The Civil War's Valiant Irish

By James Francis Smith

This story opens in Ireland with two sets of twins setting out for America. The females, Nellie and Molly McCarthy, from County Cork become nurses, where they meet and charm Abraham Lincoln. The males, cousins of Phillip Sheridan,immigrate from County Cavan—Matt Smith to the Confederacy, Brian Smith to Philadelphia. Matt serves as a scout for JEB Stuart, while Brian joins the Irish Brigade. Cleburne (The Stonewall of the West),in advocating that Blacks join the Confederate Army, plays a role the reader will not likely forget. Dennis O'Kane and Patrick O'Rorke excel at Gettysburg. Sheridan shows why Grant considers him the equal of the greatest generals in history. Matt Smith rescues Jerry McCarthy, brother of the twins, from Andersonville Prison and as the reader. If you're Irish-American or a Civil War buff, this is the novel for you. might expect, the two sets of twins marry. A great read and fantastic reference book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Francis Smith
• Release date: Aug 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452478531

James Francis Smith

Philadelphia native James Francis Smith a graduate of LaSalle University with an MBA from Pacific Lutheran University, after a successful career in industry and finance, returned to his first love—historical novels. Or as he prefers, history chronicled in a novel style. In documenting the Irish-American story, he dedicated his remaining years to recording the achievements and contributions of Irish-Americans and Irish-born to their adopted land. Smith’s novels chronicle the lives, loves, and wars of people and events that have often been overlooked by history: Druids, Celts, and Romans – Europe circa 400 BCE The Civil War’s Valiant Irish – US 1859-1865 (currently being professionally edited) The Last of the Fenians – Ireland 1910-1923 The Life and Times of Liam O’Donnell – US 1918-1945 Rory O’Donnell and the Kennedys – US 1946-1968 Unholy Conspiracies – US circa 1990-2005 Western Civilization – A collection of short stories from ancient history to the current era

Book preview

The Civil War’s Valiant Irish

James Francis Smith

Book Three of The Irish-American Story

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 James Francis Smith

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Appreciation:

My heartfelt thanks go first to my wife, Betty, who put up with my constant telling and retelling my scribing. Next, thanks to my children, Joseph Connell Smith and Mary Eileen Barr who also listened to my mumbling. Gratitude for the book’s historical accuracy is owed to my son-in-law, Tom Barr, and the Civil War books he contributed, particularly the one written by the West Point Cadets. Steve McCoy, a Civil War buff, lent me books published before my father was born, and a special thanks to Nora Judy, who not only provided a trove of Civil War books, but also shared tales of her childhood in Ireland. I can’t escape without acknowledging the nation’s best editor, Rob Miller ([e-mail]) and the Tacoma Writers of the Roundtable. Should you find inaccuracies in my portrayal, the fault lies with the author.

The Cover:

The drawing by entitled Flying Artillery by Baldwin, and gifted to the now deceased Richard Judy, illustrates Confederate Major John Phelham’s limber, hauling the brass Napoleon at the Battle of Fredericksburg. Phelham used the piece of artillery to hold up an entire Federal division for the better part of an hour. My appreciation to Nora Judy for her permission to use it for my cover.

Table of Contents

Battles and Major Events:

