J. S.
One morning in Skibbereen, I got a letter from James Stephens, asking me to send Patrick Downing to him to Paris. I went to Pat Downing’s house, he was in bed, I ordered him to get out of bed and go on to Paris. I asked him where was the parcel of letters I gave him to put in hiding for me. His father was building a house next door. He showed me a stone in an angle of the wall. “The letters are inside that stone,” he said. Very likely they are there this day I am writing. Patrick J. Downing had been in America in 1853, and came back home about 1855. When the Stephens organization started in 1858, he became the most expert at learning drill from the drill-master that James Stephens sent down to instruct us. When that drill-master, Owens, left us, Patrick became our instructor. He was arrested as one of the Phœnix men in December, 1858. He was in the dock with me, in presence of Judge Keogh, in the Cork Court house, Patrick’s Day, 1859. I find him bringing a letter from James Stephens to John O’Mahony, bearing the date of “Paris, 5th of March.” The year must be the year 1860. This is the first paragraph of it:
Paris, 5th March.
Brother—This will be given you by Patrick Downing, one of the “State prisoners.” He is a townsman and particular friend—a blood relation too—of Donal Oge (McCartie,) who, should I forget to bespeak bearer a cordially honorable reception, would not fail to secure it from him.
Indeed bearer is of the stuff that recommends itself, and should give you a high opinion of the manhood of his district; for, what but a high opinion can you form of a district, the sub-centres of which are all like my friend, Mr. Downing. He has been by my side for the last fortnight; and every day has raised him more and more in my estimation. I answer for it: Circumstances shall not swerve him from what he believes a high and holy duty. Receive him then, in all earnest brotherhood—be a real brother and a friend to him.
James Stephens.
Patrick J. Downing learned the drill of a soldier, by moonlight, on the hillsides of Ireland. So did three of his brothers. The four of them gave their services as soldiers in the American war; Denis, as captain of a company in a Buffalo regiment, losing a leg at the battle of Gettysburg. Patrick rose to the command of Colonel in the Forty-second New York (Tammany) Regiment.
He died in Washington a dozen years ago. I went to Washington to his funeral. After the requiem mass, the priest who celebrated the mass, spoke some words to his memory. I could not help thinking—sadly thinking, how the Irish race are scattered, and how strangely they sometimes meet; far, far away from home!
Colonel Downing and Father Nunan were no blood relations; but here was I between them; the dead soldier—the grandson of my father’s sister; and the priest—the grandson of my grandfather’s sister.