War Letters of William Thompson Lusk.

Headquarters 2d Brigade,

Hilton Head, Dec. 2d, 1861.

My dear Mother:

A real Southern storm is without — the rain falls heavily, thunder rolls in the distance, the fly of my tent flaps noisily — yet here within all is peace and quiet, loving not stormy thoughts. Let us look about my tent a little. The bottom is boarded and covered with straw; a washstand occupies the corner; a bed, comfortable with blankets, extends along one of the sides; from the tent-poles hang my sword, sash and belt, my military coat, and such clothes as are needful for daily wear. Then I am sitting on my valise (Lieut. Elliott’s name is upon it), and am writing at a table of rude construction — an old shutter, robbed from a Secession barn, laid upon a box—yet, covered with the beautiful blanket which came a gift from Hunt, it has a fine, jaunty look, and we think ourselves elegant in the extreme, especially when we put our new coffee-pot upon it, and sit writing at it for the purpose of spinning a yarn. A circular yarn I call it, for I intend it for all the kind friends whose loving thoughts were so abundantly manifest in that box of “goodies” which the “Bienville” brought me. There’s one thing that I’ve been keeping back all this time — the cunning rogue that I am. Its a big, blue Secession chest, a good deal battered and worn, but I have only to throw open the lid — and presto (in the excitement I had nearly written prestidigitato) — I feel, see, think all sorts of things — things around which cluster pleasant memories.

Let us see! Come, oh bottle of Abreco, out of thy hiding place, for thou must distil for me dainty fancies warm as the sun that ripened the grapes out of which thou art made! Ay, and a cigar I must have too — a real Havana — Santa Rosa is inscribed upon it. Why that was the name of a little Jew maiden whom I once knew, and concerning which Miss Ellen Dwight, with her superior worldly knowledge, whispers in the ear of Sam Elliott, “Oh strange infatuation!” But no matter. Let the fragrant clouds arise; clouds bearing fair, friendly, earthly visions! Stop,though! There the cap of blue and white, knit by small, slender fingers. Dear Lilly, I put it on now, and now I take it off and look at it. It has a pretty maidenly appearance about it, and suggests indefinitely kisses from red pouting lips, and the sort of romantic dreams in which sentimental youths indulge. Some such articles as this, probably, Penelope spun while waiting her Lord’s return from Troy. Is Penelope quietly spinning for me still? Or is the yarn run out, and does she now bend a willing ear to new suitors? If so, why then, bother take Penelope; let us look at the stockings! They have a jolly comfortable aspect. They bring one from visions of “airy, fairy Lilians” of poet fancy, to the substantial bread-and-butter sentiment of Germany. They are the work of comfortable middle-aged Penelopes, I fancy. I can commence at the toes of them, if I choose, and unravel them slowly, and each time the yarn makes a circuit, I can feel sure that I am unravelling a kind thought — perchance a tearful memory, that the loving ones wove into their work, as they sat knitting around the fireside. “Sweet home” — it is long since I have known thee, yet, when the labor is done, how eagerly will I clutch the promises the words “Sweet home” contain! I have some studs in my shirt. They are made of Sarah’s hair and they tell me home has changed somewhat since I knew it. I asked General Stevens the other day if he had known General Garnett. He said, “Yes. Well.” and almost in the same breath added, “He had such a lovely wife who died in my territory.” They two have bidden us farewell, and grief is deadened at the thought of their present happiness. I look again into the box, and I see there gifts from Hunt and Thomas. They have been good brothers to me. They two and Walter have always given me a full, hearty brother’s love. I am not an humble man, and am proud in many ways, but there is naught of which I am half so proud as my own true valued friends. As I think of them, they are not few; as I look into the box, I see this; as I remember all the kind acts they have done me, I feel this; and when I call to mind the goodness of the Almighty, I know it. Dear mother, dear sisters, dear brothers, I can hardly keep back the tears when I ask you to accept the thanks for your exceeding love. There are the little ones too, and they are never forgotten. I must add Walter’s boy to the list now — that wondrous boy, so different from all other babies, and yet so like all others in the striking resemblance he bears his papa. Tell Cousin Lou that I am using the ink and paper she sent me, to express to all my friends my thanks. Does Cousin Lou think I am such a savage — so delighting in secession blood — that I would not extend my hand to help anyone in trouble? And does she not feel sure that a duty would become a pleasure when it would be to assist her friends? Let her never doubt that should any of her relatives fall into our hands, I will not forget either my duty to them nor my love to her. The gift from Uncle John I felt, and accept with that pleasure which not only springs from affection, but from the honest respect I have for his fearlessness of character in vindication of the right. Thank Uncle Phelps and Aunt Maria. They have never faltered in their friendship toward me. Thank my Aunts. I trust I may never disgrace them. Thank Mrs. Tyler, Cousin Lizzie and Aunt Elizabeth. Their gifts were timely and acceptable. I trust I have omitted none of those to whom I am indebted. If so I would thank them too, and in conclusion I can only thank God who has given so many friends — friends so faithful, so kindly, and so true.