Bull Run (Manassas), Virginia, July, 1861

Oregon Territory

Pea_Ridge (Elkhorn Tavern), Arkansas, March, 1862

Shiloh, Tennessee, April 1862

Shenandoah_Valley_Campaign, May, 1862

Peninsular_Campaign, Northern Virginia,

Seven_Days_Battle

The Second_Manassas, August 29, 1862

Richmond_Kentucky, August 29, 1862

Harper’s_Ferry, September 13, 1862

Antietam, September, 1862

Fredericksburg, Virginia, December, 1862

Stones_River (Murfreesboro), Tennessee, December 27, 1862

Chancellorsville, April 27 – May 6, 1863

Gettysburg, July, 1863

Draft_Riots, New York and Brooklyn, July 13–16, 1863

Chickamauga, September, November 1863

Chattanooga, October - November, 1863

Missionary_Ridge, November, 1863

Ringgold_Gap, November, 1863

The_Wilderness, October – December, 1863

Overland_Campaign,

Andersonville Prison

Spottsylvania, May 9-24, 1864

Start of Sherman’s Atlanta Campaign

Kennesaw_Mountain, June 27, 1864

Reams_Station, June 27, 1864

Petersburg, The_Crater, July 30, 1864

Winchester, September 18, 1864

Fisher_Hill, September 22, 1864

Cedar_Creek, October 18, 1864

Franklin_TN, November 30, 1864

Petersburg, March, 1865

Dinwiddie Court House, March 31, 1865

Five_Forks, April 1, 1865

Petersburg, April 1, 1865

Sayler_Creek, April 6, 1865

Appomattox, April 7 to 9, 1865

The_Surrender, April 10, 1865

Author’s Comments:

When the 28th Massachusetts unfurled their green flag, Cobb’s Georgia Irishmen broke into a spontaneous cheer before settling down to fire point-blank, slaughtering Meagher’s men of the Irish Brigade.

Fredericksburg, Saturday, December 13, 1862

Not including the Irish-American and Scot-Irish, 150,000 Irish-born fought for the Union, while 40,000 wore the uniform of the Confederacy. Of those who claimed Irish birth, 123 earned the nation’s highest recognition, The Congressional Medal of Honor. The debt owed to these courageous men of Irish-descent can never be repaid.

This is their story.

Historical Characters:

Irish American:

Father William Corby, C.S.C.

Confederate General William Mahone

Union Captain Thomas Kelly

Confederate Major General Jubal A. Early

Irish Born:

Union General Phillip Henry Sheridan

Confederate Major General Patrick Ronayne Cleburne

Union Colonel Michael J. Corcoran

Union General Thomas Francis Meagher

Union Major General Robert Patterson

Union Colonel Robert Nugent

Union Colonel Patrick O’Rorke

Union Colonel Dennis O’Kane

Scot Irish:

Confederate General Stonewall Jackson

Confederate General James Ewell Brown (JEB) Stuart

1859

County Cavan, Ireland

Matt and Brian Smith

Bridget Smith (nee Sheridan) had been waiting for her twin boys, Matt and Brian, known to all of County Cavan as One and Two. Matt being the elder by some minutes earned the designation of One. Both were going to feel the rod for stealing the wee bit of lamb set aside to feed Big Matt, after his hard day’s tilling the soil on the Cherrymoult Estate. Bridget knew the morsel had been consumed by one or the other, and it wasn’t the first time they’d committed such an offense. Since it wasn’t likely either would tell on the other, both would suffer the rod.

As usual, they charged in together. Of all the Smiths in Killenkere Upper, the hilltop community overlooking Virginia Town, the twins were considered to be the most devilish. Undoubtedly by the disheveled looks of the two louts, their school-teaching, old-maid aunts, Mary and Catherine, had their hands full again today. Matt’s bleeding lip and Brian’s swollen hand left their ma to conclude the one with the bruised face had collided with the other’s fist … a mirror reverse of yesterday’s encounter. The topic mattered little, for what one advocated, the other opposed.

Finger pointing started the instant Bridget voiced an accusation. This, too mattered little, for both the guilty and guiltless, if there was such a creature, felt the punishment on their bare buttocks with the promise of more to come when their da got home. Once again, Bridget reminded them of how their ancestors, then known as the Mac an Gabhann for being the blacksmiths for Owen Roe O’Neill’s Army, were chased out of Antrim during the Ulster Plantation by the bloody English.

And if you two keep up your pranks, we’ll be asked to leave Killenkere Upper as well.

Neither the welts nor the threat made a dent in the carefree nature of the lads, who went about their chore of guarding the Smith’s only cow let loose from the byre. The duty kept them close to the small farm and within the watchful eye of their ma.

