A community without government-formation of the regulators-raiders attack key but are bluffed off-assault of the regulators on the raiders -desperate battle-overthrow of the raiders.

To fully appreciate the condition of affairs let it be remembered that we were a community of twenty-five thousand boys and young men-none too regardful of control at best-and now wholly destitute of government.  The Rebels never made the slightest attempt to maintain order in the prison.  Their whole energies were concentrated in preventing our escape.  So long as we staid inside the Stockade, they cared as little what we did there as for the performances of savages in the interior of Africa.  I doubt if they would have interfered had one-half of us killed and eaten the other half.  They rather took a delight in such atrocities as came to their notice.  It was an ocular demonstration of the total depravity of the Yankees.

Among ourselves there was no one in position to lay down law and enforce it.  Being all enlisted men we were on a dead level as far as rank was concerned-the highest being only Sergeants, whose stripes carried no weight of authority.  The time of our stay was-it was hoped-too transient to make it worth while bothering about organizing any form of government.  The great bulk of the boys were recent comers, who hoped that in another week or so they would be out again.  There were no fat salaries to tempt any one to take upon himself the duty of ruling the masses, and all were left to their own devices, to do good or evil, according to their several bents, and as fear of consequences swayed them.  Each little squad of men was a law unto themselves, and made and enforced their own regulations on their own territory.  The administration of justice was reduced to its simplest terms.  If a fellow did wrong he was pounded-if there was anybody capable of doing it.  If not he went free.

The almost unvarying success of the Raiders in-their forays gave the general impression that they were invincible-that is, that not enough men could be concentrated against them to whip them.  Our ill-success in the attack we made on them in April helped us to the same belief.  If we could not beat them then, we could not now, after we had been enfeebled by months of starvation and disease.  It seemed to us that the Plymouth Pilgrims, whose organization was yet very strong, should undertake the task; but, as is usually the case in this world, where we think somebody else ought to undertake the performance of a disagreeable public duty, they did not see it in the light that we wished them to.  They established guards around their squads, and helped beat off the Raiders when their own territory was invaded, but this was all they would do.  The rest of us formed similar guards.  In the southwest corner of the Stockade-where I was-we formed ourselves into a company of fifty active boys-mostly belonging to my own battalion and to other Illinois regiments-of which I was elected Captain.  My First Lieutenant was a tall, taciturn, long-armed member of the One Hundred and Eleventh Illinois, whom we called “Egypt,” as he came from that section of the State.  He was wonderfully handy with his fists.  I think he could knock a fellow down so that he would fall-harder, and lie longer than any person I ever saw.  We made a tacit division of duties:  I did the talking, and “Egypt” went through the manual labor of knocking our opponents down.  In the numerous little encounters in which our company was engaged, “Egypt” would stand by my side, silent, grim and patient, while I pursued the dialogue with the leader of the other crowd.  As soon as he thought the conversation had reached the proper point, his long left arm stretched out like a flash, and the other fellow dropped as if he had suddenly come in range of a mule that was feeling well.  That unexpected left-hander never failed.  It would have made Charles Reade’s heart leap for joy to see it.

In spite of our company and our watchfulness, the Raiders beat us badly on one occasion.  Marion Friend, of Company I of our battalion, was one of the small traders, and had accumulated forty dollars by his bartering.  One evening at dusk Delaney’s Raiders, about twenty-five strong, took advantage of the absence of most of us drawing rations, to make a rush for Marion.  They knocked him down, cut him across the wrist and neck with a razor, and robbed him of his forty dollars.  By the time we could rally Delaney and his attendant scoundrels were safe from pursuit in the midst of their friends.

