“Well, one night—­it was a Friday night—­dey comes a whole platoon f’m a nigger ridgment da was on guard at de house—­de house was head quarters, you know-an’ den I was jist a-bilin’ mad?  I was jist a-boomin’!  I swelled aroun’, an swelled aroun’; I jist was a-itchin’ for ’em to do somefin for to start me.  An’ dey was a-waltzin’ an a dancin’! my but dey was havin’ a time! an I jist a-swellin’ an’ a-swellin’ up!  Pooty soon, ‘long comes sich a spruce young nigger a-sailin’ down de room wid a yaller wench roun’ de wais’; an’ roun an’ roun’ an roun’ dey went, enough to make a body drunk to look at ’em; an’ when dey got abreas’ o’ me, dey went to kin’ o’ balancin’ aroun’ fust on one leg an’ den on t’other, an’ smilin’ at my big red turban, an’ makin’ fun, an’ I ups an’ says ’Git along wid you!—­rubbage!’ De young man’s face kin’ o’ changed, all of a sudden, for ‘bout a second but den he went to smilin’ ag’in, same as he was befo’.  Well, ’bout dis time, in comes some niggers dat played music and b’long’ to de ban’, an’ dey never could git along widout puttin’ on airs.  An de very fust air dey put on dat night, I lit into em!  Dey laughed, an’ dat made me wuss.  De res’ o’ de niggers got to laughin’, an’ den my soul alive but I was hot!  My eye was jist a-blazin’!  I jist straightened myself up so—­jist as I is now, plum to de ceilin’, mos’ —­an’ I digs my fists into my hips, an’ I says, ‘Look-a-heah!’ I says, ’I want you niggers to understan’ dat I wa’n’t bawn in de mash to be fool’ by trash!  I’s one o’ de ole Blue hen’s Chickens, I is!’—­an’ den I see dat young man stan’ a-starin’ an’ stiff, lookin’ kin’ o’ up at de ceilin’ like he fo’got somefin, an’ couldn’t ‘member it no mo’.  Well, I jist march’ on dem niggers—­so, lookin’ like a gen’l—­an’ dey jist cave’ away befo’ me an’ out at de do’.  An’ as dis young man a-goin’ out, I heah him say to another nigger, ‘Jim,’ he says, ’you go ‘long an’ tell de cap’n I be on han’ ‘bout eight o’clock in de mawnin’; dey’s somefin on my mine,’ he says; ‘I don’t sleep no mo’ dis night.  You go ‘long,’ he says, ‘an’ leave me by my own se’f.’

“Dis was ‘bout one o’clock in de mawnin’.  Well, ’bout seven, I was up an’ on han’, gittin’ de officers’ breakfast.  I was a-stoopin’ down by de stove jist so, same as if yo’ foot was de stove—­an’ I’d opened de stove do’ wid my right han’—­so, pushin’ it back, jist as I pushes yo’ foot —­an’ I’d jist got de pan o’ hot biscuits in my han’ an’ was ’bout to raise up, when I see a black face come aroun’ under mine, an’ de eyes a-lookin’ up into mine, jist as I’s a-lookin’ up clost under yo’ face now; an’ I jist stopped right dah, an’ never budged! jist gazed an’ gazed so; an’ de pan begin to tremble, an’ all of a sudden I knowed!  De pan drop’ on de flo’ an’ I grab his lef’ han’ an’ shove back his sleeve—­jist so, as I’s doin’ to you—­an’ den I goes for his forehead an’ push de hair back so, an’ ‘Boy!’ I says, ‘if you an’t my Henry, what is you doin’ wid dis welt on yo’ wris’ an’ dat sk-yar on yo’ forehead?  De Lord God ob heaven be praise’, I got my own ag’in!’