I 'low, I did: 'Honey, you make 'aste back ter break'us, kaze I got
some sossige meat en some gennywine coffee.'

"He ain't say nothin', but w'en he git little ways off, he tu'n 'roun'
en come back, he did, en 'low: 'Good night, Daddy.' I lay dar, en I year
un w'en dey start off. I year der hosses a-snort-in', en der spurrers
a-jinglin'. Ef dey yever wuz a restless creetur hit uz me dat night. I
des lay dar wid my eyes right wide open, en dey stayed open, kaze, atter
w'ile, yer come daylight, en den I rousted out, I did, en built me a
fire, en 'twa'n't long 'fo' I had break'us a-fryin' en de coffee
a'b'ilin', kaze I spected my young marster eve'y minute; en he uz one er
dese yer kinder folks w'at want he's coffee hot, en all de yuther
vittles on de jump.

"I wait en I wait, en still he ain't come. Hit cert'n'y look like a
mighty long time w'at he stay 'way; en bimeby I tuck myse'f off ter make
some inquirements, kaze mighty nigh all he's comp'ny done gone wid 'im.
I notice dat de white mens look at me mighty kuse w'en I ax um 'bout my
young marster; en bimeby one un um up en 'low: 'Ole man, whar yo' hat?'
des dat away. I feel on my haid, en, bless goodness! my hat done gone;
but I 'spon' back, I did: ''Tain't no time fer no nigger man fer ter be
bodder'n' 'bout he's hat,' des so. Well, ma'am, bimeby I struck up wid
some er my young marster' comp'ny, en dey up 'n' tell me dat dey had a
racket out dar en de skirmish line, en dey hatter run in, en dey speck
my young marster be 'long terreckerly. Den I year some un say dat day
speck de Yankees tuck some pris'ners out dar, en den I know dat ain't
gwine do fer me. I des runn'd back ter whar we been campin', en I mount
de hoss w'at my young marster gun me, en I rid right straight out ter
whar dey been fightin'. My min' tol' me dey wuz sumpin' 'n'er wrong out
dar, en I let you know, ma'am, I rid mighty fas'; I sholy made dat ole
hoss git up fum dar. De white mens dey holler at me w'en I pass, but
eve'y time dey holler I make dat creetur men' he's gait. Some un um call
me a country-ban', en say I runnin' 'way, en ef de pickets hadn't all
been runnin' in, I speck dey'd 'a' fetched de ole nigger up wid de guns.
But dat never cross my min' dat day.

"Well, ma'am, I haid my hoss de way de pickets comin' fum; en ef dey
hadn't er been so much underbresh en so many sassyfac saplin's, I speck
I'd 'a' run dat creetur ter def: but I got ter whar I hatter go slow, en
I des pick my way ri