“St. Patrick's day in the morning” being on the 17th, was
kept by the Irish to-day. In the early morning the sounds of drumming, fifing,
and bugling came with the hot water and my Irish attendant into the room. He
told me: “We'll have a pretty nice day for it. The weather's often agin us on
St. Patrick's day.” At the angle of the square outside I saw a company of
volunteers assembling. They wore bear-skin caps, some turned brown, and rusty
green coatees, with white facings and crossbelts, a good deal of gold-lace and
heavy worsted epaulettes, and were armed with ordinary muskets, some of them
with flint-locks. Over their heads floated a green and gold flag with mystic
emblems, and a harp and sunbeams. A gentleman, with an imperfect seat on
horseback, which justified a suspicion that he was not to the manor born of
Squire or Squireen, with much difficulty was getting them into line, and
endangering his personal safety by a large infantry-sword, the hilt of which
was complicated with the bridle of his charger in some inexplicable manner.
This gentleman was the officer in command of the martial body, who were
gathering to do honor to the festival of the old country; and the din and
clamor in the streets, the strains of music, and the tramp of feet outside
announced that similar associations were on their way to the rendezvous. The
waiters in the hotel, all of whom were Irish, had on their best, and wore an
air of pleased importance. Many of their countrymen outside on the pavement
exhibited very large decorations, plates of metal, and badges attached to broad
ribbons over their left breasts.
After breakfast I struggled with a friend through the crowd
which thronged Union Square. Bless them! They were all Irish, judging from
speech and gesture and look; for the most part decently dressed, and
comfortable, evidently bent on enjoying the day in spite of the cold, and proud
of the privilege of interrupting all the trade of the principal streets, in
which the Yankees most do congregate, for the day. They were on the door-steps,
and on the pavement men, women, and children, admiring the big policemen — many
of them compatriots — and they swarmed at the corners, cheering popular
town-councillors or local celebrities. Broadway was equally full. Flags were
flying from the windows and steeples — and on the cold breeze came the
hammering of drums and the blasts of many wind instruments. The display, such
as it was, partook of a military character, though not much more formidable in
that sense than the march of the Trades Unions, or of Temperance Societies.
Imagine Broadway lined for the long miles of its course by spectators mostly
Hibernian, and the great gaudy stars and stripes, or as one of the Secession
journals I see styles it, the “Sanguinary United States Gridiron” — waving in
all directions, whilst up its centre in the mud march the children of Erin.
First came the acting Brigadier-General and his staff,
escorted by 40 lancers, very ill-dressed, and worse mounted: horses dirty,
accoutrements in the same condition, bits, bridles, and buttons rusty and
tarnished; uniforms ill-fitting, and badly put on. But the red flags and the
show pleased the crowd, and they cheered “bould Nugent” right loudly. A band
followed, some members of which had been evidently " smiling" with
each other; and next marched a body of drummers in military uniform, rattling
away in the French fashion. Here comes the 69th N. Y. State Militia Regiment —
the battalion which would not turn out when the Prince of Wales was in New
York, and whose Colonel, Corcoran, is still under court martial for his
refusal. Well, the Prince had no loss, and the Colonel may have had other
besides political reasons for his dislike to parade his men.
The regiment turned out, I should think, only 200 or 220
men, fine fellows enough, but not in the least like soldiers or militia. The
United States uniform which most of the military bodies wore, consists of a
blue tunic and trousers, and a kepi-like cap, with “U. S.” in front for
undress. In full dress the officers wear large gold epaulettes, and officers and
men a bandit-sort of felt hat looped up at one side, and decorated with a plume
of black-ostrich feathers and silk cords. The absence of facings, and the want
of something to finish off the collar and cuffs, render the tunic very bald and
unsightly. Another band closed the rear of the 69th, and to eke out the
military show, which in all was less than 1200 men, some companies were
borrowed from another regiment of State Militia, and a troop of very poor
cavalry cleared the way for the Napper-Tandy Artillery, which actually had
three whole guns with them! It was strange to dwell on some of the names of the
societies which followed. For instance, there were the “Dungannon Volunteers of
'82,” prepared of course to vindicate the famous declaration that none should
make laws for Ireland, but the Queen, Lords, and Commons of Ireland! Every
honest Catholic among them ignorant of the fact that the Volunteers of '82
were, all Protestants. Then there was the “Sarsfield Guard!” One cannot
conceive anything more hateful to the fiery high-spirited cavalier, than the
republican form of Government, which these poor Irishmen are, they think, so
fond of. A good deal of what passes for national sentiment, is in reality
dislike to England and religious animosity.
