From five o'clock in the evening until seven o'clock in the morning we
were locked into our cells, with no possible means of communication with
one another; but in the day, between these hours, we were permitted to
mingle together in the narrow hall, twelve feet wide and one hundred and
sixty long, which was cut off from the other portion of the building,
occupied by the convicts, by a plank partition, in one end of which was
a wooden door. At each end of the hall, and within the partitions, was
an armed military sentinel, while the civil guards of the prison passed
at irregular intervals among us, and very frequently the warden or his
deputy came through in order to see that we were secure and not
violating the prison rules. We were not permitted to talk with or in any
way to communicate with the convicts, nor were we permitted to see any
of our relatives or friends that might come from a distance to see us,
except upon the written order of General Burnside, and then only in the
presence of a guard. Our correspondence underwent the censorship of the
warden, we receiving and he sending only such as met his approbation; we
were not permitted to have newspapers, or to receive information of what
was going on in the outside busy world.

Many plans for escape, ingenious and desperate, were suggested,
discussed, and rejected because deemed impracticable. Among them was
bribery of the guards. This was thought not feasible because of the
double set of guards, military and civil, who were jealous and watchful
of each other, so that it was never attempted, although we could have
commanded, through our friends in Kentucky and elsewhere, an almost
unlimited amount of money.

On a morning in the last days of October I was rudely treated, without
cause, by the deputy warden. There was no means of redress, and it was
not wise to seek relief by retort, since I knew, from the experience of