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.
SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters
of William Thompson Lusk, p. 95-8
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