July 11.—This morning lumber was brought into the prison by the
rebels, and near the gate a _gallows_ erected for the purpose of
executing the six condemned Yankees. At about ten o’clock they were
brought inside by Capt. Wirtz and some guards, and delivered over
to the police force. Capt. Wirtz then said a few words about their
having been tried by our own men and for us to do as we choose with
them, that he washed his hands of the whole matter, or words to that
effect. I could not catch the exact language, being some little
distance away. I have learned by enquiry, their names, which are
as follows: John Sarsfield, 144th New York; William Collins, alias
“Moseby,” Co. D, 88th Pennsylvania; Charles Curtiss, Battery A, 5th
Rhode Island Artillery; Pat Delaney, Co. E, 83d Pennsylvania; A.
Munn, U. S. Navy, and W. R. Rickson of the U. S. Navy. After Wirtz
made his speech he withdrew his guards, leaving the condemned at
the mercy of 28,000 enraged prisoners who had all been more or less
wronged by these men. Their hands were tied behind them, and one by
one they mounted the scaffold. Curtiss, who was last, a big stout
fellow, managed to get his hands loose and broke away and ran through
the crowd and down toward the swamp. It was yelled out that he had
a knife in his hand, and so a path was made for him. He reached
the swamp and plunged in, trying to get over on the other side,
presumably among his friends. It being very warm he over exerted
himself, and when in the middle or thereabouts, collapsed and could
go no farther. The police started after him, waded in and helped him
out. He pleaded for water and it was given him. Then led back to the
scaffold and helped to mount up. All were given a chance to talk.
Munn, a good looking fellow in marine dress, said he came into the
prison four months before perfectly honest, and as innocent of crime
as any fellow in it. Starvation, with evil companions, had made him
what he was. He spoke of his mother and sisters in New York, that he
cared nothing as far as he himself was concerned, but the news that
would be carried home to his people made him want to curse God he had
ever been born. Delaney said he would rather be hung than live here
as the most of them lived, on their allowance of rations. If allowed
to steal could get enough to eat, but as that was stopped had rather
hang. Bid all good bye. Said his name was not Delaney and that no
one knew who he really was, therefore his friends would never know
his fate, his Andersonville history dying with him. Curtiss said he
didn’t care a ——, only hurry up and not be talking about it all day;
making too much fuss over a very small matter. William Collins, alias
Moseby, said he was innocent of murder and ought not to be hung; he
had stolen blankets and rations to preserve his own life, and begged
the crowd not to see him hung as he had a wife and child at home,
and for their sake to let him live. The excited crowd began to be
impatient for the “show” to commence as they termed it. Sarsfield
made quite a speech; he had studied for a lawyer; at the outbreak of
the rebellion he had enlisted and served three years in the army,
been wounded in battle, furloughed home, wound healed up, promoted to
first sergeant and also commissioned; his commission as a lieutenant
had arrived but had not been mustered in when he was taken prisoner;
began by stealing parts of rations, gradually becoming hardened as
he became familiar with the crimes practiced; evil associates had
helped him to go down hill and here he was. The other did not care
to say anything. While the men were talking they were interrupted by
all kinds of questions and charges made by the crowd, such as “don’t
lay it on too thick, you villain,” “get ready to jump off,” “cut it
short,” “you was the cause of so and so’s death,” “less talk and more
hanging,” &c., &c. At about eleven o’clock they were all blindfolded,
hands and feet tied, told to get ready, nooses adjusted and the
plank knocked from under. Moseby’s rope broke and he fell to the
ground, with blood spurting from his ears, mouth and nose. As they
was lifting him back to the swinging off place he revived and begged
for his life, but no use, was soon dangling with the rest, and died
very hard. Munn died easily, as also did Delaney, all the rest died
hard and particularly Sarsfield who drew his knees nearly to his chin
and then straightened them out with a jerk, the veins in his neck
swelling out as if they would burst. It was an awful sight to see,
still a necessity. Moseby, although he said he had never killed any
one, and I don’t believe he ever did deliberately kill a man, such
as stabbing or pounding a victim to death, yet he has walked up to
a poor sick prisoner on a cold night and robbed him of blanket, or
perhaps his rations and if necessary using all the force necessary
to do it. These things were the same as life to the sick man, for he
would invariably die. The result has been that many have died from
his robbing propensities. It was right that he should hang, and he
did hang most beautifully and Andersonville is the better off for
it. None of the rest denied that they had killed men, and probably
some had murdered dozens. It has been a good lesson; there are still
bad ones in camp but we have the strong arm of the law to keep them
in check. All during the hanging scene the stockade was covered
with rebels, who were fearful a break would be made if the raiders
should try and rescue them. Many citizens too were congregated on the
outside in favorable positions for seeing. Artillery was pointed at
us from all directions ready to blow us all into eternity in short
order; Wirtz stood on a high platform in plain sight of the execution
and says we are a hard crowd to kill our own men. After hanging
for half an hour or so the six bodies were taken down and carried
outside. In noting down the speeches made by the condemned men, have
used my own language; in substance it is the same as told by them. I
occupied a near position to the hanging and saw it all from first to
last, and stood there until they were taken down and carried away.