This state of things had become unendurable.  Sergeant Leroy L. Key, of Company M, our battalion, resolved to make an effort to crush the Raiders.  He was a printer, from Bloomington, Illinois, tall, dark, intelligent and strong-willed, and one of the bravest men I ever knew.  He was ably seconded by “Limber Jim,” of the Sixty-Seventh Illinois, whose lithe, sinewy form, and striking features reminded one of a young Sioux brave.  He had all of Key’s desperate courage, but not his brains or his talent for leadership.  Though fearfully reduced in numbers, our battalion had still about one hundred well men in it, and these formed the nucleus for Key’s band of “Regulators,” as they were styled.  Among them were several who had no equals in physical strength and courage in any of the Raider chiefs.  Our best man was Ned Carrigan, Corporal of Company I, from Chicago-who was so confessedly the best man in the whole prison that he was never called upon to demonstrate it.  He was a big-hearted, genial Irish boy, who was never known to get into trouble on his own account, but only used his fists when some of his comrades were imposed upon.  He had fought in the ring, and on one occasion had killed a man with a single blow of his fist, in a prize fight near St. Louis.  We were all very proud of him, and it was as good as an entertainment to us to see the noisiest roughs subside into deferential silence as Ned would come among them, like some grand mastiff in the midst of a pack of yelping curs.  Ned entered into the regulating scheme heartily.  Other stalwart specimens of physical manhood in our battalion were Sergeant Goody, Ned Johnson, Tom Larkin, and others, who, while not approaching Carrigan’s perfect manhood, were still more than a match for the best of the Raiders.

Key proceeded with the greatest secrecy in the organization of his forces.  He accepted none but Western men, and preferred Illinoisans, Iowans, Kansans, Indianians and Ohioans.  The boys from those States seemed to naturally go together, and be moved by the same motives.  He informed Wirz what he proposed doing, so that any unusual commotion within the prison might not be mistaken for an attempt upon the Stockade, and made the excuse for opening with the artillery.  Wirz, who happened to be in a complaisant humor, approved of the design, and allowed him the use of the enclosure of the North Gate to confine his prisoners in.

In spite of Key’s efforts at secrecy, information as to his scheme reached the Raiders.  It was debated at their headquarters, and decided there that Key must be killed.  Three men were selected to do this work.  They called on Key, a dusk, on the evening of the 2d of July.  In response to their inquiries, he came out of the blanket-covered hole on the hillside that he called his tent.  They told him what they had heard, and asked if it was true.  He said it was.  One of them then drew a knife, and the other two, “billies” to attack him.  But, anticipating trouble, Key had procured a revolver which one of the Pilgrims had brought in in his knapsack and drawing this he drove them off, but without firing a shot.

The occurrence caused the greatest excitement.  To us of the Regulators it showed that the Raiders had penetrated our designs, and were prepared for them.  To the great majority of the prisoners it was the first intimation that such a thing was contemplated; the news spread from squad to squad with the greatest rapidity, and soon everybody was discussing the chances of the movement.  For awhile men ceased their interminable discussion of escape and exchange-let those over worked words and themes have a rare spell of repose-and debated whether the Raiders would whip the regulators, or the Regulators conquer the Raiders.  The reasons which I have previously enumerated, induced a general disbelief in the probability of our success.  The Raiders were in good health well fed, used to operating together, and had the confidence begotten by a long series of successes.  The Regulators lacked in all these respects.

Whether Key had originally fixed on the next day for making the attack, or whether this affair precipitated the crisis, I know not, but later in the evening he sent us all order:  to be on our guard all night, and ready for action the next morning.

There was very little sleep anywhere that night.  The Rebels learned through their spies that something unusual was going on inside, and as their only interpretation of anything unusual there was a design upon the Stockade, they strengthened the guards, took additional precautions in every way, and spent the hours in anxious anticipation.

We, fearing that the Raiders might attempt to frustrate the scheme by an attack in overpowering force on Key’s squad, which would be accompanied by the assassination of him and Limber Jim, held ourselves in readiness to offer any assistance that might be needed.

The Raiders, though confident of success, were no less exercised.  They threw out pickets to all the approaches to their headquarters, and provided otherwise against surprise.  They had smuggled in some canteens of a cheap, vile whisky made from sorghum-and they grew quite hilarious in their Big Tent over their potations.  Two songs had long ago been accepted by us as peculiarly the Raiders’ own-as some one in their crowd sang them nearly every evening, and we never heard them anywhere else.  The first began: 

               In Athol lived a man named Jerry Lanagan;
               He battered away till he hadn’t a pound. 
               His father he died, and he made him a man agin;
               Left him a farm of ten acres of ground.

The other related the exploits of an Irish highwayman named Brennan, whose chief virtue was that

What he rob-bed from the rich he gave unto the poor.

