I was born in Dendolk, in the county of Lowth, Ireland, in June, 1793. I was the youngest of eleven children, six of whom were sons, and five daughters. My father’s name was Charles O’Neil, and my mother’s maiden name was Alice McGee. My father was a carpenter by trade, and he supported his large family by daily toil. He was an industrious and active laborer, and in other times would gladly have seen his family settle around him, pursuing the peaceful avocations of husbandry, or engaged in some of the useful mechanic arts. But it was our fortune--or misfortune, I should say--to live when all Europe resounded to the din of arms, and the glory of martial life, amid the confusion and carnage of battle. Napoleon, the mightiest of heroes and conquerors, was then rapidly ascending to the zenith of his glory; and all the crowned heads of Europe, terrified by his growing power, and anxious to save themselves and their thrones, began to prepare themselves for resistance. Recruits were sought for in every village and hamlet. The honors of the soldier’s life, and the glory of the military profession, were everywhere, and by all classes of people, the topics of conversation. Fathers and mothers were careful to instil into the minds of their children the glory and honor of a military life, and the fair young damsels of our own dear island--for Ireland has charming and beautiful girls--were scarcely willing to regard any young man as honorable or brave, who did not enlist, and aim to deserve well of his country. He is a soldier, he has fought in such a battle, he belongs to his majesty’s regiment, &c., were a sure passport to society and respectability. All other occupations were considered tame and spiritless, fit only for the aged, infirm, and for cowards. My father caught the spirit of the times, and although too old to engage in such an enterprise himself, gave his ready permission to Arthur, my oldest brother, who early sought to distinguish himself on the field of battle. My mother’s consent was not so readily given, but even she did by no means object to his new enterprise; and when he presented himself before his parents, in his new uniform, for their parting blessing, she felt proud that her son was possessed of such a noble, courageous soul. She cheerfully gave him her hand, saying, “Go, my son; cover yourself with glory in the service of your country, and when you are old, you will be honored, respected, and provided for.” But, alas! how little did my mother think that the first news she would hear from her first-born son, after this blessing, would fill her own heart with grief unutterable. He enlisted into the navy, and was placed upon a seventy-four gun-ship, named the “Terrible;” and terrible, indeed, it proved to him, for he was killed by a cannon-ball, a few months only after enlisting, in an engagement which took place in 1807, near the coast of Holland, between his majesty’s fleet and the French naval force.