The surgeon called back to us that he had missed the crossing, and designated a point a little higher up, which, as he said, “was perfectly safe.” I had misgivings, but, settling myself well in the saddle, gave the horse loose rein. He marched bravely in, and went down into the flood with a plunge. General Bussey, fearing I would be drowned, spurred his horse in after me, and the two brave animals struggled together until we reached the opposite shore. Thanks to my Kentucky training, I kept the saddle, and the only damage done was a good drenching. As General Bussey expressed a wish that Mrs. Bussey should not attempt to cross, she remained at a cabin near by, which was somewhat protected, till we returned. Reaching the embankment opposite Vicksburg we scattered, the surgeon taking the lead. I followed about fifty yards behind him, and General Bussey about fifty yards behind me. The road was fair, and we flew over that stretch at a full gallop. My shaggy, raw-boned steed made good time. It was a wild ride. We were surrounded by batteries. The mortar boats of the Union army, placed as near to Vicksburg as possible, were sending their uncertain shells thundering over our heads into the doomed city with deafening fury. The heavy guns along the heights of Vicksburg were answering the long line of batteries and heavy mounted guns on our side of the river; and only the river lay between us and the enemies’ works. Shot and shell screamed over us. Sometimes it seemed as if the sky was torn to pieces above us; but my horse did not flinch. On and on we went, in a full gallop. If a gun was levelled at us that day from any of the near batteries, we were not in range when the shot came over, and so we reached the hospital in safety. What shall I say of this hospital? What can I say of these wounded, suffering men? Language is inadequate to describe their condition. Longing for home and mother, for human sympathy, their moans were answered only by the guns. They longed for quiet and sleep, but the guns of two armies were thundering night and day over their heads. How could flesh and blood, brain and nerve, endure it? My garments were still dripping, but I went from cot to cot to speak the words of cheer. The men tried to express their thanks for my coming in a befitting manner; but their “God bless you for coming!” was choked with tears. As I saw those brave men lying there weak and helpless, and every nerve racked with the thunders of battle, I could not beat back my own tears. Indeed, as I live it all over again, and write of it, the tears will come again, although more than thirty years have rolled by since that time. I sobbed out as best I could: “God bless you, boys; keep good courage. I will get you out of this if it is possible.”