Was a strange sight to see and the first hanging I ever witnessed.
The raiders had many friends who crowded around and denounced the
whole affair and but for the police there would have been a riot;
many both for and against the execution were knocked down. Some
will talk and get into trouble thereby; as long as it does no good
there is no use in loud talk and exciting arguments; is dangerous
to advance any argument, men are so ready to quarrel. Have got back
to my quarters thoroughly prostrated and worn out with fatigue and
excitement, and only hope that to-day’s lesson will right matters
as regards raiding. Battese suspended washing long enough to look
on and see them hang and grunted his approval. Have omitted to say
that the good Catholic priest attended the condemned. Rebel negroes
came inside and began to take down the scaffold; prisoners took hold
to help them and resulted in its all being carried off to different
parts of the prison to be used for kindling wood, and the rebels get
none of it back and are mad. The ropes even have been gobbled up,
and I suppose sometime may be exhibited at the north as mementoes
of to-day’s proceedings. Mike Hoare assisted at the hanging. Some
fears are entertained that those who officiated will get killed by
the friends of those hanged. The person who manipulated the “drop,”
has been taken outside on parole of honor, as his life would be in
danger in here. Jimmy thanks God that he has lived to see justice
done the raiders; he is about gone—nothing but skin and bone and
can hardly move hand or foot; rest of the mess moderately well. The
extra rations derived from our three mess-mates as policemen, helps
wonderfully to prolong life. Once in a while some of them gets a
chance to go outside on some duty and buy onions or sweet potatoes
which is a great luxury.
July 12.—Good order has prevailed since the hanging. The men have
settled right down to the business of living, with no interruption.
I keep thinking our situation can get no worse, but it does get
worse every day and not less than one hundred and sixty die each
twenty-four hours. Probably one-fourth or one-third of these die
inside the stockade, the balance in the hospital outside. All day and
up to four o’clock P. M., the dead are being gathered up and carried
to the south gate and placed in a row inside the dead line. As the
bodies are stripped of their clothing in most cases as soon as the
breath leaves, and in some cases before, the row of dead presents
a sickening appearance. Legs drawn up and in all shapes. They are
black from pitch pine smoke and laying in the sun. Some of them lay
there for twenty hours or more, and by that time are in a horrible
condition. At four o’clock a four or six mule wagon comes up to the
gate and twenty or thirty bodies are loaded on to the wagon and they
are carted off to be put in trenches, one hundred in each trench,
in the cemetery, which is eighty or a hundred rods away. There must
necessarily be a great many whose names are not taken. It is the
orders to attach the name, company and regiment to each body, but it
is not always done. I was invited to-day to dig in a tunnel, but had
to decline. My digging days are over. Must dig now to keep out of the
ground, I guess. It is with difficulty now that I can walk, and only
with the help of two canes.
July 13.—Can see in the distance the cars go poking along by this
station, with wheezing old engines, snorting along. As soon as night
comes a great many are blind, caused by sleeping in the open air,
with moon shining in the face. Many holes are dug and excavations
made in camp. Near our quarters is a well about five or six feet
deep, and the poor blind fellows fall into this pit hole. None
seriously hurt, but must be quite shaken up. Half of the prisoners
have no settled place for sleeping, wander and lay down wherever they
can find room. Have two small gold rings on my finger, worn ever
since I left home. Have also a small photograph album with eight
photographs in. Relics of civilization. Should I get these things
through to our lines they will have quite a history. When I am among
the rebels I wind a rag around my finger to cover up the rings, or
else take them and put in my pocket. Bad off as I have been, have
never seen the time yet that I would part with them. Were presents
to me, and the photographs have looked at about one-fourth of the
time since imprisonment. One prisoner made some buttons here for his
little boy at home, and gave them to me to deliver, as he was about
to die. Have them sewed on to my pants for safe keeping.
July 14.—We have been too busy with the raiders of late to
manufacture any exchange news, and now all hands are at work trying
to see who can tell the biggest yarns. The weak are feeling well
to-night over the story that we are all to be sent North this
month, before the 20th. Have not learned that the news came from
any reliable source. Rumors of midsummer battles with Union troops
victorious. It’s “bite dog, bite bear,” with most of us prisoners;
we don’t care which licks, what we want is to get out of this pen.
