Massa bids me ax, said Peter, if you are a gentleman, an if you know it am de custom in England for gentleman-prisners to give dere word-ob-honour dat dey not run away, an den go about as if dey was free?
Tell him that every officer in the service of the King of England is considered a gentleman.
Come now, sar, interrupted Peter sternly, you know das not true. I bin in England myselfcook to a French restrung in Londonan I nebber hear dat a pleece officer was a gentleman!
Well, I mean every commissioned officer in the army and navy, returned Foster, and when such are taken prisoner I am aware that they are always allowed a certain amount of freedom of action on giving their word of honour that they will not attempt to escape.
When this was explained to Ben-Ahmed, he again said a few words to the negro, who translated as before.
Massa say dat as you are a gentleman if you will gib your word-ob-honour not to escape, he will make you free. Not kite free, ob course, but free to work in de gardin widout chains; free to sleep in de out-house widout bein locked up ob nights, an free to enjoy youself wen you gits de chance.
Foster looked keenly at the negro, being uncertain whether or not he was jesting, but the solemn features of that arch hyperkrite were no index to the working of his eccentric mindsave when he permitted them to speak; then, indeed, they were almost more intelligible than the plainest language.
And what if I refuse to pledge my word for the sake of such freedom? asked our hero.
Wy, den youll git whacked, an youll sperience uncommon hard times, an youll change you mind bery soon, so I tink, on de whole, you better change im at once. Seems to me yous a remarkably obsnit young feller!
With a sad feeling that he was doing something equivalent to locking the door and throwing away the key, Foster gave the required promise, and was forthwith conducted into the garden and set to work.
His dark friend supplied him with a new striped cotton shirthis own having been severely torn during his recent adventuresalso with a pair of canvas trousers, a linen jacket, and a straw hat with a broad rim; all of which fitted him badly, and might have caused him some discomfort in other circumstances, but he was too much depressed just then to care much for anything. His duty that day consisted in digging up a piece of waste ground. To relieve his mind, he set to work with tremendous energy, insomuch that Peter the Great, who was looking on, exclaimed
Hi! what a digger you is! Youll bust up altogidder if you goes on like dat. De moles is nuffin to you.
But Foster heeded not. The thought that he was now doomed to hopeless slavery, perhaps for life, was pressed home to him more powerfully than ever, and he felt that if he was to save himself from going mad he must work with his muscles like a tiger, and, if possible, cease to think. Accordingly, he went on toiling till the perspiration ran down his face, and all his sinews were strained.
Poor boy! muttered the negro in a low tone, hes tryin to dig his own grave. But he not succeed. Many a man try dat before now and failed. Howsomeber, its blowin a hard gale wid him just nowan de harder it blow de sooner its ober. Arter de storm comes de calm.
With these philosophic reflections, Peter the Great went off to his own work, leaving our hero turning over the soil like a steam-plough.
Strong though Foster wasboth of muscle and willhe was but human after all. In course of time he stopped from sheer exhaustion, flung down the spade, and, raising himself with his hands stretched up and his face turned to the sky, he cried
God help me! what shall I do?
Then, dropping his face on his hands, he stood for a considerable time quite motionless.
What a fool I was to promise not to try to escape! he thought, and a feeling of despair followed the thought, but a certain touch of relief came when he reflected that at any time he could go boldly to his master, withdraw the promise, and take the consequences.
He was still standing like a statue, with his hands covering his face, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. It was the negro who had returned to see how he was getting on.
Look yar, now, Geoge, he said in quite a fatherly manner, disll neber do. My massa buy you to work in de gardin, not to stand like a statoo washin its face widout soap or water. We dont want no more statoos. Got moren enuff ob marble ones all around. Besides, you dont make a good statooleastwise not wid dem slop cloes on. Now, come yar, Geoge. I wants a little combersation wid you. Ill preach you a small sarmin if youll allow me.
So saying, Peter led his assistant slave into a cool arbour, where Ben-Ahmed was wont at times to soothe his spirits with a pipe.
Now, look yar, Geoge, dis wont do. I say it once and for alldis wont do.
I know it wont, Peter, replied the almost heart-broken middy, with a sad smile, youre very kind. I know you take an interest in me, and Ill try to do better, but Im not used to spade-work, you know, and
Spade-work! shouted Peter, laying his huge black hand on Fosters shoulder, and giving him a squeeze that made him wince, das not what I mean. Work! wy yous done moren a days work in one hour, judging by de work ob ornary slabes. No, das not it. Whats wrong is dat you dont rightly understand your privleges. Das de word, your privleges. Now, look yar. I dont want you to break your heart before de time, an fur dat purpus I would remind you dat while dars life dars hope. Moreober, yous got no notion what luck youre in. If a bad massa got hold ob you, he gib you no noo cloes, he gib you hard, black bread stead o de good grub what you gits yar. He make you work widout stoppin all day, and whack you on de sole ob your foots if you dar say one word. Was you eber whacked on de sole ob your foots?
No, never, replied Foster, amused in spite of himself by the negros earnest looks and manner.
Ho! den you dont know yet what Paradise am.
Paradise, Peter? You mean the other place, I suppose.
No, sar, I mean noting ob de sort. I mean de Paradise what comes arter its ober, an you gins to git well again. Hah! but youll find it out some day. But, to continoo, yous got eberyting whats comfrable here. If you ony sawd de Bagnio slabes at workIll take you to see em some dayden youll be content an pleased wid your lot till de time comes when you escape.
Escape! How can I escape, Peter, now that I have given my word of honour not to try?
Noting easier, replied the negro calmly, yous ony got to break your word-ob-honour!
Im sorry to hear you say that, my friend, returned Foster, for it shakes my confidence in you. You must know that an English gentleman never breaks his wordthat is, he never should break itand you may rest assured that I will not break mine. If your view of such matters is so loose, Peter, what security have I that you wont deceive me and betray me when it is your interest or your whim to do so?
Security, Massa? I lub you! Is fond o your smood babby face. Isnt dat security enough?
Foster could not help admitting that it was, as long as it lasted! But what, he asked, what security has Ben-Ahmed that you wont be as false to him as you recommend me to be?