was due to his insistent desire to maintain his personal independence as
a writer. He left the _Indianapolis Sentinel_ because he did not wish to
conform to its political policy. His editorial work on the _New York
World_ became irksome on this same account. He broke with the managers
of the _Buffalo Courier_ in 1886 because he disliked Grover Cleveland
and because he did not propose to stultify his editorial utterances in a
newspaper whose proprietor was specially friendly at the time to the
Buffalo President. He is said to have refused a flattering offer from
Charles A. Dana to become editorial writer on the _New York Sun_ because
he did not believe he could conform to Mr. Dana’s ideas, however much he
might admire the genius of that brilliant editor.
He set his editorial chair on a calm high level and from it addressed
daily a clientele that loyally followed him in all his journeyings
through fields of philosophy, history, poetry, romance and even the
common things of everyday life. To read him once was to seek him again
and remain his disciple.
He might have made his fame rest on his poetry, but he subordinated that
gift to his passion for regular, constant work in his editorial chair,
indulging in flights of fancy only as a pastime.
Mr. O’Connor was a master of the English language; indeed, it is
doubtful if any man on the American press ever wrote it better. Some
twenty years ago a correspondent of the _New York Sun_ asked Mr. Dana
for information regarding literary style. In the course of his reply he
said:
“Among the newspaper writers of our own country and of the present day,
perhaps the best style is that of Mr. Joseph O’Connor, the editor of
_The Post Express_ of Rochester. It is terse, lucid, calm,
argumentative, and without a trace of effort or affectation.”
After quoting this tribute, said Father Cronin of the _Buffalo Union and
Times_: “It is no small source of pride and gratification to us to know
that one of the great princes of American journalism is an Irish
American. Mr. O’Connor’s pen is like the Damascene blade, polished and
beautiful, yet withal so smooth and keen that the victim of its blow is
severed in twain almost without realizing the catastrophe. Long may
Joseph O’Connor wield it, as he has always wielded it, a menace to evil
and a swift and sure protection to the right.”
All over the State of New York the daily and weekly papers, the day
after his death, contained most flattering and affectionate tributes to
his memory, and these were echoed and reinforced since by the press of
the whole country, for “The Rochesterian” gave the key to the right
solution of many a question to hundreds of editors who sought in the
exchanges for “J. O’C’s” latest.
Said the _Rochester Times_: “For intelligence and insight he had few
peers among the great journalists of his time; but in addition he had
what some more renowned than he have lacked—absolute bravery of
conviction. His pen was unconditionally consecrated to truth as he saw
truth; and nothing could weaken his allegiance. It is familiar history
that he could have held some of the highest posts in American journalism
had he been willing to bend his honor or relax his sincerity.”
“Intellectually,” says the _Syracuse Herald_, “he was one of the
frankest and bravest of men, never hesitating to champion a cause that
appealed to his reason or humanity because it happened to be temporarily
unpopular.”
“Journalism,” says the _Troy Press_, “loses a philosophical writer, a
brilliant scholar and a veritable ‘knowledge-box’ in the death of Joseph
O’Connor of _The Post Express_. He was one of the few editors whose
talent and resources were so abounding that adequately to replace him is
practically out of the question.”
“He set before the men of his profession,” says the _Rochester Herald_,
“an example of frankness, courage, and independence which is emulated
wherever it is possible to follow it, and is admired and envied where
conditions do not permit of its acceptance. The utterances of
newspapers, elsewhere in the country as well as here, are more sincere,
more fearless, and freer from cant and sham because of the ideals
revered and upheld by Joseph O’Connor.”
“Mr. O’Connor,” says the _Rochester Times_, “was a man of extensive
acquaintance, of legions of friends but with few ‘cronies.’ Among these
favored few might be numbered Rev. Louis A. Lambert of Scottsville,
editor-in-chief of the _New York Freeman’s Journal_; Rev. John L. Codyre
of Fairport, Judge John D. Lynn, and a few others. His friendships were
for literary characters and their conversation was of the ultra
intellectual thought. Abstruse theological and philosophical problems
were discussed with as much freedom as ordinary persons talk of the
weather. Yet Mr. O’Connor in his kindly, lovable, winsome way could talk
entertainingly on the commonest topic with any acquaintance and his was
the tactful manner which never made one feel his smallness before him.”
Such is the tribute paid him by the _Rochester, N. Y., Herald_ of
October 10th, 1908, in its editorial column.
