THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE NEW LAND STORIES OF JEWS WHO HAD A PART IN THE MAKING OF OUR COUNTRY BY ELMA EHRLICH LEVINGER "A new world, with great portals far outflung, Holding a hope more sweet than time had sung, To which the Jew, of life's high quest a part, A pilgrim came, the Torah in his heart. A land of promise, and fulfillment too ; Where on a sudden olden dreams came true. . . . Here grew we part of an ennobled state, Gave and won honor, sat among the great, And saw unfolding to our 'raptured view The day long prayed for by the patient Jew." From " The Jew in America," by Felix N. Gerson NEW YORK BLOCH PUBLISHING COMPANY "THE JEWISH BOOK CONCERN" 1920 Copyright, 1920, by BLOCH PUBLISHING COMPANY PS TO and THESE STORIES THAT REALLY HAPPENED ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED tuft LIBRARf A LETTER TO MY READERS. Dear Boys and Girls: When your grandfather tells you a story, do you ever interrupt him to ask : "But is it all true?" And doesn't he often answer: "I don't know," or "I don't know when it's really true, and when it begins to be like a story book." And so, when you read through my little book if you do read right through it to the very last page you may wonder whether all my history stories really happened. Yes and no! I do know that cross old Peter Stuyvesant of New Amsterdam hated our people, but I never found any record of the Jewish boy who wanted to play with the governor's niece, pretty Katrina. The histories tell us how gallant young Franks became the friend of George Washington, but none of them mention that the Jewish soldier saved a Tory from the angry mob. You understand now, don't you? So I'm going to turn the page right away that you may read for yourselves of the three Jews who whispered together on the deck of the "Santa Maria," as Columbus and his crew crossed the Sea of Darkness in search of a New Land. E. E. L. NOTE: The author expresses her thanks to the editors of The Hebrew Standard and The Jewish Child in which the stories, "In the Night Watches" and "A Place of Refuge," orig inally appeared. CONTENTS. PAGE IN THE NIGHT WATCHES The Three who came with Columbus. WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY . 14 A tale of the First Jewish Settlers of New Amsterdam. A PLACE OF REFUGE 33 How the Wanderer came to Rhode Island. "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE" . . 39 How Isaac Franks, of the American army, first heard the Declaration of Independence. THE LAST SERVICE 52 The story of a, Rabbi who lived in New York when it was captured by the British in 1776. THE GENEROUS GIVER .... 68 The story of a Jewish money-lender of the Revolution. ACROSS THE WATERS .... 88 A story of the City of Refuge planned by Mordecai Noah. THREE AT GRACE 105 The story of the first Jewish settler in Alabama. THE LUCKY STONE 122 The adventures of Uriah P. Levy, the first naval officer of his day. THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA . 140 The story of Rebecca Gratz and Washington Irving. A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN . . 160 How President Lincoln set out for Washington and how he returned. THE LAND COLUMBUS FOUND . - 173 The story of the tablet placed upon the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. 7 THE NEW LAND IN THE NIGHT WATCHES The Three Who Came With Columbus For a while there was no sound save the soft swish-swish of the waves as the "Santa Maria," the flagship of Columbus, ploughed its way through the darkness. The moon had long since disappeared and one by one the stars had left the sky until only the morning star remained to guide Alonzo de la Calle, crouching above his pilot wheel. The man's eyes ached for sleep, his fingers were numb from damp ness and fatigue, his heart heavy with despair. "Dawn," he muttered at last, "almost the last of the night watches; Gonzalo will take my place at the wheel and I can sleep." In the shifting light of the ship's lantern, swing ing from the mast above his head, the pilot saw Bernal, the ship's doctor, advancing toward him; a little dark man, who dragged one foot as he walked. He would have passed without speaking; but Alonzo, hungry for companionship, caught his arm. "You are in high favor with Columbus," he began, "and he confides in you. Tell me, is he still de- 9 10 THE NEW LAND termined to go on if the next few days do not bring us to land?" The ship's doctor nodded almost sullenly, yet there was pride in his voice when he spoke. "The ad miral will not turn back. Not though the very boards of our three vessels mutiny and refuse him obedience. He will go on!" "It is madness. It is already seventy days since we left our fair land of Spain, and " Bernal interrupted him with a mocking laugh. " 'Our fair land of Spain'," he sneered, "is not the land of the Jew nor have we found it fair." But before he could speak further, the other clapped a warning hand over his mouth. "Hush!" exclaimed the little pilot, "Hush! We may be overheard, and, though our admiral is gentle to the sons of Israel, it might fare ill with us if the crew were to learn that there were 'secret Jews' on board. See, some one is coming . Be silent," and he pointed to one who moved slowly toward them. But Bernal laughed. "It is only Luis de Torres, the interpreter, one of our own people. Shalom Aleicha," he addressed himself to the newcomer, who answered, "Aleichem Shalom," but softly, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. "Even in the midst of the Sea of Darkness you fear to use our holy tongue," taunted the physician. "We are no longer in Spain where the very walls of our houses had ears to hear our Shema and tongues to betray us to the officers of the Inquisition when we failed to come to their cursed masses." His IN THE NIGHT WATCHES 11 face twisted with rage as he pointed to his useless foot. "In Valencia I was denounced to the Inqui sition, tortured almost unto death. But I escaped with my life; and now instead of spending my last days in peace in the land of my fathers I have come on this mad voyage across a sea without shore." He laughed harshly. "Yet even on these endless waves, I am safer than in the pleasant land of Spain." Luis de Torres, who had stood leaning over the vessel's side, turned toward the speaker, his sensi tive face showing pale and grave in the light of the swaying lantern. "Ah, Bernal," he said sadly, "has not the whole world become a great sea of endless waves for the unhappy children of Israel?" He shuddered slightly and drew his rich cloak more tightly about him. "I am a strong man; but I sicken and grow faint when I think of the tens of thousands of our brethren we saw scourged from the land of Spain even as we embarked and our three vessels were about to leave the port." "Truly," Alonzo muttered, "truly, even a strong man may wish to forget what our eyes have seen. Night after night as I stand at my wheel I can see them, old men and little children and women with their babes. Where will they find rest?" "There is no rest for Israel." It was Bernal who spoke in his sullen passion. ' 'Twas the ninth of Ab when our brethren were driven forth the ninth of Ab; the day on which our Temple fell. Then we were scattered beneath the sky, but we thought at last that in the land of Spain we had found a 12 THE NEW LAND refuge. But there is no refuge for Israel, no rest for Him until death." The sad eyes of Luis de Torres glowed with a strange light. "Nay, friend," he corrected gently, "the God of Israel will not forget His children forever. Who knows that this new route to India, of which the admiral dreams, may not lead us to a new land, an undiscovered place where no Jew will suffer for his faith. But, O God!" he cried with sudden pain, "We have waited so long, and still our people wander and are tossed to and fro, as we are tossed about by the waves of this unknown sea. Must each century bring its new Tisha B'ab, must we indeed suffer forever? Where is rest for us? What land will give us refuge?" He raised his face to the brightening sky, his hands tearing at the gold chain about his throat. No one spoke for a moment, nor even moved until Alonzo turned back to his wheel, his eyes bright with strange tears. A cry burst from him; a cry of unbelieving joy. "Land! Land!" and he pointed a trembling finger toward the misty outlines of palm trees, straight and slender beneath the early morning sky. Bernal echoed his cry with a great shout and in a moment, from every part of the ship, men came pouring, wide-eyed and unbelieving that they had crossed the Sea of Darkness at last. In their midst came a quiet man; a tall man with iron-gray hair and a firm mouth, who at first spoke no word, only gazed dumbly at the fulfillment of his dreams, stretching before him in the silvery light. 13 "We have reached India," said Columbus at last. Those about him laughed shrilly in their joy or wept or prayed. Alonzo, his eyes snapping with excitement, wrenched his wheel with hands no longer tired, and Bernal, the sneer for once absent from his lips, gazed with tense face toward the palm trees. Only Luis de Torres stood apart, his face still convulsed from his passionate outburst of grief for his people. For, like the others, he could not know that instead of a new route to India a mighty con tinent had been discovered; nor did the unhappy dreamer dream that a very land of refuge and of hope for the wandering sons of Israel, lay before him across the smiling waters. WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY A Tale of the First Jewish Settlers of New Amsterdam. The warm spring sunshine forced its way through the tiny diamond-shaped window panes to fall in a bright pool of light upon the table cloth and blue cups and bowls Mary Barsimon had brought with her from Holland. It was a pleasant room, shin ing with the exquisite neatness that characterized the dwelling of every Dutch housewife in New Ams terdam with the same simple, well-made furniture and bright hand-woven rugs. Yet it differed strik ingly in two or three details from the other homes in the Dutch settlement; on the mantle-piece, above the blue-tiled fire-place, stood two brass candle-sticks for the Sabbath, while on the eastern wall hung a quaint wood-cut representing scenes from the Bible; Abraham sacrificing Isaac, Jacob dreaming of the ladder reaching up to heaven. This Mizrach, Sam uel's father had once told him, hung upon the east ern wall of every good Jewish home, that at prayer all might be reminded to turn toward the east and face the site of the Temple at Jerusalem. For cen turies the Temple had been in ruins and the children of those who had worshipped there scattered to the four corners of the earth. Jacob Barsimon him self had wandered from Spain to Holland, from Amsterdam to Jamaica, from Jamaica to the Dutch 14 WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 15 colony of New Amsterdam upon the Atlantic; yet in all his wanderings he had brought with him the old Mizrach; and he still taught his twelve-year-old son to pray with his face toward the land of his fathers. It was before this Mizrach that Jacob