Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, January 5, 1863

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

Jan. 5th, 1863.

My dear Mother:

My letters seem very long in reaching you. The one I sent the day before Christmas, containing a little money which I hoped would contribute to the children's happiness on New Year, had not come to hand on the 31st, yet I had hoped it might precede the rather dolorous document written only the evening before, but which, of course, wouldn't be overtaken. To tell the truth, I was not a little ashamed at having been so querulous. I do not like the habit of complaining, and do not mean often to indulge in it, but the best of our guardian angels cannot always resist the attacks of those emissaries of Satan — the cooks.

Col. Farnsworth, it is said, will soon rejoin his Regiment. It is still a matter of doubt though, whether his physical health will permit him to remain long. Besides the natural effects of his wound, he is much paralyzed I understand, from severe neuralgia. Be this as it may, I am very sorry for him, and shall welcome him back with pleasure. Farnsworth, McDonald and myself enjoy about an equal degree of popularity in the Regiment. Since writing the last sentence my opinion has been somewhat modified by the arrival of the mail. Farnsworth sends a certificate of disability looking for a further extension of his “leave of absence.” This is indefensible. The law allows disabled officers two months to recover. F. has had four months already, and looks for a further postponement of his return. I have also received your letter bearing date Jan. 2d, and see how much harm I did by indulging in a little fit of spleen. I do not see the slightest hope or prospect of either a short leave of absence, or of promotion, neither of which little matters do I intend shall disturb my equanimity in the slightest degree. To be sure my associations are not always agreeable, but when I entered the service had I any reason to hope they would be? I certainly enjoy more favor than any line officer in the 1st Division. This ought to suffice. Again I am losing years that ought to be spent in fitting me for my profession. Well, what of that? Shall I at this late hour begin to count the cost of doing my duty? No mother, we both know that this matter must be pushed through to the end. I am not of so much value as to complain of having to bear my part. To hear me talk, one would suppose I was the only one who fancies himself unjustly used. Bah! The army is filled with them. Possibly twenty years hence I shall be grumbling because my professional skill is not properly appreciated. It is hard for disappointed men to believe the fault lies in themselves. Yet such things do happen. I shall be obliged to postpone my Christmas remembrances to you until the paymaster (invisible now for six months) shall visit us.

Very affectionately,

Will.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 266-7

Elizabeth Adams Lusk to Captain William Thompson Lusk, January 4, 1863

24 West 31st Street,

Sunday, Jan. 4th, 1863.

My own dear Son:

I went to hear Mr. Prentiss this morning, and was deeply affected and impressed by his New Year's sermon. Thomas and Lilly having gone to church this afternoon, I take advantage of this quiet hour to write a few words to you. We are anxiously awaiting the final result of the battle in Tennessee. It has involved another fearful loss of life; another “army of martyrs” have shed their blood, we trust Oh, God! not in vain. The Emancipation Proclamation too has been issued, and now we wait for the events which crowd so heavily, we trust to a final end. The Monitor has foundered off Cape Hatteras, another calamity to mourn over. We take victories as a matter of course without much elation, but defeats or humiliation in any form we cannot bear. I hoped to have received a letter from you yesterday but did not. Your last letter to me was written on the 23d. Elliott told me he heard that Col. Farnsworth had resigned. Is it true? I hope you approve of the Proclamation. It seems to me it strikes at the root of the evil. Dr. Grant says, although it beggars his family at the South, he thinks it wise and just. Mr. Riley who was born in a slave country (S. A.), says he thinks it is the first blow which has given much alarm to the rebels. There is an idea that it is an obnoxious measure to the soldiers, and those hostile to the Administration foster the notion and strive to spread it. Many prayers for Abraham Lincoln have been offered up to-day, that he may be guided aright, and having acted in the fear of God, that all other fears may be quieted, and he may be strengthened for his great responsibilities. I heard a young man say, at our table to-day, that democratic clubs were forming about the city to prevent drafting. I heard another say that Gen. Dix had been appointed Military Governor of the State of New-York. The times are indeed turbulent and stormy, and none can prophecy as to the future, and yet a stranger in New-York would scarcely believe that we were a nation struggling through appalling trials. The streets are as gay as ever, public amusements as much frequented, and our gayest shops are filled with ladies spending money profusely. The hospitals however tell a tale different indeed.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 264-5

Elizabeth Adams Lusk to Captain William Thompson Lusk, January 5, 1863

5th. I have received a letter this morning from Mary, very bright and cheerful. She writes: “Yesterday was quite a day of rejoicing here over the President's Proclamation. The Mayor (Lloyd Greene) ordered the bells to be rung, and cannons to be fired.” Nearly all in this house where we are boarding are Southern people, or Southern sympathizers. I am very quiet and seldom make any remark. A Baltimore gentleman remarked to me the other day, “I do not believe you are an Abolitionist, you don't look like one.” I merely replied “Ah?” A lady sitting opposite me said “I have seen the meanest Yankees, they are all so mean.” As she looked at me, I drew up and answered, “You are unfortunate. I, on the contrary, have met many a noble-hearted Yankee.” “Oh!” said she, “so have I. I was born in New England.” So it goes.

Well, the morning is passing rapidly away, and I have to go down to the Everett House to see Mrs. Tyler. The morning is charming. I hope you are enjoying it. Your last letter was sad, it was written with a sick heart, so I long anxiously for another. I do not think an hour passes, when I am awake, that my thoughts are not with you. Lilly unites with me in dearest love to you. We are all so anxious to see you, sometimes I fancy I hear your step approaching, but it is only fancy after all.

Good-bye my own dear son, may God bless and guide you.

Very lovingly,

Mother.

Kind regards from all to Dr. McDonald.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 265-6

Captain William Thompson Lusk to his sister, Lillie, December 31, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

Dec. 31st, 1862.

My dear Sister Lillie:

I have just received your letter, and am much troubled to hear that mother has been ill. As you were intending to write me on New Year's eve, I have concluded to write you in turn, knowing it to be all one, whether I write you or mother. I am specially disposed to write to-night as I feel very good-natured. I am not troubled for the moment, either with the goadings of disappointed ambition, the peculiarities of Scotchmen, the inclemency of the weather, or even with “the unfortunate Abraham Lincoln.” In a word, I am determined to be good-humored in bidding farewell to the old year, notwithstanding it is responsible (either it, or the aforesaid Abraham) for so many disasters. If all the hopes so fondly entertained at the beginning of the year have not been realized, we know at least that Providence doeth all things well, if not exactly as man would have it.