The Society, in response to its request for further information for its
archives, received the following communication from Mr. O’Connor’s
lifelong friend, Edmond Redmond, Esq., which we print in full:
230 Spencer St., Rochester, N. Y.,
November 13, 1908.
_Mr. Thomas Z. Lee, Secretary-General American Irish Historical
Society,
Providence, R. I._
DEAR SIR: I duly received your letter of the 5th instant requesting
such material as I may have in relation to a biographical sketch of
the late Joseph O’Connor.
I assume that you have seen the notices printed in Rochester and other
newspapers immediately following his decease. I regret that I can add
but little to those eulogies, which were, I have reason to believe,
written by intimate associates and came from the heart.
I thought that less was said by his recent friends about his interest
in Ireland and her cause than deserves to be known. And on that point
I can testify from acquaintance with him that few things were nearer
or dearer to him than the land of his ancestors. His pen and voice
were ever ready to work in the cause of Ireland, and I have no doubt
that his personal fortunes, in the ordinary commercial sense, suffered
from the persistence with which, all through life, he continued to
bring to the attention of an indifferent public the wrongs inflicted
on the people of the island. It was, however, a labor of love with
him, and his zeal in the cause continued to the end. He had no
confidence in secret societies effecting any great good in Irish
politics; but he gave hearty support to the Land League in Parnell’s
day. He was a delegate to the famous Land League convention of 1886 in
Chicago, and was urged by friends to let them propose him for
President of the American branch of the Society. He has been heard to
say that he was indebted to the Land League for the experience which
enabled him in later years to feel at home on his feet while engaged
in public speaking on other subjects.
His regard for Ireland could not have been stronger had he been a
native of the land, and it was evidently inherited. Years ago he heard
a friend humming “As Slow Our Ship Her Foamy Track,” and said that
when his father was leaving Ireland a group gathered about him on the
deck of the ship as he sung that song, and before it was finished they
were all in tears.
Although usually slow to anger, he was liable to be moved on hearing
the creditable deeds of plain Irishmen ascribed, as they are so often,
to the “Scotch-Irish,”—a designation which he detested, employed as it
usually is to detract from Ireland the reflected honor to which she is
entitled from the worthy fame of her children.
If the nature and scope of the work which you have in hand permits of
eulogy, it would be impossible to speak too highly of O’Connor’s
character. In both public and private life he was the soul of honor.
His talents were of the first order and always exerted toward good
ends. His integrity was unbounding. Like Gay his “manners were gentle,
his affections mild.” In a word he was a really great and uncommonly
good citizen, a true and noble man. One of his favorite poets was
Goldsmith and I cannot better end this too brief sketch than with what
the author of “The Deserted Village” said of Reynolds:—
To tell you my mind.
He has not left a greater or better behind.
Very truly yours,
EDMOND REDMOND.
Mr. O’Connor was the author of many poems, and in 1895 the Putnams
brought out a little volume of his modestly entitled “Poems.” Many of
the shorter poems in the book are characterized by delicate fancy and
graceful rhyming; such poems as “Her Hands,” “Water Lilies,” and the
“Wine Song.” He favored these smaller, slighter children of his fancy.
He thought the best poem he ever wrote was “The Cavalier Sword,” and
next in order he placed “The Fount of Castaly.” In our opinion “Her
Hands” is the sweetest and most graceful of them all, and we print it
herewith:
HER HANDS.
Sometimes I sit and try to trace
In memory’s records dim and faint,
The features of my mother’s face,
With the calm look of gentle grace
That marked our house’s quiet saint.
The innocence of her blue eyes,
The winning smile about her lips,
Child-simple and yet woman-wise,
Her shining hair, her modest guise,
All come in turn; each fades and slips.
I try to fix them, but in vain;
They waver, and yet will not fuse,
Howe’er imagination strain,
To form the face that it would feign—
Till on a sudden, as I muse
There comes a thought of her dear hands,
All wrinkled, tanned and labor-worn—
And there the simple woman stands,
To meet her duty’s hard demands,
Among the children she has borne.
No work nor written word remains,
Nor picture worthy to approve;
But read in knotted joints and veins,
And tendons strong, and honest stains,
The tale of service and of love.
O hands of ministry, that wrought
In constant care, through weal and woe,
Nor rest by crib or coffin caught,
This pang is mine—I never thought
To kiss your fingers long ago.
