University of Virginia Library

FALL OF FORT FISHER.

HOW THE NEWS WAS RECEIVED IN THE CITY—
PRIVATE O'REILLY ON A RAMPAGE.

From the Herald, Jan. 18, 1865.

The city was startled yesterday about noon by
the cheering news of the fall of Fort Fisher. It
was so unexpected by the people, and so sudden,
that the effect was electric. As usual on such
occasions, the bulletin-boards were crowded, the
extras were in demand, and the victory was the
subject of general congratulation in the public
offices and other places of resort. Criticisms on
General Butler and his previous fiasco were numerous,
and hardly just in this particular; but the
compliments to General Grant were numerous
and flattering, and General Terry was not forgotten.
There was a general inquiry of “What
next?” and the thirst for news was only sharpened
not quenched.

We are deeply chagrined, however, upon a festive
occasion of this kind, to be obliged to record
the fact that a person of whom we have heretofore
tried to think well, should have brought himself
to sudden grief by giving way to a too liberal

spirit of rejoicing—the “spirit,” especially—on account
of the success of his old commander, General
A. H. Terry. We refer to that eccentric warrior
and bard of the old Tenth Army Corps, Private
Miles O'Reilly, Forty-seventh Regiment New York
Volunteer Infantry, who, about nine o'clock last
evening, was arrested on the complaint of Mr.
George Roberts, proprietor of the American Club
House, corner of Seventeenth street and Broadway,
charged with disorderly and riotous conduct, the
use of much profane language, and a general challenge
to any one who would tread on the tail of
his coat, or knock an imaginary chip off his
shoulder.

It seems that Private O'Reilly, in a state of high
excitement, entered the premises of Mr. Roberts
about eight P. M., with a large crowd at his heels,
all of whom he insisted upon treating; while in return
they were patiently waiting to hear him sing
a song he had just composed in honor of the capture
of Fort Fisher. All the efforts of Mr. Roberts,
and several of his friends who were present, were
inadequate to clear the room of this noisy and undesirable
company, who were vociferous in their
demands that “the boy should be let sing his song
out”—a demand which they enforced by threatening
to break the decanters and mirrors (two of
which were cracked in the final scuffle), if any
interference were attempted. Mr. Roberts on this,

seeing present resistance to be vain, appeared to
submit contentedly, only taking the precaution,
while Miles was singing, to send down to police
headquarters in Mulberry street for a detachment
of the Broadway squad to clear the premises. The
crowd, having thus secured a temporary possession
of the bar and billiard-rooms, proceeded to
help themselves indiscriminately to all the liquors
they desired—Mr. Roberts, as his only means of
keeping his house from being gutted, directing the
two bar-keepers to give the mob all they asked for.
The whole rabble being thus bounteously supplied,
Private O'Reilly was lifted upon the table usually
occupied as a cigar stand, and sang as follows:

These absurd verses—mere doggrel when critically
examined—the noisy and much excited
crowd appeared to relish extremely, and persisted
in encoring many times, the room growing more
densely packed every moment, as the orgie proceeded,
by swarms of idle passers-by, who were
attracted within by the singing, vociferations,
stampings, and other indications of a “real good
time” going on. At length, just as the choral but
rather unsteady Private was commencing the song
again for the fifth or sixth time, Sergeant Young,

chief of the detectives, appeared upon the scene,
followed by some half-dozen of the burly Broadway
squad, and an immediate scattering followed,
the police (who were all heavy men in need of
“Banting,”) being only able to take three prisoners—one
Luke Clark, of the Fifth Ward; James
O'Reilly, of the Sixteenth Ward, a cousin to the boy
Miles; and Private Miles himself—the latter insisting
vigorously that he had only been “amusin'
his mind by a pathriotic ditty,” and threatening
the policemen who were carrying him off to the
station-house with Fort Lafayette for an unlimited
number of years, “whiniver his Riverence's Excellency,
the President, should hear what kind of
a game they had been up to.”

The trial of these parties—continued the
Herald—will take place this morning at the
Tombs, being set down for eleven o'clock, and will
doubtless be largely attended. Mr. Roberts estimates
his loss in liquors and broken furniture at
about five hundred and eighty dollars, which the
county will, in all probability, be eventually taxed
to pay. The last heard of O'Reilly, last evening,
he was extremely noisy in his cell and was bellowing
snatches of military and patriotic ditties to the
great annoyance of various somnolent policemen
who were on duty in the station-house, as also of
the more peaceful, respectable, and quietly disposed
of his fellow-prisoners. Of the songs he thus

sang, we have only room at present for the following,
which he declares to have been written by
one Corporal Florence Mulcahy, of some Connecticut
regiment: