AFTER THE EXECUTION--FORMATION OF A POLICE FORCE--ITS FIRST CHIEF
--“SPANKING” AN OFFENDER.
After the executions Key, knowing that he, and all those prominently
connected with the hanging, would be in hourly danger of assassination
if they remained inside, secured details as nurses and ward-masters in
the hospital, and went outside. In this crowd were Key, Ned Carrigan,
Limber Jim, Dick McCullough, the six hangmen, the two Corporals who
pulled the props from under the scaffold, and perhaps some others whom
I do not now remember.
In the meanwhile provision had been made for the future maintenance
of order in the prison by the organization of a regular police force,
which in time came to number twelve hundred men. These were divided
into companies, under appropriate officers. Guards were detailed for
certain locations, patrols passed through the camp in all directions
continually, and signals with whistles could summon sufficient
assistance to suppress any disturbance, or carry out any orders from
the chief.
The chieftainship was first held by Key, but when he went outside he
appointed Sergeant A. R. Hill, of the One Hundredth O. V. I.--now
a resident of Wauseon, Ohio,--his successor. Hill was one of the
notabilities of that immense throng. A great, broad-shouldered, giant,
in the prime of his manhood--the beginning of his thirtieth year--he
was as good-natured as big, and as mild-mannered as brave. He spoke
slowly, softly, and with a slightly rustic twang, that was very
tempting to a certain class of sharps to take him up for a “luberly
greeny.” The man who did so usually repented his error in sack-cloth
and ashes.
Hill first came into prominence as the victor in the most stubbornly
contested fight in the prison history of Belle Isle. When the squad of
the One Hundredth Ohio--captured at Limestone Station, East Tennessee,
in September, 1863--arrived on Belle Isle, a certain Jack Oliver, of the
Nineteenth Indiana, was the undisputed fistic monarch of the Island.
He did not bear his blushing honors modestly; few of a right arm that
indefinite locality known as “the middle of next week,” is something
that the possessor can as little resist showing as can a girl her first
solitaire ring. To know that one can certainly strike a disagreeable
fellow out of time is pretty sure to breed a desire to do that thing
whenever occasion serves. Jack Oliver was one who did not let his
biceps rust in inaction, but thrashed everybody on the Island whom he
thought needed it, and his ideas as to those who should be included in
this class widened daily, until it began to appear that he would soon
feel it his duty to let no unwhipped man escape, but pound everybody on
the Island.
One day his evil genius led him to abuse a rather elderly man belonging
to Hill’s mess. As he fired off his tirade of contumely, Hill said with
more than his usual “soft” rusticity:
“Mister--I--don’t--think--it--just--right--for--a--young--man--to--call
--an--old--one--such--bad names.”
Jack Oliver turned on him savagely.
“Well! may be you want to take it up?”
The grin on Hill’s face looked still more verdant, as he answered with
gentle deliberation:
“Well--mister--I--don’t--go--around--a--hunting--things--but--I
--ginerally--take--care--of--all--that’s--sent--me!”
Jack foamed, but his fiercest bluster could not drive that infantile
smile from Hill’s face, nor provoke a change in the calm slowness of
his speech.
It was evident that nothing would do but a battle-royal, and Jack
had sense enough to see that the imperturbable rustic was likely to
give him a job of some difficulty. He went off and came back with his
clan, while Hill’s comrades of the One Hundredth gathered around to
insure him fair play. Jack pulled off his coat and vest, rolled up his
sleeves, and made other elaborate preparations for the affray. Hill,
without removing a garment, said, as he surveyed him with a mocking
smile:
“Mister--you--seem--to--be--one--of--them--partick-e-ler--fellers.”
Jack roared out,
“By ---, I’ll make you partickeler before I get through with you. Now,
how shall we settle this? Regular stand-up-and knock-down, or rough and
tumble?”
If anything Hill’s face was more vacantly serene, and his tones blander
than ever, as he answered:
“Strike--any--gait--that--suits--you,--Mister;--I guess--I--will--be
--able--to--keep--up--with--you.”
They closed. Hill feinted with his left, and as Jack uncovered to
guard, he caught him fairly on the lower left ribs, by a blow from his
mighty right fist, that sounded--as one of the by-standers expressed
it--“like striking a hollow log with a maul.”