County Cavan, thanks to the work of the local Famine Relief Committee, escaped the ravages that brought starvation, disease, and emigration to the poorer parts of the island. Lately, however, the farms of Cavan had become a target for those roaming the byways in search of food or whatever else they could steal. With the worst of the Great Famine of the 1840’s less than two decades past, nothing in the form of meat or vegetables was safe from the traveling people, the gypsies of Ireland. The most vulnerable was anything on the hoof … beef, lamb, and even horse flesh. Small children were in danger of being abducted, especially girls destined to become one of the many brides of the gypsy chieftains. Matt, in particular, hoped that an attempt would be made on Eileen, the youngest of the Smith brood. He considered her a pest who would be better off elsewhere. Matt’s dislike, of course, made Eileen … Brian’s favorite.

Gazing out the half-door at the most troublesome of her brood, a content Bridget smiled, thankful to the Lord it was her husband’s sisters who educated them, instead of some itinerant schoolmaster who, over their antics, would have skinned them alive. The twins reminded her of her brother John, the one immediate Sheridan family member, who with her best friend and now sister-in-law, Mary Minor, crossed the Atlantic to escape the prejudices of the local pastor, Father M’Gennis. A letter from Mary Minor, with the customary two dollars enclosed, lay open on the kitchen table.

Brian, the reader in the family, had already scanned it for news of Phillip Sheridan, Mary’s eldest son. Being none, he tossed it down with its contents intact. Like the rest of the locals, he was more interested in the gossip surrounding the cowardly and still unsolved murder of Miss Charlotte Hinds. Most believed the traveling people were involved, hence the addition of guard duty to the chores of the twins.

Upon coming in the door, Big Matt’s anger, over his brother Terence’s losing three pounds on a bet in Peter Reilly’s, of which half was owed by Matt, added to the punishment administered to the twins. It also increased their desire to head for England or America as soon as they were able.

The dinner conversation turned to the oft-repeated Father M’Gennis’s Sunday sermon on the evil of marriages by close family members. As he had done often, he brought up the birth of Phillip Henry Sheridan to the cousins, John Sheridan and Mary Minor.

When I baptized the runt, I was sorely tempted to pray for his immediate demise. With his enormous head and short legs, he had the look of a Mongol from China. The priest pointed his index finger in the general direction of Bridget Smith and her family, Let that be a lesson. The Church doesn’t condone close-family marriages, and you can see the reason why.

Bridget, who had suffered abuse her entire life for the wedding of her brother to his second-cousin, was once again mortified. As they often did, the entire congregation turned and looked where their pastor had pointed.

Ignoring his dinner, Brian, a hero-worshiper of his cousin Phillip, rose to his ma’s defense. If you had let me, I’d’ve told Father M’Gennis that my cousin Phillip graduated from West Point, and has just been promoted to Lieutenant in the United States Army. That he was in America’s Wild West killing savage Indians. That would’ve shut the old demon up.

For criticizing a priest, the back of his da’s hand abruptly silenced twin Two. Furthermore, dismissed from the table he was ordered to bed to spend the night hungry.

Without a glimmer of remorse, Matt finished Brian’s meager dish of Indian cornmeal. The punishment robbed Two of his most cherished evening activity, reading by the light of the peat fire. His Aunt Catherine’s latest gift, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, with its torn cover and dog-eared pages, had become his constant companion. Reading was the only activity young Matt refused to participate in.

That night, the twins counted their few shillings and engaged in massive plots about robbing post offices and the like, anything to secure the needed funds for passage to anywhere other than Ireland.

County Cork

Mollie and Nellie McCarthy

Annually, the McCarthy family joined the other locals processing to Abbeystrewery Cemetery to pray for the souls of Skibbereen’s 10,000 unknown famine victims buried in mass graves. The twins, Mollie and Nellie, looked forward to the festivities rather than their somber religious connotation. The town’s well-off placed tables in front of their homes with silver baskets containing rose petals that the youngsters would strew in the priest’s path. The twins, being too old for such a chore, contented themselves with drinking the fruit juice and sweetened soda-water the well-off also provided. Treats that were seldom available in the McCarthy household.

A tale that made the rounds each year at the McCarthy table concerned Nellie when she was a wee lass and asked why they prayed for the dead. Her ma replied, Because there are so many, there must be a saint or two among them.

