On the day after the slave-ship had landed her cargo, and at an early
hour in the morning, Mr Vaughan, looking from the front window of his
house, perceived a solitary horseman approaching by the long avenue.
As the stranger drew nearer, the animal he bestrode appeared gradually
to transform itself into a mule; and the rider was seen to be an old
gentleman in a blue coat, with metal buttons, and ample outside
pockets--under which were breeches and top-boots, both sullied by long
wear. A damaged brown beaver hat upon his head, with the edge of a
white cotton skull-cap showing beneath it--green goggles upon the nose--
and a large blue umbrella, instead of a whip, grasped in the right
hand--enabled Mr Vaughan to identify one of his nearest neighbours: the
penn-keeper Jacob Jessuron, who, among other live stock, was also known
as an extensive speculator in slaves.
"The old Jew!" muttered Mr Vaughan, with an accent that betokened a
certain degree of discontent. "What can _he_ want at this early hour?
Some slave stock for sale, I suppose? That looked like a trader I saw
yesterday in the offing; and he's sure to have had a lot or two out of
her. Well, he won't find a market here. Fortunately, I'm stocked.
Morning, Mr Jessuron!" continued he, hailing his visitor as the latter
dismounted by the bottom of the stairway. "As usual, you are early
abroad. Business, eh?"
"Ach, yesh, Mishter Vochan! Bishness must be minded. A poor man like
me can't afford to shleep late theesh hard times!"
"Ha! ha! Poor man, indeed! That's a capital joke, Mr Jessuron! Come
in. Have you breakfasted?"
"Yesh, thanks, Mishter Vochan," replied the Jew, as he climbed up the
steps. "I always breakfasht at six."
"Oh, that is early! A glass of swizzle, then?"
"Thanks, Mishter Vochan; you ish very kind. A glash of shwizzell will
be better ash anything else. Itsh warm thish morning." The _swizzle_,
a mixture of rum, sugar, water, and lime-juice, was found in a large
punch-bowl that stood upon the sideboard, with a silver ladle resting
across the rim, and glasses set around it. This is a standing drink in
the dwelling of a Jamaica planter--a fountain that may be said never to
go dry, or, at all events, renewed as soon as exhausted.
Stepping up to the sideboard, where he was attended to by a black
butler, the penn-keeper briskly quaffed off a tumbler of the swizzle;
and then smacking his lips, and adding the observation, "'Tish goot!" he
returned towards the window, where a chair had been placed for him
beside the one already occupied by his host.
The visitor removed his beaver hat, though the white skull-cap--not over
clean--was still permitted to keep its place upon his head.
Mr Vaughan was a man possessed of considerable courtesy, or at least,
an affectation of it. He remained silent, therefore, politely waiting
for his guest to initiate the conversation.
"Well, Mishter Vochan," began the Jew, "I hash come over to see you on a
shmall bishness--a very shmall bishness it is, shcarcely worth troubling
you about."
Here the speaker hesitated, as if to put some proposition into shape.
"Some black stock for sale, eh? I think I've heard that a cargo came in
yesterday. You got part, I suppose?"
"Yesh, yesh, I bought a shmall lot, a very shmall lot. I hadn't the
monish to buy more. S'help me gott! the shlaves ish getting so dear ash
I can't afford to buy. This talk about shtoppin' the trade ish like to
ruin ush all. Don't you think so, Mishter Vochan?"
"Oh, as for that, _you_ needn't fear. If the British Government should
pass the bill, the law will be only a dead letter. They could never
guard the whole of the African coast--no, nor that of Jamaica neither.
I think, Mr Jessuron, you would still contrive to land a few bales,
eh?"
"Ach, no, Mishter Vochan! dear, oh dear, no! I shouldn't venture
againsht the laws. If the trade ish to be stop, I musht give up the
bishness. Slaves would be too dear for a poor Jewsh man like me to deal
in: s'help me, yesh! they're too dear ash it ish."
"Oh, that's all nonsense about their getting dearer! It's very well for
you to talk so, Mr Jessuron: you have some to sell, I presume?"
"Not now, Mishter Vochan, not now. Posshible, I may have a shmall lot
to dishpose of in a day or two; but joosht now, I haven't a shingle head
ready for the market. Thish morning I want to buy, instead of shell."
"To buy! From me, do you mean?"
"Yesh, Mishter Vochan, if you're disposed to shell."
"Come, that's something new, neighbour Jessuron! I know you're always
ready for a trade; but this is the first time I ever heard of you buying
slaves on a plantation."
"Well, the truth ish, Mishter Vochan, I hash a cushtomer, who wants a
likely wench for waiting at hish table. Theresh none among my shtock,
he thinks good enough for hish purposh. I wash thinking you hash got
one, if you could shpare her, that would suit him nishely."
