“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.