"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.