Part 9

“When I visited Major Wirz the next morning he told me that the same proposal had been made to him and had been rejected with scorn. The Major was very indignant, and said that while he was innocent of the charges for which he was about to suffer death, he would not purchase his liberty by perjury and a crime such as was made the condition of his freedom.

“I attended the major to the scaffold, and he died in the peace of God and praying for his enemies. I know that he was indeed innocent of all the cruel charges on which his life was sworn away, and I was edified by the Christian spirit in which he submitted to his persecutors.

“Yours very truly, F. E. BOYLE.”

Wirz spent the greater part of the night before his execution in writing, but slept for a few hours before daylight and awoke cheerful and refreshed. He was calm and self-possessed and had left nothing undone. His own books, as well as those borrowed, were all neatly done up and left for delivery to the proper parties. His diary was completed up to the last day.

He felt keenly the abuse that was heaped upon him. As he bade farewell to his old associate, Captain R. H. Winder, he said:

... “Promise me, if you live, to do all in your power to wipe out this awful stain upon my character. Make my name and character stand as bright before the world as it did when you first knew me. Promise me you will do something to assist my wife.”

Winder turned his face away to hide his tears, as he replied: “Captain, I will.”

One of the daily newspapers, after relating this parting with Winder, said:

“Wirz passed on down the stairs, out between the files of men facing outward, up to the scaffold, showing something in his face and step which in a better man might have passed for heroism.”

How contemptible! His courage and fortitude shone out in spite of the infamous position in which his enemies sought to place him, but even the eyes blinded by prejudice and the callous hearts around him could not fail to note, though they could not appreciate, the lofty spirit of the man.

From the little room in the third story, designated “No. 9--Wirz, H., Captain C. S. A.,” he was marched to the scaffold, erected in one corner of the prison yard. Here he took a seat on a small stool, immediately under the gaping noose swaying over him. A soldier stood at shoulder arms on either corner of the platform, and four companies, one each from the 195th and 214th Pennsylvania, and two from the 9th Regiment of Hancock’s Corps, formed a hollow square around the scaffold. Fathers Boyle and Wiget never left his side until the last moment. Indeed, when the noose was adjusted his face wore a smile and he was still talking to Father Boyle.

For eighteen minutes he was compelled to sit and listen to the reading of the findings and sentence--the enumeration of the crimes with which he was charged, while on the housetops and in the branches of the trees in the Capitol grounds men and boys crowded, all eager to witness the ghastly spectacle; and their inhuman shouts, and brutal jests about the “dead-line,” pendant above him, could be heard by Wirz, who sat apparently calm and unmoved, save when amid the groans and outcries, a voice called out “Hang the scoundrel.” As this reached his ears he turned quickly, with a defiant look in the direction from which the sound proceeded, then, giving a cool glance on the surroundings, he resumed his self-command, giving his undivided attention to his spiritual advisers.

At the close of the reading Major Russell asked Wirz if he wished to say anything to the public before the execution. He replied: “I have nothing to say, only that I am innocent, and will die like a man, my hopes being in the future. I go before my God, the Almighty God, and he will judge between me and you.” At twenty minutes to eleven o’clock Sylvester Ballon kicked away the prop and Henry Wirz passed from life to the dark valley of the shadow of death.

I saw Father Wiget a few hours after the execution. He, with Father Boyle, had stood with Wirz on the scaffold--had clasped his hand just as he was about to be launched into eternity. He had been with him through the mockery of a trial, and when I saw him his breast was filled with emotion. He said: “Oh! he was a brave man!” He had stood by him as the rabble thirsting for his blood, like the cruel Jews, cried out “Crucify him! Crucify him!” and he knew the man was innocent of the crimes imputed to him. “He was a brave man”--the good old priest could say no more; his heart was touched, and his feelings too deep for mere words. Between what is felt and what is expressed there is often an immeasurable distance. It is impossible at times to give expression in words to the most touching--to the most beautiful emotions of the heart.

In Wirz’s letters to his wife there is an amount of pathos--a bitter, yet mournful wailing. The soft notes which he touches with trembling fingers will strike a sympathetic chord in hearts not utterly lost to all sense of tenderness or humanity.