"Which do you mean?"
"I mean that young Foolah wench ash I sold you lasht year--joosh after
crop time."
"Oh! the girl Yola?"
"Yesh, I think that wosh her name. Ash you had her dirt sheep, I don't
mind giving you shomething on your bargain--shay ten pounds currenshy?"
"Poh, poh, poh!" replied the planter, with a deprecating shrug. "That
would never do--even if I meant to sell the girl. But I have no wish to
part with her."
"Shay twenty, then?"
"Nor twice twenty, neighbour. I wouldn't, under any circumstances, take
less than two hundred pounds for that girl. She has turned out a most
valuable servant--"
"Two hunder poundsh!" interrupted the Jew, starting up in his chair.
"Och! Mishter Vochan, theresh not a black wench in the island worth
half the monish. Two hunder poundsh! Blesh my soul, that ish a prishe!
I wish I could shell some of my shtock at that prishe! I'd be glad to
give any two I hash for two hunder poundsh."
"Why, Mr Jessuron! I thought you said just now slaves were getting
very dear?"
"Dear, yesh; but that is doublish dear. S'help me gott! You don't mean
it, Mishter Vochan?"
"But I do mean it; and even if you were to offer me two hundred--"
"Don't shay more about it," said the slave-merchant, hurriedly
interrupting the hypothetical speech; "don't shay more; I agreesh to
give it. Two hunder poundsh!--blesh my shtars! it'll make a bankrup' of
me."
"No, it will not do that: since I cannot agree to take it."
"Not take two hunder poundsh?"
"No--nor twice that sum."
"Gott help ush, Mishter Vochan; you ish shurely shokin? Why will you
not take two hunder? I hash the monish in my pocket."
"I am sorry to disappoint you, neighbour; but the fact is, I could not
sell the girl Yola at any price, without the consent of my daughter--to
whom I have given her."
"Mish Vochan?"
"Yes--she is her maid; and I know that my daughter is very fond of her.
It is not likely she would consent to the girl's being sold."
"But, Mishter Vochan! you shurely don't let your daughter shtand between
you and a good bargain? Two hunder poundsh is big monish--big monish,
Cushtos. The wench ish not worth half ash much, and, for myshelf, I
wouldn't give half; but I don't want to dishappoint a good cushtomer,
who'sh not so particular ash to prishe."
"Your customer fancies the girl, eh?" said Mr Vaughan, glancing
significantly at his guest. "She is very good-looking--no wonder. But,
if that be the reason for his wanting to buy her, I may as well tell
you, I should myself not be inclined to part with her; and, as for my
daughter, if she suspected such a purpose, all the money you have got,
Mr Jessuron, wouldn't reach the price of Yola."
"S'help me gott, Mishter Vochan, you're mishtaken! The cushtomer I
speak of never shet hish eyes on the wench. Itsh only a waiting-maid he
wants for hish table; and I thought of her, ash she'sh joost what he
deshcribes. How do you know that Mish Vochan might not conshent to let
her go? I promish to get her another young girl ash goot or better ash
Yola."
"Well," replied the planter, after a moment's reflection, and apparently
tempted by the handsome offer, "since you seem so determined upon buying
the wench, I'll consult my daughter about it. But I can hold out very
little hope of success. I know that she likes this young Foolah. I
have heard that the girl was some king's daughter in her own country;
and I am as good as certain Kate won't consent to her being sold."
"Not if _you_ wished it, Mishter Vochan?"
"Oh, if I insisted upon it, of course; but I gave my daughter a promise
not to part with the girl against her wish, and I never break my word,
Mr Jessuron--not to my own child."
With this rather affected profession, the planter walked out of the
room, leaving the slave-merchant to his reflections.
"May the diffel strike me dead if that man ishn't mad!" soliloquised the
Jew, when left to himself; "shtark shtarin mad! refuse two hunder
poundsh for a she wench ash brown ash a cocoa-nut! Blesh my shtars!"
"As I told you, Mr Jessuron," said the planter, re-entering the hall,
"my daughter is inexorable. Yola cannot be sold."
"Good morning, Mishter Vochan," said the slave-merchant, taking up his
hat and umbrella, and making for the door. "Good morning, shir: I hash
no other bishness to-day."
Then, putting on his hat and grasping his umbrella, with an air of
spitefulness he was unable to conceal, he hurried down the stone steps,
scrambled upon the back of his mule, and rode away in sullen silence.
"Unusually free with, his money this morning," said the planter, looking
after him. "Some shabby scheme, I have no doubt. Well, I suppose I
have thwarted it; besides, I am glad of an opportunity of disobliging
the old curmudgeon: many's the time he has done as much for me!"
Volume One, Chapter IX.