CHIEF EGAN’S WAR RECORD WRITTEN FOR STATE ARCHIVES
FROM PROVIDENCE JOURNAL.
David Irwin of San Francisco, an Irishman, formerly First Lieutenant of
Company F, Third Rhode Island Heavy Artillery, who served under Gen.
Charles R. Brayton, a guest and speaker at the dedication of the Society
of the Sullivan Memorial December 16, 1908, has recently written a
sketch of his service in the Army, and while compiling the story ran
across several notes of incidents in Army life which directly concern
Chief of Police Patrick Egan, of Providence, R. I.
Mr. Irwin has forwarded the information to General Brayton, in order
that it may be preserved in the archives of the State. In his letter Mr.
Irwin says: “Being a native of the Emerald Isle, I claim the right to
make a little Irish bull by saying that when I enlisted at Providence
the only man I knew in my regiment was a boy fifteen years old. The day
that I made up my mind to be one of the ’200,000 more’ called for by
President Lincoln, I went into the workshop where this boy was learning
the shoe trade and said to him, ‘Patsy, I am going to enlist. Don’t you
want to go?’
“He looked up with a smile on his face and replied: ‘Yes, if you will.’
“‘All right,’ I said, ‘come along. I’m going.’
“I can imagine I see him now getting up from his bench, taking off his
apron, throwing it down and putting on his coat.
“Away we went to the recruiting office and signed the roll, he giving
his age as seventeen, which no one doubted. He was tall for his years.
“I had hoped we would be placed in the same company, that I might be
near him and keep an eye on him, for I felt somewhat responsible for
taking him away from his widowed mother, but fate or fortunes of war
willed it otherwise. I was assigned to Company G and he to Company C,
which was afterward mounted as a light battery. However, he soon proved
to be well able to take care of himself, except, perhaps, on one
occasion.
“That was soon after the Port Royal, S. C., expedition,” Mr. Irwin
explains, “of which our regiment was a part, sailed from Hampton Roads
late in October, 1861, the land forces, consisting of about 12,500 men,
being under Gen. Thomas W. Sherman, and a fleet of seventeen warships
and thirty transports and supply vessels, commanded by Commodore Samuel
F. DuPont.
“About a week before sailing our regiment embarked on an old steamship,
which had been used for carrying cotton from New Orleans to New York.
Patsy’s company happened to be assigned to the poorest quarters on the
ship—the lower hold. The accommodations for 1,000 men were none too
good, consequently, we had more or less sickness on board.
“Hearing one day that Patsy was ill, I went in search of him, and found
him in a dark, poorly ventilated hole. He was a very sick boy. I took
him up to my company’s quarters and put him into a berth near the
hatchway, where he got better air, and, with a little care—the best we
could give him under the circumstances, as we were then off Cape
Hatteras and having very stormy weather—he soon recovered and in a few
days he was himself again.
“It may not be out of place to relate here a little incident which took
place one night during the height of the storm. About midnight the rain
was coming down in sheets, the sea running high and the wind blowing a
gale, when, in an instant, over went the old ship on her beam’s end.
This caused quite a commotion among the boys—we were all called ‘boys’
then—some of whom rushed to the hatchway to get on deck, but were
prevailed upon to remain below. One of the foremost of them, ‘Jim’
Burns, a countryman of mine, dropped on his knees on the stairs and
commenced praying like a good fellow. The others quieted down and paid
all due respect to Jim and his prayers. In a few minutes the ship
righted again, and in a short time the worst of the storm was over.
“Next day things looked a little brighter and some of the boys thought
they might have a little fun at Jim’s expense. Being First Sergeant of
the company, they suggested that I appoint Jim Chaplain of the company,
seeing he had made such a good prayer the night before. When I told him
of their wishes, he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and replied:
“‘No you don’t appoint me Chaplain. Let them go to the ‘divil,’ and do
their own prayin’.’
“After losing four of our supply vessels during the storm, we arrived at
our destination on the morning of November 7, 1861, and witnessed the
same day the bombardment and capture by the Navy of Fort Walker on
Hilton Head, and Fort Beauregard on Bay Point, S. C. We landed on the
‘sacred soil’ late in the afternoon, our regiment taking possession of
the abandoned rebel fortifications.
