General Beauregard retained all officers captured by his troops in case he should need them as hostages. Consequently, Columbia, S. C, was to be our place of abode, instead of Libby Prison at Richmond, where the officers were generally confined. While in the Charleston jail we heard from our friends quite frequently. Gilmore's guns would send shells into the city. They sounded like a heavy wagon-wheel going over a rough pavement. Next would be a heavy thud, and, in a few seconds more, a terrible explosion. At first, percussion shells were used, but quite a large percentage of them would turn in their flight through the air, and as they would not strike fuse first, no explosion would take place. A lot of men were always watching for such shells to strike. With shovels and pickaxes they would dig them out of the ground. The rebel ordnance department paid one hundred dollars in Confederate currency for every unexploded shell delivered. The next move was for the Yankees to change from percussion to time fuses. The first shell did not explode on striking, so a crowd, as usual, started to unearth it. Quite a number of spectators were watching the fun. Suddenly the operations were suspended. The time fuse exploded the shell, killing several persons and wounding a number more. Of course the Yankees were loudly cursed for playing such a mean trick, but the ordnance department got no more of our shells. The second day after our arrival a shell passed over the jail and landed in a frame building only a block distant. When it exploded, timbers and boards flew in all directions. We could see the dust and splinters in the air quite plainly from our window. Somehow, I felt pleased whenever one of those missiles came along, although we were liable to be killed at any time by one of them.