MARY HARTWELL CHITTENDEN
Whom W. T. Lusk married May 4, 1864

The Highlanders mean to celebrate the New Year, as the accompanying card will show. Turkeys, hams, tongues, bread and butter and a bowl of punch will be furnished to visitors, and we hope they may be many. But pleasantest of all, Hall is coming to visit me, bringing with him a Dr. Hubbard of his regiment — an Uncle of pretty little Mary Chittenden. If we don't have a good time, then I'll hang up my sword on a willow tree, but you will have to wait until the second inst. for particulars. I had a good time Christmas too, and only regret you should have spent it so quietly. You see I raised a pair of ducks and rode up with them tied to my saddle to Stafford C. H. (ten miles), found Hall, eat the ducks (with Hall's assistance), gossiped, and made very merry, though I had so recently written home representing myself so very miserable. Yesterday I made Major Crosby of the 21st C. V. a visit, and found that I used to go to school with him to old Peltis up-town. We had a right good time of it. His heart so warmed toward me finally, that he brought out a loaf of cake made by his wife's fair fingers—good cake it was too. Speaking of cake reminds me that the Chaplain, my tent companion, has just received a cake from his sweetheart. Oh these sweethearts! Chaplain receives every mail pretty pink notes which he likes to be joked about. He likes the cake too.

Hall thinks I have grown dreadfully unrefined. I smoke a pipe and eat onions. Horrible, isn't it? Would you really like your brother at home, who can do such dreadful things? I can't come. I've tried, but Rhadamanthus, that is Old Bull Sumner, is adamant, and bids me wait until I catch swamp fever or lose a leg, when I will be able to return with flying colors. I tried in fact to take the Bull by the horns, and that's what I got for my pains. Dear me, I'm growing older every day, so you can imagine how old I shall be when I get home.

Well, sister Lillie, I would try and be sentimental in view of New Year's Eve, but that could hardly be looked for in a man that eats onions. But may many blessings rest on both my sisters, my mother and the little ones that are dear to us all. True love between you and Tom, between Hunt and Mary, deepening not weakening at each successive return of the New Year.

Had I my six months' pay, and twenty days to spend at home, how I would make things fly around.

Again love to mother, Uncle Phelps, Aunt Maria, Nellie, Tom, friends individually, collectively, and in bulk.

Affec'y, your brother,

Will.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 261-3

Elizabeth Adams Lusk to Captain William Thompson Lusk, December 30, 1862

New-York, Dec. 30th, '62. 24 West 31 St.

My own dear Son:

. . . I received your very sad letter last night. I sympathize sincerely, and do not wonder that you feel sick and disheartened. However, I trust the spirit of gloom which oppressed you when you wrote, has passed by, and the brave spirit of my own boy is aroused again. Never call yourself a “despised soldier.” Neglected you have been, and we all feel it most cruelly, but “despised,” never.

No name is mentioned with greater respect than yours, about none is more indignation felt by friends than about you. Your career has been a marked and peculiar one; high titles now are no mark of merit. Gov. Buckingham said to me in the cars on my way to New York, “I want a Colonel now. I know of no one who would fill the position half as well as your son, and yet, with the desire, I cannot give it to him.” So it goes — some town-clerk or petty lawyer, having stayed at home far from a soldier's dangers, watches, waits, and the first opportunity steps into the soldier's honors. Mr. John Tappan who has no particular friends in the army, says he always draws the inference if a man is promoted, he doesn't deserve it — he has seen so few really meritorious officers treated well. I think he goes too far and do not myself wholly agree with him, still I think there is a great lack of justice. . . . It was certainly a great piece of self-sacrifice in you to sign a paper requesting the majority to be given to another, when you knew it had been promised you. I admire the valor of your regiment, and, as Elliott says, “you can refuse to fight a duel now, having fought in the 79th.” . . . I should be extremely glad my dear son, to see you again at your books, if you can return honorably. You say you entered the army against the advice of your friends. Very true, my dear child, God knows how hard the struggle was to me, God knows how much I often now endure, yet through everything I feel comfort, nay pride, that my son's motives are pure and conscientious. Well, the New Year is close at hand. May it open brightly for you, my own dear son. For some reason you have been preserved through many and great dangers. He who guarded has still work for His servant to do, so be of good cheer, you will not be forsaken. By-and-by you will look back on your humiliations and say, “They were hard, but they have done me good.” Beside, I can only acknowledge your disappointments. A soldier, a true man, is never humiliated by the performance of right. And yet your letter touched a responsive chord which vibrates now, for through the whole I recognize myself. May God bless you my own dear son, and grant you His assistance. . . . You could not be dearer to the heart of

Your loving

Mother.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 260-1

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 23, 1862

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

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 22, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

Dec. 22nd, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Since the late disastrous affair at Fredericksburg, as before, I look in vain for some tidings from you. These mails! As for me, it is of less importance, for the letters you write me will eventually reach me, but with you I hope that long ere this, you may have had the pleasant tidings of my safety throughout the late battle. Of that fight I have not words to express my indignation. It was so uncalled for. Not being a participant myself, only an anxious witness, I can fully appreciate the terrible character of the massacre. No one was more desirous than I for an onward movement, but not for such an one. The idea of an attempt directly in the front was scouted at by those who professed to know, as sheer madness, concerning which the result could not be doubtful. Yet it was attempted, but at whose orders we cannot tell. Rumors reach us of the resignation of Lincoln's Cabinet. God grant this be true. We may fall into worse hands, but there is the hope of something better. I have lost faith in Halleck, and for this reason. Last summer I wrote Walter I had cheered the last time for McClellan. I did this on the authority of Gen. Halleck. Halleck was an unsuccessful competitor of Stevens for the honors of his class. At Newport News Halleck had an interview with Stevens, the result of which I afterwards learned. In this interview Halleck represented McClellan as solely responsible for the misfortunes of the Peninsula; represented that McClellan had received everything from the administration he had requested; that McClellan was responsible for the division in his command, resulting in the creation of McDowell's Department. This and much else against McClellan, which Halleck's subsequent report, and the revelations from the McDowell Court of Inquiry, prove to have been base and malignant falsehoods. Since then it has been my good fortune to have been twice in battle under McClellan. How admirably those battles were planned and executed, I, who have seen so much mismanagement, so many defeats, know best how to appreciate. Therefore I say, as I heard a rebel officer once say “God bless old Stonewall Jackson,” ‘God bless McClellan.” We have had enough of Halleck — and disgrace.

