The Maroon Part 29

"Hash you no profeshion?"

"Alas, no!" replied Herbert. "It was intended by my father I should have one; but he died before my education was completed; and my college--as is too often the case--has taught me little more than a knowledge of dead languages."

"No ushe--no ushe whatever," rejoined the intelligent Israelite.

"I can draw a landscape," pursued the young man, modestly, "or paint a portrait tolerably well, I believe--my father himself taught me these accomplishments."

"Ah! Mashter Vochan, neither ish of the shlightest ushe here in Shamaica. If you could paint a house, or a waggon, or a shopkeeper'sh sign, it would bring you more monish than to make the likeneshes of every face in the island. What saysh you to the situation of book-keeper?"

"Unfortunately, I know nothing of accounts. The very useful science of book-keeping I have not been taught."

"Ha! ha! ha!" replied Jessuron, with an encouraging chuckle, "you ish what we, in Shamaica, call _green_, Mashter Vochan. You musht know that a book-keeper here hash no books to keep. He doesh not even put a pen to paper."

"How is that, Mr Jessuron? I have heard the statement before, though I did not comprehend what was meant by it."

"Then I musht explain, Mashter Vochan. There ish a law here which makes all proprietors of shlaves keep a white man on hish estate for every fifty blacksh. A very shilly law it ish; but it ish a law. Theesh white supernumeraries are called book-keepers: though, ash I've told you, they keepsh no books. Now you understand what it meansh."

"Then, what duties do they perform?"

"Oh! that depends on circ.u.mshtances. Some look after the shlaves, and some do thish and some that. But, egad! now I think of it, Mashter Vochan, I am myshelf in need of a book-keeper. I have joosh bought a new lot of blacksh, and I musht not break the law. I am ushed to give my book-keepers fifty poundsh a-year, currenshy; but if you would be content to accept such a berth, I would make the salary--on account of your uncle--a hundred poundsh a-year. You would also be found in everything elshe. What dosh you shay, Mashter Vochan?"

This unexpected proposal on the part of the penn-keeper, caused his guest to hesitate and reflect.

Not long, however. His forlorn, homeless situation presented itself too forcibly to his mind, to keep him long in doubt as to what answer he should make.

Suffice it to say, that the offer--which to the young Englishman appeared only too generous--was accepted; and from that hour the Happy Valley became his home.

Volume One, Chapter x.x.xII.

A PLOTTING PARENT.

Jacob Jessuron was never known to be generous without expecting some reward. Never did he fling out a sprat without the expectation of catching a salmon.

What object had he in view in thus becoming the patron and protector of the young Englishman--an outcast adventurer, apparently incapable of making him any return? Why such liberal conditions unasked, and to all appearance unmerited--for, to say the truth, Herbert Vaughan was not the stuff for a _slave-driver_, a term almost synonymous with that of _book-keeper_.

No doubt the Jew had some deep scheme; but in this, as in most other matters, he kept his counsel to himself. Even his "precious Shoodith"

was but half-initiated into his designs upon this special subject: though a conversation, which occurred between father and daughter, had placed before the latter some data calculated to a.s.sist her in guessing at them.

The date of this dialogue was upon the morning after Herbert's arrival at the penn.

"Show the young man every kindness, Shoodith dear! Don't shpare pains to pleashe him."

"Why particularly _him_, my worthy parent?"

"Hush! mine Shoodith! Shpeak low, for the luf of Gott! Don't let him hear you talk in that shtyle. Theesh young Englishmen are not ushed to our ways. I hash a reason for being friendly to him."

"What! because he is the nephew of Vanity Vaughan? Is that your reason, rabbi?"

"I shay, shpeak low! He's in his shleeping room, and may hear you. A single word like that you shay might shpoil all my plans."

"Well, father, I'll talk in whispers, if you like. But what _are_ your plans? You'll let _me_ know them, I suppose?"

"I will, Shoodith, but not shoost now. I hash an idea, mine daughter--a grand idea, it ish! And if all goes right, you, Shoodith, will be the richest woman in Shamaica."

"Oh, I have no objection to that--to be the richest woman in Jamaica, with a prince for my footman! Who won't envy Judith Jessuron, the daughter of the slave-merchant?"

"Shtay! a word about that, Shoodith dear. In hish presence we musht say as little ash possible upon the subject of shlaves. He musht see no shlave-whipping here--at leasht till he gets ushed to it. Ravener musht be told to behave himshelf. I knowsh of more than one young Englishmans who left his place joosh for that very thing. He needn't go among the field handsh at all. I'll take care of that. But, dearest Shoodith!

everything depends on you; and I knowsh you can, if you will."

"Can what, worthy father?"

"Make this young fellow satishfied to shtay with ush."

The look which accompanied these words betokened some other meaning, than what they might have literally conveyed.

"Well," replied Judith, affecting to understand them literally, "I fancy there will not be much difficulty about that. If he's as poor as you say, he'll only be too well pleased to get a good situation, and keep it, too, I should think."

"I'sh not so sure about that. He'sh a young man of a proud spirit.

That ish proved by hish leaving his uncle ash he has done--without a shilling in hish pocket--and then to defy the Cushtos faysh to faysh!

Blesh my soul! what a foolish young fellow he ish! He must be managed, Shoodith, dear--he must be managed; and you're shoost the one to do it."

"Why, father, to hear you talk, one would think that this poor young Englishman was a rich sugar estate--to be managed for some grand profit--"

"Aha!" exclaimed the other, interrupting her; "maybe yesh--maybe he _ish_ a rich sugar estate. We shee--we shee."

"Now, had it been the grand guest of Mount Welcome," continued Judith, without heeding the interruption; "had it been this lord of Montagu Castle that you wished me to _manage_,"--at the word the Jewess smiled significantly--"I might have come nearer comprehending you."

"Ah! there is no schance there--no schance whatever, Shoodith."

"No chance of what?" abruptly inquired the Jewess.

"Why, no schance of--that ish--"

"Come, worthy rabbi, speak out! You needn't be afraid to tell me of what you're thinking: I know it already."

"Of what wash I thinking, Shoodith?" The father put this question rather with a view to escape from an explanation. The daughter instantaneously answered,

"You were thinking, and I suppose still are, that I--your daughter, the child of an old n.i.g.g.e.r-dealer as you are--would have no chance with this aristocratic stranger who has arrived--this Mr Montagu Smythje. That's your thought, Jacob Jessuron?"

"Well, Shoodith, dear! you know he ish to be the guesht of the Cushtos; and the Cushtos, ash I hash reason to know, hash an eye on him for his own daughter. Miss Vochan is thought a great belle, and it would be no ushe for ush to ashpire--"

"She a belle!" exclaimed the Jewess, with a proud toss of her head, and a slight upturning of her beautiful spiral nostril; "she was not the belle of the last ball at the Bay--not she, indeed; and as for _aspiring_, the daughter of a slave-dealer is at least equal to the daughter of a slave--maybe a slave herself--"

"Hush, Shoodith! not a word about that--not a whisper in the hearing of thish young man. You know he ish her cousin. Hush!"

"I don't care if he was her brother," rejoined the Jewess, still speaking in a tone of spiteful indignation--for Kate Vaughan's beauty was Judith Jessuron's especial fiend; "and if he were her brother,"

continued she, "I'd treat him worse than I intend to do. Fortunately for him, he's only her cousin; and as he has quarrelled with them all, I suppose--has he said anything of _her_?"