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.”
W. J. O’HAGAN, ESQ.,
Of Charleston, S. C.
Vice-President of the Society for South Carolina.