Raiders going on worse than ever before. A perfect
pandemonium Something must be done, and that quickly. There is danger enough
from disease, without being killed by raiders. Any moment fifty or a hundred of
them are liable to pounce upon our mess, knock right and left and take the very
clothing off our backs. No one is safe from them. It is hoped that the more
peaceable sort will rise in their might and put them down. Our misery is
certainly complete without this trouble added to it. We should die in peace
anyway. Battese has called his Indian friends all together, and probably a
hundred of us are banded together for self protection. The animal predominates.
All restraint is thrown off and the very Old Harry is to pay. The farther
advanced the summer, the death rate increases, until they die off by scores. I
walk around to see friends of a few days ago and am told “dead.” Men stand it
nobly and are apparently ordinarily well, when all at once they go. Like a
horse, that will stand up until he drops dead. Some of the most horrible sights
that can possibly be, are common every day occurrences. See men laying all
around in the last struggles.
SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p.
72
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