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Joseph E. Johnston (search for this): chapter 5.48
ft salt breeze before their eyes, despite their fierce attacks by land and by sea. It was sometimes shot down as often as six times during the course of a single day, but was always instantly replaced under fire of the heaviest guns that up to that time had ever been used. And it flew proudly there, until that sad night in January, 1865, when Charleston was evacuated, the Confederate authorities having determined to withdraw the troops from her defences, and send them to reinforce General Joseph E. Johnston's little army. The last sun-set gun boomed across the water from Fort Moultrie the evening of the evacuation, and Major Huguenin, who succeeded Mitchel in the command of Fort Sumter, with his own hands drew down the faithful flag that was never more to wave from its oft-broken staff, cut the halliards, and with a heavy heart placed it in his valise. As soon as darkness closed in sufficiently to cover his movements, he crossed the harbor with his little band of veterans and rejo
Meagher (search for this): chapter 5.48
But it is chiefly of the son that we would write, the Confederate soldier who died upon the parapet of Fort Sumter, July 20th, 1864. When he was eighteen years old his father was tried for highs treason against the Crown of England, and he asked and obtained permission to stand by his side in the dock, to show what he too felt and thought about Ireland's wrongs and woes. His father owned a beautiful estate, which was confiscated when he was condemned (along with Smith O'Bryan and General Meagher) for their brave words to their countrymen. His household goods were put up and sold at auction, the gates thrown open to the public, and the vulgar gaze and careless touch of strangers desecrated the most personal possessions of the family. Portraits of those who were gone, love-tokens, souvenirs of childhood, favorite horses, beloved pets, all went under the hammer. Their home treasures were dispersed to the four winds of heaven, and their fireside was given to the alien. After
R. H. Anderson (search for this): chapter 5.48
ohn Mitchel (our hero) received an appointment as Lieutenant from the Secretary of War at Montgomery, and was ordered to join the battalion of South Carolina Regular Artillery, stationed at Fort Moultrie. He took part in the famous attack on Fort Sumter, 12th and 13th April, 1861, and was assigned to the service of the hotshot-guns of the Sumter battery at Fort Moultrie, which set fire to Fort Sumter, occasioning the burning of the officers' quarters, and this was the immediate cause of Major Anderson's surrender. After the evacuation he was sent with his company, under Captain Hollinquist's, command, and the Palmetto guard, commanded by Captain George Cuthbert, to take possession of that important fortress (the key of the harbor of Charleston) and become its garrison. From that time until the 7th of April, 1863, all was quiet in South Carolina, whilst the war raged in Virginia. Mitchel disliked garrison duty, and had too active and restless a spirit to brook with much patience t
Stonewall (search for this): chapter 5.48
he last words of this gallant young officer, the eldest son of the Irish patriot. It is nineteen years since his brave heart grew still, and his comrades laid him in the beautiful magnolia cemetary near Charleston, where the old moss draped oaks guard his resting place. The stranger may stand and look across the broad waters of the harbor to the grim and silent fortress where he breathed his last, and listen to the tall pines as they whisper a requiem over its commander, who lies in his low and blood-stained grave. Every year, on the 10th of May, which is the anniversary of (Stonewall) Jackson's death, the old and the young of Charleston go with tender and solemn love to lay floral memorials upon the mounds that cover those who died for them; and of all the hallowed spots at Magnolia, none is so well known, or is ever heaped so high with roses, as the Irish officer's grave, which, for fourteen years, was utterly unmarked, save by this touching tribute of honor to his memory.