Barsimon stood one early spring morning in the year 1655, when New Amsterdam was still free from the rule of the English who were to re-name the colony New York. He stared at it with unseeing eyes, frowning darkly, his long, slender hands plucking nervously at the buttons of his coat. Samuel, assisting the young colored slave girl in removing the breakfast dishes, glanced at his father from time to time a little nervously, although he could not recall any prank or misdeed on his part that might have an gered him. But his mother, after watching her hus band for a few moments from her low chair at the window where she sat dressing the chubby two- year-old Rebecca, broke the heavy silence by ask ing: "What is wrong, Jacob? What troubles you?" For a moment Jacob Barsimon said nothing, but frowned more darkly than ever. At last he spoke. "Have you forgotten that a month from tomorrow is Samuel's birthday that he will be thirteen?" A tender smile played about the mother's mouth. "Surely, I remember the day he was born as well as though it were yesterday." She sighed a little, her hands busy with the buttons of the little girl's dress, her eyes gazing dreamily through the window. "We were still in Amsterdam, in dear old Holland, with 16 THE NEW LAND our own people. Do you remember, Jacob, how on the day when he was made a 'Son of the Coven ant,' your old uncle acted as godfather and all of our neighbors " Jacob Barsimon interrupted her with a bitter laugh. "Neighbors! Yes, we had neighbors then, our own people, who were with us in joy and sor row. But here, Jacob Aboaf and I are merely tolerated by the burghers. True, they allowed us to land when we came from Jamaica on the 'Pear Tree.' They have allowed me to trade with the Indies as well they might, for even Peter Stuy- vesant himself dare not say that we two Hebrews have ever been guilty of dishonesty in our trading ventures. But we are not at home here as we were in Holland or Jamaica; we are aliens and strangers and now comes this last insult to our people to re fuse them the right of residence here." Frau Barsimon nodded gravely. "Yes, I know well why your heart is so bitter with disappointment when you think that it is almost time for our Sam uel's barmitzvah and that save our neighbor, Jacob Aboaf, there may be none of our own people here to help us rejoice when Samuel becomes a 'Son of the Law.' And yet," she spoke cheerily enough, rocking the rosy baby upon her knee, "and yet, who knows but that by next Shabbath our Jewish friends will be granted the right of settling here? And if they are still here when Samuel's birthday comes," she nodded brightly to the wondering boy who had remained near the table, drinking in every word, "you will have a minyan (ten men required for a WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 17 Jewish ceremony) to hear you recite your barmitz- vah speech and eat the feast I shall prepare for them." She sprang up suddenly, the baby tucked under one arm as she began to pile dishes with her free hand, scolding the slave girl as energetically as she worked for not having the table cleared. For if Frau Barsimon ever allowed herself the luxury of a moment's rest or gossip, she never failed to regain lost time by working twice as hard and noisily as soon as she took hold again. "Father," asked Samuel, forgetting the cakes and ale of his barmitzvah party for a moment, "just why won't they let the Jews who came from South America last fall live in New Amsterdam like the rest of us ? In Holland the Dutch were always kind to our people and in the Indies they allowed you to trade in peace." Barsimon did not answer until the slow-handed, sharp-eared little slave girl had followed his wife into the kitchen. When he spoke his voice was tinged with a harsh bitterness. "Wiser men than you have asked that question, my boy, and no one has yet found an answer. True, Holland and those lands ruled by the Dutch have been places of refuge for us. No wonder that the poor souls who left Brazil in the 'St. Catarina' hoped to receive honor able treatment here at the hands of the burghers. It may be that they fear the rivalry of our brethren in trade, if more of us be allowed to take up resi dence in New Amsterdam. And perhaps," he spoke with a sort of grudging honesty, "perhaps, one can scarcely blame the worthy burghers for mistrusting 18 THE NEW LAND the newcomers and refusing to grant them welcome. They were unfortunate enough to have been robbed at Jamaica where they rested on their journey; when they reached here there was the disgrace of an auction in which their goods were sold to pay for their passage, and two of the passengers, David Israel and Moses Ambrosius, were held for security. You remember how a law suit was brought against them by Jacques de la Motthe, master of the ves sel, for this same passage money; and although the matter is now settled, some of our honest citizens are not ready to welcome strangers who they be lieve are little better than vagabonds and paupers." "But, father," protested the boy, "a goodly num ber out of the twenty-seven who came on the 'St. Catarina' last autumn have received gold from their brethren in Holland. All except the very poorest one. And I heard mother telling Frau Aboaf that you could ill afford giving all you did to help the poor widow on board the 'St. Catarina' and " "Jacob Aboaf and I have done but little," half- growled Barsimon, as though ashamed of the char ity he was always ready to do by stealth. "And they were our brethren." He became silent again, striding to the window and scowling out into the bright spring sunshine. At last: "But perhaps we have managed to serve them with our pens as well as gold. Jacob Aboaf and I, with a few of our good Dutch townsmen, have written to the directors of the Dutch West India Company in Amsterdam, praying that these Jews, now forbidden lodging here, be allowed the rights and privileges of all good WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 19 citizens. The directors should listen to our plea, for a large amount of the company's capital comes from Jewish purses. We might have heard favor ably from them long ago had it not been for the stubborn hatred of Governor Stuyvesant, whose let ters have poisoned their minds against us." "But we have never harmed Governor Stuyves ant," observed Samuel, "so why should his hand be against us?" Jacob Barsimon laughed grimly, lowering his voice as he answered, for he was a cautious man and did not care to risk having his words carried through the town by the little slave girl Minna, now clat tering the breakfast dishes as she moved about the kitchen. "Does Peter Stuyvesant ever need a reason for his follies?" he asked dryly. "His head is as hard as his wooden leg and never a new idea has pierced his brain since the day he was born. He hates our people with as much reason as our black Minna fears witches and the evil eye. It is said that he has written to the directors at Amsterdam, beg ging that none of the Jewish nation be permitted to infest New Netherlands. He has used those very words in public places ; infest the colony and be like a plague of hungry locusts. Perhaps he really be lieves the evil things he says of our brethren. Even eyes as shrewd as his may be blinded by hate. And one can understand his bitterness, his hardness of heart toward all mankind. His post here is not easy, harrassed by the savages on our borders, the Swedes, even the English, who have already cast covetous eyes upon this rich port. While his pri- 20 THE NEW LAND vate life " the man's stern face grew rather ten der "has not been very happy. It is said that he left a half-sister in Holland, the one creature he ever loved or who knew his kindlier side. A few months ago her husband died and she dared the voy age with her little daughter that they might make their home with the governor. But the vessel was lost at sea and she was drowned. Only a sailor or two and several passengers survived and one of them brought the little girl to Peter Stuyvesant." "I heard Minna tell of her," interrupted Samuel. "She says that once she helped the governor's cook carry the Sunday dinner home from market and she saw little Katrina playing on the great stairway of Peter Stuyvesant's house. Minna says she has long golden curls and her eyes are blue blue as the lit tle flowers that grow near the Wall every spring. I wonder we never see her, father!" Barsimon sat down on the low settle beside the window and lighted his long pipe, puffing thought fully and gazing into the smoke as he spoke. "I would not have you repeat this, son, for it may be but idle gossip. But it is reported that since her mother's death the child has become the idol of the governor's hard, old heart. He is filled with fool ish fears that he may lose her as cruelly as he lost her mother before her. He scarcely ever permits her to stir abroad and then only when she is fol lowed by one of his faithful black slaves." He arose with his characteristic abruptness, and walking to the chest of drawers across from the fire-place, changed his black silken skull cap to the broad- WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 21 brimmed hat of his Dutch neighbors. "Forget what I have said," he told his son, briefly. "We live here only on sufferance and must guard our tongues. But you are a good lad and I know I need never regret having confided in you. And now study your barmitzvah portion. Even if the folk from the 'St. Catarina' are deported before your birthday and there is no minyan here and we can have no real feast in your honor, I would have you do your sainted grandfather credit and please your mother who has waited so long for the day when you should be old enough to be considered a man among our people." For a moment his hand lay kindly upon the boy's shoulder; then, with a shrug as though to shake off any foolish tenderness for the son he loved so dearly, he passed out of the house. Samuel watched him from the window until his stolid, heavy-set figure disappeared down the wind ing road. Then, finding his portion in the Hebrew book which his father treasured so highly in those days when printed Hebrew books were still a rarity, he sank down on the settle and tried to concentrate on the task which his father had left for him. But more than once his dark eyes glanced from the heavy Hebrew characters to the pleasant scene that lay beyond the window; a scene one would never asso ciate with crowded, bustling New York of our own day; the low, comfortable looking houses of the Dutch burghers, nestling under the great trees; the well-scoured windows blinking like so many sleepy eyes in the warm spring sunshine. It was a day for dreaming and adventure, not for study. 22 THE NEW LAND For a little while the boy sat with his head resting upon the low window sill, his young mind busy with half-formed fancies, most of them circling about his talk with his father concerning the unhappy pas sengers of the 'St. Catarina.' Would the unfortu nates be obliged to seek shelter elsewhere, or would they be allowed to dwell in New Amsterdam? If so, perhaps in time other Jewish families might come, bringing with them boys of his own age, among whom he might find a real playfellow. He sighed a little wistfully at the thought, for he had no close friends among the sturdy young Dutch lads of the neigh borhood. Even a girl would be better than no one, he thought; not a mere baby like his little sister, but a girl old enough to play with him, to visit the Indians dwelling a little beyond the Wall, to wan der with him to the other end of the settlement and stand upon the sea shore, searching for shells or lying upon the shining sands and weaving fantastic dream stories, too foolish for older and wiser folks to hear. The boy fell to dreaming now, sitting there in the warm sunshine, for he was a quiet, thoughtful lad, unaccustomed to playing with youths of his own age, given to day-dreams and fairy legends. Today, as he half reclined on the settle near the window, his busy young brain painted a picture so strange that even Samuel himself had to smile over it; for as he gazed through the window with half-closed lids, the dusty road and little Dutch houses faded away and he seemed to see a shining, white street with tall buildings on either side, and many, many people WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 23 more than he had ever seen in his life, even in Ams terdam across the seas hurrying to and fro. He had heard his father say, nodding gravely over his pipe, that some day little New Amsterdam would be one of the greatest sea ports in the world. Jacob Aboaf had hooted at his friend's prophecy; but as he recalled it today, Samuel did not laugh. His day dream was very real to him, and when his mother came into the room she found him staring through the window with a strange smile about his mouth. Frau Barsimon was a busy woman, with no time for day-dreams and she was often annoyed (and secretly alarmed) at her son's tendency to wander off into a world of his own making. Now she shook him, but gently, and spoke with her usual briskness. "Samuel, Samuel, have you nothing better to do than sit nodding like an old spinning woman in the sunshine?" The boy started guiltily, indicating his open book with a shame-faced laugh. "Father told me to study barmitzvah," he faltered. His mother shrugged goodnaturedly. Pious Jew ess that she was, she was often inclined to quarrel with her husband who, she declared, was too fond of keeping the boy tied to his Hebrew lessons. "He needs a strong body now," she used to say when demanding an extra play-hour for Samuel. "When he is older and his head is less stuffed with dream- ing it will be time enough to cram it with your learn ing. But first let him play out in the open air until he is tired and the fresh wind has blown all his non- 24 THE NEW LAND sense away." She was thinking the same heresy that moment, but all she did was to smile goodhumoredly and pull the boy to his feet. "Out of doors with you," she commanded, gayly, "and I will speak to father. Take a walk a long one, and when you come back you will be able to study without falling half-asleep over your book." Samuel needed no urging. A moment later he had kissed his mother good-bye, helped himself to a handful of sugar cookies from her blue crockery jar, and was whistling down the dusty road, feeling strangely anxious for some adventures; adventures as heroic as his father often related before the fire on winter evenings. His mother might have thrown up her hands in despair had she seen the dreamy look in his large eyes. True, fie was no longer drows ing on the settle, but as he swung along under the soft spring sky, he saw himself the hero of a hundred fan tastic tales the captain of a trading-vessel bound for the Indies; the commander of a company of daring youths of his own age, all ready to resist the In dians when they should seek to fall upon New Ams terdam; again, a pirate with a plumed hat and a flashing sword. So, lost in dreaming, he wandered on down the quiet streets to the Wall which marked the boundary of the Settlement. Suddenly realizing that he was tired and hungry, Samuel threw himself upon the grass, and taking his cookies from his pocket, began to munch them con- tendedly, wondering just what heroic deed he should plan for his next undertaking. But in the middle of a bite he stopped short, sitting up suddenly and WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 25 rubbing his eyes as though he had been asleep and feared he was still dreaming. There on the grass beside him sat a little girl, almost his own age he judged; a little girl with gold en hair and eyes as blue as the flowers growing in the young grass about them. To the simple lad she seemed as richly dressed as a fairy princess, for her frock was of flowered silk, she wore silver buck les upon her little shoes, and her daintily flounced cap was fastened at either ear with a quaint medal lion of beaten gold. Samuel took in all of these de tails slowly, half afraid to speak lest he should drive away the delicate little creature, who had risen from the grass and now stood poised for flight like a gaily tinted butterfly. Then she spoke, and he knew there was very little of the fairy about her and that she was almost as human as himself. "Boy," she said in unmistakable Dutch, pointing to the half-eaten cake in his hand, "boy, give me that. I am hungry." She spoke like one accustomed to instant obedience, taking the cake without a word of thanks and eating it prettily, her large blue eyes never leaving Samuel's wondering face. When noth ing remained, she again held out her hand, with her pretty, imperious gesture. "More," said the lit tle lady, and Samuel gave her his last cooky, wish ing heartily that he had brought his mother's blue crockery jar along for the little lady's pleas ure. "I'm sorry," he said humbly, "but I ate the oth ers before I knew you were coming. They are good, aren't they? Does your mother ever bake sugar 26 THE NEW LAND cakes?" he ended in a desperate attempt to make conversation. She shook her blond head. "My mother is dead," she told him. "She was drowned and I would have been drowned, too, but a brave sailor held me tight until he found a spar and he tied me to it and we floated and floated and floated until a big ship passed us and brought us here." She spoke between bites, very cahnly, as though her tale, as thrilling as any of Samuel's dream adventures, was no uncommon story for a dainty little maid to tell on a spring morn ing. "Now I know who you are," Samuel exclaimed, forgetting his shyness in his delighted surprise. "Your name is Katrina and you live with the gov ernor and your mother was lost at sea." Katrina, having finished her cooky, pensively picked up the few crumbs from her lap as though she were still hungry. "I live with Uncle Peter," she corrected. "He is very good to me and gives me pretty presents; he gave me these on my birth day," and she touched the gold medallions upon her ears complacently. "Only he never lets me go out and play alone like the other little girls who some times visit me say they do, and I get tired of stay ing in the garden. And when I go out walking with old black Daniel behind me, it is just as hard as staying at home. I want little girls and boys to play with and take me places; I get tired of my dolls," she ended wistfully. Samuel nodded with understanding sympathy. To have this little stranger maid listen to his stories WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 27 or follow him on his lonely rambles! If he might even go to play with her sometimes in the garden behind Peter Stuyvesant's house. He frowned at the thought : it was not hard to picture the old governor falling into one of his rages at the insolence of the Jewish boy who dared to walk down the garden path. And yet what fun they would have had with every bush a mysterious fairy castle, every tree a pirate ship to take them across the Main. He sighed regretfully, turning to listen to his companion's bright chatter. "I suppose they're looking all over for me," she laughed mischievously, "cook and black Daniel and Uncle Peter, too. Won't he be cross! He was so cross this morning when he got a letter from Hol land, a big letter with a big red seal, and he'll be crosser yet when I'm not home for dinner." She tossed her sunny curls defiantly. "But he won't dare to scold me; he'll scold everybody else and shake his cane at them, but he won't dare to be cross to me." "But I think you ought to go home," suggested Samuel. "It isn't right to worry your uncle so when he is so good to you and gives you such nice presents." She made a roguish little face. "I can't go home," she giggled, teasingly, "I've never been out alone and I lost my way almost as soon as I left the garden. So I'll just have to stay here all day until somebody from home comes and finds me." She sprang up, shaking out her silken skirts, dancing gayly in her lit tle buckled shoes. "Come, boy," she commanded im- 28 THE NEW LAND periously, "Come and play with me." She fumbled in the pocket of her black satin apron and drew out a tiny worsted ball. "Let's play ball," she cried, "and then we'll run races and climb that tree over there and maybe you can tell me stories when I'm tired. My old nurse in Holland used to tell me brave tales, but I don't like those black Daniel tells all about charms and goblins. Do you know any nice stories, boy?" "Yes, a few," admitted Samuel modestly. His cheeks, usually so pale, were flushed with excitement; the little playfellow of his dreams seemed to have come to life in the flower-strewn meadow. He caught the bright ball she tossed to him and laughed with pleasure. "You catch wrongly," he chided her, "but I like to play with you." The afternoon sped on golden wings. Perhaps neither of the children would have dreamed of the lateness of the hour had not Katrina interrupted Samuel in the middle of one of his glowing tales, ex claiming, "I'm hungry, now. I wonder what cook has for supper?" Samuel started. The story of the old sea captain he had been telling his new friend was very real to him; he could almost see the old, ancient, weather- beaten vessel, hear the waves beating on the shores of that distant island where the golden treasure lay hidden for so many years. Now his dream people faded away and he saw that the sun was setting and felt the air growing chill and damp about them. He rose a little wearily and helped Katrina to her feet. "We must go home," he said, gravely. "Perhaps WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 29 we did wrong to stay so long, but it was fun to play together, wasn't it? And did you like my stories?" She nodded, bending to pick up the bouquet he had gathered for her earlier in the afternoon. "I like them as well as the tales my nursie used to tell," she commented, approvingly. "You'll show me the way home, won't you?" Hand in hand, they walked slowly back to the dusty street that led to the governor's house. At the gate, Samuel was about to bid his little friend good-bye, but she caught his hand and drew him in after her. "Oh, you must stay," she protested, "you must stay and