Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Sunday, July 10, 1864

Hot, showery day, renders the condition of the sick more appalling. It is believed that more than two-thirds of the 700 men at the gate in response to the sick call, are victims of starvation. Healthful action of the stomach and other organs of the body is destroyed; the food supplied imparts no nutriment though appetite craves it. Men eat whole rations ravenously, while unable to walk, which is not retained, sometime two minutes,—if it is, it is an internal fire and blood and decayed flesh come with temporary relief. Others loathe it, strain to vomit at sight, and so remain till death. Those not so afflicted are more or less infected with scurvy, dropsy, urinary disorders or these combined.

It is announced tonight that six raiders have been convicted and condemned to death and are to be hanged tomorrow in the prison shortly after noon. The names of these convicts are Cary Sullivan, of 76th N. Y. regiment; William Collins, alias Moseby, 88th Pennsylvania; Charles Curtis, 5th Rhode Island artillery; John Sarsfield, 144th N. Y.; Patrick Delaney, 83rd Pennsylvania; A. Muir, alias Jack the Sailor, U. S. navy. Sullivan's given name, announced by the regulators as Terrence, was carried on the company roll as Cary. It is understood that these men were professional bounty jumpers, going out for the money they could get, and were captured outside of the line of duty. We know Sullivan deserted our regiment while it was forming for expected battle, on the night of October 10th, 1863, and was captured by Rebel cavalry that was flanking our infantry a few hours prior to the beginning of Meade's great retreat to Centerville, Va. To carry out this grim project Sergeant Keys and immediate assistants have got the use of timbers and tools and secured a few carpenters to build a scaffold.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 87

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, July 11, 1864

HANGING THE CHIEF RAIDERS. SCENES AT THE EXECUTION.

Building the scaffold for executing the principal raiders, began at 9 a. m. a few yards within the dead line near the south gate. By 1 p. m. it was finished and the crowd assembled everywhere a footing could be had in view of the scaffold. Looking from my position near the scaffold to the north on the sloping ground I beheld the most densely packed crowd I had ever seen. The south side if possible was more densely packed. They came from every extreme portion of the stockade until they could get no further. Evidently every man that could be was on his taps. A multitude of probably 30,000, all astir on so small an area is seldom if ever seen. The regulator squads, armed, with clubs, formed a square around the scaffold to keep back the crowd. It was feared by leaders that an attempt would be made, by associates of the doomed, to destroy the scaffold and release them. Sometime was employed in attaching halters to the beam and adjusting nooses, then all was ready. Shortly after, the gate opened and Capt. Wirz, dressed in a white duck suit, upon his gray horse, accompanied by a Catholic priest, followed by the guard with the doubly doomed war prisoners. They were six dressed only in undershirts and drawers and heads uncovered. Capt. Wirz addressed us in broken Swiss nearly as follows:

"Prisoners, I deliver these men to you in as good condition as I found them. I have had nothing to do in convicting them of crime of which they are accused, except to lend my assistance for their and your protection; nor do I charge them or believe them guilty, and shall have nothing to do with the execution of your sentence. You have tried them; I have permitted it. You have convicted and sentenced them; if they are hung, you, not I, will be responsible for it. I deliver them to you; do with them as you please, and may God be with them and you. Guards about face; forward march."

All but the priest moved out and the gate closed. This address was delivered from a paper in his hand said to have been' prepared by Lieut. Davis or some officer of the post.

