“All of you stop now, and let the priest talk for us.”
At this the priest closed the book upon which he had kept his eyes bent since his entrance, and facing the multitude on the North Side began a plea for mercy.
The condemned faced in the same direction, to read their fate in the countenances of those whom he was addressing. This movement brought Curtis—a low-statured, massively built man—on the right of their line, and about ten or fifteen steps from my company.
The whole camp had been as still as death since Wirz's exit. The silence seemed to become even more profound as the priest began his appeal. For a minute every ear was strained to catch what he said. Then, as the nearest of the thousands comprehended what he was saying they raised a shout of “No! no!! NO!!” “Hang them! hang them!” “Don't let them go! Never!”
“Hang the rascals! hang the villains!”
“Hang,'em! hang 'em! hang 'em!”
This was taken up all over the prison, and tens of thousands throats yelled it in a fearful chorus.
Curtis turned from the crowd with desperation convulsing his features. Tearing off the broad-brimmed hat which he wore, he flung it on the ground with the exclamation!
“By God, I'll die this way first!” and, drawing his head down and folding his arms about it, he dashed forward for the center of my company, like a great stone hurled from a catapult.
“Egypt” and I saw where he was going to strike, and ran down the line to help stop him. As he came up we rained blows on his head with our clubs, but so many of us struck at him at once that we broke each other's clubs to pieces, and only knocked him on his knees. He rose with an almost superhuman effort, and plunged into the mass beyond.