let Uncle Peter thank you for bring ing me home. And I want you to tell me another story after supper. You must come in !" "But my mother will be worried," declared Sam uel, "and father " "We'll have Daniel go and tell them you are here," she solved the problem easily. Then she ran up the broad stairs, crying gaily, "Oh, Uncle, I've had the loveliest time," as a short, stern-faced man appeared in the doorway; a man with a silver- banded wooden leg and leaning on a heavy cane. "Katrina!" he exclaimed with some sternness, but she pulled his hard face down to her's for a kiss. "I've had such a lovely time," she cooed, "and this nice boy found me and brought me home. Thank him, Uncle Peter, and have him come in and tell me some more stories." Samuel drew back; but the governor nodded for him to enter, and, feeling miserably shy and uncer- 30 THE NEW LAND tain of himself, he followed the pair into the house. The room they entered was richly furnished, but gloomy. Samuel, boy that he was, felt how much lovelier his mother's simple living room was with its shining brass and the few plants blooming at the window. The governor sat down behind a long table littered with papers and drew Katrina to his knee, at the same time motioning Samuel to be seated. Then he spoke, stroking the child's golden curls, his keen eyes growing gentle as they rested upon her pretty face. "You have been of service to my little girl and I will do my best to reward you," said Governor Stuy- vesant, kindly. "What will it be, my lad, a velvet suit brought over in the last cargo from Holland, or a golden chain?" Suddenly the eyes he turned upon Samuel grew cold and keen again. "You are not one of us, yet I have seen you before. Who is your father and what is his trade?" "I am Samuel, the son of Jacob Barsimon," an swered Samuel, and suddenly all his shyness left him and he gazed fearlessly into the governor's face. "And my father is an honest merchant of New Ams terdam." "Yes and of the tribe of Israel," muttered the old man, his brow darkening. "I wish my little one might have been indebted to another this day; but I am as honest a man as your father and what I promise, I keep. So name what reward you will for the favor you have rendered me and be off." Samuel rose, his face flushing with anger at the man's insolence, yet glowing with a hope he hardly WHEN KATRINA LOST HER WAY 31 dared to utter even to himself. For the time had come, he believed, when he might play the hero, as he had done so many times before in his dreams. "I want no reward," he answered quietly, "but if you would render me favor for favor, I would ask you to withdraw the restriction you have placed upon my brethren those Jews who sought these shores on the 'St. Catarina' and who desire to make their homes here." The governor smiled grimly. "A true Jew," he muttered, with a sort of grudging admiration for the boy's boldness, "ever ready with his bargain! But I have no longer the power to grant you or re fuse you your request." He picked up from the table a long, bulky envelope, from which dangled a red seal. "This came this morning from Holland. Tomorrow I must tell the burghers that the gentle men of the Board of Directors of the Dutch West India Company have over-ridden my suggestions; they write that I must admit these Jews, provided that the poor among them shall not become a burden to our community, as they at first seemed likely to be, but be supported by their own nation." Again his grim smile. "No fear of that, when even a boy like you thinks of his people before gifts for him self. I wish," he half mused, "I wish that we had at least that virtue of your stiff-necked race." Little Katrina, grown weary of all this, slipped from her uncle's knees and took Samuel's hand in her's. "Come into the garden," she commanded, "I want you to see my rose bushes and my new kit tens and the swing, before supper." 32 THE NEW LAND Samuel's eyes sought the governors face, half- he told her, gently. Her eager face clouded. "Then you will come and play with me tomorrow?" she asked. Samuel's eyes sought the governor's face, half- defiantly, half-wistfully. "When your uncle sends for me, I will come," he said, and, bowing in a manner that would have delighted his careful mother, he left the room. Katrina was about to follow him, but her uncle called her back rather sternly. "Nay, do not pout, my pretty," he told her, "for I will try to find you a worthier playfellow than the son of a Jew trader." Samuel walked home slowly through the April twi light. In the harbor he could see the dim outlines of the 'St. Catarina,' which had in truth brought the Jewish wanderers to a home in New Amsterdam. But Samuel was not thinking of the wanderers who, after their months of weary waiting, could look toward the future with hopeful eyes; nor did he feel relieved that, since they were not to be deported, the newcomers would surely come to his barmitzvah party. At that moment he thought only of the golden-curled fairy princess who would never romp and play with him again. A PLACE OF REFUGE How the Wanderer Came to Rhode Island It was bitter cold. The icy wind howling through the forest caught up the snow and whirled it in great eddies against the trees. Reuben Mendoza, staggering through the blinding snowflakes, hugged his little son Benjamin closer to his heart, and prayed desperately that the storm might cease or that he might soon come to a place of refuge. His own limbs were aching with fatigue and cold. He had eaten nothing since early morning and was faint with hunger. Wearied and heartsick, he would have been glad to lie down upon the ground, to sink into sleep, perhaps a painless death, with the snow drifting above him ; but he knew that he must struggle on for the sake of the child he was warming in his bosom. Suddenly Benjamin, half asleep and numb with the cold, stirred a little and complained drowsily that he was hungry. His father paused for a mo ment and pressed his lean, bearded face against the child's rosy cheeks. "Be patient, little one," he comforted him, "for soon we shall find a lodging for the night. Surely, no one would turn even a Jew away in a storm like this." Again he plodded on, footsore and discouraged. The wind lashed him like a whip, and, when he raised his head, the snow cut across his forehead like stripes of fire. His lips moving almost mechanically 33 34 THE NEW LAND in prayer, Reuben faltered through the storm, until at last utterly exhausted he stumbled to the ground. He tried to gain his feet again, for he thought he saw a light glimmering through the trees; but he was too tired to go farther. Why should he try to reach that light, he asked himself, as he dreamily stretched his tired limbs in the snow. But he felt little Benjamin moving beneath his cloak, and with one last effort he crawled through the drifts, cling ing to the trees as he moved. A few moments later he found himself before a little shack. A single tal low candle shone through the window and cast a path of light before his weary feet. Reuben lurched forward against the door; it opened beneath his weight and he fell within the hut. He had a dim vision of two men bending over him; some one was taking little Benjamin from his arms; then the warm darkness wrapped him about like a cloak, and he knew nothing more. When Reuben opened his eyes, he found that he was resting upon a couch of skins in one corner of the hut. It was a poor place; the walls were bare, and through their chinks snows drifted upon the frozen earthen floor. Beside the pallet there was no furniture in the room save a roughly hewn table and several chairs. Near the table sat two men, the one dressed in rich garments, a sword at his side; the other clothed in dull gray, with a broad white collar and a plain beaver hat. This man held A PLACE OF REFUGE 35 little Benjamin on his knee and stroked his dark curls as the child drank greedily from the steaming cup which the kind-eyed stranger held to his lips. Reuben sat up among the skins and noticed in sur prise that his hosts had removed his wet garments and replaced them with a long, warm cloak of bear skin. What manner of men were these, he asked himself, who treated a Jewish wanderer so kindly? As he advanced timidly toward the table, the man in gray turned to him and held out his hand. "Shalom," he said smiling. Reuben took his hand, astonished to hear the tongue of his fathers in the wilderness of the Amer ican forests. "Shalom aleichem," he faltered. "But you are not a Jew." The other shook his head and answered him in English, a language Reuben had learned from the trading Englishmen and adventurers he had met while in South America. "No, but I am a minister and have studied the Hebrew tongue. And I love its greeting of 'Peace.' Would that my people were lovers of peace, even as your's have been for so long." Benjamin ran to his father. "Father," he cried, "the good gentleman gave me warm milk to drink and bread to eat and this fine cloak to wear," and he proudly smoothed the robe wrapped about his chilled limbs. The man in gray motioned Reuben to sit beside the table and placed food and drink before him. Half- famished, Reuben ate and drank, almost fearing that it would disappear as a feast sometimes does 36 THE NEW LAND in a dream. For surely he was dreaming: when in all his wretched wandering life, had people not of his own religion given him food and shelter and re ceived him with gentle words? His host sat upon the couch, holding Benjamin upon his knee. Now and then he spoke to the dark, haughty man who sat watching everything lazily from beneath his half-closed lids. Twice he asked Reuben whether he desired more food or drink. At last when the guest had satisfied his hunger, the host asked him from what place he had come and to what spot he meant to journey when the storm was over. "I know not," answered the Jew. "My father's family was driven from Spain. They fled to Brazil, and later settled in Cayenne, where among our brethren from Holland we found a resting place until the French destroyed our homes and drove us forth to be wanderers on the face of the earth. When this child's mother died, I longed to go to a far country where I might forget my grief a little and begin life anew. So I took my son and came here with other voyagers to your colony of New Amsterdam. But there they gave me no welcome, because I was a Jew; even in this new.country some there are who hate the children of Jacob." He leaned forward, his thin face alight with a wistful hope. "But there they told me of a new colony in the far wilderness, a colony where men of every race, of every creed, were welcome. Far off in the swamps and forests, they said, a man named Roger Williams had established a refuge for all those who were A PLACE OF REFUGE 37 persecuted and despised, and had proclaimed that no man would be troubled there for the sake of his re ligion, that each inhabitant might worship the God of his fathers in peace. So I took my staff again and my burden upon my back and my little child within my arms, and set out for this place where my son might grow up a free man, and