Prize-fight among the N’YAARKERS-A great many formalities, and little blood spilt-A futile attempt to recover A watch-defeat of the law and order party.

One of the train-loads from Richmond was almost wholly made up of our old acquaintances-the N’Yaarkers.  The number of these had swelled to four hundred or five hundred-all leagued together in the fellowship of crime.

We did not manifest any keen desire for intimate social relations with them, and they did not seem to hunger for our society, so they moved across the creek to the unoccupied South Side, and established their camp there, at a considerable distance from us.

One afternoon a number of us went across to their camp, to witness a fight according to the rules of the Prize Ring, which was to come off between two professional pugilists.  These were a couple of bounty-jumpers who had some little reputation in New York sporting circles, under the names of the “Staleybridge Chicken” and the “Haarlem Infant.”

On the way from Richmond a cast-iron skillet, or spider, had been stolen by the crowd from the Rebels.  It was a small affair, holding a half gallon, and worth to-day about fifty cents.  In Andersonville its worth was literally above rubies.  Two men belonging to different messes each claimed the ownership of the utensil, on the ground of being most active in securing it.  Their claims were strenuously supported by their respective messes, at the heads of which were the aforesaid Infant and Chicken.  A great deal of strong talk, and several indecisive knock-downs resulted in an agreement to settle the matter by wager of battle between the Infant and Chicken.

When we arrived a twenty-four foot ring had been prepared by drawing a deep mark in the sand.  In diagonally opposite corners of these the seconds were kneeling on one knee and supporting their principals on the other by their sides they had little vessels of water, and bundles of rags to answer for sponges.  Another corner was occupied by the umpire, a foul-mouthed, loud-tongued Tombs shyster, named Pete Bradley.  A long-bodied, short-legged hoodlum, nick-named “Heenan,” armed with a club, acted as ring keeper, and “belted” back, remorselessly, any of the spectators who crowded over the line.  Did he see a foot obtruding itself so much as an inch over the mark in the sand-and the pressure from the crowd behind was so great that it was difficult for the front fellows to keep off the line-his heavy club and a blasting curse would fall upon the offender simultaneously.

Every effort was made to have all things conform as nearly as possible to the recognized practices of the “London Prize Ring.”

At Bradley’s call of “Time!” the principals would rise from their seconds’ knees, advance briskly to the scratch across the center of the ring, and spar away sharply for a little time, until one got in a blow that sent the other to the ground, where he would lie until his second picked him up, carried him back, washed his face off, and gave him a drink.  He then rested until the next call of time.

This sort of performance went on for an hour or more, with the knockdowns and other casualities pretty evenly divided between the two.  Then it became apparent that the Infant was getting more than he had storage room for.  His interest in the skillet was evidently abating, the leering grin he wore upon his face during the early part of the engagement had disappeared long ago, as the successive “hot ones” which the Chicken had succeeded in planting upon his mouth, put it out of his power to “smile and smile,” “e’en though he might still be a villain.”  He began coming up to the scratch as sluggishly as a hired man starting out for his day’s work, and finally he did not come up at all.  A bunch of blood soaked rags was tossed into the air from his corner, and Bradley declared the Chicken to be the victor, amid enthusiastic cheers from the crowd.

We voted the thing rather tame.  In the whole hour and a-half there was not so much savage fighting, not so much damage done, as a couple of earnest, but unscientific men, who have no time to waste, will frequently crowd into an impromptu affair not exceeding five minutes in duration.

Our next visit to the N’Yaarkers was on a different errand.  The moment they arrived in camp we began to be annoyed by their depredations.  Blankets-the sole protection of men-would be snatched off as they slept at night.  Articles of clothing and cooking utensils would go the same way, and occasionally a man would be robbed in open daylight.  All these, it was believed, with good reason, were the work of the N’Yaarkers, and the stolen things were conveyed to their camp.  Occasionally depredators would be caught and beaten, but they would give a signal which would bring to their assistance the whole body of N’Yaarkers, and turn the tables on their assailants.

We had in our squad a little watchmaker named Dan Martin, of the Eighth New York Infantry.  Other boys let him take their watches to tinker up, so as to make a show of running, and be available for trading to the guards.

One day Martin was at the creek, when a N’Yaarker asked him to let him look at a watch.  Martin incautiously did so, when the N’Yaarker snatched it and sped away to the camp of his crowd.  Martin ran back to us and told his story.  This was the last feather which was to break the camel’s back of our patience.  Peter Bates, of the Third Michigan, the Sergeant of our squad, had considerable confidence in his muscular ability.  He flamed up into mighty wrath, and swore a sulphurous oath that we would get that watch back, whereupon about two hundred of us avowed our willingness to help reclaim it.

Each of us providing ourselves with a club, we started on our errand.  The rest of the camp-about four thousand-gathered on the hillside to watch us.  We thought they might have sent us some assistance, as it was about as much their fight as ours, but they did not, and we were too proud to ask it.  The crossing of the swamp was quite difficult.  Only one could go over at a time, and he very slowly.  The N’Yaarkers understood that trouble was pending, and they began mustering to receive us.  From the way they turned out it was evident that we should have come over with three hundred instead of two hundred, but it was too late then to alter the program.  As we came up a stalwart Irishman stepped out and asked us what we wanted.

Bates replied:  “We have come over to get a watch that one of your fellows took from one of ours, and by –­ we’re going to have it.”

The Irishman’s reply was equally explicit though not strictly logical in construction.  Said he:  “We havn’t got your watch, and be ye can’t have it.”

This joined the issue just as fairly as if it had been done by all the documentary formula that passed between Turkey and Russia prior to the late war.  Bates and the Irishman then exchanged very derogatory opinions of each other, and began striking with their clubs.  The rest of us took this as our cue, and each, selecting as small a N’Yaarker as we could readily find, sailed in.

There is a very expressive bit of slang coming into general use in the West, which speaks of a man “biting off more than he can chew.”

That is what we had done.  We had taken a contract that we should have divided, and sub-let the bigger half.  Two minutes after the engagement became general there was no doubt that we would have been much better off if we had staid on our own side of the creek.  The watch was a very poor one, anyhow.  We thought we would just say good day to our N’Yaark friends, and return home hastily.  But they declined to be left so precipitately.  They wanted to stay with us awhile.  It was lots of fun for them, and for the four thousand yelling spectators on the opposite hill, who were greatly enjoying our discomfiture.  There was hardly enough of the amusement to go clear around, however, and it all fell short just before it reached us.  We earnestly wished that some of the boys would come over and help us let go of the N’Yaarkers, but they were enjoying the thing too much to interfere.

We were driven down the hill, pell-mell, with the N’Yaarkers pursuing hotly with yell and blow.  At the swamp we tried to make a stand to secure our passage across, but it was only partially successful.  Very few got back without some severe hurts, and many received blows that greatly hastened their deaths.

After this the N’Yaarkers became bolder in their robberies, and more arrogant in their demeanor than ever, and we had the poor revenge upon those who would not assist us, of seeing a reign of terror inaugurated over the whole camp.