And this was the villainous chorus in which they all joined, and sang in such a way as suggested highway robbery, murder, mayhem and arson: 

               Brennan on the moor! 
               Brennan on the moor! 
               Proud and undaunted stood
               John Brennan on the moor.

They howled these two nearly the live-long night.  They became eventually quite monotonous to us, who were waiting and watching.  It would have been quite a relief if they had thrown in a new one every hour or so, by way of variety.

Morning at last came.  Our companies mustered on their grounds, and then marched to the space on the South Side where the rations were issued.  Each man was armed with a small club, secured to his wrist by a string.

The Rebels-with their chronic fear of an outbreak animating them-had all the infantry in line of battle with loaded guns.  The cannon in the works were shotted, the fuses thrust into the touch-holes and the men stood with lanyards in hand ready to mow down everybody, at any instant.

The sun rose rapidly through the clear sky, which soon glowed down on us like a brazen oven.  The whole camp gathered where it could best view the encounter.  This was upon the North Side.  As I have before explained the two sides sloped toward each other like those of a great trough.  The Raiders’ headquarters stood upon the center of the southern slope, and consequently those standing on the northern slope saw everything as if upon the stage of a theater.

While standing in ranks waiting the orders to move, one of my comrades touched me on the arm, and said: 

“My God! just look over there!”

I turned from watching the Rebel artillerists, whose intentions gave me more uneasiness than anything else, and looked in the direction indicated by the speaker.  The sight was the strangest one my eyes ever encountered.  There were at least fifteen thousand perhaps twenty thousand-men packed together on the bank, and every eye was turned on us.  The slope was such that each man’s face showed over the shoulders of the one in front of him, making acres on acres of faces.  It was as if the whole broad hillside was paved or thatched with human countenances.

When all was ready we moved down upon the Big Tent, in as good order as we could preserve while passing through the narrow tortuous paths between the tents.  Key, Limber Jim, Ned Carigan, Goody, Tom Larkin, and Ned Johnson led the advance with their companies.  The prison was as silent as a graveyard.  As we approached, the Raiders massed themselves in a strong, heavy line, with the center, against which our advance was moving, held by the most redoubtable of their leaders.  How many there were of them could not be told, as it was impossible to say where their line ended and the mass of spectators began.  They could not themselves tell, as the attitude of a large portion of the spectators would be determined by which way the battle went.

Not a blow was struck until the lines came close together.  Then the Raider center launched itself forward against ours, and grappled savagely with the leading Regulators.  For an instant-it seemed an hour-the struggle was desperate.

Strong, fierce men clenched and strove to throttle each other; great muscles strained almost to bursting, and blows with fist and club-dealt with all the energy of mortal hate-fell like hail.  One-perhaps two-endless minutes the lines surged-throbbed-backward and forward a step or two, and then, as if by a concentration of mighty effort, our men flung the Raider line back from it-broken-shattered.  The next instant our leaders were striding through the mass like raging lions.  Carrigan, Limber Jim, Larkin, Johnson and Goody each smote down a swath of men before them, as they moved resistlessly forward.

We light weights had been sent around on the flanks to separate the spectators from the combatants, strike the Raiders ‘en revers,’ and, as far as possible, keep the crowd from reinforcing them.

In five minutes after the first blow-was struck the overthrow of the Raiders was complete.  Resistance ceased, and they sought safety in flight.

As the result became apparent to the-watchers on the opposite hillside, they vented their pent-up excitement in a yell that made the very ground tremble, and we answered them with a shout that expressed not only our exultation over our victory, but our great relief from the intense strain we had long borne.

We picked up a few prisoners on the battle field, and retired without making any special effort to get any more then, as we knew, that they could not escape us.

We were very tired, and very hungry.  The time for drawing rations had arrived.  Wagons containing bread and mush had driven to the gates, but Wirz would not allow these to be opened, lest in the excited condition of the men an attempt might be made to carry them.  Key ordered operations to cease, that Wirz might be re-assured and let the rations enter.  It was in vain.  Wirz was thoroughly scared.  The wagons stood out in the hot sun until the mush fermented and soured, and had to be thrown away, while we event rationless to bed, and rose the next day with more than usually empty stomachs to goad us on to our work.