not be called upon to forsake the faith for which we suffered in Spain." The man in the velvet coat leaned across the table and spoke to Reuben in Spanish. "I, too, came from Spain," he said, "and I, too, came as a refugee; yea, with a price upon my head, for I had been denounced to the officers of the Inquisition and was doomed to die. Yet I am a good Catholic and loyal, and did not deserve their hatred. Those who are not of my faith in this new land mistrust and despise me; but here, in the colony of Rhode Island, I may fol low the religion of my fathers, and Roger Williams has given me his hand in brotherhood." The quiet man rose and again held out his hand to the Jewish wanderer. "And now I give my hand to you," he said, heartily. "My colony of Rhode Island has need of men strong enough to die yes, and to live for the faith they will be allowed to follow here in peace and in safety." But Reuben had caught his hand and pressed it to his heart. "You are Roger Williams, the friend of the oppressed," he said brokenly. "Yes," answered Williams, "and this day have you found a refuge with me and my people. "A look of solemn hope lighted his gentle eyes. " 'Tis 38 THE NEW LAND but a lonely spot in the wilderness, and we are few in number; but some day this wide land will be a refuge to the oppressed of every nation, and all those who are persecuted and despised will find a home within its borders." Little by little, the winds outside ceased to drive the snow against the trees; the branches no longer tossed and creaked in the gale; a great white hush seemed to bless the quiet earth. The Spaniard who had walked to the window blew out the taper and pointed toward the rosy clouds. "Dawn is break ing," he said softly, and, bowing reverently above his rosary, began to tell the beads as he recited his morning prayer. Williams took a large Bible from the shelf above the couch, opened it, and, having read his morning psalm, covered his face with his hands as he knelt beside his chair to pray. With a great joy warming his heart, Reuben, no longer a wanderer on the face of the earth, put his arm about his son, and drew him to the window that he might look upon the land that his children's children and those who came after them were to inherit as their home. Th'en he drew his faded, tattered talith (shawl worn in prayer) from his pack, put it about his shoulders, and, facing the glowing east, the home land of his fathers, he praised the God of Israel who had brought him to this place of refuge. "Ma tobu oholekha" ("How goodly are thy tents"), prayed Reuben, and he sobbed like a child. "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" How Isaac Franks, of the American Army, first heard the Declaration of Independence. The news had spread like wild-fire that day in early July, 1776. Although there was not one of the American recruits stationed in New York under Gen eral Washington's command who had not heard something of the great happenings in Philadelphia a few days before, every soldier felt his heart beat faster under his buff and blue coat at the thought that he, too, would hear the Declaration of Inde pendence read before the army. They stood waiting in their ranks, the first army of the Republic: raw fanners like those who fell at Lexington, bronzed backwoodsmen whose rifles had brought more than one lurking red-skin or savage forest beast to earth, with here and there a student, fresh from his books, or a merchant who had left his desk to fight for his country. And today they were to hear, stated sim ply and eloquently for all time, for what principles they fought. In the ranks stood a slender, dark-browed boy of about seventeen. The muster roll gave his name as Isaac Franks, the simple record holding no promise of the day when the Jewish boy, a distinguished veteran of the Revolution, should entertain President Washington as his guest. Today young Franks stood undistinguished among the other eager patriots and 39 40 THE NEW LAND the future president was only the leader of an army of untrained "rebels", knowing full well that a trai tor's death awaited him if his campaign against the British proved unsuccessful. "I wish the general would come that we might hear the document and be dismissed," remarked Franks to the soldier who stood at his side; a tall, raw-boned youth about his own age. "This hot sun is enough to melt granite and we have been assembled for almost two hours." The other, also wearied and over-heated, looked him over with a sneer. "A fine soldier with your complaints!" was his jeering comment. "I wonder to see a Jew in our ranks, but you'll not cumber us long, I'm thinking. You Jews are fit only for trad ing and money lending not fighting. You'll melt away quickly enough in the heat of your first battle." "Listen to me, Tim Durgan," retorted Franks, quietly enough, but with a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. "I've endured your sneering ever since I came to camp and I'm growing weary of it, too. I didn't know why you wouldn't be friends with me, when I've never done anything to offend you; but if it's because I'm a Jew " "I want no Hebrew coward for a friend of mine," was the surly answer. "You can call me a coward as much as you like I'll show you you're wrong when we face the red coats. But you're not going to insult my people understand?" Tim laughed contemptuously. "How are you go ing to stop me?" He looked down at Isaac who was "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" 41 a full head shorter than himself and of slighter build. "Going to fight me?" At that moment the long lines of buff and blue straightened as one man and a murmur of "the General" passed down the ranks. Franks, the angry flush slowly dying from his cheeks, straightened his shoulders and gazed straight ahead; but he was not too intent on the arrival of General Washington to fling a fierce aside to his tormentor: "That's just what I intend to do if you don't take it back fight you until you do!" But a moment later all private hates and insults were forgotten as the boy looked toward the general, his soul in his eyes. Seated upon his great horse, the sun streaming upon his noble, powdered head and broad shoulders, the commander of the Ameri can Army looked what he later proved himself to be an uncrowned king of men. A long, vibrating cheer rose from the soldiers' throats ; then died away as Washington raised his hand for silence. The young officer who rode beside him unrolled a piece of paper he carried, and read in a loud, clear voice the words which today every school boy knows or should know by heart. But the boys and men, pledged to fight and die for their country, heard them for the first time that day and thrilled at the roll ing sentences of the Declaration of Independence, which declared them free forever from the rule of the British tyrant, King George III. "We hold these truths to be self-evident," the noble words rang forth to the listening soldiers, "That all men are created equal; that they are endowed by 42 THE NEW LAND their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of hap piness." An answering thrill awoke in every heart. Isaac Franks felt his lashes wet with sudden tears. The son of a nation of exiles, Jews driven from land to land from the days the Romans ploughed the place where once their Temple stood, he could ap preciate the blessings of a home land where even the despised Jew might know the meaning of equal ity and liberty and justice. Then he thought of the taunts of his comrade and his face hardened; but only for a moment was he depressed. In America the land which had pledged itself to grant equal op portunities to all men his was the opportunity to show what the Jew was worth. He would teach Tim and his fellows that the descendants of David and the Maccabees were soldiers worthy of their an cestors. Smiling a little grimly, he turned his face again toward the young officer and listened with stirring pulses to the charges brought against the British king; boy that he was, he realized that he and his com panions were fighting not the English people, but a servile Parliament and an unworthy ruler who, ac cording to the Declaration, was indeed a "tyrant un fit to be the ruler of a free people." How he wished that King George himself would cross the ocean to frighten the colonists into submission; he would much rather meet him in battle than any of his over dressed officers or those wretched Hessians, sold by their ruler like so much cattle to do battle for a country in which they had no interest. Well, any- "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" 43 how, Isaac told himself resolutely, he would do his best to defeat the redcoats but he would teach Tim Durgan a well-needed lesson first! "And for the support of this declaration," ended the reader, "with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor." Silence at first then a mighty shout from the as sembled soldiers. The air rang with cries of "With our lives With our honor!" as the men of the new Republic pledged themselves to fight for the faith she had just declared to the world. Isaac Franks looked toward Washington; the Virginian sat lean ing forward slightly in his saddle. His usually calm, almost cold face was working with emotion ; his lips moved as though he were about to address his men. Then he leaned toward the officer who had read the Declaration and murmured something in a low tone. The latter turned to the army. "The general hopes," the clear tones rang forth, "that this important event will serve as an incentive to every officer and soldier to act with fidelity and courage, as knowing that now the peace and safety of the country depend, under God, solely on the success of our arms and that he is in the service of a state possessed of sufficient power to reward his merit and advance him to the highest honors of a free country." Slowly the soldiers broke ranks, the dullest man among them touched and awed as though he had at tended a new church and had consecrated himself to her service. For a moment Isaac Franks forgot his 44 THE NEW LAND jeering comrade and his own threats; he walked to his quarters, head high in the air, eyes looking far away, as boy-like he dreamed of the days when a grateful commonwealth would "reward his merit and advance him to the highest honors of a free country.' 