Patrick O’mally to Andrew Johnson, June 23, 1866

Mr. O’Mally to President Johnson

Sir: I hope you will excuse me (being only a poor laboring man) for my presumption in writing to your honor, but being acquainted with you by seeing you often in Tennessee, and hearing you speak in public eight years before the rebellion, (and after it was over,) and knowing that your high but kind principles were always such as to hear and look after the poor man, I thought it expedient to write to your honor from this jail (it is the first one of the kind I was ever in) and let your honor know all about how I happened to be here. I came on a steamboat to Pittsburg, and there was paid. I sent the most of my pay to my wife and four children to Louisville, Kentucky, and I told her I would see and make my way to Buffalo and work there for the summer, as I expected to get to be a steersman on the canal, at thirty-five or forty dollars per month and board. In Louisville, when I left, the wages was only $1 50 per day, and little work at that to be had, and house rent being so high, and the prices of provisions, a man with a family had to scratch hard to live. I had a partner, a young man, along with me, who helped me with some money. I was in Buffalo for some time, and at last succeeded in getting work, and engaged to go to work Monday, the 4th of June, but, unfortunately, I crossed over to the Canadian side to see the excitement, in company with a few others, citizens of Buffalo, on Saturday morning, 2d of June. (The excitement was caused by Fenians being fighting about ten or twelve miles from there, that is, from Fort Erie.) I remained there for some time, and when thinking to recross I would not be allowed, and passes from the United States consul at Fort Erie were of no use.

In a short time after I was arrested prisoner, in the Queen’s name, by Captain King, on the public road, on suspicion of being a Fenian. He searched me carefully, and found nothing on my person but a pocket knife and a small lead-pencil; but still he marched me along until he sent me aboard the steamboat Rob. After some time a man came aboard and wrote the names of all the prisoners on board and what was found on the person of each of them. Captain King told him he found nothing on me but what I have mentioned, but still they held me, and here I am, three weeks to-lay, without a trial, and do not know when we will have any. There are several men here who fought bravely for their adopted country three and four years during the last rebellion. There is no proof against the most part of us, (but suspicion.) The American consul came to see us; indeed, we expected to hear some words of comfort from him, but his words were these: “Stand back;” and after a few more words about Canada, he said if any of us could or would be convicted as belonging to the Fenian organization who troubled Canada, he would like to see the last one of us strung up. Some made the remark, “We want a trial,” but no answer. He came again this week and told us to send after our citizenship papers. Some told him they had lost them, and had no friends outside to trouble themselves about going to the place where they first got them, and have other papers sent them. So this is the way a good many of us stand. But we live in hopes of being once more released from British yoke, and standing free on the soil of our adopted country, under the wings of the eagle, and our loved stars and stripes; but, indeed, if not released soon, the English will have the pleasure of burying some of us. Our food is bread and water for breakfast, soup, made from some old cow’s head, and a little bread for dinner, and a little corn meal mush for supper. This treatment will hurry us on fast, but the Lord, who knows all things, sees this. There are only a few married men here, but none as far from his wife and children as I am. I hope your Excellency will pause a few moments and think on me here in an English prison and away from them, not able to send them any relief, and knowing they have not much store to fall back on, and I thinking that the two of them that are able will soon be compelled to go around the town and provide for the others; it almost kills me. (The number of my house is 13 Preston street, Louisville, Kentucky.) Praying that the Lord may guide you in all wisdom and truth, and to look into my condition, I remain your most humble and obedient servant and citizen,