"Then it's all right! You're the man I'm looking for. You're the man this country's looking for. You're a born fighter——"
"Na, sah, I'se er cook!"
"Sh! Say not so—we're going back to war!"
"All right, sah, I'se gwine wid you."
"I warn you, Julius Cæsar, don't do it unless you're in for a fight! I'm going back to fight—to fight to kill. No more red tape and gold braid for me. I'm going now into the jaws of hell. I'm going into the ranks as a private."
"Don't make no difference ter me, sah, whar yer go. I'se gwine wid yer. I kin look atter yer shoes an' cook yer sumfin' good ter eat."
"I warn you, Julius! When they find your torn and mangled body on the field of Death, don't you sit up and blame me!"
"Don't yer worry, sah. Dey ain't gwine fin' me dar, an' ef dey do, dey ain't gwine ter be nuttin' tore er mangled 'bout me, I see ter dat, sah!"
Three weeks later Burnside's army received a stalwart recruit. Few questions were asked. The ranks were melting.