CHAPTER XXXVI.

Why the regulators were not assisted by the entire camp—­peculiarities of boys from different sections—­hunting the raiders down—­exploits of my left-handed lieutenant—­running the gauntlet.

I may not have made it wholly clear to the reader why we did not have the active assistance of the whole prison in the struggle with the Raiders.  There were many reasons for this.  First, the great bulk of the prisoners were new comers, having been, at the farthest, but three or four weeks in the Stockade.  They did not comprehend the situation of affairs as we older prisoners did.  They did not understand that all the outrages—­or very nearly all—­were the work of—­a relatively small crowd of graduates from the metropolitan school of vice.  The activity and audacity of the Raiders gave them the impression that at least half the able-bodied men in the Stockade were engaged in these depredations.  This is always the case.  A half dozen burglars or other active criminals in a town will produce the impression that a large portion of the population are law breakers.  We never estimated that the raiding N’Yaarkers, with their spies and other accomplices, exceeded five hundred, but it would have been difficult to convince a new prisoner that there were not thousands of them.  Secondly, the prisoners were made up of small squads from every regiment at the front along the whole line from the Mississippi to the Atlantic.  These were strangers to and distrustful of all out side their own little circles.  The Eastern men were especially so.  The Pennsylvanians and New Yorkers each formed groups, and did not fraternize readily with those outside their State lines.  The New Jerseyans held aloof from all the rest, while the Massachusetts soldiers had very little in Common with anybody—­even their fellow New Englanders.  The Michigan men were modified New Englanders.  They had the same tricks of speech; they said “I be” for “I am,” and “haag” for “hog;” “Let me look at your knife half a second,” or “Give me just a sup of that water,” where we said simply “Lend me your knife,” or “hand me a drink.”  They were less reserved than the true Yankees, more disposed to be social, and, with all their eccentricities, were as manly, honorable a set of fellows as it was my fortune to meet with in the army.  I could ask no better comrades than the boys of the Third Michigan Infantry, who belonged to the same “Ninety” with me.  The boys from Minnesota and Wisconsin were very much like those from Michigan.  Those from Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa and Kansas all seemed cut off the same piece.  To all intents and purposes they might have come from the same County.  They spoke the same dialect, read the same newspapers,