With the peeling of the two-stone of potatoes for the dinner finished, and the smell of cabbage already brought to a boil in the cast-iron pot hanging over the peat fire, the excited youngsters rested in the shade of their single story row house the both of them giggling over the coming event. Nellie, the more vivacious of the two, started the conversation. This year, Saint Patrick’s young Father O’Leary will conduct the ceremonies. Isn’t he the handsomest priest in all of Ireland? More giggles erupted from the teenagers.

Then Mollie piped in. And, as usual, the Widow Grady’ll lead the saying of the rosary. The slow nodding of her head mimicked the manner in which the widow dragged out the words of every Hail Mary. And each year would find Nellie merely mumbling the responses. Making up for her twin’s feeble effort, Mollie would respond at the top of her lungs. Whenever urged to participate more fully, Nellie’d pretend to cough from the dust kicked up by the marchers. Nothing more was expected from her this time around.

Are we going to pass the Holy Well and dip our fingers?

Why wouldn’t we?

Because last year after leaving the canopy to yell at the youngsters, the priest threatened to cancel this year’s blessing.

That was old Father Nolan. He’s such a grouch. Our Father O’Leary would do no such thing. With a single shaking of his index finger, everyone’ll toe the line.

I suppose, he’ll let the men all process together behind everyone else.

Isn’t that they way they behave in church, standing in the back instead of kneeling with their families?

That’s so they can get an early dash to the pub. Some, like Joe Mooney, leave as soon as Father gives his blessing. More giggling.

The grim duty of honoring the famine victims affected Mollie and Nellie more than most. They imagined the skeletons lying beneath the clay having green stained teeth from eating grass in the dim hope of surviving the Great Hunger. At the admonishment of the nuns, both had sworn to take up a profession that would help those less fortunate, though one would be hard-pressed to find a family less fortunate than Skibbereen’s McCarthys. Jobs were as nonexistent as the income needed to support such a large family.

The two teenagers, the eldest girls still living with the Home Rule Terrace family, born 12-months apart to-the-day, were, and would always be called the twins. Although many an old-timer, with little else to occupy his time, would argue that Nellie, coming along as she did a year and several minutes past Mollie’s hour of birthing, did not officially qualify as an Irish-twin. Normally, to be known as such, siblings had to be born within the same year.

Mollie, the elder by those many months, usually allowed her younger sister to take charge, as she did when it came time to relieve the family of several mouths to feed. Even the sparse sums, which were indeed welcome, that Jeremiah, Jerry to his friends, would insert in his infrequent letters, didn’t go far enough. With Katie off to teach in Australia, and Daniel employed as a lowly printer-composer for the Southern Star, funds were not sufficient to care for the 10 still remaining in the one bedroom row-house. It fell to the twins to join the thousands who emigrated annually from County Cork.

Leaving their family and friends was something neither looked forward to, even though neither would miss their cramped habitat with its backyard dump for the contents of the Johnny pots. Nor would they miss lugging the water pot to and from the neighborhood pump at the corner, or the walk to the nearest bathhouse three blocks away. For Jerry wrote that in Philadelphia, people had water piped right into their houses, and that outhouses, rather than Johnny pots, were commonly used.

Mollie and Nellie were more fortunate than most, for their nurse’s training, such as it was, would insure them a position, whether it be in London or Philadelphia. Mollie wished for the closer proximity of the English capital, whereas Nellie preferred the company of Jerry, her favorite brother.

As usual, Nellie won out, and the two look-a-likes, saved what they could and borrowed from their brothers, Jerry in America, and Daniel, the only one employed. A portion of the British Navy pension earned by their Australian-born father made up the difference.

Because few who emigrated ever returned, their departure was treated as though the twins had died. Being girls meant that whiskey and music for their Irish-wake would have been an unnecessary extravagance, and one the McCarthys could ill afford. Their going away celebration consisted of tea and soda bread shared with the neighbors—and very little of those.

With heavy hearts, knowing they’d miss their father playing the fiddle and their mother’s singing, and ladened with solemn promises to repay the cost of their passage, the sisters walked to the quay with songs on their lips.

