June 13th, 1776
“What is a ma —, a man worth?” Slant asked me today, his lips enjoying but slight mobility.
Before I had thought sufficiently upon his question, I answered gently that I did not know, but reckoned it at forty or fifty pound; there being no natural price for a man, as it fluctuated according to the tobacco crop, rice, coastal storms, and other several factors; that there is no security in such tallies, all prices hanging upon other prices in a complicated rigging.
Having proceeded this far, I ceased, and saw the unenlightened look in his eye.
I began again. “There is no price for a man,” I answered passionately this time.
He did not heed my foolish reply. “I thought we was going to . . . fight,” he said, his ravaged face twitching. “I thought that’s war. You fight.”
“We will fight, my friend,” said I.
He nodded, as best he could. “You will,” he assented.