1 He walked on air, painting the future in the bright colors known only to seventeen, forgetful of the world about him, until he was recalled to earth by a mocking laugh and the question: "Still want to fight, Jew soldier?" Franks stiffened and turned to face his tormentor, his face hot with anger. "Yes, I'll fight you this minute," he answered so loudly that several soldiers passing by overhead his words and stopped to see the fun. "And thank you for reminding me, Durgan." He pulled off his coat with a deliberate calm he was far from feeling at that moment, for he knew only too well that his opponent was vastly superior to him in strength and perhaps in experience as well. But Isaac did not hesitate in spite of the goodnatured advice of big Bob MacDonald who stepped up at that moment: "Let him alone, son you can't whip him and it's no use to try." But Tim had already taken off his coat and stood leering down upon Isaac who felt that he could never retreat now; that he would always despise himself as a coward, a traitor to the heroes of his race. Set ting his teeth for the drubbing he felt certain he would receive, he struck out blindly. Then he felt a hand grip his arm so tightly that he winced with pain, and looking up, saw that General Washington stood beside him. "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" 45 "Well, men?" the commander's voice was very stern. "Have you nothing better to do than spend your time brawling like a couple of tavern roisterers? Give me a good and sufficient reason for such be haviour or I'll have you both tied up and flogged to teach you to act like gentlemen and soldiers of the American Army." His quiet eyes scanned the flushed, angry faces of the two lads. He turned sharply to Franks. "I am waiting!" he said. For a moment Isaac wavered. He had heard enough of Washington's sense of justice to realize that if the chief knew his reason for challenging Dur- gan he might escape with a slight reprimand, or even a word of praise for defending his race. But only for a moment. ,A gentleman and a soldier in the American Army, young Franks decided, did not tell tales. He shook his head. "I am sorry, your excellency," he answered, re spectfully, "but I cannot tell you the reason of our quarrel since it concerns only ourselves." Tim Durgan, who had waited for Isaac's accusa tion with a mocking smile about his mouth, gave an incredulous whistle. The despised "Jew soldier" was a man after all, who would risk undeserved pun ishment rather than betray a comrade, no matter how much he hated him. In his sudden admiration for the boy he forgot his awe of General Washington and burst out before he was granted permission to speak. "I'll tell you, Excellency," he cried, warmly. "I've been plaguing and tormenting the lad and for no 46 THE NEW LAND fault of his own. I never saw a Jew in my whole life before I joined the army, but I'd heard tales of them; cowards and afraid of their own, shadows. And I teased the boy, never knowing he'd mind, and when he did I just kept on to spite him. And when he threatened to fight me, I wanted to laugh, for you can see for yourself, Excellency, that I'm taller and broader than he and could toss him about if I'd a mind to. But he wasn't afraid and if you hadn't come up, he'd have tried to fight me all the same." He paused for breath, smiling broadly, and held out his hand to Franks. "It's all my fault, Your Excellency, and I'm willing to take what I ought to for it, but first let me shake hands with him and tell him such a game cock ought to've been born an Irishman and no mistake." The general smiled as the two clasped hands. Then: "I am sorry I was disorderly, Your Excel lency," apologized Franks. "I would have tried to forget a personal insult but I could not stand by and allow my people to be slandered. But I know now that he did not understand." "It takes a long time for some of us to under stand, my boy," answered the general slowly, and, so thought Isaac, a little sadly, too. "But some day, God grant it, we will all understand the words you both have heard today and America will know no distinction of race, creed or station only the worth that makes a man." He turned suddenly to Tim Durgan. "You come of a fighting breed, my man," he said warmly, "and just now when you confessed your fault you showed true courage. I need fighters "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" 47 as strong as your Irish ancestors; learn to fight only for our country and forget your petty quarrels and prejudices." He placed a kindly hand on Isaac's shoulder. "And a boy who is as loyal a Jew as you, must be a loyal American. I hope you will always carry yourself as honorably as you did today. What is your name, my lad?" "Isaac Franks, sir," answered the boy, flushing beneath his commander's praise. "Isaac Franks of this city?" "Yes, sir. I have always lived in New York and I enlisted here.". "Then you must be the boy of whom Colonel Lescher spoke to me. He said that you were so eager to serve that you even bought your own uni form and field equipment. I expect to hear from you again." He was about to pass on, then paused to add kindly: "And since this is a holiday afternoon, why not spend it abroad instead of wrangling here. Now," with a slight smile, "my Hebrew David and my Irish Jonathan, be off with you; and hereafter keep your blows for the British," he added, half jestingly, as he walked off, leaving the two lads star ing somewhat sheepishly at each other as they strolled a little apart from the others. Tim was the first to speak. "It was great of you not to tell when he asked you," he said warmly. "And if I can ever make up to you for what I said about Jews " which proves that Tim Durgan never made a foe or a friend by halves. "We'll forget all about that," answered Franks lightly. "But we've wasted a good part of the after- 48 THE NEW LAND noon already. Let's take a long walk and drink to our friendship in some good brown ale. I know a tavern near Bowling Green where there's always jolly company and a full measure for a men in uni form." Chatting idly together, the two began their walk through the camp, passing rapidly down the crowded streets. There was a great stir in the city, for the storm clouds of hate against the British ruler which had been gathering for so many months had sud denly burst at the news of the signing of the Declara tion at Philadelphia, and the air was heavy with pro tests of loyalty to the new government, and threats against King George. So when Tim and Isaac reached Bowling Green it was an excited crowd that they found there, gathered about the leaden statue of King George III; men and half-grown boys, with here and there a soldier enjoying his half-holiday. "One would think the British were already here," Tim growled goodnaturedly. "If these merchants would stop cackling together like the hens in my father's poultry yard at home, and shoulder a gun, we'd drive Master George's tin soldiers and the Hessians back across the water so quick they'd hardly know they'd been here at all." From the confused murmur of many voices came one rumbling cry which the boys caught and smiled to hear: "Down with King George! We are free men. Down with King George!" A thin little man in a black coat elbowed his way to the base of the statue from which vantage point he tried to address the crowd. "Friends," he quav- "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" 49 ered, as the uproar died, the idle mob ever ready for some new amusement, "friends, don't be too rash. Look before you leap. We are only a hand ful of untrained farmers and merchants. The armies of King George " But before he could speak further, the crowd sud denly broke lose with : "Another cursed Tory! He is in the King's hire ! Drag him down ! Hang him to a tree to teach other Tories and traitors to hold their tongues !" The suggestion was like a fire brand to dry tim ber. Before the two soldiers on the outskirts of the crowd could fully realized what had happened, a stout apprentice lad in a leather apron had pro cured a rope which another brawny fellow flung around the Tory's neck. He tried to plead for mercy but his voice was silenced by the howling of the mob, so desperate in its rage against the king that they sought blind vengeance on their victim for daring to speak in his behalf. Isaac started forward, his face white and tense. "Come, Tim," he cried, "We must make them set him free." The Irishman shrugged. "A Tory more or less! Let them hang him and welcome." Isaac Franks did not answer. He only pushed his way through the mob, the crowd giving place to his uniform. He knew he could do nothing against them single-handed; yet he felt that he could not let this innocent man die. And, curiously enough, he thought less of the Tory's fate than the shame that would fall upon the people of his native 50 THE NEW LAND city, if they committed such a crime in their reckless fury. He neared the front where several older and cooler citizens stood trying in vain to per suade the angry patriots to release the Tory. Then a splendid thought flashed through his quick mind, and springing lightly upon the leaden statue, he cried in a ringing voice: "I come from General Wash ington." The magic name hushed the angry crowd. They waited eagerly for the boy's words. "I serve the general of the American Army," con tinued Franks, "and I am as loyal as any of you, for I carry a gun to defend my country while you do nothing but cackle, cackle like the hens in a poultry yard." The crowd, quick to respond to every sug gestion, laughed goodhumoredly at Tim's mocking description which was now standing his friend in good stead. "And you have as much brains as the hens in a poultry yard," continued the boy, follow ing his advantage, "for instead of pulling out the roots of your trouble, you attack this poor fool who never saw King George and is not even one of his soldiers." He leaned down and half pulled the rope from the Tory's neck. "He is not worthy the honor of hanging. Use your good rope to haul down the statue of his Gracious Majesty, King George III which has cumbered our city too long. And melt the lead into bullets which the soldiers of General Washington will use against any Briton who dares to enter our New York." A roar of applause broke from the crowd. "Down with King George!" they cried as a dozen eager "DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!" 51 hands pulled the rope from the frightened Tory's neck and flung it about the statue. The Tory, only too glad to make his escape, crept away unnoticed in the crowd, already intent upon pulling the leaden effigy to the ground. They tugged as one man, that howling, maddened mob until with a great crash the deposed statue of the hated British king lay upon the ground. Then: "Bullets" was the cry, "bullets for our soldiers," as, laughing and shouting, the citizens of New York dragged the statue away to be melted into bullets for colonial rifles. Isaac Franks looked longingly after them. But he knew that it would soon be time for "taps" and he dared not be late. With a little sigh, he turned his face toward the camp, where, under General Washington, he hoped to learn to become a good soldier of the Republic. THE LAST SERVICE The Story of a Rabbi Who Lived in New York When it Was Captured by the British in 1776 A Sabbath hush brooded over the garden of the Rev. Mr. Gershom Mendes Seixas, minister of New York's one synagogue, Shearith Israel. The tall pink and white hollyhocks that bordered the prim paths nodded languidly in the warm September breeze. From the trees came tht twitter of spar rows, now low and conversational, now high and shrill, "just like people in the synagogue," thought little David Phillips, as he strolled in his grand mother's garden on the other side of the hedge. And if David had pulled aside the white curtains of the Rabbi's study windows, he would have seen that the same Sabbath peace filled the low-ceilinged room, the walls covered with books, most of them rather for bidding in their musty, leather bindings. A peaceful, restful room on the Jewish rest day; but, boy as he was, David would have seen at a glance that Rabbi Seixas was not at peace with himself. A keen-eyed, quick-moving young man of about thirty, he paced restlessly up and down between the bookshelves, his hands clasped behind his back, his brows knit in thought. Several times he glanced at the tall clock his father had brought from Lisbon; it would soon be time for him to go to the synagogue; but what message had he to give his people? 