A letter written by his wife just after she had learned of the termination of her husband’s trial would in itself show how false and malicious were the assertions of sensational newspapers that there was no kindly feeling between them. After speaking of her distress at the necessity of leaving him at that critical moment, and telling him not to despair--that all would come out right--she speaks of their past happiness, and cannot believe the authorities will tear them apart; that if the members of the court only knew how much they suffered, a pardon would be granted him. The letter concludes as follows:

“Dear husband, bear up bravely, whatever your fate may be. If I could but see you for one short hour I should be much comforted. I cannot describe to you on paper the distress of my mind. May angels watch and protect you from all harm, is the constant prayer of your loving wife.”

In Wirz’s last letter to his wife and children are the sad, soft breathings from a bosom filled with the warmest affection and anxious solicitude for their welfare:

“Old Capitol Prison, Washington, D. C., Nov. 10, 1865.

“My dearest Wife and Children: When these lines reach you the hand who wrote them will be stiff and cold. In a few hours from now I shall be dead. Oh, if I could express myself as I wish, if I could tell you what I have suffered when I thought about you and the children! I must leave you without the means to live, to the miseries of a cold cruel world. Lise, do not grieve, do not despair; we will meet again in a better world. Console yourself, think as I do--that I die innocent. Who knows better than you that all these tales of cruelties and murders are infamous lies, and why should I not say it? A great many do call me hard-hearted, because I tell them that I am not guilty, that I have nothing to confess. Oh, think for a moment how the thought that I must suffer and die innocent must sustain me in the last terrible hour; that when I shall stand before my Maker I can say, ‘Lord, of these things you know I am not guilty. I have sinned often and rebelled against Thee, oh, let my unmerited death be an atonement.’ Lise, I die reconciled. I die, I hope, as a Christian. This is His holy will that I should die, and therefore let us say with Christ, ‘Thy will, O Lord, be done.’

“I hardly know what to say. Oh, let me beg you, do not give way to despair. Think that I am gone to my Father, to your Father, to the Father of all, and that there I hope to meet you. Live for the dear children. Oh, do take good care of Cora. Kiss her for me. Kiss Susan and Cornelia, and tell them to live so that we may meet again in the heaven above the skies: tell them that my last thoughts, my last prayer shall be for them.”

Then follow some words of advice with regard to the schooling of the children, and to the future life, etc., of the family, and he concludes by saying:

“God bless you all and protect you. God give you what you stand in need of, and grant that you all so live that when you die you can say, Lord, Thou callest me, here I am. And now, farewell wife, children, all, I will and must close, farewell, farewell; God be with us.

“Your unfortunate husband and father, H. WIRZ.”

EXTRACTS FROM DIARY OF MAJOR WIRZ

From the diary kept by Wirz while in prison during the progress of the trial, I make a few extracts, yet enough to show the manhood, the nobility of the man:

“Old Capitol Prison, Oct. 1, 1865.

“Everything is quiet around me. No sound but the measured steps of the sentinel in the corridor can be heard. The man who is sitting in my room is nodding in his chair. Poor, short-sighted mortals that we all are! This man is here to watch me, to prevent any attempt I might make to take my own life. My life--what is it worth to anyone except myself and my poor family, that they should be so anxious? I think I understand it very well, they are afraid I might cheat them and the public at large from having their revenge, and giving, at the same time, the masses the benefit of seeing a man hanged. If this is all, they are welcome. I have no desire to live; perhaps there never was a more willing victim dragged to the scaffold than I am. Why should I desire to live? A beggar, crippled, and with my health and spirit broken--why, oh why, should I desire to live? For the sake of my family? My family will do as well without me as with me. Instead of providing for and taking care of them, I would be a burden to them. And still, knowing all that, why do I not put an end to my life? Because, in the first instance, what I suffer now is the Will of God. GOD--how much is not in this word--what a tower of strength, of consolation! Yes, Heavenly Father, if it was not Thy will I would not be a prisoner. I would not be looked at, spoken of as a monster, such as the world has never seen and never will see. If that what I suffer now was not put on me by you for some wise purpose I would be as free as the bird in the air. Thou and I--we two alone know that I am innocent of those terrible charges. Thou and I--we both know that I never took the life of a fellow man--that I never caused a man to suffer and die in consequence of ill-treatment inflicted by me; and still I am tried for murder. Men have sworn that they saw me do it; they have called on Thee to witness that they would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and still they told a lie--a lie as black as hell itself. Why did you not send a thunderbolt from the high heavens--why, oh God, why? Because it is Thy holy will, and in humility I kiss the rod with which Thou seest proper to chastise me.

