The N’Yaarkers had still another method for getting food, money, blankets and clothing.  They formed little bands called “Raiders,” under the leadership of a chief villain.  One of these bands would select as their victim a man who had good blankets, clothes, a watch, or greenbacks.  Frequently he would be one of the little traders, with a sack of beans, a piece of meat, or something of that kind.  Pouncing upon him at night they would snatch away his possessions, knock down his friends who came to his assistance, and scurry away into the darkness.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Longings for god’s country—­considerations of the methods of getting there—­exchange and escape—­digging tunnels, and the difficulties connected therewith—­punishment of A traitor.

To our minds the world now contained but two grand divisions, as widely different from each other as happiness and misery.  The first—­that portion over which our flag floated was usually spoken of as “God’s Country;” the other—­that under the baneful shadow of the banner of rebellion—­was designated by the most opprobrious epithets at the speaker’s command.

To get from the latter to the former was to attain, at one bound, the highest good.  Better to be a doorkeeper in the House of the Lord, under the Stars and Stripes, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness, under the hateful Southern Cross.

To take even the humblest and hardest of service in the field now would be a delightsome change.  We did not ask to go home—­we would be content with anything, so long as it was in that blest place “within our lines.”  Only let us get back once, and there would be no more grumbling at rations or guard duty—­we would willingly endure all the hardships and privations that soldier flesh is heir to.

There were two ways of getting back—­escape and exchange.  Exchange was like the ever receding mirage of the desert, that lures the thirsty traveler on over the parched sands, with illusions of refreshing springs, only to leave his bones at last to whiten by the side of those of his unremembered predecessors.  Every day there came something to build up the hopes that exchange was near at hand—­every day brought something to extinguish the hopes of the preceding one.  We took these varying phases according to our several temperaments.  The sanguine built themselves up on the encouraging reports; the desponding sank down and died under the discouraging ones.

Escape was a perpetual allurement.  To the actively inclined among us it seemed always possible, and daring, busy brains were indefatigable in concocting schemes for it.  The only bit of Rebel brain work that I ever saw for which I did not feel contempt was the perfect precautions taken to prevent our escape.  This is shown by the fact that, although, from first to last, there were nearly fifty thousand prisoners in Andersonville, and three out of every five of these were ever on the alert to take French leave of their captors, only three hundred and twenty-eight succeeded in getting so far away from Andersonville as to leave it to be presumed that they had reached our lines.