52 THE LAST SERVICE 53 Down the quiet street came the roll of drums, and David rushed to the gate, wishing with all his heart that he might follow the soldiers. But he knew that his grandmother expected him to take her to the synagogue, and he did not dare to leave the garden; instead he stood kicking holes in the path with his shining Sabbath boots which at that moment he hated with all his might, just as he hated the ruffles of fine linen that his grandmother had painfully stitched for him with her loving, rheumatic old fingers, and his Sabbath suit in which he was never allowed to romp or play. And at that moment, with the British ac tually knocking at New York's front door, one could hardly blame a small boy for growing impatient at the restrictions of a doting old grandmother, no mat ter how much she might indulge the orphan grand son whom his dying father had left in her charge the year before. If he were only a man, thought David, longingly; only old enough to be with General Wash ington's troops across the river. But a ten-year-old boy, who couldn't even play the drum like Frank Morris, the apprentice lad who had run away to join the army, couldn't serve his country any better than a feeble old lady like Grandma or a minister like the rabbi next door. The roll of drums had startled the rabbi as well as his young neighbor and he now appeared in his garden, walking with swift, nervous steps to the gate. At first, he did not seem to see David; only stared down the road with wide, eager eyes, his hands grip ping the rails of the gate until his knuckles showed hard and white; then, as the drums grew fainter, his 54 THE NEW LAND shoulders relaxed a little, he sighed deeply, and, turn ing toward David, nodded kindly, even smiling, as though he had no deeper thought in his mind than giving his young friend a Sabbath greeting. "Good Shabbas," said the rabbi. "I see you're all ready for service, my lad." "Yes, sir. I'm just waiting for Grandmother." From far off came the last sound of the drums. "Did you hear the drums, sir? I wonder whether more of our troops are coming to the city." The minister's face darkened. "Rather the Ameri can troops are leaving it, I fear," he answered gravely. "Mr. Levy who came by early this morn ing told me that four British ships have already passed up North River, and that there are about the same number anchored in Turtle Bay. They may make a landing at any time and if they do " he smiled somewhat grimly, "well, I fear, my lad, that we will be living in a British province." But David had heard too much from his cousins in Philadelphia of the glorious doings of a few months before, the Declaration of Independence signed in July, the ringing of the great Liberty Bell. And he answered as sturdily as any other boy of 1776 might have done: "No, sir. The British may take the city, but no true-born American will sub mit to their rule." Rabbi Seixas smiled a little at his fire. "But what will you do, David? They are already at our gates. From what I have heard not even General Wash ington, lying across the river with his troops, can stay the British now. General Howe will hold a THE LAST SERVICE 55 tight rein over the city and we must learn to bow our shoulders to the yoke." David stiffened his small shoulders stubbornly as though he actually stood before the hated English officer. "The good people of Boston," he began, proudly, "were not afraid of the redcoats " then stopped, for his older companion did not have to re mind him of the fate of the Boston citizens shot down on the public common by the soldiers of King George. "Ah, little David," said the minister, sadly, read ing his thoughts, "we will be just as powerless before our foe as our ancestors were before the Philistines." A merry twinkle sparkled in David's eyes; he was a bright little fellow and he had not studied He brew and Jewish history all the long winter with the Rev. Mr. Seixas without learning a few lessons very helpful in time of need. "Didn't David and his sling frighten the whole Philistine army away?" he asked, mischievously. The minister did not smile. "But the Lord was on David's side," he answered, gravely. "Today he seems to have deserted His People." Down the street came a man whose white hairs might have marked him as aged had not his bright eyes and resolute bearing spoken of undying youth. He paused a moment at the gate, bowing to the Rabbi with all the formal courtliness of his day. "Good Shabbas, Mr. Gomez," said the minister. "You are on your way to the synagogue?" "Yes. Perhaps it may be the last service we will have in Shearith Israel before the cursed British guns blow our roof about our ears," answered the older 56 THE NEW LAND man. "Alas, Mr. Seixas, when you were elected our Rabbi but a year ago, I predicted a long and fruitful term of service for you in our midst. But now " a hopeless shrug completed the sentence. "Believe me, I shall not fail in my duty as long as I serve the congregation of Shearith Israel," answered the young Rabbi, rather stiffly. "I know I know." The white head nodded gloomily. "You will do what you can as a priest, but this war must be won by men. I have lived al most seventy years, Mr. Seixas, and have always sought to be a good Jew and hold up the hands of those who served the Lord, as I know you strive to do. And in times of peace, a man of your learning and purity of heart is a worthy leader. But in these times that try men's souls, we need not priests, but men," he repeated and walked slowly away. "What did he mean, Mr. Seixas?" asked David as the old man disappeared down the street. His eager little ears had taken in every word of the con versation; but he had not dared to ask questions while his elders were conversing, and had remained silent as a well-bred lad of his day was taught to do. "Does he mean we shouldn't have rabbis and min isters when there's a war?" The rabbi shook his head. "Not exactly that, David. But perhaps he wishes that today we had fighting priests like the old Maccabees, those men who went to battle with swords in their hands, prayers in their hearts. And old Mr. Gomez is a fit descendant of those heroes," he cried with sudden warmth. "Old as he is, he offered to form a com- THE LAST SERVICE 57 pany of soldiers for service and enlist himself. When he was told that he was too old to take the field, he said: 'I could stop a bullet as well as a younger man.' It is such a spirit that wins wars, David." "That's splendid!" exclaimed the boy. "I know how he feels just sitting around New York and waiting for the British to come and rule over us! If I were only old enough to go and fight, too! I wish," wistfully, "I were grown up like you. Then I wouldn't have to be here today, waiting to go to the synagogue with Grandmother. I'd be with Frank and General Washington and be fighting for my country." The minister's cheeks flushed; he winced as though the boy's innocent words had hurt him deeply. When he spoke it seemed that he was almost think ing aloud; that he had forgotten his young companion on the other side of the hedge. "How can I lay aside my clergyman's cloak for the soldier's uniform?" he asked, slowly. "And how can I leave my bride of a year perhaps never to return to her? And my people I have not been with them any longer: surely, my duty is to them; to guide and lead them in this time of danger and uncertainty. Otherwise I would be like a shepherd who rushes oft to fight the robbers of the moun tains, while his flocks are torn by wolves that ravage close at hand." He spoke as though he were reciting the words of a speech already written and learned by rote, thought David, half-wondering if the minister weren't learning his sermon for that morning. For how 58 THE NEW LAND could the boy know that Mr. Seixas had again and again repeated to himself the very arguments he was now uttering aloud for the first time. Suddenly the young man who had stood like one in a dream, lean ing upon the gate, his eyes looking far way, turned toward him and smiled almost in apology. "Have you wondered at my words, little David?" he asked, almost lightly. "Ah, in days like these, one says many strange and unheard-of things. I have tried to refrain from speaking, for now mere words are idle and of little worth. But when I think of my New York the city in which I was born and reared in the hands of the British, I must speak, or my heart would choke me." His hand tugged at the linen stock about his throat. "God of Israel," he muttered, "in these dark days, give Thy servant light to see Thy ways and strength to follow them." David, feeling strangely awkward at hearing his rabbi pray, save in the pulpit, looked longingly at the house, hoping that his grandmother would come out and end the discussion which was becoming a little difficult for him. But he knew how long it always took her to don her Sabbath silk and long gold chain and earings, and resigned himself to listen, should the Rev. Mr. Seixas care to talk to him fur ther. For a few moments there was silence between them. Then the rabbi turned to David again and continued to speak to him as though he were really grown up, and not a little boy who had studied Hebrew and history with him all winter. "I am not afraid to go into battle," he said quietly, THE LAST SERVICE 59 "but I feel that it will take far more bravery to fight for our country right here at home. I must be on hand to cheer and comfort my people; to teach those who lose their dear ones on the battlefield to look to our God for consolation ; to teach those who stay at home to do their part too, even if it be but knitting and baking dainties for our soldiers. That will be easy," he mused, "but how can I endure living here under British rule, feeling myself a slave among a slave people?" He threw back his head, his eyes glowing with the light of battle. "Our people have wandered, many of them, from Spain to Holland, from Holland to this blessed land, to be free; how can I, a leader in Israel, bow down to the sons of Belial who will come among us!" His hands clenched the wickets of the gate; he breathed hard and was silent. As he spoke in ringing tones, an almost forgotten picture flashed before David's eyes. He was lis tening again to the rabbi's story of the days when the Romans besieged Jerusalem and laid it waste and took the people captive. He remembered how Mr. Seixas had glowed with pride when he told of those ancient Jews "Fighters