“I saw but little of Patsy after this. Active operations were soon
commenced, our regiment was broken up and the companies scattered over
the islands and swamps about Charleston and Savannah, where they took a
prominent part in the following: Siege and surrender of Fort Pulaski,
Ga., from January 1 to April 15, 1862; battle of Secessionville, James
Island, near Charleston, June 16, 1862; battle of Pocotaligo, S. C., on
the Charleston and Savannah Railroad, October 21, 1862; capture of
Morris Island and Fort Wagner, and in the bombardment and memorable
siege of Fort Sumter, 1863, and many other smaller engagements.
“In the spring of 1863 I met his captain (Brayton), who had been a
Lieutenant in my company and afterward Colonel of the regiment, and
asked him how ‘Patrick Egan’—that was the boy’s name—‘was getting
along.’
“He answered, ‘Egan is getting along all right. He is one of my best
boys. I have just made him a corporal.’
“The first time I met Patsy after this was on the disastrous battlefield
of Olustee, Florida, February 20, 1864. He was then a Sergeant and had
charge of a section of his battery, which was temporarily attached to a
four-gun Battery M of the First United States Artillery. When I was
ordered to retire from the field with the remnant of the battery in
which I was then serving, E, Third United States Artillery, by the late
Senator Hawley, who was then Colonel of the Seventh Connecticut, and
Acting Brigadier-General, we passed near to where young Egan was, with
his two guns in position.
“I rode up to him and exclaimed, ‘Patsy, what are you doing here?’
“His reply was, ‘We are doing the best we can.’
“Not seeing any officers present, I then said to him, ‘You had better
get out of here as soon as possible, or you and your men and guns will
all be captured.’
“He limbered up, withdrew a short distance and fired a few more shots of
cannister which, I have no doubt, checked, at a critical moment, the
advance of the enemy.
“It was now dark, and I believe these were the last guns fired at the
Battle of Olustee, where the Union troops under Gen. Truman Seymour lost
1,900 men in killed, wounded and missing, and five pieces of artillery,
out of a force of about 4,500 men engaged.
“The Confederates were supposed to have about 6,000 troops, commanded by
General Finnegan, and their loss was reported to be little over 900.
“This engagement seemed to be more like an ambuscade than anything else.
It was so unexpected—like a thunderclap out of a clear sky. We were
marching leisurely through a swampy, thickly-wooded country from early
morning until 3 p. m., when we came to a clearing and found the enemy,
who had been retreating for several days, posted in a very strong,
well-chosen position, partly intrenched and sheltered by thick woods,
while we were exposed to their deadly fire in the open field, which
accounts for the great difference in the losses.
“We retired in good order during the night and next day to Jacksonville,
forty miles distant, with but little trouble from the ‘Johnnies.’ Here
young Egan joined his own battery, turned over his section to the
commanding officer and reported a loss of one man killed, six wounded
and twelve horses killed or disabled. He was slightly wounded himself
and had a horse shot under him. The battery to which his section was
attached lost about thirty-five men in killed, wounded and missing and
three out of their four guns.
“I will now quote an incident of camp life taken from his narrative of
the Florida campaign:
“‘A few days after our arrival in Jacksonville the battery, together
with Barton’s Brigade, was ordered to Palatka. Palatka is a small town
seventy miles from Jacksonville, on the St. John’s River, and is, at the
present time, a winter resort for invalids. It was here that the famous
‘cow incident’ took place, and ‘Who killed the cow?’ afterward became a
by-word in the brigade, especially when Colonel Barton was within
hearing distance.
“‘It came about in this way: When we occupied Palatka, the only white
person in the village was an old lady, who had a fine residence, and
Colonel Barton, the commander of the brigade, made his headquarters
there. This woman had a very nice cow, the only one in the village, and
Barton was dependent upon her for milk.
“‘During the day the cow would feed in the dooryards and on the lawns,
and sometimes she would come around to where Battery C was camped. One
day some of the boys thought what a nice steak and liver they could get
from the cow, and, at the same time, get square with Barton, he not
being a favorite with the boys. They thought they might kill two birds
with one stone by getting the steak and liver, and, at the same time,
cut off Barton’s milk supply. So the next day, when the cow came along,
one of the boys drove her into a back-yard near the camp, and, in a
short time, that cow was a thing of the past.
“‘Steaks and liver were cut out for those who had done the work and for
their friends, and the rest of the meat was sent to the cook house,
where all had nice beef stew. Everything was all right until
milking-time, when the cow failed to show up. Then the fun began. Men
were sent out from headquarters and also from the Provost Marshal’s
office to try to find the cow and to make inquiries.
