The Buccaneer Part 14

"Ah, Sir Willmott!--you are always wise, Sir Willmott; truly it would be ill coming on my own account, seeing that I had no business of my own to bring me, therefore why should I come? and even if I had, Dapple Dumpling travels so slowly."

"This trifling is impertinent," exclaimed the knight angrily: "to your business."

"I hope it wo'n't end in smoke, as it begins in fire," replied Robin, slily presenting a roll of the tobacco vulgarly called pig-tail.

"Mis-shapen wretch!" retorted Burrell in a towering pa.s.sion, flinging the roll directly in his face, "how dare you to trifle thus with your superiors? art drunk, or mad?"

"Neither, an please ye, Sir Willmott," replied Robin, replacing the tobacco in his bosom; "only since you wo'n't look into the pig-tail, perhaps you will tell me what I am to say to Hugh Dalton."

"Hugh Dalton! There, give it me; why did you not tell me you came from the Buccaneer? Robin, you are a million times worse than a fool! There, sit, good Robin--But, no, light me yon lamp; the fire burns dimly. A murrain on't, I can't see! There, that will do."

While Burrell read Dalton's communication, thus whimsically but carefully conveyed, Robin had ample time to moralise on and observe all around him.

"That table," thought the Ranger, "is just a type of the times. The Bible, it can hardly be seen for the heap of foolish expositions, and preachments, in the shape of pamphlets, that crowd upon it. O, Lord! O, Lord! take from the Puritans their vain opinions, wild imaginations, false valuations, and the like, which they hang over the book that Barbara says has so much good in it (just as the Catholics at San Eustatia trick out the Saviour's figure), and what poor shrunken minds they'd have! Then the bottle and gla.s.s: that, I'm afraid, typifies the Cavalier; the poor Cavalier! who clings so firmly to the worn, and lets go the stronger, rope. But mark how the filthy liquor stands beside the pure book!--even so are the just and the unjust mingled. Ah! he has been praying with the Lords' Commissioners; then drinking, and so forth, the instant their backs were turned! Yet, G.o.d hath made the double-faced villain of good proportions, so that a woman can look on him with love, though his heart--augh!--I wouldn't have his heart for his lands, no, nor for his fine person either. Barbara can't abide him; she always says he has a black look--and so he has. But hark! there's knocking at the gate, and loud knocking too--Sir Willmott, as the servants can't hear, so can't answer, shall I go down?"

Burrell was so much occupied with his letter, that he heard neither the knocking nor Robin's question, but sat, his eyes staring on the paper, as if the words were of fire. Nor was it a long epistle, though sufficiently important to rivet his whole attention. The contents were as follows:--

April the 6th, 1656.

"SIR,

"Agreeably to your instructions, I went to the house at St.

Vallery, where you told me I was to meet the lady of whom we spoke; but she had left harbour a few hours before I entered.

With much trouble I succeeded in tracing her to a very odd sort of dwelling, a little outside the town, yet not in time to overtake her or her attendant. Some said one thing, and some another; but I could gather no information to be depended on. I remained nearly nine days in the neighbourhood, watching every vessel that came in or went out; nevertheless, I am persuaded that she has embarked for England: how, is still a mystery.

"Yours, "FIRE-FLY."

"The fellow is careful enough: can it be possible he has played me false? Yet, where the motive, or what?" mused Burrell aloud. The knocking at the door was repeated, but was only answered by the loud baying of a brace of hounds. "And are the rascals really drunk?"

inquired their master in a piteous tone, roused at last to a sense of what was pa.s.sing around him.

"Ay, faith, sir; had I not as well go down? for, though ill-apparelled as a serving-man, methinks I could do the civilities better than the night-wind that howls so cursedly round the entry."

"Ay, go, go! only see that I be not disturbed, unless, indeed, it be some person I must see--some one of consequence."

"Ay," muttered Robin: "so much for modern hospitality!" and he hastened to undo the fastening.

As the chains fell, a small bent figure, completely enveloped in a fur cloak, entered the hall, closely followed by a swarthy attendant, whose high features, quick sparkling eyes, and downcast look bespoke him one of the tribe of Israel.

"Is Sir Willmott Burrell within?" inquired the stranger, letting fall the cloak that had been closely m.u.f.fled round his face: he spoke, however, in so foreign an accent, that it was a moment or two before Robin could reply.

"I demanded of thee if Sir Willmott Burrell of Burrell was within?"

repeated the old man; and as Robin observed him more attentively, he perceived that he was dressed in the peculiar fas.h.i.+on of the high-born Jews: his beard descended nearly to his girdle, and his head was surmounted by a perpendicular cap of yellow silk.

