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.
SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters
of William Thompson Lusk, p. 229-30
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