Of course, we all care and want our side to win, but it’s tough on
patriotism. A court is now held every day and offenders punished,
principally by buck and gagging, for misdemeanors. The hanging has
done worlds of good, still there is much stealing going on yet,
but in a sly way, not openly. Hold my own as regards health. The
dreaded month of July is half gone, almost, and a good many over one
hundred and fifty die each day, but I do not know how many. Hardly
any one cares enough about it to help me any in my inquiries. It is
all self with the most of them. A guard by accident shot himself.
Have often said they didn’t know enough to hold a gun. Bury a rebel
guard every few days within sight of the prison. Saw some women in
the distance. Quite a sight. Are feeling quite jolly to-night since
the sun went down. Was visited by my new acquaintances of the 9th
Michigan Infantry, who are comparatively new prisoners. Am learning
them the way to live here. They are very hopeful fellows and declare
the war will be over this coming fall, and tell their reasons very
well for thinking so. We gird up our loins and decide that we will
try to live it through. Rowe, although often given to despondency,
is feeling good and cheerful. There are some noble fellows here. A
man shows exactly what he is in Andersonville. No occasion to be any
different from what you really are. Very often see a great big fellow
in size, in reality a baby in action, actually sniveling and crying,
and then again you will see some little runt, “not bigger than a pint
of cider,” tell the big fellow to “brace up” and be a man. Stature
has nothing to do as regards nerve, still there are noble big fellows
as well as noble little ones. A Sergt. Hill is judge and jury now,
and dispenses justice to evil doers with impartiality. A farce is
made of defending some of the arrested ones. Hill inquires all of the
particulars of each case, and sometimes lets the offenders go as
more sinned against than sinning. Four receiving punishment.
July 15.—Blank cartridges were this morning fired over the camp by
the artillery, and immediately the greatest commotion outside. It
seems that the signal in case a break is made, is cannon firing. And
this was to show us how quick they could rally and get into shape.
In less time than it takes for me to write it, all were at their
posts and in condition to open up and kill nine-tenths of all here.
Sweltering hot. Dying off one hundred and fifty-five each day. There
are twenty-eight thousand confined here now.
July 16.—Well, who ever supposed that it could be any hotter; but
to-day is more so than yesterday, and yesterday more than the day
before. My coverlid has been rained on so much and burned in the
sun, first one and then the other, that it is getting the worse for
wear. It was originally a very nice one, and home made. Sun goes
right through it now, and reaches down for us. Just like a bake oven.
The rabbit mules that draw in the rations look as if they didn’t
get much more to eat than we do. Driven with one rope line, and
harness patched up with ropes, strings, &c. Fit representation of
the Confederacy. Not much like U. S. Army teams. A joke on the rebel
adjutant has happened. Some one broke into the shanty and tied the
two or three sleeping there, and carried off all the goods. Tennessee
Bill, (a fellow captured with me) had charge of the affair, and is in
disgrace with the adjutant on account of it. Every one is glad of the
robbery. Probably there was not ten dollars worth of things in there,
but they asked outrageous prices for everything. Adjt. very mad, but
no good. Is a small, sputtering sort of fellow.
July 17.—Cords contracting in my legs and very difficult for me to
walk—after going a little ways have to stop and rest and am faint. Am
urged by some to go to the hospital but don’t like to do it; mess say
had better stay where I am, and Battese says shall not go, and that
settles it. Jimmy Devers anxious to be taken to the hospital but is
pursuaded to give it up. Tom McGill, another Irish friend, is past
all recovery; is in another part of the prison. Many old prisoners
are dropping off now this fearful hot weather; knew that July and
August would thin us out; cannot keep track of them in my disabled
condition. A fellow named Hubbard with whom I have conversed a good
deal, is dead; a few days ago was in very good health, and its only a
question of a few days now with any of us. Succeeded in getting four
small onions about as large as hickory nuts, tops and all for two
dollars Confederate money. Battese furnished the money but won’t eat
an onion; ask him if he is afraid it will make his breath smell? It
is said that two or three onions or a sweet potato eaten raw daily
will cure the scurvy. What a shame that such things are denied us,
being so plenty the world over. Never appreciated such things before
but shall hereafter. Am talking as if I expected to get home again. I
do.
July 18.—Time slowly dragging itself along. Cut some wretchs hair
most every day. Have a sign out “Hair Cutting,” as well as “Washing,”
and by the way, Battese has a new wash board made from a piece of the
scaffold lumber. About half the time do the work for nothing, in fact
not more than one in three or four pays anything—expenses not much
though, don’t have to pay any rent. All the mess keeps their hair cut
short which is a very good advertisement. My eyes getting weak with
other troubles. Can just hobble around. Death rate more than ever,
reported one hundred and sixty-five per day; said by some to be more
than that, but 165 is about the figure. Bad enough without making
any worse than it really is. Jimmy Devers most dead and begs us to
take him to the hospital and guess will have to. Every morning the
sick are carried to the gate in blankets and on stretchers, and the
worst cases admitted to the hospital. Probably out of five or six
hundred half are admitted. Do not think any lives after being taken
there; are past all human aid. Four out of every five prefer to stay
inside and die with their friends rather than go to the hospital.