Affec’y.,

Will Lusk.

Headquarters Second Brigade,

Hilton Head, S. C.

November 13th, 1861.

My dear Mother:

I am delighted, after several busy days, once more to have an opportunity to quiet the uneasiness of your anxious heart, and assure you of my continued welfare. We are now fairly ensconced on South Carolina soil. Our headquarters are at an old wooden building innocent of paint, but rendered interesting by a large hole in the side, caused by the passage of one of our shot. These were pleasant places that the planters have abandoned us, and though conscious that our victory has been glorious, and that a heavy blow has been struck, would to God that this war had never visited us, and that the planters were once more peacefully cultivating their pleasant homes. The country for many miles around has fallen into the hands of our armies, and, unhappily, victors are apt to be ruthless in destroying the property of conquered enemies.

However, the season of pillage is almost over. Our camps are being well guarded, and the opportunities for the escape of straggling parties of marauders have ceased. Every effort has been made to check wanton excesses, and it has been made for a few days past almost the sole duty of the Aides to scour the country for the purpose of intercepting parties wandering about without proper authority. In this manner I have come to see something of neighboring plantations, which are among the wealthiest in South Carolina.

I wrote you before that here lived the Pinckneys, the Popes, a gentleman named Jenkins-Stoney, and others whose names may or may not be familiar to you. Their houses are in the old fashioned Southern mansion style, and show evidences of luxury and comfort.

By-the-way, I saw a letter from a Secession soldier named Lusk the other day, which dilated much on the justice of the Southern cause, and the certainty that God would give the South the victory. I hear there is, or was previous to our arrival, a large family of Lusks at Beaufort, a few miles distant. I regret to say that the letter I have mentioned did not show the writer to have displayed any great diligence in studying his spelling-book in the days of early youth. The weather here is warm as summer. Oranges hang still in ripe profusion on the trees, the cotton remains unpicked, and the corn remains for us to gather. Negroes crowd in swarms to our lines, happy in the thought of freedom, dancing, singing, void of care, and vainly dreaming that all toil is in future to be spared, and that henceforth they are to lead that life of lazy idleness which forms the Nigger’s Paradise. I fear that before long they have passed only from the hands of one taskmaster into the hands of another.

All this long time I get no news from home, and am eagerly, impatiently, awaiting the advent of the mail which is to recompense for the long weeks of waiting. I may write very irregularly, as my time was never so little my own as now. I think, when the “Vanderbilt” returns, you will see my old school friend Sandford, who will bear you news of me. Sandford is a young fellow, of the family of the name, so extensively engaged in shipping interests. I mention this as possibly Uncle Phelps may know of them. Have Lilly and Tom any intention of soon being married? I send by Sandford a hundred dollars of my pay home to be delivered to Uncle Phelps, and would like $25.00 of it to be expended in buying Lilly, when the wedding day comes, some remembrance from brother Will. I enclose in this letter a $5.00 bill to be especially employed in the purchase of toys for the children. I would like much to see little Willie and Turlie once more. If I possibly can, I shall try and get a leave of absence about Christmas time, though I hardly expect to be successful. Walter, I suppose, is fairly home by this time. I would have written before, congratulating him upon the arrival of his little boy, but have been waiting to get hold of the letter which announces it. Beyond the fact that he is a father I know nothing.