"Sir Willmott Burrell is not well," replied Robin; "but I will take your name, if it please ye, and return speedily with his commands."

"Mana.s.seh Ben Israel demands instant parley with the Master of Burrell."

Robin did not bow, because, as a humble Cavalier and a proud Christian, he held it a point of duty to hate and avoid the despised race to which the stranger belonged; but he made a respectful answer, for the riches of the Rabbi and the favour of Cromwell were not to be contemned. He then proceeded along the hall, and up some narrow stairs, called private, as they led only to the library, and was crossing the apartment for the purpose of announcing Ben Israel, when the Jew, who had closely and un.o.bservedly followed his footsteps with so light a tread as even to escape Robin's ears, pa.s.sed him suddenly, and as suddenly Burrell of Burrell sprang from his seat, as if struck by a musket-ball. The old man stood before him, his features working, his lips moving, but no articulate sound coming forth--his entire frame agitated, almost convulsed; while Burrell, exerting every power of his mind to the contest, was the first to move. He stepped towards the Jew, extending his hand in token of amity. Ben Israel touched it not, but raised his arm, pointing his skinny and shrivelled finger towards Burrell, until it came on a level with his countenance; then, by a desperate exertion, the cracked, strained voice forced a pa.s.sage through his parched throat, and he exclaimed,--

"My child!--my only one!--Zillah!--my beloved, my only, only child! Do ye remember your own mother, who travailed for ye, brought ye forth in pain, and carried ye, and nourished ye in her bosom? Do ye ever hope to have a child, who will tend, and serve, and watch over you, as mine once did over me? If so, tell, tell me where mine is!--I will bless you for the knowledge! I, an old man, whose beard is white, implore you, who have ruined her, to tell me where she is!"

The Jew flung his cap on the floor, and prostrated himself before Burrell, who immediately raised him, and in his most persuasive tone sought to soothe and a.s.sure the Rabbi he had been in every respect misled and misinformed.

"Sit, good Ben Israel, and comfort yourself; you have, I swear to you, been grossly imposed upon by some malignants whom I must---- Robin! hunt out the knaves, and bring some wine--the best in the old bin, for my good friend. How could you, sir, suppose me capable of betraying the confidence you reposed when you introduced me to the abode in which your fair daughter dwelt? But, granting I had the ascendency over her, which from your speech you seem to infer, how----"

"Sir Christian, stop!" interrupted Ben Israel, who, now his feelings had found vent, had composed himself, so as to meet his wily adversary with tolerable fort.i.tude: "Sir Christian, stop! There are two cla.s.ses of human kind your sect deceive without regret--betray without compunction--and destroy, body and soul, without remorse--women and Jews. It is nought, sir, nought--mere pastime--women's hearts and reputations, and old men's grey hairs! Alas! alas! and is such the religion of England!" The old man bent his head, and moaned heavily; then, after a little s.p.a.ce of time, raised himself, and said, "In the name of the G.o.d of Jacob, I will take you point by point! Reply unto my questioning; and, if thou canst, acquit thyself."--A ray of hope darted over his expressive features, like a beam of light athwart a thunder-cloud. "But no," he continued, his countenance again darkening, "it cannot be--it cannot be."

"Worthy Ben Israel! excellent Rabbi!" replied Burrell; "dissect me as you will; and if I answer not thy expectation----"

"Too truly wilt thou answer my expectation," said the Jew. "The Lord of Hosts be praised that these iniquities are unpractised by the children of my people! The innocent lamb torn from the fold; or, what is worse, decoyed from the tents of her fathers! Had she been dead, I could have said, 'The Lord's will be done,' He hath taken the child back into her mother's bosom. But answer unto me these points--Didst often see Zillah?"

"I certainly did see your daughter at times, during my stay in Paris."

"And why, having delivered my messages? Of what importance ought thy visits to have been to one of the despised race?"

"You surely would not impute evil to my inquiring if your daughter wished to write to her father when I forwarded despatches to England?"

"Strange, then, she should never have availed herself of such kindness.

Did she give no reason for this neglect of her parent?"

"I saw so little of her," replied Burrell carelessly, "that I really forget."

The Rabbi shook his head.

"Perhaps, then, Sir Willmott Burrell, you can remember this trinket, and inform me how it came into my daughter's hands: it was forced from her previous to her flight."

Burrell started, for it was a miniature of himself, which he had given her in the bud of his affection. At last he brazened out an a.s.surance that, however like, it was not his; that he could not tell how young ladies obtained miniature pictures; that, if the Rabbi would look, he would observe the hair and eyes to be much lighter.