Hard stories reach us of the treatment of the sick out there and I am
sorry to say the cruelty emanates from our own men who act as nurses.
These dead beats and bummer nurses are the same bounty jumpers the U.
S. authorities have had so much trouble with. Do not mean to say that
all the nurses are of that class but a great many of them are.
July 19.—There is no such thing as delicacy here. Nine out of ten
would as soon eat with a corpse for a table as any other way. In the
middle of last night I was awakened by being kicked by a dying man.
He was soon dead. In his struggles he had floundered clear into our
bed. Got up and moved the body off a few feet, and again went to
sleep to dream of the hideous sights. I can never get used to it as
some do. Often wake most scared to death, and shuddering from head to
foot. Almost dread to go to sleep on this account. I am getting worse
and worse, and prison ditto.
July 20.—Am troubled with poor sight together with scurvy and dropsy.
My teeth are all loose and it is with difficulty I can eat. Jimmy
Devers was taken out to die to-day. I hear that McGill is also
dead. John McGuire died last night, both were Jackson men and old
acquaintances. Mike Hoare is still policeman and is sorry for me.
Does what he can. And so we have seen the last of Jimmy. A prisoner
of war one year and eighteen days. Struggled hard to live through
it, if ever any one did. Ever since I can remember have known him.
John Maguire also, I have always known. Everybody in Jackson, Mich.,
will remember him, as living on the east side of the river near the
wintergreen patch, and his father before him. They were one of the
first families who settled that country. His people are well to do,
with much property. Leaves a wife and one boy. Tom McGill is also a
Jackson boy and a member of my own company. Thus you will see that
three of my acquaintances died the same day, for Jimmy cannot live
until night I don’t think. Not a person in the world but would have
thought either one of them would kill me a dozen times enduring
hardships. Pretty hard to tell about such things. Small squad of poor
deluded Yanks turned inside with us, captured at Petersburg. It is
said they talk of winning recent battles. Battese has traded for an
old watch and Mike will try to procure vegetables for it from the
guard. That is what will save us if anything.
July 21.—And rebels are still fortifying. Battese has his hands full.
Takes care of me like a father. Hear that Kilpatrick is making a raid
for this place. Troops (rebel) are arriving here by every train to
defend it. Nothing but corn bread issued now and I cannot eat it any
more.
July 22.—A petition is gotten up signed by all the sergeants in the
prison, to be sent to Washington, D. C., _begging_ to be released.
Capt. Wirtz has consented to let three representatives go for that
purpose. Rough that it should be necessary for us to _beg_ to be
protected by our government.
July 23.—Reports of an exchange in August. Can’t stand it till that
time. Will soon go up the spout.
July 24.—Have been trying to get into the hospital, but Battese won’t
let me go. Geo. W. Hutchins, brother of Charlie Hutchins of Jackson,
Mich., died to-day—from our mess. Jimmy Devers is dead.
July 25.—Rowe getting very bad. Sanders ditto. Am myself much worse,
and cannot walk, and with difficulty stand up. Legs drawn up like
a triangle, mouth in terrible shape, and dropsy worse than all. A
few more days. At my earnest solicitation was carried to the gate
this morning, to be admitted to the hospital. Lay in the sun for
some hours to be examined, and finally my turn came and I tried to
stand up, but was so excited I fainted away. When I came to myself
I lay along with the row of dead on the outside. Raised up and
asked a rebel for a drink of water, and he said: “Here, you Yank,
if you ain’t dead, get inside there!” And with his help was put
inside again. Told a man to go to our mess and tell them to come to
the gate, and pretty soon Battese and Sanders came and carried me
back to our quarters; and here I am, completely played out. Battese
flying around to buy me something good to eat. Can’t write much more.
Exchange rumors.
July 26.—Ain’t dead yet. Actually laugh when I think of the rebel who
thought if I wasn’t dead I had better get inside. Can’t walk a step
now. Shall try for the hospital no more. Had an onion.
July 27.—Sweltering hot. No worse than yesterday. Said that two
hundred die now each day. Rowe very bad and Sanders getting so. Swan
dead, Gordon dead, Jack Withers dead, Scotty dead, a large Irishman
who has been near us a long time is dead. These and scores of others
died yesterday and day before. Hub Dakin came to see me and brought
an onion. He is just able to crawl around himself.
July 28.—Taken a step forward toward the trenches since yesterday,
and am worse. Had a wash all over this morning. Battese took me to
the creek; carries me without any trouble.
July 29.—Alive and kicking. Drank some soured water made from meal
and water.
July 30.—Hang on well, and no worse.
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