“The second reason why I did not destroy a life which is a burden to me, is because I owed it to myself, my family, my relatives, even to the world at large, to prove that there never existed a man so utterly devoid of all humanity, such a fiend incarnate, as it has been attempted to prove me to be. I see very well that I have no earthly show--that I am a doomed man; but thanks be to God that I am enabled to say with holy Stephanus: Lord, lay not this sin to their charge. They judge from what they hear and I must abide by it.

“_Oct. 2, 1865._--Another day has passed. I am tired and worn out; whichever way I turn my eyes everything looks gloomy and dark. Can it be possible that, knowing what I do know, I shall fall a victim. But why do I doubt? What right have I to grumble, as if it were a thing unheard of in history that men suffered the death of a felon as innocent of the crime alleged as I am; and if I dare to make a comparison between our Saviour and myself, did not He also suffer death? True, he died as an atonement for a sinful world; true, He died willingly; He had a holy mission to fulfill; but I? Why should I die? I can only say, because it is God’s will. Oh, God! Our Heavenly Father, give me grace, give me the power to bear the cross which Thou seest fit to lay on me. Have I not often sinned against Thee, and neglected the holy commandments? If I suffer now innocently can I, dare I say, I never offended Thee? Therefore be calm, my poor heart. Give thyself into His hands and say, Abba! Father!

“_Oct. 3. 1865._--What a mockery is this trial. I feel at times as if I ought to speak out aloud and tell them, why do you wrong yourself and me too? Why not end the game at once? Take me and hang me and be done with it. A few days I asked to arrange my defense; it was refused on the ground that I had ample time. Ample time, indeed! May the day be far distant for General Wallace when he may plead with grim death for a day, and receive the answer, No! I just received a note from my wife, saying she had tried in every way to see me, but impossible. She says she is going to her mother in Kentucky, and hopes to be able to do more for me there than in remaining here. Poor, deluded woman, what do you expect to accomplish, what can you do for me but pray? Oh, what a consolation it is to a person in a situation like mine, that there is in the wide, wide world at least one being that will pray for me. Yes, pray; but pray for thyself; the road thou hast to travel is a hard one; when thou findest out that when you pressed my hand two weeks ago, when thy lips touched mine, it was in all probability the last time _then_ dost thou need all the comfort prayer can give. May God bless you, and take care of you and the dear, dear children--I must end. Everything swims before my eyes--God, oh, God, have mercy upon me.

“_Oct. 4. 1865._--What a mockery this trial is. They say that they are anxious that I should have justice done to me, and then when a witness is put on the stand to give testimony they try everything to break him down; if they cannot do it, they try to assail his private character. When they had their own witnesses up, they not alone were allowed to state everything I said, everything I done, but even what they heard others say that I had said so and so, done such and such things, and now, when I wish to prove by my witnesses what I also said and done, it is said it is inadmissible. I might just as well be put on the stand myself, as if I had said those things now and not a year ago, when I had no idea that I should be held to account hereafter. But so the world goes, and all I can say is, Oh, God, give me strength to bear with patience and humility what Thou seest fit to put on me. Be Thou my judge.

“_Oct. 5, 1865._--When I left the courtroom to-day, I heard a lady remark: ‘I wish I could shoot out his eyes,’ meaning me. Foolish woman! The time will come when my earthly eyes are shut up; are you in such a hurry? But it is very natural that people do think and pass such remarks. For weeks and weeks they have heard men testify to cruelties done by me and now a very slim chance have I to contradict these statements. It seems to me as if General Wallace had a personal spite against me or my counsel, or he would not act the way he does. If he has one against me, I pity him that he has not more magnanimity of soul than to crush me in such an unheard-of arbitrary way; if he has a spite against my counsel, it is a cowardly act to do as he does, for in the end I am the sufferer, and not my counsel.

