After considerable delay, and entertaining many fears lest we should be attacked by guerrillas who were occasionally seen along the shore--until we were joined by a gunboat, under the protection of which we felt secure--we arrived at Port Royal Sunday morning at eight o’clock. Here we left the “George Weems,” which was _en route_ for Washington, and went on board the exchange. While lying at anchor, services were held by the chaplain of the Sixth Wisconsin volunteers. His sermon--from the words, “The Lord is my shepherd”--was full of comfort. Those present upon that occasion will, I am sure, ever love to refer to it as one of the bright spots in their army life. Before arriving at Port Royal a touching incident occurred. A rebel soldier was dying, and, in great distress of mind, he asked to be prayed for. We gathered around his bed--a few professing Christians--and tried to point him to the “Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world.” Precious words of promise were read from the New Testament and prayer offered in his behalf, after which he seemed more composed, but he sank rapidly--as a wound in his neck had broken out afresh and was bleeding profusely--and died, as we hope, trusting in Jesus. Late in the afternoon, learning from Dr. St. Clair, master of transportation, that another boat would leave the next day having better accommodations, I went ashore and put up for the night with a rebel family, which at that time consisted of an elderly lady and a little girl. I learned from the old lady that her husband was dead, and that her two sons were in the rebel army. Her servants had all deserted her. She appeared lonely and disconsolate, not having even the hope of victory to cheer her. Her house was an old-fashioned vine-clad cottage; the kitchen, with its huge fire-place and massive iron kettles, where the servants had formerly done the work, being separated from the main building, as is customary in the South. A large garden near by was filled with vegetables and flowers and interspersed with shade-trees and shrubbery, the whole being surrounded with a fine boxwood hedge. In one part of the house were the head-quarters of Dr. Snow, of the Ninth Corps. Being detained here, contrary to expectation, until Monday evening, I endeavored to make myself useful by assisting about the cooking for the doctor and “mess.” We got up quite a sumptuous dinner, consisting not only of pork, “hard tack” and coffee, as usual, but, in addition, “flour gravy,” stewed goose, berries, and “hoe-cake.” Our Port Royal dinner will certainly not soon be forgotten by those who partook, for it was a right royal one.