Mast. But prithee, what is thy name?
Jacque. Jacque.
Mast. What! is thy Christian name, then, Colonel, and thy surname Jacque?
Jacque. Truly, sir, to tell your honour the truth, I know little or nothing of myself,[[5]] nor what my true name is; but thus I have been called ever since I remember. Which is my Christian name, or which my surname, or whether I was ever christened or not, I cannot tell.
Mast. Well, however, that’s honestly answered. Pray, how came you hither, and on what account are you made a servant here?
Jacque. I wish your honour could have patience with me to hear the whole story; it is the hardest and most unjust thing that ever came before you.
Mast. Say you so? Tell it me at large, then. I’ll hear it, I promise that, if it be an hour long.
This encouraged me, and I began at being a soldier, and being persuaded to desert at Dunbar, and gave him all the particulars, as they are related above, to the time of my coming on shore and the captain talking to me about my bill after I arrived here. He held up his hands several times as I went on, expressing his abhorrence of the usage I had met with at Newcastle, and inquired the name of the master of the ship; “for,” said he, “that captain, for all his smooth words, must be a rogue.” So I told him his name, and the name of the ship, and he took it down in his book, and then he went on.
Mast. But pray answer me, honestly too, to another question: What was it made you so much concerned at my talking to the boy there, the pickpocket?
Jacque. An’t please your honour, it moved me to hear you talk so kindly to a poor slave.