It was more than thirty years or forty either, but neither of them was moved to correct him. Again their heads conveyed an assent, and Uncle Ike, satisfied, went ahead, warming to his theme: “So I went 'long with him jess lak Ole Miss said. And purty soon, he git to be one of dese yere lieutenants, and he act mighty biggotty toward hisse'f wid dem straps sewed onto his cote collar, but I bound I keep him in order--I bound I do dat, suhs, ef I don't do nothin' else in dat whole war. I minds the time w'en we wuz in camp dat fust winter and yere one day he come ridin' in out of de rain, jess drippin' wet. Befoah 'em all I goes up to him and I says to him, I says, 'Marse Willie, you git right down off'en dat hoss and come yere and lemme put some dry clothes on you. What Ole Miss gwine say to me ef I lets you set round here, ketchin; yore death? “Some of dem y'other young gen'l'men laff den and he git red in de face and tell me to go 'way from dere and let him be. I says to him, I says, 'I promised yore maw faithful to 'tend you and look after you and I pintedly does aim to do so.' I says, 'Marse Willie,' I says, 'I hope I ain't gwine have to keep on tellin' you to git down off'en dat hoss.' Dem y'others laff louder'n ever den and he cuss and r'ar and call me a meddlin' black raskil. But I tek notice he got down off'en dat hoss--I lay to dat. “But I didn't have to 'tend him long. Naw suh, not very long. He git killed de very fust big battle we wuz in, which wuz Shiloh. Dat battery shore suffer dat day. 'Long tow'rds evenin' yere dey come failin' back, all scorified and burnt black wid de powder and I sees he ain't wid 'em no more and I ax 'bout him and dey tells me de Battery done los' two of its pieces and purty near all de hosses and dat young Marse Willie been killed right at de outset of de hard fightin'. I didn't wait to hear no mo'n dat--dat wuz 'nuff fur me. I puts right out to find him. “Gen'l'men, dat warn't no fittin' place to be prowlin' 'bout in. Everywhahs you look you see daid men and crippled men. Some places dey is jess piled up; and de daid is beginnin' to swell up already and de wounded is wrigglin' round on de bare ground and some of 'em is beggin' for water and some is beggin' for somebody to come shoot 'em and put 'em out of dere miz'ry. And ever onc't in a wile you hear a hoss scream. It didn't sound like no hoss tho', it sound mo' lak a pusson or one of dese yere catamounts screamin'.