Camp Near Fredericksburg, Va.
Dec. 23d, 1862.
My dear Mother:
Time slips by without much to break the monotony of the
hour, but still it slips by rapidly. We had a review to-day, Gen. Sumner being
the reviewing officer. One of his staff, a Major Crosby, stopped to say to me
that he understood I was a Norwich boy, and, a Norwich boy himself, he would be
happy if I would call on him. Do you know who he is? I do not as a rule
cultivate acquaintances much; it is so mortifying to be in a subordinate
position. I cannot bear to be patronized, and my position subjects me to the
annoyance. Surely, people have a right to argue, when the most common of
tradesmen are found worthy of the highest and most responsible military posts
without an hour's preparation, this fellow, who boasts of being an educated
gentleman, must be poor stuff indeed, if, after eighteen months service, he
finds himself unable to command as good a position as he did a half year ago.
McDonald says it is a long road without any turn to it, but I begin to feel my
military ambition satisfied. I would be so glad if I could only return to my
medical studies. I know when I left home I acted contrary to the advice of all
my friends.1 Until now, pride forbade my acknowledging myself in the
wrong, but stung and humiliated, I make my confession now. Many a time I have
seen old school friends from Russell's (who in old times felt proud to claim me
as an acquaintance) pass me, high in rank and proud of manner, and I have
turned away my head. I could not bear the thought of their recognizing me less
honored than themselves. I am not often unhappy, for I have already written
that few officers of any rank in the Army Corps enjoy as many privileges as are
accorded to me. To say the least I meet a cordial welcome everywhere, from the
Headquarters of the Commanding General down. Still at times I cannot help
feeling half sickened at the mortifying position in which I am placed. When in
active service, in the presence of the enemy, I am never troubled with such
thoughts, but in camp a man has too much time in which to think. If the troops
go into winter quarters, I do not think I will be able to endure this state of
things until Spring. I must return to my medical studies again. Why, the most
humble country practitioner is more respectable than I, a despised soldier,
found unworthy of honors which the commonest shoemaker wears with grace. I do
not forget how anxious my friends have been to serve me, how earnestly they
have labored and are laboring for me. But is not that mortifying too — to feel
that, after all, you must owe all advancement not to your own merits, but to
the influence of your friends? My dear mother, you must feel that in writing
this I am only telling my griefs, as one may tell them to one's mother, and,
having told them, find relief.
I do so wish I might come home. I am weak as a child now.
To-morrow I will be stronger, and will regret this that I have written, yet I
shall send it for all that. I shall send it because merely to tell one's
troubles to a sympathizing friend, deprives them of their chief bitterness. I
do not know if it be true, but I understand that the telegraphic despatch to
Walter for my Commission was a piece of sharp practice that did not emanate
from Gov. Morgan. That, however, is a matter that is past, and hardly, perhaps,
to be regretted.
Give my best love to the dear friends around you, and
believe me,
Very affec'y.,
Your son,
W. T. Lusk.
_______________
1 He
enlisted in the ranks, being unwilling to wait for a Commission. (Cf. p. 215.)
SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters
of William Thompson Lusk, p. 257-9
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