The color in Jack’s face paled. He did not seem to understand how
he had laid himself open to such a pass, and made the same mistake,
receiving again a sounding blow in the short ribs. This taught him
nothing, either, for again he opened his guard in response to a feint,
and again caught a blow on his luckless left, ribs, that drove the
blood from his face and the breath from his body. He reeled back
among his supporters for an instant to breathe. Recovering his wind,
be dashed at Hill feinted strongly with his right, but delivered a
terrible kick against the lower part of the latter’s abdomen. Both
closed and fought savagely at half-arm’s length for an instant;
during which Hill struck Jack so fairly in the mouth as to break out
three front teeth, which the latter swallowed. Then they clenched and
struggled to throw each other. Hill’s superior strength and skill
crushed his opponent to the ground, and he fell upon him. As they
grappled there, one of Jack’s followers sought to aid his leader by
catching Hill by the hair, intending to kick him in the face. In an
instant he was knocked down by a stalwart member of the One Hundredth,
and then literally lifted out of the ring by kicks.
Jack was soon so badly beaten as to be unable to cry “enough!” One of
his friends did that service for him, the fight ceased, and thenceforth
Mr. Oliver resigned his pugilistic crown, and retired to the shades of
private life. He died of scurvy and diarrhea, some months afterward, in
Andersonville.
The almost hourly scenes of violence and crime that marked the days and
nights before the Regulators began operations were now succeeded by the
greatest order. The prison was freer from crime than the best governed
City. There were frequent squabbles and fights, of course, and many
petty larcenies. Rations of bread and of wood, articles of clothing,
and the wretched little cans and half canteens that formed our cooking
utensils, were still stolen, but all these were in a sneak-thief
way. There was an entire absence of the audacious open-day robbery
and murder --the “raiding” of the previous few weeks. The summary
punishment inflicted on the condemned was sufficient to cow even bolder
men than the Raiders, and they were frightened into at least quiescence.
Sergeant Hill’s administration was vigorous, and secured the best
results. He became a judge of all infractions of morals and law, and
sat at the door of his tent to dispense justice to all comers, like the
Cadi of a Mahometan Village. His judicial methods and punishments also
reminded one strongly of the primitive judicature of Oriental lands.
The wronged one came before him and told his tale: he had his blouse,
or his quart cup, or his shoes, or his watch, or his money stolen
during the night. The suspected one was also summoned, confronted with
his accuser, and sharply interrogated. Hill would revolve the stories
in his mind, decide the innocence or guilt of the accused, and if he
thought the accusation sustained, order the culprit to punishment. He
did not imitate his Mussulman prototypes to the extent of bowstringing
or decapitating the condemned, nor did he cut any thief’s hands off,
nor yet nail his ears to a doorpost, but he introduced a modification
of the bastinado that made those who were punished by it even wish
they were dead. The instrument used was what is called in the South
a “shake” --a split shingle, a yard or more long, and with one end
whittled down to form a handle. The culprit was made to bend down until
he could catch around his ankles with his hands. The part of the body
thus brought into most prominence was denuded of clothing and “spanked”
from one to twenty times, as Hill ordered, by the “shake” in same
strong and willing hand. It was very amusing--to the bystanders. The
“spankee” never seemed to enter very heartily into the mirth of the
occasion. As a rule he slept on his face for a week or so after, and
took his meals standing.
The fear of the spanking, and Hill’s skill in detecting the guilty
ones, had a very salutary effect upon the smaller criminals.
The Raiders who had been put into irons were very restive under the
infliction, and begged Hill daily to release them. They professed the
greatest penitence, and promised the most exemplary behavior for the
future. Hill refused to release them, declaring that they should wear
the irons until delivered up to our Government.
One of the Raiders--named Heffron--had, shortly after his arrest,
turned State’s evidence, and given testimony that assisted materially
in the conviction of his companions. One morning, a week or so after
the hanging, his body was found lying among the other dead at the South
Gate. The impression made by the fingers of the hand that had strangled
him, were still plainly visible about the throat. There was no doubt as
to why he had been killed, or that the Raiders were his murderers, but
the actual perpetrators were never discovered.