Nov. 28th, Evening.
My dear Will:
The end of a day marked by the alternation of joy with
sorrow in an extreme degree. This morning the Postman gave me a large envelope
covered with postage stamps, and marked with the seal of the State. It
contained two papers — the one in a large envelope with the same seal upon its
face and the superscription Major W. T. Lusk; the other, the letter explanatory
from the Gov.'s Secretary, which I enclose.
You can imagine my gratification — the labor of months
rewarded and the suspense ended. I made it a holiday.
Your Uncle, who had travailed with me, should rejoice over
the birth. Down I rattled in the omnibus, with that beautiful Commission in my
pocket — surest of the sure, for hadn't I it in black and white and on
parchment? I could tell any one, but, except Nelly and our folks who were
rejoicing over it at home, Mr. I. N.1 should be the first.
I left the omnibus at the Post-Office, where I dropped in a
letter to tell your mother that I had a Commission, in which the Commonwealth
of N. Y. declared that for the confidence it had in him, her son was declared
Major of the 79th. From the Post briskly to 45 Wall, where your Uncle and I
re-read the Commission, shook hands and laughed over the accomplishment of
well-laid schemes. Mr. Stillman was still off for Thanksgiving, so we had the
office to ourselves.
Finally I tore myself away and went with Commission and a
light heart to my desk at Judge Woodruff's. Young Woodruff read the Commission,
congratulated me and floored me with a telegraphic despatch. I felt it in my
boots as soon as “the words” (vide Homer) “escaped the hedje of his
teeth,” that here was a fall to Pride. And so it was, and a happy day received
a most gloomy end.
The Despatch told me to send back the Commission — that
Capt. More must have it — that Capt. Lusk had recommended the appointment. I
saw our Postmaster and told him to recall your mother's letter if possible. I
broke the joy of your Uncle, who was telling Mr. Brady with glee of his
nephew's promotion, and longed for bedtime that I might cease to think of the
disappointment of human hopes.
I don't see how you could well help signing, but if you had
only had the courage to rely on our watchfulness and refuse! But it's too late
now. Your Uncle and I have only this melancholy consideration to console us —
that we have spread your fame. Your name is as familiar as household words to
Mr. A. T. Stewart who wrote for your Uncle the strongest of letters, to Gen.
Wetmore, to Mr. Opdyke and hosts of solid men, who could tell your story from
Bull Run down, as well as I.
Never mind, Will, your disappointment cannot be any greater
than mine, who carried “Major Lusk’s” Commission for six hours and had to
return it.
Only next time, if your friends have worked and provided for
every contingency except that, don't sign away your chances by recommending
another for the place they seek.
All well. Your mother comes down Monday to live with Lilly.
In haste, most
affec'y.,
Walter.
_______________
1 Isaac N. Phelps.
SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters
of William Thompson Lusk, p. 236-8
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