Payne was a very good man physically, and was yet in fair condition.  The Raiders came up one day with their best man—­Pete Donnelly—­and provoked a fight, intending, in the course of it, to kill Payne.  We, who knew Payee, felt reasonably confident of his ability to handle even so redoubtable a pugilist as Donnelly, and we gathered together a little squad of our friends to see fair play.

The fight began after the usual amount of bad talk on both sides, and we were pleased to see our man slowly get the better of the New York plug-ugly.  After several sharp rounds they closed, and still Payne was ahead, but in an evil moment he spied a pine knot at his feet, which he thought he could reach, and end the fight by cracking Donnelly’s head with it.  Donnelly took instant advantage of the movement to get it, threw Payne heavily, and fell upon him.  His crowd rushed in to finish our man by clubbing him over the head.  We sailed in to prevent this, and after a rattling exchange of blows all around, succeeded in getting Payne away.

The issue of the fight seemed rather against us, however, and the Raiders were much emboldened.  Payne kept close to his crowd after that, and as we had shown such an entire willingness to stand by him, the Raiders —­with their accustomed prudence when real fighting was involved—­did not attempt to molest him farther, though they talked very savagely.

A few days after this Sergeant Goody and Corporal Ned Carrigan, both of our battalion, came in.  I must ask the reader to again recall the fact that Sergeant Goody was one of the six hangmen who put the meal-sacks over the heads, and the ropes around the necks of the condemned.  Corporal Carrigan was the gigantic prize fighter, who was universally acknowledged to be the best man physically among the whole thirty-four thousand in Andersonville.  The Raiders knew that Goody had come in before we of his own battalion did.  They resolved to kill him then and there, and in broad daylight.  He had secured in some way a shelter tent, and was inside of it fixing it up.  The Raider crowd, headed by Pete Donnelly, and Dick Allen, went up to his tent and one of them called to him: 

“Sergeant, come out; I want to see you.”

Goody, supposing it was one of us, came crawling out on his hands and knees.  As he did so their heavy clubs crashed down upon his head.  He was neither killed nor stunned, as they had reason to expect.  He succeeded in rising to his feet, and breaking through the crowd of assassins.  He dashed down the side of the hill, hotly pursued by them.  Coming to the Creek, he leaped it in his excitement, but his pursuers could not, and were checked.  One of our battalion boys, who saw and comprehended the whole affair, ran over to us, shouting: 

“Turn out! turn out, for God’s sake! the Raiders are killing Goody!”