“‘Of course, the men of Battery C knew nothing about her. But they were
eventually suspected, for the next morning the Provost Marshal came to
our quarters asking all sorts of questions. Some of the boys, including
your humble servant, knew nothing about it and were sorry for the
Colonel. The following morning Colonel Barton sent for the
non-commissioned officers and told us that he was satisfied that the
last seen of the cow was near Battery C’s camp. He also said that all he
wanted was the name of the man who killed the cow, and that some of the
non-commissioned officers must know something about it. He then asked
each one the name of the man who killed the cow, but each denied all
knowledge of it.
“‘Well, someone must have given the whole thing away, for the next day
Captain James had the “assembly” blown and the company fell in. He then
called the names of nine men, comprising one Sergeant, one Corporal, and
seven privates. The Sergeant and Corporal were reduced to the ranks,
and, with the other seven, were confined in the guard house, put on a
diet of bread and water, and made a “spread eagle” of until someone
should tell who killed the cow.
“‘Morning and evening they were asked who killed the cow, but they
denied they knew who did it. This was carried on for three days, when
someone put up a job with the pickets, and on the afternoon of the third
day they began firing, the long roll was sounded and the prisoners were
released to man the guns. No Johnnies appeared, it being a bluff to get
the men released. They could not be punished again for the same offence,
so thus ended the cow incident, but Colonel Barton never found out who
killed the cow.
“‘In justice to Colonel Barton, who has joined the “Grand Army above,” I
wish to say that I knew him very well and served under him for nearly a
year, and found him to be a nice gentleman, a strict disciplinarian, a
good and a brave officer. I will also state that I have good reason for
believing that Comrade Egan took no part in “cutting off the Colonel’s
milk supply” and that the old lady was compensated for the loss of the
cow.’
“In April, 1864, his battery was ordered to Fort Monroe, Va., where it
joined General Butler’s Army of the James and participated in all the
battles, sieges and operations around Petersburg and Richmond from May 4
to the close of the war, having fought for the Union in four of the
seceding States—South Carolina, Georgia, Florida and Virginia. He was
honorably discharged when in sight of the steeples of Richmond, October,
1864. At the close of the war his old battery was the first volunteer
battery to enter that long-coveted and hard-fought-for city—Richmond. To
Capt. Martin S. James of this battery was assigned the honor of
dismantling the fortifications around this famous stronghold and capital
of the Confederacy.
“When next we met, August, 1904, at the National Encampment, G. A. R.,
in Boston, Mass., I could hardly believe he was the same boy I last
saw—more than forty years before—on the battlefield of Olustee. He was
then (1904) a fine specimen of manhood; stood six feet, one and one half
inches, and weighed 240 pounds.”
[Illustration:
W. J. O’HAGAN, ESQ.,
Of Charleston, S. C.
Vice-President of the Society for South Carolina.
]
THE SOCIETY OF THE FRIENDLY SONS OF ST. PATRICK IN THE CITY OF NEW YORK.
BY JOHN J. LENEHAN.
The Society of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick in the City of New York
was instituted on March 17, 1784. It had its origin among Irish officers
connected with the armies of the American Revolution. On November 25,
1783, the last British soldier departed from the shores of Manhattan,
the British flag which had been nailed to the flagpole of Fort George
was hauled down, the American flag was run up in its place, and the
Continental Army entered the city. It was led by George Washington, then
an adopted member of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick of Philadelphia.
At his side rode the Governor, General George Clinton, the son of an
Irishman; and the advance battalion was commanded by General Henry Knox,
also the son of an Irishman, and a member of the Friendly Sons of St.
Patrick of Philadelphia.
In the environment produced by these conditions, in the atmosphere of
liberty and Constitutional government that followed the advent of the
American army into its final possession of New York City, was born the
Society of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick. Daniel McCormick was its
founder and its president for many years. The objects of the Society
were to assist poor and distressed natives, and descendants of natives,
of Ireland, and promote friendly, social feelings among its members.
With these laudable purposes, on March 17, 1784, the first St. Patrick’s
Day following the evacuation of New York by the British, the Society
inaugurated its festive functions at “Cape’s Tavern.” In the _New York
Packet and Advertiser_ of Thursday, March 18, 1784, the following
appears: