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 present
as 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.
SOURCE: William
Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p.
112-5
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