“_Oct. 6, 1865._--Another day passed. I wish the trial was over. I wonder what unheard-of resolutions the court will pass again to-morrow. I did not feel it so keenly to-day as I felt it other days, and I have to thank God for it in permitting me to partake of the Holy Communion this morning. I feel less contempt for those who are sitting in judgment over me. If it is God’s will to open their eyes and hearts, He alone has the power to do it. I am certain that none of the court, nor the Judge Advocate, considers and believes me guilty. They all know that the whole thing is a farce. Cruelties have been committed at Andersonville: some one has to suffer for it; they have me; therefore, I am the one, _voila tout_.”

MONUMENT AT ANDERSONVILLE

After more than forty years had passed an act of tardy justice was performed, when a monument was unveiled at Andersonville, in memory of the man who was the victim of cruel injustice and put to death for crimes of which he was innocent.

The monument is a shaft of gray and white, 35 feet in height and simple in design. The base is formed by four square slabs of stone superimposed in the form of a pyramid. Above this are two heavy blocks of stone, on the four sides of which are carved the following inscriptions:

NORTH SIDE

“When time shall have softened passion and prejudice, when reason shall have stripped the mask from misrepresentation, then Justice, holding evenly her scales, will require much of past censure and praise to change places.

“JEFFERSON DAVIS.

“_December, 1888._”

SOUTH SIDE

“Discharging his duty with such humanity as the harsh circumstances of the times and the policy of the foe permitted, Captain Wirz became at last the victim of a misdirected popular clamor. He was arrested in time of peace while under the protection of a parole, tried by a military commission of a service to which he did not belong and condemned to ignominious death on charges of excessive cruelty to Federal prisoners. He indignantly spurned a pardon proffered on condition that he would incriminate President Davis and thus exonerate himself from charges of which both were innocent.”

EAST SIDE

“In memory of Captain Henry Wirz, C. S. A. Born in Zurich, Switzerland, 1822. Sentenced to death and executed at Washington, D. C., November 10, 1865. To rescue his name from the stigma attached to it by embittered prejudice this shaft is erected by the Georgia Division United Daughters of the Confederacy.”

WEST SIDE

“It is hard on our men held in Southern prisons not to exchange them, but it is humanity to those left in the ranks to fight our battles. At this particular time to release all Rebel prisoners North would insure Sherman’s defeat and would compromise our safety here.

“ULYSSES S. GRANT.

“_August 18, 1864._”

FAIRFAX COURT HOUSE RAID AND CAPTURE OF GENERAL STOUGHTON

As detailed accounts of this famous raid have been so often published I will not repeat the story here. A little incident connected with it, however, may be new to some of my readers:

In October, 1906, there was a reunion of the old-time Telegraphers’ and Historical Association held in Washington, D. C. From a special dispatch to the _Baltimore Sun_ of October 11th, I take the following:

“Another interesting war-time telegrapher attending the Convention is R. F. Weitbrec, now a wealthy contractor of Denver. In March, 1863, he was operator for General Stoughton, whose headquarters were at Fairfax Court House, with several thousand men.

“‘Hooker had more than 100,000 men between us and Lee’s army,’ he said to-day, ‘and we felt as safe as if we were in Boston. My office and living quarters were in a tent in the yard of the General’s headquarters. About three o’clock one rainy night I was rudely awakened by some one playing “ride a cock horse” on my stomach. There had been several gay young lieutenants around my camp who made a practice of coming to my tent at unseemly hours and having fun with me.

