Though Alfred was mortified at the event of his meeting with the planters, he had reason to be satisfied on the whole with the result of his present visit to Demerara. Now that poor Horner’s opposition was at an end, it became comparatively easy to carry two or three measures about Mitchelson’s slaves that Alfred had much at heart.
“I cannot give up the point of Cassius’s freedom,” said he to Mitchelson. “I feel myself pledged in honour to obtain it.”
“In honour! I will spare your honour, my young friend, and never think the worse of you if you forgot Cassius from this day.”
“You!” exclaimed Alfred in astonishment. “I am not pledged to you but to Cassius.”
“And what should Cassius know about honour?” asked Mitchelson, laughing.
“Call it humanity, if you please. Cassius knows what humanity is; or, at any rate, what liberty is: and since my employing him at the mill-dam was the means at once of exciting his hopes and raising his ransom, I cannot lose sight of him till I lose sight of the vessel in which he shall be sailing to Africa.”
“You must keep a sharp look out then; for he may be marched off south, or west, or east any day. I can make nothing of him, and shall not keep him.”
“South, or west, or east! I thought you said he was promised to a planter in the neighbourhood?”
“He was; but the bargain is off. The fellow was so idle and mulish the day that I wanted him to show to the best advantage, that my friend will not have him, unless for a lower price than I mean to accept.”
“You had better take his ransom as it was first fixed, and let him go. You will make nothing of him at home or in the market after what he has gone through lately.”