The prisoners had doubted the earnestness of the proceedings up to the moment of the egress of Wirz and the guard. However, their arms had been pinioned, and when they looked at the gallows the dreadful truth struck terror to their hearts. Their executioners were in position and without the least delay pressed each man to ascend the scaffold, Curtis, a strong man, shouted in a strong, rough voice, "By God, boys, we will never go up there!" At the same time fiercely wrenching away, loosing his arms and throwing them about his head, dashed madly through the regulators' lines rushed through the weak crowd to the stream, plunged into the swamp, sometimes to his hips, but was retaken by two pursuers before reaching solid ground. Meantime the crowd took panic, supposing the rescue of the condemned was attempted and in the confusion jostled and trampled one another down. Their fright was greatly increased on seeing the Rebels fly to their guns. The crowd surged back like a heavy sea, trampling hundreds of the weaker under feet and leveling flimsy tents in the rush, which had hardly ceased before the fugitive was brought back trembling and cowering with fear. The others had been left standing, but now all were pushed up the steps to the trap by the executioner, talking and wailing unintelligibly while the priest begged fervently for them to be spared. As the nooses were put over their necks, and the bags, used for caps, were ready to be drawn over their faces, with what awful woe they crouched and pleaded for life. The priest, at their request essayed to address, not only those in charge but the vast crowd as well, uttering an appeal and urging that the final disposition of the matter be left to the crowd. Alas, of no avail. The witnesses of their crimes by thousands, as well as their condemners stood before them and their clamor for the execution to proceed overwhelmed the frantic effort of the priest. They believed them guilty of direct murder, the means of suffering and death of many by depriving them of scanty clothing and fare; by theft and in having cruelly beaten them. The guilty clamored for mercy that they had denied to innocent, helpless men. Yet willingly would most of us spared them to be dealt with by law, but with their lives we knew no safety.

Who has seen the soul's anguish pouring out in tears? This was the agony of guilt. It fired in the wild eye, flashed on the cowering cheek, darkened on the crazed brow and poured in frenzied tones from quivering lips. If the executioners were moved by these appeals they knew their duty and performed it. The firm answer was, "No you must die." Then said Collins, to the priest:

"Then do pray for us, pray long and hard!"

He prays but Collins breaks in vehemently.

"I am guilty, but not of this; I have been an awful man! I have not had a fair trial," and many other sentences, and all shout together, "Yes, yes!" Sullivan broke in:

"Neither am I guilty, but”—and he groaned, "I did not expect ever to come to this." "Nor I," all shouted in concert.

Their exclamations were so loud, continuous and distressing, that I heard nothing of the prayer. Several times the sack was removed from their heads as they feelingly urged to be prayed for, until the executioners had decided not to repeat it, when Curtis asked for one moment. Speaking loudly, he asked:

"Have I a friend within hearing?"

A voice answers, "Yes, it is me, Curtis."

"Is it you, Tony Ryan? Come up here."

Executioner—"No, he can't come up."

Curtis—"Then I have one request, Tony, it is my dying request. I want you to keep my watch and send it back to my father-in-law in New York City."

Tony—"I will do it, Curtis."

Curtis—"I am ready. This is a hard sight, boys," and he groaned.

Sullivan and Muir both said: "May God bless our souls!"

The executioners stepped from the platform, the props were pulled, the traps fell. As I looked upon the scene I saw that Collins had snapped his rope, and fallen to the ground. He was restored to consciousness, and though he plead that as God had saved his life once, he should be spared. But he was forced upon the raised trap, the noose readjusted while the other five were in the throes of death before his eyes, and swung off, partially kneeling, an impulsive movement all made. It was indeed a hard sight; six strong men sent from life for crimes against fellow prisoners. I almost think I am hardened because I looked upon them with the composure that I did. This is the breaking up of a gang organized in the Richmond prisons.

But there were interested spectators outside the prison, the soldiers standing in their rifle pits with arms ready; the artillerymen standing at their pieces ready to pull the ledyard cord at command; and from 1,500 to 2,000 people, composed of old men and women of both sexes and all colors, from several miles about, who in their anxiety to see, had edged from positions assigned them, in front of the artillery and infantry lines, and were thrown into panic as they supposed they were to fire upon the prisoners.

It is told of Muir that he was acquitted of a crime in Dublin, Ireland, though he had confessed guilt to his priest. Since conviction here he told the story to an Irish friend, adding that after acquittal the priest told him that death by hanging would be his doom; that the priest's words had always haunted him; though he sought to avoid acts tending to their fulfillment, he often lost self-control and went wrong. To him he confessed complicity in crimes charged and proved against raiders.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 88-90

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 14, 1864

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. Statue 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. Pour receiving punishment.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 86-7

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 11, 1864

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 thereabonts, 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 didnt 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 hinging,” &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 neccessary 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 today'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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 81-4