“Why, Gen’l Forrest; de gre’tes’ warrior dat ebber libbed. Yo’ Pa sole me ter him. He wuz jes’ Mistah Forrest dem days, an’ wuz uh private de fus’ ub de wah; think ub dat! Well, when de wah broke out he tuck me fuh one ub his bodyguard; dat is, ter guard his body an’ keep dem blue coats ’way. He had uh hunard an’ fifty men in his bodyguard, an’ I wuz rite ’side him, his serbent an’ waitah—an’ mo’n dat, wid him night an’ day, ceppin in de battle; den I al’ays hilt his hoss when he fight on foot. You see when de battle ’tall ornsartin he meck dat bodyguard git of’n deah bosses an’ he draw dat big swo’d ub his’n an’ say, ‘Foller me,’ an’ ’mejately de blue coats see Mars Bedford an’ dat long swo’d ub his’n, dey sho’ ter run, don’ meck no difference ef’n dey ez thick ez grasshoppus. Some people say he cud look like uh goblin an’ tu’n inter uh sperrit in uh han’-ter-han’ fight; once uh week he sharpen his swo’d same ez uh raiser, an’ arfter his brudder got kilt (nebba saw uh man cry so in meh life) he sharpen dat swo’d ev’y day an’ he say, ‘Ef’n dey don’ s’render arfter I say s’render, I’ll cut de haids of’n ev’y one I gits close ’nuff ter,’ and he did it, too.” “Now, Ezra!” “Young Marster, I hab seed too much sufferin’ an’ too much sorrow ter meck fun ub it; mo’n dat, I’m gittin’ ter be uh ole man, an’ I wan’ meh heb’nly Marster’s lub; so what I am tellin’ you is de truf. I will cross meh hyart an’ bref uh thousan’ times ef’n you wan’ me ter.’ Then he was contemplative for a moment, when he resumed chinking his boat and singing— “Oh, cum ’long Moses, you’ll not git los’; Let meh people go; Stritch out yo’ rod an’ cum ercross; Let meh people go.” “Stop singing, Uncle Ezzy, and go on with your story.”