Volume 1 Chapter 31 - The Maroon by Mayne Reid
An Unexpected Patron
Thus had the chapter of accidents that conducted Herbert Vaughan to the penn of Jacob Jessuron been brought to a very unexpected termination.
But the end was not yet. There was more to come—much more.
Herbert was surprised at the turn things had taken. The only explanation he could think of was, that it was to his uncle’s name he was indebted for the honours that were being done to him—a mere neighbourly feeling of the penn-keeper for the great sugar-planter.
“They are friends,” thought Herbert, “and this kindness to me is the offspring of that friendship.”
The reflection did not give him pleasure, but the contrary. He felt himself in an awkward position—the recipient of a hospitality not meant for himself, but rather for one who had injured him; and who, although his own relative, he now regarded as his enemy.
His uncle would hear of it—no doubt, soon—and would be able to accuse him of taking advantage of his name. The thought caused Herbert a feeling of uneasiness.
Perhaps he would have cared less had there been no one but his uncle to be cognisant of the false position. But there was. His short and troubled visit to Mount Welcome had made Herbert Vaughan acquainted with one whose remembrance was likely for a long time to exert an influence over his thoughts—even though lips as red, and eyes, perhaps, as brilliant as hers, were now smiling courteously upon him.
The memory of his cousin Kate was still mellow. He could fancy her soft, sweet voice yet ringing in his ears; the warm glow of her virgin presence seemed hanging like a halo around him: all urging him to preserve the heroism of his character, if only for the sake of standing well in her estimation.
Influenced by these considerations, he resolved to throw off the mask with which circumstances had momentarily invested him, and declare the true position in which he stood to his haughty relative.
It was not until the conclusion of the dinner—after the daughter of his host had retired smilingly from the table—that the young Englishman unburdened himself. Then—perhaps a little prompted by the wine—he made a full confession of the disagreeable circumstances existing between himself and the master of Mount Welcome.
Was it the wine—somewhat freely pressed upon him—that hindered him from perceiving the displeasure which his communication had produced upon his hearer? Was there any show of displeasure?
If there was, Herbert did not perceive it.
On the contrary, had the young man been closely observant, he might have noticed an effect of altogether an opposite character. Behind the green goggles, he might have seen those deep dark Israelitish eyes sparkling with joy at the revelation he had made.
“I’m exsheedingly sorry, young Mashter Vochan,” said the Jew, after his surprise at Herbert’s revelations had apparently subsided—“exsheedingly sorry I ish—to hear that you and your uncle are not on good terms. Ah! well; we mush hope for the besht; and ash I am one of Mishter Vochan’s humble friendsh, possibly I might do somethingsh to reconshile your little quarrel. Doosh you not intend going back to Mount Welcome?”
“Never. After what has passed, never!”
“Ach! yoush musht not be too revengeful. Mishter Vochan ish a proud man; and I musht say he hash behaved badly—very badly; but still he ish your uncle.”
“He has not acted as such.”
“That ish true—very true—thish fine gentleman you shpeak of—shtill, that ish no reason why Mishter Vochan should treat hish own nephew so shabby. Well, well—I am sorry—exsheedingly sorry. But, Mashter Herbert,” continued the penn-keeper, interrogating his guest with evident interest, “what dosh you intend to do? I supposhe you hash monish of your own?”
“I am sorry to say, Mr Jessuron, I have not.”
“No monish at all!”
“Not a shilling,” affirmed Herbert, with a careless laugh.
“That ish bad. Where dosh you think of going—since you shay you will not return to Mount Welcome?”
“Well,” said Herbert, still preserving his air of jocularity, “I was making for the port again, when your worthy overseer and his friends intercepted me—luckily, I may say: since, but for their intervention, I should in all likelihood have gone without dinner to-day—at all events, I should not have dined so sumptuously.”
“A wretched dinner, Mashter Vochan—a misherable dinner to what your uncle could have given you. I’m but a poor humble man compared with the Cushtos; but what I hash ish at your service any time.”
“Thanks!” said Herbert. “I know not, Mr Jessuron, how I shall ever repay you for your hospitality. I must not tax it any longer, however. I see, by the sun, it is time I should be making for the Bay.”
As Herbert spoke, he was rising to take his departure.
“Shtop, shtop!” cried his host, pushing him back into his chair; “not to-night, Mashter Vochan, not thish night. I can’t promish you ash fine a bed as yoush might get at Mount Welcome, but I think I can give you a better ash you shleep in lash night—ha, ha! You musht stay with ush thish night; and Shoodith will make you some music. Don’t shay a word; I takesh no refushal.”
The offer was a tempting one; and, after some further pressure, Herbert acquiesced in it. He was partly influenced to stay where he was, by the poor prospect of a lodging which the Bay afforded him; and, perhaps, a little from a desire to hear the promised music.
The conversation was continued, by his host putting some further interrogatories:—How did Herbert intend to employ himself in the Bay? What prospect had he of employment; and in what line?
“I fear not much in any line,” replied the young man, answering both questions in one, and in a tone of sarcastic despondence.
“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 circumshtances. 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.