Mollie’s words came out a wee bit different than those of her more adventurous sister.

I wrapt you in my cotamore

At the dead of night unseen

I heaved a sigh and bid goodbye

To dear old Skibbereen.

Nellie couldn’t wait to see her beloved Jerry once more.

But the tears will surely blind me

For the friends I leave behind me

When I start for Philadelphia in the mornin’.

1860

County Cavan

Matt and Brian

Brian gleamed onto the latest letter from Cousin Mary before his Ma or Da had an opportunity to read it. This time it contained no money. He took and hid it to prevent his parents from squashing his and Matt’s plans to go to America.

Dear Cousin Bridget,

I gather from your letters that One and Two are dreaming of crossing the pond. Well t’ings are not all that rosy over here. That is, if you are Irish Catholic. There’s a political group nicknamed the Know-Nothings, who have it in for we Irish. They got their name from answering the police with I know Nothing, whenever asked about their activities. The troubles of them burning churches and homes of Catholics have occurred mainly in New England, New York, and Philadelphia. But in the last few years, however, their viciousness has spread to Ohio. The Know-Nothings blew up a church in Sidney and burned down another in Massillion.

I’m sorry but there’s no money to send. With John and two of the children deceased, and with poorly paid Phillip, who hasn’t been promoted in eight years, serving in the Army somewhere in the wild country north of California, I have little to spare.

If things turn around, I’ll send what I can. I miss you, and will love you always. Attached is the latest letter from Phillip.

Cousin Mary.

Brian buried Mary’s letter in the Byre, but kept the tissue-thin one from Phillip to share with Matt.

Dear Mother,

11, November 1859

I’m back at Fort Vancouver Washington, after a trek across mountains in central Oregon called The Sisters. We encountered six-foot deep snow. Winters are harsh in the mountains and dismal in the lowlands. Down here, it rains daily, and is overcast almost all of the time. It must be something like the Ireland of your youth. The Indians, Spokanes, Walla Wallas, and Nez Perces are less savage than the Comanche I encountered in Texas, and not nearly as cunning. But white miners, in their quest for gold and other precious metals, have poisoned the streams, killing the salmon runs. The Indians are perpetually hungry, depending on grasshoppers to sustain them. We found it safer to feed them than to fight them, that’s if we have sufficient food. I’ve been here since ’55, and have yet to receive an advancement in rank. The Army is stagnant because the older men can’t afford to retire. Instead, they remain in rank until they die. One such is well into his 90’s. Eastern politicians are talking about fighting if the southern states don’t change their policies on slavery. I hope it comes to war, because that may be the only way I’ll ever get promoted.

Phillip

On school days, homework was the twins’s first chore, a task they always sought to finish swiftly. Today, however, because of other interests, whatever learnings that might have taken place, quickly disappeared from memory, everything except for the impression Harriet Beecher Stowe had made on Brian. This fixation usually resulted in fisticuffs between the brothers due chiefly to Young Matt consistently referring to Brian as a Negro-lover. Of late, Brian had let the insult roll off his broad back because he knew Matt needed someone on whom to take out his anger. A member of the Church of Ireland, shop owner Mr. Miller had absconded with the family’s only horse for the measly sum of five pounds. The twins would have extracted revenge, but Bridget Sheridan Smith wouldn’t stand for it.

Haven’t I suffered enough in this community without the two of you getting arrested for violating the Penal Laws?

Those damn Penal Laws, became Matt’s response anytime he thought of the topic.

Brian, believing the storeowner had done the family a favor by taking the almost dead horse off their hands, always answered, The nag wasn’t worth three, which would lead to another round of fisticuffs between the brothers.

Neither twin liked the infamous Penal Laws, laws they didn’t understand and which were rarely enforced in County Cavan. But after hearing Father M’Gennis rant about them in his sermons, the laws made Matt jealous of a Negro’s life on America’s southern plantations. The taking of the horse without permission, although a more than fair price was paid, incensed him even further, and despite his mother’s admonishment, he swore he’d see the man’s comeuppance.