Mother, do not wonder that my loyalty is growing weak. I love the Nation too well to willingly pardon the “unfortunate Abraham Lincoln” as the London Times so aptly calls him. With resources enough to have long since ended the controversy, with resources enough to end it before the opening of Spring, sixty years will not end it if we are obliged to sustain the paltry policy of the administration. I am sick and tired of disaster, and the fools that bring disaster upon us. I believe Burnside to be brave and honest, a good soldier and worthy of honor, but I know that no one in this country has a heartier esteem for McClellan than he. No one bends more to McClellan than Gen. Burnside. The President I doubt not is honest, but “let the shoemaker stick to the last.” Let Lincoln turn his talents to splitting rails. I prefer George McClellan to Abraham Lincoln, as the Commander-in-Chief of the Army. The same energy, the same good-sense, the same foresight exhibited by us that the South has shown, and the rebellion is a dead letter. The same fatal disregard of common sense on our part, and the Southern independence is won. At least so I feel, and so I write strongly, who so earnestly pray for the triumph of our cause.

I have just received your letter, and feel truly thankful to learn you had heard of my safety previous to the arrival of my own letter written the day after we recrossed the Rappahannock. Day before yesterday I was on picket, and saw several officers of the rebel service who came to our lines under a flag of truce. One of them who came from near Atlanta, told me he knew Alfred Tyler; that it was a mistake that Alfred was on Gen. Lawton's staff; that, on the contrary, he still was employed on the Macon and Atlanta R. R., and was reputed to be one of the truest supporters of the Southern movement in his district. The same officer, Capt. McBride, appeared to know enough of Tyler's family and family affairs to make his statement worthy of credit. The same officer further told me that among the brave officers of his army that fell at Fredericksburg, was Henry Lord King, whom you will remember was an old admirer of Sarah Phelps. King fell, pierced by nine minie balls, in the attack made on our left (Franklin's Division). Morrison professes to be a strong supporter of mine now. He says that there had been so much intriguing in the Regiment, that he suspected me for some time, but my action with regard to More has fully satisfied him, and he professes himself anxious to serve me in any way. What the professions are worth I have yet to learn.

Give my best, my dearest love to my sisters. Tell Uncle Phelps that I leave my proposition to be settled according to his judgment, and with best love to him and all my friends, I remain,

Your affec. son,

W. T. Lusk.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 254-7

Elizabeth Adams Lusk to Captain William Thompson Lusk, Saturday, December 20, 1862

New-York, Dec. 20th, 1862,

Saturday.

My own dear, dear Son:

I have many times during the past week thought of writing you, but I could not. Disaster, death, and the sickness of distressing fears have kept me quiet, striving for a firm trust and confidence in the mercy of God. My mind has been greatly relieved on your account, by seeing in the Herald that Burns' Division, of which the 79th formed a part, were not under fire, although they rendered important service. Thanks and praise to Him who has, I trust, again brought you safely through the perils of the battlefield. When the news of the repulse, with the dreadful loss on our side, reached New-York, gloom and despondency rested on all who had hearts to feel for anything. The sickening list of dead and wounded have been read over again and again, by mothers and sisters with tears and groans. Fathers sink their heads in anguish, and for all this distress and agony, we have gained nothing. But my dear son, the Nation is now I believe fully aroused, and the awful responsibility of this dreadful slaughter must rest where it belongs. None of our rulers, we hope and believe, will now escape the searching ordeal, and though this thought brings little consolation to the “desolated hearth,” yet for the brave hearts still “battling for their country,” it may bring some cheer. I visited St. Vincent's Hospital yesterday with your Aunt Maria, who is constantly doing good from her abundant means to the sick and wounded soldiers. I talked with one poor fellow who had lost a leg, and was lying weak and pale in bed. He was so uncomplaining, so cheerful, I looked and wondered. He was so glad to get newspapers, he felt anxious about his brothers in the army before Fredericksburg, he had looked over the lists and their names were not there, and so he hoped they were safe. I told him I had my anxieties too, I had a dear son there, but so many days had passed I had courage to hope now. I learnt a lesson by that bedside. I am waiting, watching for letters from you. I feel that good reasons of some kind prevent my hearing. Sam and Wm. Elliott called to see me last Sunday evening, but I was out, which I deeply regretted. Lilly saw them, as they called first at our boarding-house, 24 West 31st Street. I am still on Murray Hill, but am going into my own apartments early next week. Wm. Elliott said he saw in Washington a picture of Gen. Stevens and his staff, and as he was buying one for himself he also bought one for us, which he would soon bring to us. The likeness of you he says is very good. Dr. Elliott has been transferred to the Second Hawkins Zouaves and will be in N. Y., he thinks, two months longer. I presume your Uncle will write you about your proposition to raise money for the Highlanders uniform. He seems to be considering the matter, though he has said little except that it would be well, and might perhaps be done, if you could come on yourself. We do not feel that the Highlanders, although a valiant Regt., have been just or kind to you. We are proud of the deeds of that gallant corps however, and if they do you the justice that is your due, I think your friends would gladly assist them. Nellie is hurrying me so I must close. Charlie Johnson is engaged to Miss Julia White, sister to Dr. Lee's wife.

God bless you, my own dear son. If the prayers of mother and sisters are indeed a shelter, ours have not been in vain. May God guard, guide, be with you everywhere, is my constant cry to Him. Uncle P., Aunt M., Nellie, Thomas, Lilly, all unite in love to you and in gratitude to God for your preservation from danger.

Always my own dear, dear son, your very

Loving Mother.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 252-4

Cololnel Addison Farnsworth to Captain William Thompson Lusk, December 20, 1862

New-York, December 20th, 1862.

My dear Lusk:

Your last letter has not been answered before this, because of the reason that you — ye army of the Potomac — were on the move before it reached me, and I felt disposed to await your arrival in Richmond! The “turn of things” lately, however, has induced me to alter my mind.

In regard to the matter of the Majorship, I must confess I was “dead beat.” They got “way ahead” of me. I'll explain all to you satisfactorily when we meet.

I suppose you have seen Dr. McDonald, and that he has told you how “on the 29th of October, Gen. Burnside wrote a letter to the War Department, recommending me for a Brigadiership,” and how the said letter was sent to Gen. McClellan for his approval, and never returned. Now, if that letter could be reproduced and sent again to the War Department, nothing would prevent me from soon pocketing a Brigadier's Commission. I'll tell you a joke about the Brigadiership, rather at my expense however. The other day Thurlow Weed was sitting with the President — Generallissimo Lincoln — when Col. Farnsworth's card was sent in. Weed, supposing that the card represented this individual, remarked, “By the way, Mr. President, my call on you was particularly in relation to Col. Farnsworth.” And then he “put in” for me, leaving with the promise that my name should be sent in to the Senate immediately. Three or four days thereafter, to the astonishment of Mr. Weed, he saw an announcement in the papers that Col. Farnsworth of Illinois had been appointed a Brigadier! In fact, the Illinois Farnsworth secured his promotion at the expense of the New-York Farnsworth. Mr. Weed and others are now pushing the thing for me, but as every Col. in the army is now an applicant for a Brigadiership, I am not disposed to rely solely upon the aid and influence of politicians. That letter from Burnside would fix the thing at once. In the event of my promotion, you can rely upon the Lieut.-Colonelcy. Keep mum on the subject. Of course this matter is in my own hands. As soon as my name is sent in to the Senate, I shall go to Albany at once. I can do far more with Seymour than a Black Republican. Now keep quiet and get your straps. I am getting better — leg improving a little. Great excitement here among ye people in relation to Fredericksburg affair. Don't be surprised to hear in a few days that “Old Abe” has been forced to abdicate or change his cabinet.

Regards to all. Yours,

A. Farnsworth.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 251-2

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 16, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

Dec. 16th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Back again once more in the old camp, sound as a dollar. Would that 10,000 lying on the field across the river, or stretched on rude soldiers' beds in pain and some in mortal agony, could say as much! Gone are the proud hopes, the high aspirations that swelled our bosoms a few days ago. Once more unsuccessful, and only a bloody record to show our men were brave. This cannot heal the broken hearts this pitiful record is to cause. That God must do! Alas, my poor country! It has strong limbs to march, and meet the foe, stout arms to strike heavy blows, brave hearts to dare — but the brains, the brains — have we no brains to use the arms and limbs and eager hearts with cunning? Perhaps Old Abe has some funny story to tell appropriate to the occasion. Alas, let us await the wise words of Father Abraham! I say I am back, having recrossed the river about two o'clock this morning. Yesterday evening I was sent out with a couple of hundred sharpshooters to cover the front until the troops were all withdrawn. There I lay supporting the pickets within two or three hundred yards of the enemy while our troops crossed the river. Then word was sent us, and in silence we fell back, crossed ourselves, and then the pontoons were removed. Now we are in the old camp, and I am happy to write myself down in the number of those who have narrowly escaped. In the battle of Saturday, troops were thrown into the fight without any seeming regularity. Many were not under fire at all. Among the latter were the First, and a part of the Second Division of Wilcox's Corps. You know I belong to the First Division. Our position gave me a fine opportunity to witness the battle. It was a bonnie sight though, and thrillingly exciting. From the crests of the hills frowned the enemy's batteries. The city was gay with our troops. Beyond the city and below the batteries was open country giving no cover to advancing troops. Over this expanse our men were marched. The pennons fluttered gaily in the sunshine. Then suddenly the hills seemed to vomit forth smoke wreathing them in obscurity. Then followed the thunder of the cannon, intermingled with the screaming of the bursting shells. The ordeal was a terrible one. Some Regiments marched on without flinching; others fell back. To the left, running diagonally, was a stone-wall. A portion of our troops drew near it. This suddenly is likewise jetting with curls of smoke, followed by the sharp crack of the rifle and the angry humming of the conical balls. Now the troops are shaken. Stragglers run rapidly to the rear, then whole Regiments fall back with torn colors and broken ranks. It is of no use. That terrible stonewall is alive with death. Many Regiments try to reach it. Their efforts avail nothing though. Nearly in the center of the hill, west, there stands a fine old Virginia mansion of red brick with a stately colonnade running along its front. It was here that Col. Farnsworth had his headquarters last summer. This point was often attacked by our troops, but the house was like a hornet's nest. The enemy was strongly posted about it, in its alcoves, outbuildings and windows. There was death only, for those who tried to reach it. Our troops found some partial cover at a point below the house at the foot of the hill, where a small white house stood. Here two American banners were planted, the dear old thirteen stripes! How breathlessly we watched them! Though often attacked, when the smoke wreathed upward, our hearts were happy to see the colors still floating defiantly near the small white house. At length night closed on the scene. We believed the bloody day was done. There was one scene yet bloodier to be enacted. A final night attack was decided upon. We could not see our troops advancing in the darkness, but we heard a yell along the rebel line. Then a rapid musketry fire ran along the heights — a more terrible fire I never have seen. Forked tongues of flame such as old artists paint issuing from the mouths of the serpents to whom is given the tormenting of the damned, flashed in the night with a brilliant effect as the fire was delivered from man to man. Then darkness followed. Then silence. And we knew that more blood had been shed and nothing won. The next morning we were told that the 9th Army Corps was expected to storm the heights. It was Sunday morning. The Regiment was drawn up in line. The Chaplain read a chapter from the Bible, then said a short prayer. The men followed the prayer with their hearts, as men do who may never pray again. Then the word was given, “Forward,” and we started on the march, few hoping to survive. Then we were ordered to halt. We lay long in a state of expectancy. Meanwhile a new council of Generals was being held. There had been enough blood fruitlessly shed, said the most. No more of the madness and folly which will only result in the certain destruction of our army. Ten thousand men lost and the enemy sits unharmed in his trenches. Burnside says he will lead his own corps in person. But finally reason prevails in the council. The attack is postponed and finally abandoned. Last night the troops crossed the river, and to-day we are counting on our fingers the thousands of men the events of the past few days have cost us.

There are impossibilities in warfare — things that no troops can accomplish, however brave they may be. They cannot for one thing cross long stretches of open country without any cover in the face of an artillery fire of any magnitude, and then clamber up a hill-side exposed to the musketry of a concealed foe, and then cross the ditches and scale the earthworks of the enemy, driving the latter from their position with the bayonet. Men fight in masses. To be brave they must be inspired by the feeling of fellowship. Shoulder must touch shoulder. As gaps are opened the men close together, and remain formidable. But when the ranks are torn by artillery, the cohesion begins to fail. Then expose the men for several hundred yards to a murderous fire of musketry, and front rank man is gone, rear rank man is gone, comrades in battle are gone too. A few men struggle along together, but the whole mass has become diluent. Little streams of men pour in various directions. They no longer are amenable to command. The colors must be drawn to a place of safety, and in time the men will gather around it again. Numbers can effect little under such circumstances, provided they have no means of touching the enemy. The latter, lying under cover, firing from a place of safety, may murder your men. You may try again and again the experiment, but each repetition only lengthens the butcher's bill. Now I have written all this to show that success, as the attack was made, was impossible. In the same way we butchered the Confederates at Malvern Hill.

Well, I have seen McDonald, and felt quite happy to meet one who had been so lately among my friends at home. He told me of Uncle Phelps' offer of a horse, of his efforts for me and their probable success, and brought me some liquor and cigars from him and Cousin Henry. Give them my thanks, and say I delay acknowledging their kindness in a special manner, until I can learn all particulars from the Doctor. Arriving here the day of the battle, he has been so busy in the hospitals since, that I have barely learned the above facts as they were hurriedly repeated by him. I will write Uncle Phelps as soon as McDonald has time to tell me anything more than the general result of his visit.

I am so cold, that though I have much more that I would like to write, I must close and go to the fire. I may write again to-morrow. Love to all.

Affec'y.,

Will.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 244-8

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 10, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

December 10th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

I was much disappointed to-night not to hear from you. I had expected a letter all day long, but the usual mail did not arrive. I wanted to hear this time, because tomorrow we believe will be spent amid the deafening roar of cannon, which is to usher in another act, let us hope the final one, of the grand drama popularly known as “Onward to Richmond.” While I write, wagons are moving over the road, and preparations are being completed for to-morrow's engagement. Possibly the enemy may make no resistance here, still their batteries frown ominously upon us. The indications promise the great battle of the war — possibly an Austerlitz for the enemy — we hope a Waterloo for us. I have heretofore, sheltered by the prayers of mother and sisters, been singularly exempt from the accidents of war. The same Power that has already shown so much tenderness, has still the power to spare. But if in His wisdom it seemeth best this time to take my life, then, my dear mother, recognize in it only the Hand of the Inevitable. If my dying hours were only crowned by the certainty of victory, I could then close my eyes in peace. And in the great joy of the Nation, all individual griefs were selfish. So that I would have my mother's heart beat high, and be proud to have contributed a part of its own life's blood to the glorious consummation. With my whole heart I am eager for our success. Should I not see it with my earthly eyes, still let my mother rejoice for me, when all once more is well. But I am not given to entertaining forebodings. It is enough to do one's duty and let Providence provide. I prefer to think of the time when we all will return home, the laurel won. Think of the pride I shall feel as my own Regiment receives its welcome from the joyous citizens of New-York, a welcome deserved by its conduct on many fields. Think of the stories I would have to tell. I believe that Mary's boys — the next generation — will be better when they hear the story of the present. And another generation still, when the dimness of time shall have enhanced the romance, will dearly love to hear the tale of the Great Rebellion from the lips of Uncle Will. I think a wound — not a dangerous one, but some mark to show at the climax of the tale — would both contribute to the interest, and heighten the effect. Let us hope for the best in all things then, and believe that in all things, if we seek, we may always find a best.

Give my best love to Tom and Lilly, Hunt, Mary and the boys, Walter, Ellen and Nellie, Cousin Louisa. Pshaw! My dear friends are so numerous that I cannot mention them without surely omitting many often in remembrance, so good-bye.

Affec'y. your son,

Will.

[Note appended in his mother s handwriting:]

My dear, dear child, he has a nobler, purer, better, more unselfish heart, than the poor weak mother who gave him birth.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 242-4

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 7, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

December 7th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

We are still lying quietly in camp — no signs of a move yet, but general suffering for want of clothes, shoes in especial. The miserable article furnished by the Government to protect the feet of our soldiers seldom lasts more than three or four weeks, so it is easy to understand the constant cry of “no shoes” which is so often pleaded for the dilatoriness of the Army. I am, happily, well provided now, and can assure those of my friends that contributed to the box Capt. brought me, that the box contained a world of comfort for which I heartily thank them. I think I have acknowledged the safe receipt of the box and its contents already, but a letter from Lilly says not. I will write Uncle Phelps that it came all right. I have had a rare treat to-day. Indeed I feel as though I had devoured a Thanksgiving Turkey. At least I have the satisfied feeling of one that has dined well. I did not dine on Peacock's brains either, but — I write it gratefully — I dined on a dish of potatoes. They were cut thin, fried crisp, and tasted royally. You will understand my innocent enthusiasm, when I say that for nearly six weeks previous, I had not tasted a vegetable of any kind. There was nothing but fresh beef and hard crackers to be had all that time, varied sometimes by beef without any crackers, and then again by crackers without any beef. And here were fried potatoes! No stingy heap, but a splendid pile! There was more than a “right smart” of potatoes as the people would say about here. Excuse me, if warming with my theme I grow diffuse. The Chaplain and I mess together. The Chaplain said grace, and then we both commenced the attack. There were no words spoken. We both silently applied ourselves to the pleasant task of destruction. By-and-by there was only one piece left. We divided it. Then sighing, we turned to the fire, and lighted our pipes, smoking thoughtfully. At length I broke the silence. “Chaplain,” said I. “What?” says Chaplain. “Chaplain, they needed SALT!” I said energetically. Chap puffed out a stream of smoke approvingly, and then we both relapsed again into silence.

I see a good deal of Capt. Stevens now, who says were his father only living I would have little difficulty in getting pushed ahead. He, poor fellow, feels himself very much neglected after the very splendid service he has rendered. It is exceedingly consoling, in reading the late lists of promotions made by the War Department, to see how very large a proportion has fallen to the share of young officers whose time has been spent at Fortress Monroe, Baltimore, or anywhere where there has been no fighting done. Perhaps our time may come one of these days, but I trust I may have better luck in the medical profession than at soldiering. However I suppose when I get old, it will be a proud memory to have fought honorably at Antietam and South Mountain, in any capacity. I feel the matter more now, for I have been in the service so long, and so long in the same place, that I am fairly ashamed to visit old friends, all of whom hold comparatively high rank. I do not see why before the first of January though, I should not be the Lt.-Col. of the 79th Regiment. In trying to be Major, I attempted to be frank and honorable, and lost. Now I shall try to act honorably, but mean to try and win.

I feel sad enough about Hannah. You know what inseparable playmates we were when children. God help her safely, whatsoever his will may be.

Love and kisses for all but gentlemen friends.

Affec'y.,

William.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 240-2

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, December 3, 1862

Camp Near Falmouth, Va.

December 3d, 1862.

My dear Mother:

I hasten to write you to-day, fearful lest you should dread my being overduly oppressed by any feeling of disappointment at not receiving that promotion in my Regiment, which friends may have flattered themselves was my due. I accept the disappointment without complaint — at least now, if not at first. Its so indifferent a matter after all, what position I may fill, so long as I am found worthy to serve in any wise the interests of a beloved country. I do not believe you love or esteem the simple Captain less. Rank in our Army is of small importance at best. I know full-fledged Colonels who once sat cross-legged in a tailor's shop, and who still know a deal more about mending breeches than about soldiering. Our democratic institutions work beautifully in the Army. But I won't grumble, provided friends at home don't fall asleep while such an institution as “piping” exists. I saw Gardner Green to-day, and talked McClellan to him until the cars carried him off.

By-the-way, dear mother, I need hardly state to you that I would rather like to get out of the 79th Regiment, and not only that, but out of the Volunteer service altogether. I do not know if the thing be possible, but would like very much to get into the Regular Army. Ask Walter and Uncle Phelps if they know of any parties capable of helping me in the matter. I suppose there are plenty of parties with feelings similar to my own, so that there are twenty applicants for every vacancy. Even if I were not to retain my Commission after the close of the war, a position in the Regular Army would secure me more congenial companions for the present. Do, mother, inquire if the thing can be done.

I like “Old Abe's” emancipation plans as developed in his “Message” very much. His “Emancipation Proclamation” though, I decidedly object to, after my Beaufort experience. The “Freedmen's friends” down there used to send home very glowing accounts of their successes, but they told awful lies. That whom Lilly speaks of meeting, was a rare old chap in the way of lying. I believe in getting rid of slavery at any cost, but think Father Abraham has proposed the wisest plan I have heard of yet.

I tried to get a chance for a few days at home this month, but as usual was told there was no chance. Were I any where else I could get home occasionally on Regimental  business, but I don't ask, nor expect, any favors in a Scotch Regiment. What evil star ever guided my destiny into a parcel of foreigners? I suppose Providence knows best, and now I find myself as fairly caught as Sterne's Starling with no likelier chance of getting out.

Well, success to my new fancy for the Regulars.

Love to all.

Affectionately,

Will.

I am repeatedly informed of the great sacrifices my brother officers have made in coming out to the war, usually in the following words: “Why, that man used to be a boss-mechanic at home.” Nothing but boss-mechanics in the 79th are supposed to have either hearts or any other kind of entrails.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 238-40

William Walter Phelps to Captain William Thompson Lusk, November 28, 1862

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

William Walter Phelps to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, November 28, 1862

New-York, Nov. 28th, 1862.

My dear Mrs. Lusk:

You will rejoice with me on hearing that the Postman has just brought me a large envelope stamped with the State Seal, containing a Commission for Major W. T. Lusk! Hurrah! And Hurrah a second time, because I was too much for his honor, Lt.-Col. Morrison!

I surmised he would play Will a shabby trick and recommend another, and I was ready for him. I wrote to the Gov.'s secretary that he might nominate a fellow named More, but that Farnsworth, I was pretty sure, preferred Capt. Lusk. Sure enough! In Major Linsly's letter enclosing the Commission, he tells me that Capt. More presented himself with Col. Morrison's nomination, whereupon Major Linsly read my last letter to the Gov., in which I had anticipated the case, and the Gov. told him to send me the Commission for Capt. Lusk.

I write Will to-day, and send the Commission. I daren't send the latter before I have advised Will, or Col. Morrison, through whose hands it goes, might venture to detain or destroy it.

With love of Nelly and me to Hunt and Mary,

Very truly,

Wm. Walter Phelps.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 235-6

Captain William Thompson Lusk & Elizabeth Adams Lusk, November 26, 1862

Near Falmouth,

Nov. 26th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

I have selected the most inviting of the paper Nellie sent me to write you to-day — such nice paper I thought it would be to write a love-letter on, to some dainty little lady. I have lighted a real good cigar, and fancy I might be delightfully sentimental, but nearly five years absence from home has left me, alas! with no dainty little lady acquaintances, time having changed them into interesting matrons. So as my own mother is the most interesting matron of my acquaintance, I find myself writing to her.

To-morrow will be Thanksgiving Day. The manner in which it is supposed to be observed in camp you will find interestingly pictured in last week's “Frank Leslie.” I suppose we will dine in reality to-morrow on coffee and crackers and fried beefsteak. Still these things satisfy the appetite, and are even capable of producing dyspepsia, notwithstanding the popular notion that such an evil is confined to the pampered denizens of cities. You must take Sam Elliott's descriptions of camp-life cum grano salis, remembering what wonderful descriptive powers he possesses. I do not doubt he pictures the horrors so vividly that the hearers suffer far more from listening to his accounts, than the actual victims do from experiencing the reality.

You will see Wm. Elliott I suppose. Tell him then that I must have written authority from him to collect the money for his lost horse. I wish to serve him, but need the writing to enable me to act. My special friend, Lt.-Col. Morrison, played me another amiable trick tonight, having appointed More Major of the Regiment, subject to the approval of the Governor of New-York. This was in the first place unnecessary, as More has not yet reported for duty. Then it was a thing he had no special power to do, Col. Farnsworth (so he writes me) having already recommended me to the Gov. for the position. But it was a cunning trick, as, should my appointment occur in the face of his own published to the Regiment, endless troubles could easily be made to result. Yet Morrison to my face is the sweetest, most amiable among the artificers of brasses for andirons.

Capt. who so flatteringly presented my prospects and deserts to Uncle Phelps, was at the same time, Farnsworth writes me, the bitterest of my opponents, and using his best efforts to ruin me in New-York and Albany. They are a sweet set among whom I have fallen. They owe Elliott and myself an old grudge for the favor Stevens showed us, which they now have an opportunity to repay. They have fixed Elliott's case for him, and they are busy settling mine. However I have recovered my amiability, and no longer feeling any hope of escape, am not a little amused at the trouble they take regarding me. I tell them everything candidly, so that they need be at no pains on my account, but they, not supposing it possible for a man to be staightforward, exhaust any amount of useless cunning to gain their ends. And the best of it all is, that while all this working is going on, we are all such capital friends that it is really delightful to see brethren live in such harmony together.

With regard to the intended Army movements we are all utterly in the fog, the time passing and the mud growing deeper, while batteries are being built by the enemy under our very noses. What's the use of questioning? Time will show.

I shall think of you feasting merrily to-morrow, mindful of the absent son and brother, and wish you all joy.

I am wearing the stockings you sent me and find them glorious. I am generally quite comfortable now, from the contents of the box my friends prepared and sent me. You must thank all those to whom I am indebted, in my name. I shall send this letter to New-York direct, supposing it may reach you sooner so. Love to Lilly, Mary, Hunt, Tom, and the Infant Department.

Affec'y.,

Will.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 233-5

Captain William Thompson Lusk & Elizabeth Adams Lusk, November 22, 1862

Near Falmouth, Nov. 22nd, 1862.

My dear Mother:

We are still overlooking the city of Fredericksburg, which the enemy has not evacuated, disregarding our warnings. I suppose the shelling of the city will commence to-morrow, unless regard be shown by our Commanders for the Sabbath day. I must say the attack on Fredericksburg is a thing I greatly dread. The field of battle with all its horrors is redeemed somewhat by the thought that the dead on both sides have fallen in a cause sacred in their own eyes at least, and this redeems them, but wanton destruction of property and all the probable results of a successful siege develop only the most devilish propensities of humanity. To see women and children, old men, the weak and the feeble insulted and injured, makes one hate war and distrust one's cause, and yet with the lax discipline maintained in our armies, we have too frequent examples of such outrage, the efforts of officers to check them being completely neutralized by the accursed conduct of the Press with its clamor for a vigorous prosecution of the war. In this way Pope prepared his troops for defeat. Burnside is a nobler nature, and will do what he can to prevent such stains on our honor, but he even cannot wholly arrest the effect of the savage appeals of our journals at home. You ask me what I think of McClellan? I cannot answer for myself, I have been too little under his command, but by his old soldiers — by those in whose judgment I place confidence, he is trusted as the ablest General in our army. Granting even that he is slow, they believe he had the power to have brought the war successfully to a close, had he been allowed to execute his plans without the assistance of our Executive's wisdom. I fear we have no great soldiers in our army. Probably we had a good mediocre one in McClellan. It is doubtful whether we have that now. Poor old . . . Abe has put down his big clumsy foot —and God help us! We don't look for assistance either to old Abe or the collective wisdom of his advisers. We hardly look to the people of the North wearied with repeated disappointment. In our wretched army system we have not much more to hope. What then? We must trust in God, and conquer. This alone can help us now. To this is our pride humbled. In hoc signo vinces. I do not despair, but hope — and while I live, will never despair — but my hopes will rise, when a sincere effort shall be made to check the license and marauding propensities of our troops, when thieves and robbers shall receive speedy and terrible justice, when, in a word, we shall deserve to conquer. A righteous indignation toward the authors of the rebellion may be a good thing, but it is very likely to be confounded with a desire to pamper one's belly at the expense of the helpless. It may be a good thing to use severe measures to bring deluded men to a sense of their errors. Still I think, were low ignorant ruffians to visit my home while I was away fighting, burn my house, lay waste my property, insult mother and sisters, beggar the little children I might love, taunt the gray hairs I might respect, leave starvation in the place of plenty, I should feel singularly strengthened in my early delusion. Yet this is a truthful picture of what the and its school mean by a vigorous prosecution of the war. Cromwell's troops were terrible soldiers — a scourge to the enemy — and they conquered because they were forbidden to stain their cause with robbery and wrong. I heard two soldiers disputing to-day, one of them belonged to the 18th Ind. Vols., the other to the 8th Ohio Vols. They were contending as to which Regiment should be entitled to the credit of having collected and sent home the greatest amount of plunder. I heard a Michigan soldier boasting that his Regiment had foisted thousands of dollars worth of counterfeit money on the people of Virginia in exchange for little luxuries. A poor woman lived near us. A party of cowards entered her house to search for booty. She implored them to leave the little that she had for her children's sake. The brutes thrust her out of the door, until they had ransacked the poor dwelling, and then left a weak woman and feeble little children to go supperless to bed. The great, hulking, cowardly brutes! But I have no wish to point the finger further at our disgrace. I have said I do not despair, but at sight of such things I cannot but despond.

Give my best love to all my dear friends — God bless them and protect them.

Very affec'y.,

Will.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 230-3

Captain William Thompson Lusk & Elizabeth Adams Lusk, November 19, 1862

Near Fredericksburg,         

Nov. 19th, 1862.

My dear Mother:

Here we are at last on familiar ground, lying in camp at Falmouth, opposite to Fredericksburg. I have been unable while on the march for the few days past, to write you, but am doing my best with a pencil to-night, as one of our Captains returns home to-morrow, and will take such letters as may be given him. It was my turn to go home this time, but my claim was disregarded. You know Lt.-Col. Morrison has command of the Regiment in Col. Farnsworth's absence, and Morrison never omits any opportunity to subject me to petty annoyances. I am an American in a Scotch Regiment, and in truth not wanted. Yet I cannot resign. The law does not allow that, so I have to bear a great deal of meanness. Stevens in his lifetime knowing how things stood, kept in check the Scotch feeling against interlopers like Elliott and myself. . . . I do not exaggerate these things. I used to feel the same way in old times, but had been so long separated from the regiment as almost to forget them. I have borne them of late without complaint, hoping the efforts of my friends might work my release. In the Regiments of the old Division I think no officer had so many strong friends as I. In my own Regiment I may say that I am friendless. (I except McDonald). In the Division I had a reputation. In my Regiment I have none. After eighteen months of service I am forced to bear the insults of a man who is continually telling of the sacrifices he has made for his country, because he abandoned on leaving for the war, a small shop where he made a living by polishing brasses for andirons.

Forgive me, my dear mother, for complaining. It does me good sometimes, for then after speaking freely, I always determine afresh that if these things must be, I will nevertheless do my duty, and in so doing maintain my self-respect. Love to all, dear mother. Good-bye.

Very affec'y.,

William T. Lusk.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 229-30

Elizabeth Adams Lusk to Captain William Thompson Lusk, November 17, 1862

Norwich, Conn.

November 17th, 1862.

My own dear Son:

I think I will commence the week by writing a letter to you who in these times of trouble occupy so large a share of my thoughts. Sam Elliott was here on Saturday, dined with us and stayed some hours. His sad condition makes me feel very melancholy. Poor fellow! How he has suffered. I sometimes wish you were all withdrawn from the Army. Oh! my poor, poor country! It is so grievous to see our sons and friends maimed, sick, or to know that they are dead. He (Elliott) tells me you are well, and seem strong. God has indeed been merciful to spare your life and strength amid such great dangers as you have passed through during the last eighteen months. Elliott talks of returning to his duties this week. He certainly ought not, for he is weak, sick, and unfit for exertion; besides that, he requires the most nourishing diet. He told me that he found you at breakfast on mouldy bread and sloppy coffee, while we who are at home doing nothing, are fattening on luxuries.

Oh! my dear, dear son, I feel so anxious about the effect of this coming cold winter, and I cannot help a feeling of bitterness that you are not provided with proper food. If you should have an attack of rheumatism, do get permission to return to be taken care of properly. I hear nothing more of your prospects in New-York, but am sure your friends will not relax their exertions. We are all well here, and the Grands are doing finely, especially the last. A week from Thursday is our Thanksgiving Day in Conn., so we are expecting Thomas and Lillie to pass the day, after which I shall return with them to New-York for the winter. Elliott told me when he reached New-York, being cold, he wrapped around him the blanket Hunt gave him, and as he staggered from weakness, a police officer arrested him for drunkenness, but released him immediately on discovering that he was ill. What is the general feeling in the Army regarding the removal of McClellan, as far as you can judge? Uncle John is violently opposed to him, and Hunt, I think, partakes of his feelings. Whether justly, or unjustly, there is certainly a strong party against him. The Post and Tribune oppose him, the World and Express uphold him, while the Herald humbly submits its judgment to the will of the President.

Mary Wells and her husband have returned from Europe, and are expected here this week. Hannah has nearly, or quite recovered her strength. I have not much news to tell you. The Twenty-sixth Regt. left last Thursday, to the relief of some of our citizens. They were in town at all hours, and a hundred or more at once would run past the guard and rush to their tents when they pleased. The Lt.-Col. when issuing his orders, would address them thus: “Gentlemen, please to stand back,” or, “Gentlemen, please to stop,” when he wished them to halt. This is the gossip. Very few of them were known in town, and consequently less interest was felt for them than for the Eighteenth and Twenty-First. Edward Ells, and young Meech who married Louisa Bond went with them. Gen. Tyler and Ned, Dr. Osgood saw last week in Chicago. He reports that they are having a rather forlorn time. It is some time since their paroled prisoners have seen the paymaster. I hear you have been inconvenienced by the same cause. The papers state that all are now being paid, so I hope you too will receive your own. Uncle Thomas heard somewhere, that the “De Soto” was off New Orleans on her way home for repairs. If this is true, Charles may soon be home.

Good-bye, my own dear son, may the Almighty God be ever your defence and shield.

Always very lovingly,

Mother.

Elliott said, if the Medical Examiner forbids his return this week, he should come and see me again. His brother William is in Washington. His arm is still useless.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 226-8

Captain William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, November 1862

Near Rectorville, Va.

November, 1862.

My dear Mother:

I received your half reproachful letter last night just after I had gone to bed, and thought that perhaps I might have made a little too much of the difficulties of writing without pens, ink, stand, and oftentimes in the cold with numb fingers after a day's march. These things make me disinclined to write letters, yet I should know by the pleasure the receipt of your missives affords me, that to occasion like pleasure in return should be sufficient incentive to exertion. I am commencing well to-night with a small stub of a pencil, sitting in McDonald's tent. But remember do, dear mother, when at times I prove neglectful, that all is necessarily well; that “no news is good news.”

I hardly can give you any hint of the intentions of the Army. We do not see the papers often enough to study the general movement of our troops, and cannot even make conjectures. We all hope though that we are engaged on some earnest and important undertaking. We feel that it is vital to act, and wish to act successfully. Burnside and McClellan are near us, and we have faith in them. I judge from some remark I read in the papers, that Connecticut has given her vote to the Democracy in the late elections. A test-vote was taken on election day in our Regiment to try the relative strengths of Seymour and Wadsworth. 168 votes were polled, of which Wadsworth received only 52. This was not so much because Seymour or his principles were popular, as for the reason that Wadsworth, long before his nomination for Governor of New-York, was generally known to the army as rather the leader of the clique so obnoxious to the soldier, which was loud and virulent in its abuse of McClellan. The feeling was rather McClellan versus Fremont, than Seymour versus Wadsworth.

While I think of it, I will deny the story that Rockwell did not command his battery in the James Island battle. He did so, and I do not think Porter meant to deny it. Porter probably said that he (Porter) commanded Rockwell's Battery the most of the time they were on James Island, without specifying anything regarding the fight. You know Rockwell was sick a good deal of the time, and Porter, as next in rank, did command in many of the almost daily skirmishes. Porter did first-rate service, and is too good a man I think, to injure his own reputation by decrying another. On the day of the battle Rockwell was well enough to command in person, and to the entire satisfaction of General Stevens.

I had a letter from Horace yesterday, and should judge he was blue. The poor fellow has had discouragements enough. He writes that if the draft falls upon him, he shall enter the ranks and come out to the war. This is wrong. He should secure a Commission, or stay at home. With my present experience, I would not have leaped blindly as I did at the commencement of the war. I have had a hard struggle with pride and duty to make me persist, but a little of the caution displayed by most of my friends, would have saved me many difficulties. If my friends have generally been more successful than I, I can at least feel consoled by the thought that what I have gained has been won by my own exertion. There, that is pretty egotism! Little boy blue, come blow your horn!

I wish I had seen Charley Johnson when in my neighborhood. I suppose I was off to Frederick. Charley must have been journeying to the moon, I guess, when he so narrowly escaped Stuart's Cavalry.

Believe me,

Affec'y.,

Will.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 224-6