Give love to all my friends, and all who feel an interest in me. I would like to see you soon again, which, in fact, is the burthen of all the Southern letters we have intercepted. There is one thing very conspicuous in all letters from Southern soldiers. I refer to the deep religious vein pervading them. Their religious impressions seem to be warmer than those of our troops. One poor fellow fears their cause is doomed because of the fearful immorality in their ranks. “Why,” he writes, “I even hear that officers have been known to curse the men under their command.”

Good-bye,

Very Affec’y.,

Will.

Headquarters 2nd Brigade,

Hilton Head, Nov. 9th, 1861.

My dear Mother:

It is a long, long time since I have heard from home — nearly three weeks I think since we have been blessed with news by mail, and all this time I am wondering how you are all faring in New-York. Well, when a mail bag does come, may it be crowded with all sorts of good news. Now we have good news to report, for we are now enjoying ourselves in the pleasant climate of South Carolina.

We have been many days on shipboard, 1700 of us all together, on board the good ship “Vanderbilt” which bravely rode the storm, while other good ships foundered in the sea. But the storm abated, and the winds went down, and we were lying off the coast of South Carolina. Then we thought that a death struggle was about to commence, for were we not to lock arms, and wrestle, with traitors at the very headquarters of rebellion? We lay off Beaufort Harbor some sixty hours in idleness, waiting for the ball to open. That navy though is a slow affair, and we abused it mightily, being impatient to decide the fate of the expedition. Our naval commanders — Commodore Dupont and Secretary of Navy Welles—received most unflattering notices. Why would they not begin? Finally the old concern got a working — the “Wabash” led off, and was followed by a whole fleet of minor vessels. They sailed into line, and soon were sharply engaged with the forts protecting the entrance to the Harbor. For four hours shot were poured thickly into the defenses of the besieged, and nearly as long a time the besiegers sent destruction among our ships. But the terrible explosions of our shell, the steady broadsides poured from the Frigate “Wabash,” and the sure-aimed missiles sent from the little gunboats that would run up close to the shore, ensuring thus accuracy of aim — all these things were terrible in their effect upon the foe. At last a white flag floated from the parapet of their fortification, and quickly a white flag was despatched from the “Wabash” to the shore. Hip, Hip, Hurrah! We see— ay — we rub our eyes — is it really true? We see the American banner once more floating on the soil of South Carolina. All this time we were looking on, silent spectators of the scene. But now the harbor rings with the shouts of applause with which we greeted the great naval victory. We forgot for a moment how slow Secretary Welles is, and how dreadfully slow are all the operations of the Navy. And now we vile Yankee hordes are overrunning the pleasant islands about Beaufort, rioting upon sweet potatoes and Southern sunshine. Hilton Head is a sandy island but beautiful with palmetto leaves, cotton fields, magnolia and orange groves, and plantations of sugar cane. Here lived the Pinckneys, the Draytons, and other high-blooded Hidalgos, whose effervescing exuberance of gentlemanly spirit have done so much to cause our present troubles. Alas! Yankee hordes, ruthless invaders—the vile Hessians—infest their splendid plantations. One poor fellow was taken prisoner; afterward we learned there was in our hospital a brother of his, dying from disease, a young man who was too ill to retreat when his comrades fled precipitately. The brother first mentioned ventured to request that they two might remain together. To his surprise the request was willingly granted, and they seemed to feel that we had shown them a great kindness. The effects left by the South Carolinians in their flight show that there were many young men of wealth among them, who, feeling obliged, probably, to do their duty as soldiers, selected the neighborhood of Beaufort, which is a kind of Southern Saratoga. But if the flower of South Carolina youth, it is to be regretted that the flower never paid more attention to the spelling-book. A letter written them from a friend exhorts them to remember that they are “of gentilmanly blud.” As a sort of memento I send you enclosed a “poem,” the brilliancy of which will make it pay for the perusal. I saw William Ely yesterday. It is long since I’ve seen him before, and he has changed so that I did not recognize him until he gave me his name. If I had time I would write pages more, but I am full of business now. Oh a thousand times love and oceans of kisses for sisters and little ones, with less demonstrative but very warm regards for all friends.

