At Augusta we were put in close confinement again, under the tender auspices of a man named Bridges—a New York Yankee. He certainly can boast, hereafter, of one thing: the discovery of the smallest amount of food which is required to support human life. We were in the jail at Augusta 57 days, and at the end of that time, were so starved as to be mere shadows of what we were. I could no longer walk steadily, and felt as weak as when just beginning to walk after a severe attack of typhoid fever.

At the end of that time, Captain Bradford, the rebel Provost Marshal, came to see me, and we had a very pleasant conversation. He said that he used to be a scout in their service, and had been promoted for meritorious service. He informed us that our case had been submitted to their Secretary of War, and that the order was "close confinement during the war." Capt. Dearing also used to call and see us, once in a while; and the Catholic priest there, Rev. Father Dugan, once called to see me; aside from these, we never saw any one but the turnkeys, unless it was a prisoner, or some one who wanted to see a prisoner, while we were there. In the cell opposite mine was a man confined for whipping a negro to death, while in that on my right, was a negro charged with murder; in a neighboring cell was a Yankee confined for bigamy; nearly over my head, in the second story, was a negro woman, held for attempting to poison her mistress; and somewhere near her was an Italian soldier, in the Federal service, whom the rebels claimed as a deserter from their army. The "big room" was filled with rebel deserters, thieves, pickpockets and all sorts of petty villains.

In the next cell above mine, was an "institution" which has been a curse to our country, and a disgrace to our own character as freemen; and an "institution" which has been the witness of more agonizing torture in the South, than any of us can imagine—the whipping post—that ready means of inflicting terrible and summary punishment, without any trial or other law, than the caprice of the master, or mistress. I did not see this machine, because I never got up there; but managed to draw an accurate description of it from Luck, a negro, who was undergoing sentence upon it, and had been whipped upon it repeatedly. He described it as being made of heavy square timbers, in the form of a cross; and at the ends of the arms were iron fetters, made to clasp around the wrist, and hold them outstretched; and at the bottom were similar irons to secure the feet. The victim is first stripped naked, then stretched upon the cross, and made fast, when a turnkey plies a whip, with a short handle, and a broad heavy strap, punched full of holes for a lash, and which is, altogether, about two feet and a half long. The strap strikes flatwise, and wherever there is a hole through it, a blister raises in the skin; and if it be a heavy blow the edge of the leather around the openings cuts the skin open, around the blister, and the wounds bleed profusely.

There was scarcely a day that there was not one whipped, while I was in that jail; and sometimes there were as many as six flogged in one day; and generally from three to five. I have counted the blows at times, and once they numbered one hundred and eighty-seven, when the punishment was stopped, by the victim becoming insensible. He must have been a very robust man, for most generally when they were whipped so hard, they would faint under from twenty to forty lashes—according to the force with which they were laid on. It was the custom, the turnkey said, for the careful master to stand by, to regulate that matter to suit himself. I could generally give a close estimate of the age of the slave they were punishing, by the sound of the voice. Sometimes the pleading would be heavy and strong, as though it came from a large man; at other times I could hear the wailing cries of a feeble, and sometimes of a healthy young woman; and occasionally I heard children screaming under the terrible torture; and once in a while I would recognize the trembling voice of an old man. Their struggles would, at times, be almost superhuman, as they writhed in their iron manacles; and I have often stopped my ears to shut out their heart-rending supplications for mercy. This whipping was generally done by a young man named Evans, a turnkey, and the head jailor Bridges, who, as previously stated, was originally from New York. The young man, who was in jail for helping to whip the negro to death, said that they only struck him eighteen blows; but that after he was let down, they allowed him to drink too much water, and that killed him.

"Oh," he said, "they kin stand several hundred, ef you don't let 'em git too much water, while they are hot."

Filled, as this jail was, with all sorts of villains, guilty of every degree of crime, it was certainly a hard place for any man to find himself.

When we had been there fifty-seven days, we were taken by a Captain Gunn, under a strong guard, to Charleston, and there turned over to Maj.-Gen. Jones, who, I am sorry to have to say it, robbed us of two hundred and eighty dollars in Confederate money. Well, it wasn't much in quantity, and was worth perhaps less in value, but it really looked mean for a Major General to steal from us what even the militia allowed us to keep. At Gen. Jones' quarters, Captain Gunn and guard left us. They had treated us like gentlemen, and when we were hungry they divided their own rations with us, for the authorities gave us NONE to travel on. I wonder how they would have liked their men traveled on empty stomachs? On the train I saw Dr. Todd, President Lincoln's brother-in-law, and he seemed like a very clever man and a gentleman. He gave each of us a nice, light roll and some ham; nevertheless, he was a strong "secesh." When a command of rebel soldiers began to talk roughly to us, he would say:

"Come, boys, let us be generous to prisoners."

He had charge, as I learned, of a very large hospital, at or near Charleston.

Gen. Jones (oh! the villian,) sent us down to Charleston jail, with orders to have us kept in close confinement, and he allowed us no liberties whatever. At the jail, the guard turned us over to the keeper—one John Simes—who, though not a very clever man—that is, I do not believe he would steal anything he could not carry off—had some good traits about him (for what thief has not)? He put us in the "tower," which is the strongest part of the building, and the reader can, perhaps, imagine our feelings, at thus being kept FIVE MONTHS, confined under the fire of our own guns, on Morris Island; the shells bursting around us constantly, all the time we were there, and when one of the shells from the huge three hundred pounders would explode in the vicinity of the jail, it would rock the tower to its foundation.

In a few days after we were incarcerated in this place, twelve hundred of our officers were brought to the city, to be put under fire of our own guns, in retaliation for the shelling of the city; and among them, was Lieut. Henry, of my own regiment, who had been captured at the battle of Chickamauga, and with him was Major Beatty, of the 2d Ohio infantry, and from them I obtained a knife and a small file, to make some keys with, for the purpose, if possible, of making my escape. I had intimated my desire to them, and they tossed the instruments into my cell, through the grating, as they were going up into the drum of the tower to sleep.

I saw them once, after, for a few minutes, "on the sly," and learned that they had been brutally treated, as had been all their comrades, since the battle of Chickamauga.

In my prison were about thirty colored soldiers, belonging to the 54th Massachusetts infantry, who had been captured in the attempt to storm Fort Wagner. Poor fellows! they had a sorry time of it, as the rebels had a particular spite at them; and some of their number, I learned, had been sent off to the country, to men who claimed them as slaves. One—a fine looking fellow, named George Grant—had so far gained the confidence of the rebels, that he was made a sort of turnkey over the prison; and he succeeded in getting a Union woman to bring him a piece of thick brass for us to work into keys. It was a piece of stair carpet bar, and was just the thing we wanted. Through a man named Leatherman, I got a note to Lieut. Stokes, of the navy, and requested him to write to my father, and let him know how and where I was. Stokes had been brought to the place for exchange; and I will take occasion here to say that I have it in my power to vindicate our officers from the charges so often brought against them by our enemies, of not caring for the welfare of the soldiers, and that they were selfish, and ambitious, and were indifferent as to what became of us, if they only could get place and power, and were able to make money out of the war. Here was an officer of another arm of the service than that to which I belonged, who had never seen me before, who knew nothing in the world of me, but who interested himself deeply in my case; for as soon as he was exchanged, he wrote the following letter to my father at Hillsboro, Ohio:

"New York, October 26th, 1864.

"Sir:—I have just returned from the South, a paroled prisoner. While I was confined in Charleston, S. C., I saw your son, James Pike, who was in solitary confinement in the jail, together with his comrade Charles Gray, and was able to correspond with them. They told me they were captured near Augusta, Ga., in uniform, and under arms, and on "special duty" for General Thomas; and also wished me to write to you when I was released, and tell you that he was quite well and in good spirits; but they were looking rather pale, poor fellows, from their long imprisonment and short rations of food. I was kept in the jail yard, while they were in the building. I communicated by means of a negro boy who carried water to them.

"I promised them when I got out, I would do all I could for them. I have just written to Col. Mulford, Assistant Agent of Exchange, and to Gen. Thomas in their behalf. I can not promise they will be able to effect your son's release, but they will do all they can, I think.

"I had an interview with Col. Mulford on the flag-of-truce boat coming down the James River, and he told me to make the statement in writing, and it would receive attention.

"I saw your son last on or about the 6th of this month. I trust, sir, he may soon be restored to you. I am, respectfully,

"Your obedient servant,
"Thomas B. Stokes,
"Acting Ensign, U. S. N."

This letter was received on the 4th of November; but my father had previously written to the War Department, and received the following answer:

"War Department, Washington City,
"October 5th, 1864.

"Sir:—Your communication of the 28th ultimo has been received, and I am instructed to inform you, in reply thereto, that the Department will use all the means in its power to effect the release of your son, Corporal James Pike, of the 4th Regiment Ohio Cavalry, now held in confinement, as you state, at Charleston, South Carolina.—Very respectfully,

"Your obedient servant,
"Louis H. Pelouze,
"Ass't. Adjutant-General.

"Mr. Samuel Pike, Washington C. H., Ohio."

From Gen. Grant he also received the following note:

"Headquarters Armies of the United States,
"City Point, Va., October 24th, 1864.

"Mr. Samuel Pike, Washington, Ohio:

"Sir:—I am directed by Lieut-General Grant to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of September 28, and to say that he perfectly recollects the services rendered by your son. In regard to an exchange, Gen. Grant hopes during the coming winter, or perhaps earlier, to be able to effect the liberation of all our soldiers now in the hands of the enemy.—I am, sir, very respectfully,

"Your obedient servant,
"Adam Badeau,
"Lieut-Col. and Mil. Sec."

