Andersonville, vol 2 | Page 9

Eighth Tennessee. It was a fine illustration of
the development of the commercial instinct in some men. No more
unlikely place for making money could be imagined, yet starting in
without a cent, they contrived to turn and twist and trade, until they had
transferred to their pockets a portion of the funds which were in some
one else's. The Rebels, of course, got nine out of every ten dollars there
was in the prison, but these middle men contrived to have a little of it
stick to their fingers.
It was only the very few who were able to do this. Nine hundred and
ninety-nine out of every thousand were, like myself, either wholly
destitute of money and unable to get it from anybody else, or they paid
out what money they had to the middlemen, in exorbitant prices for

articles of food.
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.
The first, and almost superhuman difficulty was to get outside the
Stockade. It was simply impossible to scale it. The guards were too
close together to allow an instant's hope to the most sanguine, that he
could even pass the Dead Line without being shot by some one of them.
This same closeness prevented any hope of bribing them. To be
successful half those on post would have to be bribed, as every part of
the Stockade was clearly visible from every other part, and there was
no night so dark as not to allow a plain view to a number of guards of
the dark figure outlined against the light colored logs of any Yankee
who should essay to clamber towards the top of the palisades.
The gates were so carefully guarded every time