“‘In the darkness I mistook the person on my stomach for one of these, and tried to throw him off. Instantly my throat was clutched and I felt a cold muzzle against my temple.[L] That moment a light flared up and my intruders were two Confederate cavalrymen, who told me they were Mosby’s men, who had gobbled up a General with a lot of horses and prisoners. One of them whittled my telegraph instrument into junk. I was taken out, mounted on a horse and taken on one of the wildest rides ever experienced by a human being. There were only a dozen or two of the cavalrymen. They had nearly 100 horses and prisoners. Besides, they were surrounded by thousands of our soldiers and didn’t stop for sentries, except to grab and take them along. By daybreak they had us outside the Federal lines, and breakfast didn’t come for anybody in the party until late that evening. I spent several months in prison, and when exchanged went West, where Indian hunting proved tamer than pastoral life in Virginia during the war?’”

* * * * *

In “Historic Records of the Fifth New York Cavalry,” by Rev. Louis N. Boudrye, Chaplain of the Regiment, I find the following:

“_March 9th._--About 3 o’clock A.M. Mosby and his gang, led by Sergeant James F. Ames, formerly of Company L, of this regiment, having safely passed the pickets, entered Fairfax Court House. Without scarcely firing a shot they captured 50 fine horses and about 30 prisoners, including Brigadier-General Stoughton and Captain Barker of the Fifth New York Cavalry. The brigade was sent in pursuit of the dashing party, each regiment taking different routes, but they returned at night unsuccessful, the Fifth New York having gone to Herndon Station. Such a raid, five or six miles within our lines, resulting in such a heavy loss to us, reflects very uncreditably upon some of our military leaders, while it shows how wily a foe we have to contend with.”

When Company F, Mosby’s Battalion, was organized, James F. Ames, usually spoken of as “Big Yankee,” was chosen as second lieutenant. He was killed October 9th, 1864, at Mrs. Shacklett’s gate on the road to Piedmont (now called Delaplane) by a Federal scout who came out with one of the parties from Rectortown that morning, and while this scout was rifling the corpse, he was killed by one of Mosby’s men, Lud. Lake.

INDEX

A

Adreon, George S., escape, 52.

Allsman, Andrew, 65, 66.

Ames, Lieut. James F., 156.

Andersonville (see Wirz).

Armand, William, 76, 77.

Ayre, George S., arrested, robbed and imprisoned, 44. Hostage for Steers, 45.

B

Baker, Willis, 66.

Ballon, Sylvester, 143.

Baltimore, 12, 13.

Barnes, John H., 86, 88, 97, 102, 103, 104, 108, 113, 114, 118, 119.

Barrett, Boyd, 67, 73.

Bennett, ----, 119. Tells mule story, 69.

Bixler, Lieut., at Parole Camp, 104.

Bixler, Morgan, 66.

Blockade runners, 38, 46, 47, 64, 75, 78, 79.

Bowles, Benjamin F., 104.

Boyd, Belle, Gus Williams tells of her imprisonment, 50. Her remarkable career, 51. Supt. Wood spoke of her, 52.

Brawner, Redmond F., imprisoned and family driven from home, 44.

Breckenridge, Major, 104.

Bribery, 37, 38, 52, 67.

Buell, Colonel, 85.

C

Camp Chase, prisoners tell of treatment there, 100, 101, 102. Three little boys from, 67.

Camp Douglas, prisoners tell of cruel treatment and great mortality at, 100, 101, 104. Verified by Official Records, 101.

Camp Parole, hardships at, 101. Exchange of prisoners, 102. Vermin, 105, 106.

Carr, John, sad experience, 60. Dr. Green and his mules, 70.

Carroll Prison (Duff Green’s Row), 22, 75, 87.

Carter, H. Fitzhugh, 119. Answers at roll-call, 81. Also at “sick call,” 82, 83.

Chandler, ----, 119.

Charlie, our friendly contraband and our Ganymede, 53.

Children held as prisoners, 66, 67, 68, 87, 104.

City Point, Va., 95. As it looked in spring of 1863, 96.

Clift, ----, 119.

Collision on railroad, 14.

Comastri, Marco, 61, 77, 119.

Commission to try State prisoners, 61, 69.

_Congress_ and _Cumberland_, wrecks of, 91.

Cooke ----, 104.

D

Daily routine of prison life, 54.

Daniels, ----, 40, 41.

Darling, Captain, rumor of his escape, 52. On flag-of-truce boat, 91.

Davis, ----, (blockade runner), 52, 119.