Parnell (search for this): chapter 5.48
hat I will no longer be a prisoner on parole, I take back my word, and before the surprised magistrate had time to arrest him he went out, mounted his horse and dashed off. He rode to the sea coast, took shipping in an American vessel and came over to the United States with his son. Of course everything had been prearranged by his friends, but he ventured the risk of being captured before he could get away and having a still harder sentence passed upon him. Would any of us be surprised if Mr. Parnell (who is at present an English prisoner, as Mr. Mitchel was then) did the same, under similar circumstances? Smith O'Bryan, a man of unquestioned honor, refused to receive the Queen's pardon some years later because John Mitchel's name was omitted from the list of Irish agitators who were graciously allowed by the English Government to return to Ireland. Mr. Mitchel's family rejoined him in America, and they resided chiefly in Tennessee. He edited several newspapers with distinguished
M. P. O'Connor (search for this): chapter 5.48
kill as artillerists. He was beloved by his comrades, and made many warm friends in Charleston. Had his life been spared he would now have held a high position in the State of his adoption, for he was entitled to her love by his services in her dark days of trial, and he inherited his father's high abilities and noble character. It is indeed most probable that he would have been sent to Congress, as the Irish element exercises great weight in Charleston, and our late representative, Mr. M. P. O'Connor, was elected by Irish influence. When the war-cloud at length burst over that devoted city, he took his full share in all the dangers and fatigues of the siege, and after Colonel Stephen Elliott's promotion, he was placed in command of Fort Sumter, which had been reduced to a silent mass of ruins, that only showed the redoubtable spirit of its defenders by the little flag that defied the utmost hatred of its foes, and fluttered day after day in the soft salt breeze before their eyes
James Mitchel (search for this): chapter 5.48
ch devoted fervor. The subject of our sketch became a civil engineer, and after he came to the United States was employed in several parts of the country laying out some of the railroads that bind our widely extended States together with their iron bands. As soon as war was declared, and the Confederate government took its seat at Montgomery, he and his two younger brothers offered their services, and all joined the Southern army. The youngest was subsequently killed at Gettysburg. James Mitchel served gallantly as the Adjutant of General Gordon's brigade of Georgia troops, and lost his right arm in one of the battles around Richmond. John Mitchel (our hero) received an appointment as Lieutenant from the Secretary of War at Montgomery, and was ordered to join the battalion of South Carolina Regular Artillery, stationed at Fort Moultrie. He took part in the famous attack on Fort Sumter, 12th and 13th April, 1861, and was assigned to the service of the hotshot-guns of the Sumter
Sullivan (search for this): chapter 5.48
Moultrie the evening of the evacuation, and Major Huguenin, who succeeded Mitchel in the command of Fort Sumter, with his own hands drew down the faithful flag that was never more to wave from its oft-broken staff, cut the halliards, and with a heavy heart placed it in his valise. As soon as darkness closed in sufficiently to cover his movements, he crossed the harbor with his little band of veterans and rejoined his regiment, that was marching away in the brigade of regular artillery from Sullivan's island, leaving behind them all the guns that they had served so long with such skill on many brilliant and successful occasions. When the sun rose next morning, illuminating the old city, shining gayly on the white seas and the glittering waves, the siege had ended, for the forts were all empty and silent, and the way was left open to the enemy, who sailed cautiously in and took possession of the batteries and cannon that they had never been able to capture. The holy quiet of that
Claudine Rhett (search for this): chapter 5.48
Sketch of John C. Mitchel, of Ireland, killed whilst in command of Fort Sumter. By Miss Claudine Rhett. No one can read that simple sounding name, who knows anything of the modern history of Ireland and South Carolina, without feeling their hearts stir with thoughts and memories of patriotism, devotion and valor. We look back upon the past, and pause to remember the unostentatious, earnest, self-immolation of father and son. But it is chiefly of the son that we would write, the Confederate soldier who died upon the parapet of Fort Sumter, July 20th, 1864. When he was eighteen years old his father was tried for highs treason against the Crown of England, and he asked and obtained permission to stand by his side in the dock, to show what he too felt and thought about Ireland's wrongs and woes. His father owned a beautiful estate, which was confiscated when he was condemned (along with Smith O'Bryan and General Meagher) for their brave words to their countrymen. His househol
Ireland (search for this): chapter 5.48
Sketch of John C. Mitchel, of Ireland, killed whilst in command of Fort Sumter. By Miss Claudine Rhett. No one can read that simple sounding name, who knows anything of the modern history of Ireland and South Carolina, without feeling their hearts stir with thoughts and memories of patriotism, devotion and valor. We look back upon the past, and pause to remember the unostentatious, earnest, self-immolation of father and son. But it is chiefly of the son that we would write, the Confederaton required. The shell fell near him, burst, and shattered his frame, and after three hours of mortal agony, he closed his eyes forever, in that hard-fought and historic fort. I die willingly for South Carolina, but oh! that it had been for Ireland! were the last words of this gallant young officer, the eldest son of the Irish patriot. It is nineteen years since his brave heart grew still, and his comrades laid him in the beautiful magnolia cemetary near Charleston, where the old moss
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