“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 Nine
Judith Jessuron
In the most unamiable of tempers did the slave-speculator ride back down the avenue. So out of sorts was he at the result of his interview, that he did not think of unfolding his blue umbrella to protect himself from the hot rays of the sun, now striking vertically downward. On the contrary, he used the parapluie for a very different purpose – every now and then belabouring the ribs of his mule with it: as if to rid himself of his spleen by venting it on the innocent mongrel.
Nor did he go in silence, although he was alone. In a kind of involuntary soliloquy he kept muttering, as he rode on, long strings of phrases denunciatory of the host whose roof he had just quitted.
The daughter, too, of that host came in for a share of his muttered denunciations, which at times, assumed the form of a menace.
Part of what he said was spoken distinctly and with emphasis: —
“The dusht off my shoosh, Loftish Vochan – I flingsh it back to you! Gott for damsch! there wash a time when you would be glad for my two hunder poundsh. Not for any monish? Bosh! Grand lady, Mish Kate – Mish Quasheby! Ha! I knowsh a thing – I knowsh a leetle thing. Some day, may be, yourshelf sell for lesh ash two hunder poundsh. Ach! I not grudgsh twice the monish to see that day!
“The dusht off my shoosh to both of yoush!” he repeated, as he cleared the gate-entrance. “I’sh off your grounds, now; and, if I hash you here, I shay you something of my mind – something ash make you sell your wench for lesh ash two hunder poundsh! I do so, some time, pleash gott! Ach!”
Uttering this last exclamation with a prolonged aspirate, he raised himself erect in his stirrups; and, half turning his mule, shook his umbrella in a threatening manner towards Mount Welcome – his eye accompanying the action with a glance that expressed some secret but vindictive determination.
As he faced back into the road, another personage appeared upon the scene – a female equestrian, who, trotting briskly up, turned her horse, and rode along by his side.
She was a young girl, or, rather a young woman – a bright, beautiful creature – who appeared an angel by the side of