The Murder of A.C. Sloan: McDonough’s Tragedy

On the night of May 22, 1892, McDonough was shaken by one of the most cold-blooded and mysterious crimes in its history — the murder of Captain Adam C. Sloan. Even now, over a century later, it remains one of the most senseless and tragic losses this town has ever endured.

Captain Sloan wasn’t just any man in McDonough. He was a fixture of the community. Known as a kind and upright citizen, he had spent his seventy years in hard work and honest living. Those who knew him best spoke of his gentle nature and the kindness he showed to every person he met as he rode daily through town

His neighbors respected him deeply; his family adored him. He and his wife had built a quiet, simple life together over the course of fifty years of marriage. They lived with their daughter and granddaughter in a modest but comfortable home on the edge of town, not far from where the Judicial Center parking deck now sits.

On that Sunday evening, like so many evenings before, Captain Sloan returned home, sat down to supper with his family, and led them in their nightly prayers. Those who heard his words later recalled that he had prayed fervently that evening for the promise of everlasting life when his time on earth should come to an end. None could have imagined that such a violent end awaited him within the hour.

Adam Sloan

Later that night, while his wife and granddaughter slept peacefully in the same room, his young granddaughter awoke, thirsty, and rose to fetch a drink of water. As she moved quietly through the darkness, she noticed something near the doorway — a sudden flash, the crack of a pistol, and the whistle of a bullet slamming into the footboard of the bed where she had just been moments before. Another shot followed in rapid succession. She turned in terror just in time to see her grandfather rise from his bed, covered by a simple calico spread. Two more shots rang out, and with a groan and a wild flailing of his hands, Captain Sloan fell back onto his pillow, mortally wounded.

The household erupted in chaos. The granddaughter ran to summon help, and neighbors quickly arrived. They found Captain Sloan alive but gravely injured, a bullet wound near his heart. He lingered through the night and into the next day, but he could not survive the violence that had been brought upon him in his own home.

Sloan’s wife Elizabeth

At first, the murder was shrouded in mystery. A satchel in the room had been rifled through. Signs of disturbance were found all around the house — even the kitchen bore evidence that the intruder had eaten there, calmly, without fear of discovery. Outside, beneath a window, investigators found the distinct impression of a round object pressed into the dirt — a small but valuable clue.

The people of McDonough feared the truth would never be known. Captain Sloan was laid to rest in the quiet of the churchyard, mourned by a community that struggled to understand how such evil had come to visit one of their own. But behind the scenes, work continued. Sheriff Newt Glass of Henry County was relentless in his pursuit of justice. Atlanta’s detective force joined in the effort, combing through what little evidence there was.

In time, suspicion turned toward a man named Ben Bivins — a Black preacher and carpenter who lived in McDonough but worked in Atlanta. Though Bivins had maintained the appearance of normalcy — attending church, collecting offerings during hymns like “Play on Your Harp, Little David” — detectives traced his movements that night and grew convinced of his involvement.

Through tireless investigation, and with pressure mounting, Bivins was arrested on Decatur Street in Atlanta. Under harsh questioning, he finally confessed: he and two other men, Jim Schaefer and Henry Harrison, had gone to the Sloan home that night intending to rob Captain Sloan. After several failed attempts to gain entry, Schaefer slipped into the house while Bivins and Harrison kept watch. It was Schaefer who fired the fatal shots. Bivins drew a detailed diagram of the house and the streets surrounding it, showing precisely where each man had stood that night. Overcome with shame, he broke down in tears.

Despite Bivins’ confession, the others denied involvement. They were arrested and brought back to McDonough for trial. The case caused a sensation — both because of the brutality of the crime and because of the involvement of a preacher in such an unforgivable act.

Thanks to the efforts of Sheriff Newt Glass and the Atlanta detectives, justice would eventually be served. A reward of $1,000 had been offered for the capture of the killers — but for those who loved Captain Sloan, no amount of money could undo the loss they had suffered.

Today, few in McDonough remember this dark chapter, but it serves as a reminder: even in small towns where neighbors know one another and life seems simple, violence can find its way in. Yet the story of Captain Sloan’s life should not be overshadowed by the manner of his death. He lived as a man of integrity, kindness, and faith. That is how McDonough ought to remember him.