at Hilton Head, but the express agency is a slow working affair, and I must abide their time patiently. Yesterday was the anniversary of the battle of New Orleans. In the evening the General had a reception, at which many patriotic speeches were made, and a general feeling of jollity prevailed. There is little news to communicate. Your letters come regularly. I have received Hunt’s photograph, which is capital. I hope gradually to get the likenesses of the whole family.

There is at presents far as we can learn, a general feeling of depression among the South Carolina troops, which possibly may eventually develop into a Union sentiment. The feeling the soldiers express is: “We have no negroes to fight for, while the slave-owners have all taken good care to retire to the interior of the State where they can live in safety.” The question is beginning to pass among them, “Why should we stay here to be shot, when those who have caused the war have run away?” This is dangerous talk, and, we are told, officers have great difficulty in maintaining the organization of their Regiments. At least these are stories brought by the negroes who are continually escaping to our lines, and the unanimity of their reports seems to lend the appearance of truth to them. The fact is, the frightful effects of the explosions of the 11 inch shell which some of our gun-boats carry, have produced a great panic among the land forces of South Carolina. Negroes from Charleston report the city in a great fright, the inhabitants making preparation to leave at the sound of the first note of alarm. I hope we may catch old Tyler.[1] It would do me a deal of good to see the traitor sent North to be dealt with properly. There is a strong contrast between the treatment of our prisoners, and that received by the unfortunates who fall into the hands of the “chivalry.” The prisoners we have here are certainly as well treated if not better than our own soldiers. As I see them, on passing their place of confinement, with their legs hanging out of the windows, smoking their pipes, lolling about, enjoying fires when it is chilly, I cannot but think of a poor fellow named Buck, a German in my company and a capital fellow, who was captured at Bull Run and taken prisoner to Richmond. Once he ventured to put his head out of his prison window, and in an instant the guard shot him dead. I remembered too an amiable practice of the chivalrous youth of Richmond, who, when drunk, were in the habit of discharging their pieces from below, sending the bullets through the floor of the prison. This piece of pleasantry they termed “tickling the legs of the Yankees!” Well, we are not barbarians, and the other day a poor fellow whom we took prisoner at the battle of the Coosaw, as he lay grievously wounded, but receiving every kindness and attention at our hands, said: “Ah, there’s a mistake somewhere. We think you come here to murder and burn and destroy.” It will take time, but we believe by making ourselves dreaded in battle, but using kindness to all who fall into our power, even South Carolina may learn the lesson that there is a mistake somewhere.

There, I think I have written a long letter. With much love to all, I remain,

Your affec. son,

Will.

[1] John Tyler.

December 30th, 1861.

My dear Mother:

I hardly know what you all think at home — Hall gets married, and I send no word of congratulation; Walter sends me a beautiful present, and I return no word of thanks; Horace writes me a letter full of kindness, and it lies still unanswered; your letters come with such regularity, and yet are hardly better treated. You have been waiting, I suppose impatiently, to receive some news, but I have been obliged to be silent, for I have been quite ill with a fever. I am better this morning, so I write to set your mind at ease. I am under the charge now of Dr. McDonald, who is excessively kind and supplies me with every comfort a sick man could desire, such as clean sheets, cheerful faces, currant jelly, easy chairs, etc. I do not feel much like writing I must say, and, after I’ve told you I am now getting along very comfortably, you will excuse me from making this letter a long one.

With best love,

Very Affec’y.,

W. T. Lusk.

Headquarters 2d Brigade, S. C.

Beaufort, S. C. Dec. 20th, 1861.

My dear Mother:

Here it is almost Christmas, but there is no hope of dining with you all at home on that joyful day. Still I will try to make myself cheerful here, as that alone is a comfortable philosophy. Duties are a bit lighter to-day—the result, I suppose, of great exertion for a few days back. I received last night three letters from you and one from Horace. Let me thank you, dear mother, very much for the photograph you sent me. It gives me much gratification, and now occupies a conspicuous place in my room. I shall look impatiently for the photographs likewise of my sisters and the little boys. It would do me much good to see Hunt’s good-looking face, if he does feel too logy to favor my whims. You write me for my photograph, as though I was living at the seat of civilization, and the abode of elegance. Well, to be sure, I am; but then everything is in Southern style, which does not admit of such vulgar things as tradesmen, much less of itinerant shadow catchers. I have grown immensely aristocratic since in South Carolina. There is something in the air that’s infectious. A few more weeks here, and I’ll be able to stomach even a Bostonian, which — Oh! I had almost forgotten how soon Hall’s wedding comes off; the 25th of December, Walter writes me. Do for Heaven’s sake give the bride something from me. I enclose $10.00 to make the purchase. There is nothing one can possibly buy down here. Pay-day is not far off again, and I hope to be able to remit something handsome to Uncle Phelps, which may make him cry, “Oh, provident youth!” Until then Walter’s baby must go without the coral and bells destined him by his affectionate Uncle William. Tell Horace I took into consideration the request he made with regard to writing a few lines to Saml. Lord, assuring him of the welfare of Miss Mintzing, concluded to do it, have done it, and think the communication will reach him.

We are quite active here at Beaufort, giving the good people on the mainland all sorts of starts. The other night a young Lieutenant crossed to the mainland with a small party, caught six of their pickets, and brought them safely back as prisoners. A captain takes a boat, glides along the shore, gets fired upon, returns the fire, and, it being his first fight, he has the agreeable sensation of seeing the enemy run. The fact is, though the people of respectability are many of them rampant, the poor whites think the war a hard thing, which they do not like to bear. So much we gathered from the prisoners taken the other night. They say that all who do not volunteer are drafted into the army, and the difference made is, that volunteers receive $25.00 for clothes, and are treated with respect, whereas drafted men get nothing but abuse. Therefore it is not difficult to see how popular volunteering must be in the South.

You will be pleased to hear that my friend William Elliott has gained perhaps the most brilliant reputation for cool courage and daring, of any man in the Army down here. He is a rare hero, and is bound to make his mark.

Give my best love to all, dear mother.

Affec’y.,

Will.