I remain Affec’y.,

Will.

Can’t stop to correct what I’ve written, so excuse mistakes.

October 25th, 1861.

My dear Mother:

It is with extreme pleasure I write you to-day. We are still at Fort Monroe, and of course I do not know how long we are to remain here, but Old Point Comfort has proved itself such to me. I think few up to the present time have served under greater disadvantages in the army than I. A member of a Scotch Regiment strong in its foreign prejudices, introduced as I was by _____, a man greatly unpopular among the men, I have enjoyed little prestige or favor. We have had hard work to do, and for four months I have suffered from extremes of heat and cold, from hunger and wet, and sleepless nights — from all the hardships of outpost life — have had the credit which I felt was due denied, and have waited patiently, though sometimes against hope. After Col. Stevens became Brig.-Gen., our Regiment fell to the command of . . . Morrison, who sought to exhibit his authority by all sorts of petty and irritating acts of insolence toward myself. The life became intolerable, and I sent in my resignation. I have written you how kindly Gen. Stevens acted in the matter. I withdrew the resignation temporarily, however, on learning from Gen. Stevens the probability of a speedy action.

When Gen. Stevens was detached from our Brigade to command one stationed at Annapolis, I was left almost without appeal from the insults of . . . Morrison. I found my rights taken away, and favors bestowed on low, ignorant rowdies. I then obtained a furlough, meaning to arrange some plan of honorable escape while on a visit home.

Suddenly a despatch came ordering our Regiment to meet Gen. Stevens at Annapolis, and it was whispered our destination was to be some place on the Southern coast. I thereupon pocketed all affronts, gave up all thoughts of a leave of absence, and resolved to be resigned to the painfulness of my position, and to perform any duties that might be allotted me. A few days ago I was appointed officer of the day. The duties of the day were arduous, and for twenty-four hours I had no sleep. It was about 7½ in the morning and my duties had nearly expired, when Gen. Stevens desired to see the officer of the day. I supposed it was to perform some business in connection with my position. On reporting myself he said, “Mr. Lusk, I wish to have a few words with you.” “Yes,” said I, “but be quick, as my time has nearly expired.” “Oh!” said he, “I only wish to tell you that you are appointed my Aide-de-camp. You know my peculiarities, and if we are satisfied with each other I think you will have no reason to repent of your appointment.” I thanked him, told him I was proud to accept the appointment. So now, Mother, with best love to all the dear ones at home, I subscribe myself,

Your affectionate son,

Capt. W. T. Lusk,

Aide-de-camp to Gen. Stevens,

Sherman’s Division.

October 21st, 1861.

My dear Mother:

We are sailing rapidly down the Chesapeake, still in doubt as to our ultimate destination, but expecting soon to reach Fortress Monroe ,where possibly there may be a chance of mailing a letter. We feel as though we were leaving the scene of old triumphs, and old disasters — of the latter we are mindful of many; so it was delicate sarcasm upon the part of our Bandmaster which induced him to strike up “Carry me back to old Virginny!” as we were crossing the Chain Bridge (which spans the Potomac), leaving the “sacred soil” behind us. And now we are embarked on the “Vanderbilt,” bound, this much we know, for “Dixie.” I am hoping to exchange salutations with some of my old friends in Charleston. What fun it would be to be playing the magnanimous to a captive Prince Hugo, or Whalley despising Yankees much, or any other of the royal youth who live in the Kingdom of South Carolina. It may be we are to visit Mobile. If so, tell Hunt I will try and collect his rents with interest. But why speculate?