It was much more interesting to see the long string of
Benevolent, Friendly, and Provident Societies, with bands, numbering many
thousands, all decently clad, and marching in order with banners, insignia, badges,
and ribbons, and the Irish flag flying along-side the “stars and stripes.” I
cannot congratulate them on the taste or good effect of their accessories — on
their symbolical standards, and ridiculous old harpers, carried on stages in “bardic
costume,” very like artificial white wigs and white cotton dressing-gowns, but
the actual good done by these societies, is, I am told, very great, and their
charity would cover far greater sins than incorrectness of dress, and a
proneness to “piper's playing on the national bagpipes.” The various societies
mustered upwards of 10,000 men, some of them uniformed and armed, others
dressed in quaint garments, and all as noisy as music and talking could make
them. The Americans appeared to regard the whole thing very much as an ancient
Roman might have looked on the Saturnalia; but Paddy was in the ascendant, and
could not be openly trifled with.
The crowds remained in the streets long after the procession
had passed, and I saw various pickpockets captured by the big policemen, and
conveyed to appropriate receptacles. “Was there any man of eminence in that
procession,” I asked. “No; a few small local politicians, some wealthy store-keepers,
and beer-saloon owners perhaps; but the mass were of the small bourgeoisie.
Such a man as Mr. O'Conor, who may be considered at the head of the New York
bar for instance, would not take part in it.”
In the evening I went, according to invitation, to the Astor
House — a large hotel, with a front like a railway terminus, in the
Americo-Classical style, with great Doric columns and portico, and found, to my
surprise, that the friendly party was to be a great public dinner. The halls
were filled with the company, few or none in evening dress; and in a few
minutes I was presented to at least twenty-four gentlemen whose names I did not
even hear. The use of badges, medals, and ribbons, might, at first, lead a
stranger to believe he was in very distinguished military society; but he would
soon learn that these insignia were the decorations of benevolent or convivial
associations. There is a latent taste for these things in spite of pure
republicanism. At the dinner there were Americans of Dutch and English descent,
some “Yankees,” one or two Englishmen, Scotchmen, and Welshmen. The chairman,
Judge Daly, was indeed a true son of the soil, and his speeches were full of
good humor, fluency, and wit; but his greatest effect was produced by the
exhibition of a tuft of shamrocks in a flower-pot, which had been sent from
Ireland for the occasion. This is done annually, but, like the miracle of St.
Januarius, it never loses its effect, and always touches the heart.
I confess it was to some extent curiosity to observe the
sentiment of the meeting, and a desire to see how Irishmen were affected by the
change in their climate, which led me to the room. I came away regretting
deeply that so many natives of the British Isles should be animated with a
hostile feeling towards England, and that no statesman has yet arisen who can
devise a panacea for the evils of these passionate and unmeaning differences
between races and religions. Their strong antipathy is not diminished by the
impossibility of gratifying it. They live in hope, and certainly the existence
of these feelings is not only troublesome to American statesmen, but
mischievous to the Irish themselves, inasmuch as they are rendered with unusual
readiness the victims of agitators or political intriguers. The Irish element,
as it is called, is much regarded in voting times, by suffraging bishops and
others; at other times, it is left to its work and its toil — Mr. Seward and
Bishop Hughes are supposed to be its present masters. Undoubtedly the mass of
those I saw to-day were better clad than they would have been if they remained
at home. As I said in the speech which I was forced to make much against my
will, by the gentle violence of my companions, never had I seen so many good
hats and coats in an assemblage of Irishmen in any other part of the world.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 15-19
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