But instead of doing the natural thing, the officer
took me at my word, and followed my instructions. And so, as I
came trotting out of that cul de sac, full of satisfaction with my
own cleverness, he turned the corner and I walked right into his
handcuffs. If I had known it was a cul de sac--however, there
isn't any excusing a blunder like that, let it go. Charge it up
to profit and loss.
Of course, I was indignant, and swore I had just come ashore from
a long voyage, and all that sort of thing--just to see, you know,
if it would deceive that slave. But it didn't. He knew me. Then
I reproached him for betraying me. He was more surprised than
hurt. He stretched his eyes wide, and said:
"What, wouldst have me let thee, of all men, escape and not hang
with us, when thou'rt the very _cause_ of our hanging? Go to!"
"Go to" was their way of saying "I should smile!" or "I like that!"
Queer talkers, those people.
Well, there was a sort of bastard justice in his view of the case,
and so I dropped the matter. When you can't cure a disaster by
argument, what is the use to argue? It isn't my way.
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