The Immortal Irishman: Thomas Meager and the Invention of Irish America

by Tim Egan

Life is but a shadow that passes over the earth, swiftly gone, Meagher began, not unlike those who fell in Virginia. Think of the men “sealing their oath of American citizenship with their blood—whose doorways are now hung with blackest mourning, and whose tables miss the industrious hands that once furnished them with bread.” They perished for a nation that offered them refuge, “immigrants driven by devastating laws and practices from their native soil.” This Civil War was a test for a people who’d been offered a second chance in a new land. “What of the cause in which our countrymen fell that day? Was it urgent? Was it just? Was it sacred?” He let the words linger, the pause for effect, the long silence. Then he answered his own question. “Never was there a cause more urgent, more just, more sacred!” Through the big field came a ripple of applause and cheers. But also some jeers, some drunken catcalls, some cants of discontent. Who wanted to die for Abraham Lincoln? Or worse—slaves?