Let us pray for laurels and victory! Much is expected of the 79th Regiment, I find. “My Highlanders!” as Gen. Stevens calls them. “They are equal to Regulars,” the General is reported to have said to Gen. Sherman¹ commanding our expedition. “Send for them!” says Sherman. They are sent for, and arrive on shipboard in a horrible state of intoxication, with bloody faces and soiled clothes. The Chaplain of the 8th Michigan Regiment is horrified. He preaches to his men, and says: “I wish to make no invidious comparisons, but after what I’ve seen of late, I’m proud of you for your excellent conduct!” Well, we must hope that “My Highlanders” will silence invidious comparison when facing the foe. You tell me Ellis thinks I ought to boast of my Graham blood, and gently urge the same yourself, but the fact is, nothing has caused more amusement than Ellis’ own pretensions to his descent from the King of the Hebrides. Indeed, on one occasion, up at Sunbury — a country town of Pennsylvania — when he was introduced on a public occasion to the worthy citizens of the place as a lineal descendant of Donald, King of the Hebrides, a man in the audience forgot himself so far as to call out, “Damn Donald, King of the Hebrides!” which was highly improper, and wholly irrelevant, yet very entertaining to those who heard it. I am awaiting an official announcement of the birth of Walter’s boy, and mean to write congratulations as soon as I can find time. Hall will soon be married, he tells me. All my friends are getting settled, but I am a Nomad, fit, I fancy, for my present mode of life, which I find healthy and by no means disagreeable. Indeed, were my brother officers of a more agreeable character, I would take to soldiering with a relish, and with a reasonable amount of success might cry, “Vive la guerre!” However all dreams of the future terminate in dreams of peace, of home, and honorable repose in advancing years, all of which, dear mother, may we enjoy together, loving our country better for having proved that it was so dear that we were willing even to give up our life for its preservation.

Well, the blessings of peace be upon all at home. Kiss the little ones for me. Give love to all and

Believe me,

Affec’y.,

Will.

________

¹ Thomas W. Sherman.

Headquarters 79th Regiment,

Camp Advance, Va. Co. K.

September 21st, 1861.

Dear Cousin Lou:

Let me see — it is a long time since I wrote you, but I am not forgetful. I must thank you many times for your kindness in writing me away off here. Perhaps you think it not very far, only four miles off from Washington; yet it is so, for we are quite shut off from all communication with the outer world. My goodness, how I did cheer Mrs. Gen. Smith the other day on passing her carriage as the Regiment was returning from the field where its colors had been restored!

I am not quite certain that Mrs. Brigadier-Gen. Smith was beautiful, yet I thought her so, for she had little hands, white teeth, and was not shouldering a musket. If you will visit camp, Cousin Lou, I’ll crown you Queen of Beauty and vote you lovelier than a thousand Mrs. Brigadier-Gen. Smiths. Tell Cousin Henry and Dr. Grant that their visit to me, while on Kalorama Heights, first taught me that there was still remaining communication with the world. The result of the lesson was, that I bought a looking-glass and combed the snarls out of my hair.

It is raining to-night, so I am shut in my tent. Field life agrees with me excellently, so that as yet I have hardly had an ill day. Our Regiment has been unusually healthy, there having been no deaths from sickness in it since it first left New-York. A captain of the 19th Indiana Regiment was telling me that they had lost 25 of their number from disease already, although they have not been out here so long as we by two months. This I suppose is partly owing to the fact that the city soldiers endure change of climate better than country ones; and something I believe is due to our surgeon Dr. McDonald. The Doctor says that you are one of the few women for whom he has an unbounded admiration.

You would laugh if you could hear the conversations between our Chaplain and the profane physicians. Our parson is a love of a little man from some back country village, accustomed to be kissed (?), admired, and petted by the ladies of his congregation, and to be regarded as a model of eloquence by the men. Fired with patriotic zeal he volunteered his services on the opening of the war, to his country, and left the peace of home for the horrid din of Mars. But the horrid din of Mars he finds, to his astonishment, not nearly so agreeable as being kissed (?) and petted in his own quiet village. So he has grown petulant, thinks himself unappreciated, and calls all the men hardened sinners because they sometimes look incredulous when he answers their” Why?” with, “It is so for I say so.” Shocking unbelievers! Dear little parson tells us weekly not to fear to die, but to face death bravely, as we are certain of being transported instantly to scenes of heavenly joy. Yet our little parson whenever an alarm occurs, rushes to his tent, secures his bag, and trots off in all haste to the nearest place of shelter. Taking advantage of this little weakness, the Doctor is in the habit of explaining to him in a horridly lucid way, the dreadful nature of gunshot wounds. Then some one will suddenly jump up, assume a listening attitude and cry: “Hark! Was that a gun?” The comical aspect of terror which is thus elicited forms an inexhaustible source of amusement to us all. He reminds me of the Chaplain of the story, who bade the soldiers before the battle not to fear, as they would assuredly that night, if they fell, sup in Paradise. He himself however, ran away when the first shot was fired. An indignant hearer of his morning discourse reminded him of his encouraging promises. “No thankee,” said he, “don’t talk to me, I never did like suppers.” All of which story you can anywhere find better told in the newspapers.

Next to the parson, our greatest source of entertainment is the article called “nigger,” a thing I never saw until I came to “Ole Virginny.” We own an African of the Pongo species, a sort of half idiotic monkey-man, partially possessing the gift of speech, and totally possessing the gift of doing nothing. I consider it a curious study to see how, when he is ordered to perform any service, he manages most ingeniously not to do it at all. You should see the Pongo, though, in the Highland costume. “The What Is It ?” will have to retire from business.

Good-bye dear Cousin Lou.

Very affec’y.,

W. T. Lusk,
Lieut. Co. K. 79th Regt.

Kosciusko Farm,

August 25th, 1861.

My dear Mother:

I am seated writing my usual Sunday letter, happy to state that my spirits are good and health excellent, as Uncle Charles will confirm. I was out drilling my men yesterday, when my attention was attracted by somebody nodding to me in a familiar style — a second glance told that it was Uncle Charley, and no other. I was much pleased at his kindness in looking me up, as well as to see him again. You will find he is looking well, and will learn from him that he entertains Republican sentiments of so decided a stripe that I, who was formerly a sort of an abolitionist, am obliged to confess myself a conservative in comparison. I received from Thomas a very pretty present, through the Express office, a few days ago. It consisted of a case containing knife, fork, spoon and cup — things which I shall find highly useful when on the march. When in Virginia before, provided with no such conveniences, fingers were obliged to adapt themselves to the performance of all the varied functions of “table services.” You ask for my address! I never can give you any fixed address, as no Regiment knows where it will be twenty-four hours in advance, but anything directed to the 79th Regiment, N. Y. S. M., Washington, will be forwarded without difficulty. I was in earnest in wishing that I was connected with some New England Regiment, but not in earnest as regards any intention of deserting my present post because of any difficulty attending it. As long as my friends stick by the 79th, I shall not surely be less faithful than are they. The wish to change arose from a desire to take part in the approaching battle to be conducted by McClellan, in which, it seemed probable, the 79th would be too much crippled to take any prominent part. Our Regiment is, however, now rapidly recovering from the effects of the battle and the intrigues of the old rum-selling officers now happily resigned. I have some responsibility resting upon me, as I am detailed to take sole charge of one of the Companies. I have the duties of Captain, 1st Lieutenant, and 2d Lieutenant, all combined, at present to perform, so I have little right to think of abandoning my post. In confidence I may add that possibly five or six of us may be transferred to a new Regiment by the Secretary of War. The Regiment would be under his patronage, and be called the “Cameron Highlanders.” In this new Regiment I most likely would be assigned the post of Captain. However neither say or think anything about this, as it is by no means determined yet. The letter from Fräulein Mathilde contained the kind wishes of the family, and an invitation to be present at her wedding which is to take place on the 1st of September. I find I have grown rusty in the German language, so that I had no little difficulty in deciphering the young lady’s epistle.

Have I written you that we are now encamped on Kosciusko’s farm? It is a pleasant spot, but damp. I hear we are to be marched off somewhere to-morrow. Report names Georgetown as our probable destination.

Uncle Charles is still in town I hear, but I cannot leave camp to visit him.

I will take the photograph question into consideration when we get paid off. Tell Lilly she must accept thanks and love for her kind letter, but I do not mean to answer it until after some success occurs.

Thank Mary for her kind intentions regarding writing me. Love to the little ones. Ask Will if he wants to be a soldier. Turly shall be made a Congressman, and get appointed Chairman of the Military Committee.

Love to all.

Believe me,

Very Affec’y.,

William T. Lusk.