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 hawhaw 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.
SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters
of William Thompson Lusk, p. 122-3
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