“No, no! Don’t be alarmed, you shall go,” was repeated over and over. At last all were crowded into the four steamers, and the boats steamed away with their precious freight up the Mississippi River. We stood at the landing as the boats moved away. The poor fellows out on the guards tried to give three cheers, but the effort was a failure. We waved our handkerchiefs, and they waved their hats, or their hands, as long as the boats were in sight. What a load of anxiety and responsibility was lifted from our hearts! Gathering up the supplies still left over, we took the first steamer bound for Vicksburg. When we reached the conquered city we found thousands of sick and wounded still crowded into the hospitals there, and we remained for some time ministering to them as best we could. THE CLOCK AT VICKSBURG. Vicksburg was situated on a high bluff. In the centre of the town stood the Court House. On the Court House tower, there was a large white-faced clock, that turned its four white faces to the four points of the compass. Very early in the struggle, while yet the army was on the west side of the river, the artillerymen of the Union army attempted to destroy that clock, and by stopping the time confuse the enemy. There was quite a rivalry as to who should with shot or shell dash that clock to pieces. But somehow they could not hit the clock. The rivalry continued; and when the army environed Vicksburg, there were eighteen miles of batteries pointing towards the town and often turned towards the clock. Shot and shell flew thick and fast, riddling the flag that waved above the clock, tearing away part of the stairway below, and chipping the casement that enclosed it. But steadily the hours and days went by, till weeks lengthened into months, and yet the clock untouched and unhalting measured off time. After the surrender I climbed the broken stairs, and saw the damage the shot and shell had done. The framework was chipped all around. But I found out why the shot and shell could not hit the clock. Aunt Dinah, the cook, had said to me,-- “You o’ter see our preacher--he’s the powerfulest preacher in dis town, he is.” I expressed a willingness to see him, of which I suppose he was duly informed by Aunt Dinah, as he called the next day. He was a middle-aged man of strong muscular frame; and his face, which was black, was surmounted by a wealth of white hair. I found him very intelligent, and he gave me a great deal of information about the life in Vicksburg during the siege. At last I asked him how it happened that the colored people’s church, a large brick structure, was in ruins. “Was it destroyed by shot and shell?” I inquired.