"Man!" exclaimed the Rabbi, fixing his keen black eye upon Burrell, "away from before me! Guilt and falsehood are on your lip. Your eye, the eye of the proud Christian, quails before the gaze of the despoiled and despised Jew; were you innocent, you would stand firm as I do now, erect in your Maker's image. Do you not tremble lest G.o.d's own lightnings blast you? Did you ever read, and reading believe, the Christian story of Ananias and Sapphira!"

If Burrell had possessed an atom of human feeling, he would have sunk abashed to the earth, and entreated the forgiveness of the Rabbi, whose flas.h.i.+ng eyes and extended features glared and swelled with indignation; but the only two emotions that at the time contended within him were cowardice and pride. Had he the power, gladly would he have struck the Jew to death, as a punishment for what he deemed his insolence; but he feared the protecting and avenging hand of Cromwell, who never resigned a cherished purpose or a cherished person, and whose esteem for the learned Rabbi was perfectly known, and much talked of about the court.

"You cannot avoid crediting me for meekness, Ben Israel," he said, without, however, raising his eyes from the ground (for his blood boiled in his veins, though he spoke in a gentle tone); "you have come into my house, rated me upon a foul charge, and will not permit me to speak in my own defence. Take a cup of this wine, and then I will hear, if you can adduce it, further proof than that false portrait."

The Rabbi touched not the proffered beverage, but withdrew from his vest sundry letters, which he unfolded with a trembling hand: they were the communications he had received from the Polish Jew, with whose family at Paris his daughter had remained. He stated Burrell's extraordinary attention to Zillah, during his residence abroad--the frequent letters that pa.s.sed between them under pretence of a correspondence with her father--her having received others from England since Burrell's return--her total change of manner--and, finally, her having quitted his house, and his being unable to discover where she had gone. Strong suspicions were added that she had followed Burrell to, and was now in, England; and there was a long and formal expression of regret from the Polish Jew that he had ever admitted the Christian beyond the threshold of his door.

The villain breathed more freely when he ascertained that the fugitive had not been traced from St. Vallery; and he felt he could have braved the affair with perfect ease and indifference, but for the information conveyed by Dalton's letter, and the consequent dread of Zillah's appearing before him, perhaps at the very moment that the often-a.s.serted, and sworn to, lie pa.s.sed his lips. It was now more difficult to dissemble than he had ever yet found it; he saw clearly that his oaths and protestations made but little impression upon the mind of Ben Israel, who filled up every pause either by lamentations for his daughter, execrations on her seducer, or touching appeals to one whose feelings were centred in self, and who therefore had little sympathy for sorrow that would have moved a heart of stone. Burrell was so thoroughly overpowered by the events of the evening, that the only point of exertion on which his mind rallied was a strong wish to rid himself of the Jew as speedily as possible, so that he might find opportunity to collect and arrange his thoughts--it therefore occurred to him to a.s.sume the bearing of injured innocence, as protestations had been of no avail; he accordingly said, in a tone and with a manner so earnest, that at the moment it almost destroyed the suspicions of the Rabbi:--

"Sir, I have over and over again a.s.serted enough to convince any rational person that I know nothing of the crime you impute to me; having, in my own estimation, performed all that could be required, I must now withdraw. If you please to lay your statement before his Highness, I will defend myself, as I have now done, and let him judge between thee and me."

"I have not been yet able to gain speech with the chosen in Israel,"

replied Mana.s.seh: "he hath been much from home on secret service for the good of his people."

Burrell exulted at this knowledge, and again protested his innocence in the strongest terms. Mana.s.seh rose to depart. Burrell pressed him to remain; but the old man resolutely refused.

"I am about to go forth from your dwelling. If you have not been the seducer of my child, I crave your pardon in deep humility, and will do penance in sackcloth and ashes for having wrongfully accused you; but,"

he added, bitterly, "if you have wronged me, and devoted her soul to destruction, may the curse of the old Jew enter into your veins, and curdle the red blood to a hot and destroying poison!--may the flowers of the spring be to you scentless and revolting!--may the gra.s.s wither under your footsteps!--may the waters of the valley be even as molten lead unto your parched lips!--may----"

"Dog of an unbeliever!" exclaimed Burrell, whose temper could no longer brook the taunting curses of the old man, and whose coward spirit quailed beneath them, "hold thy foul tongue, lest I pluck it from between thy teeth. Had I been a circ.u.mcised Jew, and thou a Christian, I could not have listened with more humility; and this is the reward of my forbearance--curses deep and bitter as the waters of the Dead Sea."