The man who, above all others, has always been most systematically abused, is General Butler. He has ever been represented by his enemies as a cold-hearted tyrant in his dealings with our soldiers, and has been constantly blamed by the rebels with retarding all their pious (?) efforts to effect speedy exchanges; but the following letter completely vindicates him from such slanders, if nothing else would:

"Headquarters Dep't of Virginia and North Carolina,
"Office Commissioner for Exchange,
"Fort. Monroe, Va., Dec. 18th, 1864.

"Sir:—In reply to your communication of November 14th, the commanding General directs me to inform you that he has ordered a rebel prisoner, now in Fort Delaware, to be held a hostage for your brave and gallant son.

"The prisoner is of the same rank as your son, and is to be subjected to the same treatment as your son receives at the hands of the rebels.

"He sympathizes deeply in his sufferings, and hopes by these means he may soon be released.—Very respectfully,

"Your obedient servant,
"Henry H. Bennett,
"Private Secretary.

Samuel Pike, Esq., Washington C. H., Ohio."

My father also received a very kind letter from Gen. Thomas, promising to render me all the assistance in his power; and the correspondence ought to satisfy any one, that our officers, so far from neglecting my interests, were really bestowing more attention to my case than I deserved; nor do I believe they ever neglected the interests of any soldier whose situation was properly brought to their notice. But to return to my narrative, after this digression.

We remained in Charleston jail for five months, and during that time I communicated with a Georgian, named Jim Robinson, who agreed, that if we could make the keys, he would show us a sewer under the tower, leading out beyond the prison walls and the guards; and with this understanding we labored for weeks, making in all about thirty different keys, out of tin, bone, etc., besides eighteen out of brass. These latter were filed so as to fit the locks, and with them we were enabled to open every door leading to the sewer. We then opened the cell doors, and let the Georgian out during two successive nights; but each time, when he got out, he was seized with fear, and, trembling, would excuse himself, promising go if we would wait another night; but in the meantime he communicated the whole affair to the jailor, who searched for the keys, and found them in Grant's cell.

In prospecting about to get the keys, they seized Grant by the throat to frighten him; but he struck the traitor Robinson with a large pocket knife, and cut him through the instep of one of his feet. After this failure we were too closely watched to get any chance to escape, and so had to "sweat it out" as long as the rebels could keep us in that jail.

Our rations were a pint of meal, and half a pound of meat per day, and when we failed to get the former, we had rice or cow peas dealt out in their stead. Much of the time, however, we failed to get meat, and often our meal would be so musty that we could scarcely swallow it, although always ravenously hungry. The rations were always cooked for us, and brought once a day; and we had our choice either to eat them up at once, or set part of them aside. We could not, however keep it long, as the foul air in the cells would spoil the best of food in a few hours; and we, therefore, speedily acquired the habit of eating but once a day. The quantity of food given us, to tell the truth, was not more than sufficient for one light meal.

The Sisters of Mercy came to see us, after they found out our condition, as often as the jailor would allow them to do so, or as they could find time. They always brought some little delicacy, and to them we were indebted for about all the medicine we got. We were badly afflicted with scurvy, and they sent us potatoes and vinegar, which nearly cured us; while a priest—Father John Moore—supplied us with books, thereby giving us an opportunity to spend our time profitably and agreeably. We were enabled to get light enough to read, provided the sky was clear, by sitting at the grating door, which we were allowed to do four or five hours each day; but if the sky was shrouded in clouds, the gloom of the tower was like that of a dungeon.

In cell No. 8 was a Union man named Webb, in No. 10, an old fisherman, and in No. 11, an Irishman, all of whom had been incarcerated for aiding our officers to escape; and it was through Mrs. Webb that the Sisters of Mercy heard of us.

During the first sixty days of our imprisonment we could get no water with which to wash our clothing; and during the entire Winter we slept on the floor without covering, but a short time before we left Webb was released, and he gave us his blanket, and a Mrs. Trainor got an opportunity to smuggle in another one. The jail, too, was literally swarming with vermin, and to add to our discomfort, the inmates of the jail were keeping up a continual noise, so that rest was nearly impossible. In addition, when the air was full of fog or clouds, the inner work of the jail was always streaming with water, which collected on them, and which caused the floors to be continually damp.

The cell in which we were confined so long had a front of eleven feet, with a rear six feet four inches broad, in the tower, and its width was also six feet four inches; and often, for weeks together, we were not allowed to step beyond the doors of this narrow cage.

But why add more relative to the horrors of this filthy pen? He who has never experienced the torture of a Southern prison-house can form no idea of the wretchedness inclosed; while the tens of thousands who have been incarcerated therein, but who have been fortunate enough to escape death, need no words that they may appreciate the cruelties inflicted.