all, David, who could not live as slaves." "Mr. Seixas," asked David, suddenly, "in the old days when the Romans burned the Temple and everything, what did the rabbis do? Did they fight like Bar Kochba and the other generals?" With a visible effort, the rabbi wrenched himself back to the present. "The Romans"' he repeated, vaguely. "What did the rabbis do?" Again his 60 THE NEW LAND voice thrilled with pride as it had done when he had first told the child the story of Bar Kochba's rebel lion. "They were brave men, David; priests and warriors. Rabbi Akiba did the thing I must try to do kept the fighters brave and loyal; and when he could do no more, he died as bravely as the bravest soldier of them all." "But there was one rabbi who didn't die," insisted David. "I forget his name, but I liked him better than all the others because he got the best of the Romans. Don't you know he pretended he was dead and had his pupils take him to the Emperor in d coffin, that the guards wouldn't stop them when they passed the gates. And when the Emperor asked him what he wanted, he said 'Just let me build a school and I won't trouble anybody ! What was his name, Mr. Seixas?" "You are thinking of Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai," answered his teacher, slowly. "You are right he did 'get the best of the Romans,' as you say. He would have died rather than breathe the air of a Roman court like Josephus; instead he continued to fight the enemy of his people; he handed down to his disciples the sword with which they were to fight through the centuries." "What sword?" asked David, puzzled. "Not a real sword; the study of our Law, our Torah. He opened a school at Jabneh, you remem ber, and there he taught his scholars to be good Jews, even though Jerusalem was destroyed." His eyes widened and again he seemed to be looking far away. "Jerusalem was destroyed, even as the THE LAST SERVICE 61 city of my hope will be taken from me. But Rabbi ben Zakkai escaped to Jabneh and continued the battle there!" He spoke almost in a whisper and a strange light glowed in his face. "Have you been sent to teach me the truth, David? Truly, 'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast Thou or dained truth.'" Mistress Seixas appeared at the doorway, a bright- faced young woman, pretty in her Sabbath finery of gay silk mantle and flowered bonnet. "I am all ready, Gershom," she told her husband as she came down the path. "And I am ready, too, Elkallah," he answered so gravely that David felt he meant much more than the simple words implied. David, as a boy who was not yet Bar Mitzvah, sat beside his grandmother in the Shearith Israel synagogue that bright September morning, while the drums beat in the streets and the frightened citizens buzzed excitedly in knots upon the street corners, this man contending that the British would be defeated before they even crossed the Sound, his neighbor de claring that on the morrow the redcoats would surely be encamped in the city. Within the synagogue, the Jewish citizens of New York continued to hold their Sabbath services. A goodly assembly they were; Jews of proud blood from Spain and Portugal, des cendants of the early settlers in New Amsterdam, when the city of New York was still in the hand of the Dutch ; a sprinkling of Ashkenazim, German and Polish Jews, who at that time were too few in num ber to have a congregation of their own. There were 62 THE NEW LAND many children and young people there, pupils and graduates of the religious school the congregation had founded almost fifty years before for the teach ing of Hebrew, modern languages and the common branches. While among the men sat sturdy patriots, Samuel Judah, Hayem Levy, Jacob Mosez and others whose names had appeared on the Non-importation agreement in 1769, when they with their gentile neighbors had dared to protest against the tyranny of Great Britain. Benjamin Seixas was there, too, one of the first Jews to become an officer in the Amer ican Army and several other Jewish soldiers in their uniforms of buff and blue sat nearby; while directly before him, his alert face thrust forward, sat old Mr. Gomez, drinking in every word of the sermon the young rabbi delivered after the Sabbath services were over; an English sermon, destined to make Jew ish history in America. At first Rabbi Seixas spoke quietly enough, re viewing for his people the causes which had led up to the break between the mother country, England, and her colonies. He spoke of the tyranny of the king and his slavish Parliament, the unjust taxes, the quartering of troops upon a law-abiding and peace- loving people. With quiet bitterness, he repeated the old story of the children of Israel who demanded that their prophet Samuel set a king over them, and of the prophet's warning that only evil would come to a people who served a king instead of the Lord of Hosts. "And today," went on Mr. Seixas, "today, we the people of the Thirteen Colonies have a king over us far more tyrannical and unjust than the orien- THE LAST SERVICE 63 tal monarch Samuel painted of old. To this day have I been silent, breathing no word against this Pharoah of Egypt, for the mission of Israel has ever been peace, and next to God we have been loyal to the masters He has set over us. But in times like these we are serving Him best by defying those who rule in His name, but know not His laws of mercy and of justice. The time has come at last for us to enter the Valley of Decision. Where will you stand now, my people, when the redcoats thunder at our gates? Shall we bow before Pharaoh? Nay, the same God who rescued our fathers from the Pharaoh of Egypt will rescue us and all who call upon Him, from this new tyrant who would bend our necks and fetter us like very slaves." There was a solemn hush in the synagogue, broken only by the murmur of the passing crowds outside, the distant roll of drums. For the first time that morning David was glad he had not been allowed to run off to see the soldiers. This was not an every- week sort of sermon about keeping the Sabbath or about some dead kings with long, hard names; the rabbi no longer seemed just a quiet man in a dark coat who had a great many books and knew every thing and taught him Hebrew and history. Instead, he appeared like those splendid fighting priests he had mentioned that morning, a man who talked to God and held a sword in his hand while he prayed. For a moment Mr. Seixas stood before his con gregation, looking down into the tense, upturned faces, yet past them, as though his eyes saw visions no other man there might see. Perhaps he was think- 64 THE NEW LAND ing of what a great step he had just taken; how his words had outlawed him forever in the sight of the English king; had made him an exile from the dear city of his birth. Again his hands clutched at his stock and he breathed with difficulty, but only for a moment. For his eyes met those of his young wife, Elkallah, and he smiled to reassure her and give her comfort. When he spoke again, his voice was low and clear, but as strong as a trumpet call in battle. "Tonight, perhaps; surely, tomorrow, the British will have entered our city but they will not find me here. For I will not serve the Lord in a sanctuary from which Freedom has departed. I will leave the city and seek for a place of refuge where the soldiers of the colonies fight for freedom. And, my people, I ask you in the words of Mattathias, that warrior priest of other days 'Those who are on the Lord's side follow me !' ' Again a long silence, then an uproar from every side. "He speaks truly! It is slavery if we re main 1" "I cannot leave my property to be con fiscated by the Crown." "The British will never take the city." "They will be here by sunrise." And suddenly little David's shrill voice ringing above the others, although he never realized until hours after wards, when he was reprimanded by his grandmother, that he had dared to speak out with all the older and wiser members of the congregation : "O Mr. Seixas, please take me along, too ! I don't want to live in New York any more if the redcoats are here." "And I will follow you," cried another voice, "al- THE LAST SERVICE 65 though my fortune be forfeit and my land be seized by the king." "And I and I," rang out from every corner of the synagogue. Some were silent, those who were to remain be hind, and as Tories, know the friendship of the in vaders. But the greater part of the worshippers, those whose ancestors like the Pilgrim Fathers had come to these shores to seek freedom before God, responded to their rabbi's call like true soldiers about their standard bearer. "All that the Lord hath laid upon us, that will we do," cried out a very old man, rising to his feet and trembling with age as he spoke. "My eyes are dim, but He will not close them in death until they behold the rising of the sun of freedom upon these blessed shores." He spoke like an ancient prophet and a hush like death fell upon the people. Slowly, like a man in a dream, Rabbi Seixas walked to the Ark and took from it the Scrolls of the Law; with the eyes of a man who sees visions he clasped the Torah to his breast and spoke: "When Jerusalem was destroyed, Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai rebuilt a spiritual Jeru salem in the little town of Jabneh where the faithful ones sat at his feet and learned the Law. I will not leave our precious Torah behind me to be used by those who remain here to serve King George instead of the King of Israel. Some time, some place God will establish a refuge for His faithful ones and there will we worship Him as free men." He spoke with a great hope in his heart, although at that moment 66 THE NEW LAND he never dreamed how during the darkest days of the Revolution he would be allowed to labor and serve in Philadelphia until he should return to New York in triumph to witness the inauguration of George Wash ington as president of the United States. At a word from the minister, the Sham mas (sex ton) and several members of the congregation quietly removed the velvet curtains from the Ark, taking the silver pointer, the Ner Tamid (perpetual light), all the sacred symbols which had made their worship beautiful for Sabbath after Sabbath during the years of security and peace. The congregation sat motion less, like people in a dream. Laying the Torah aside, Mr. Seixas came forward, his hands raised in blessing. His voice was tremulous with tears as he spoke : "Yevorekhekha Adonai zue-yishm'rekha. Yaer Ado nai panov eilekha voi'chunekha. Yisa Adonai panov eilekha weyasem lekha shalom." (The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.) Then, the Scroll again close to his heart, he passed among the silent worshippers out into the warm September sunshine. One by one the people followed him as he stood before the synagogue where he had hoped to serve so many useful years. His face was grave, but his voice was firm, his bearing unafraid. His young wife, Elkallah, stood proudly beside him. Though threatened with exile, she held her head like a queen. From the synagogue came old Mistress Phillips, lean- THE LAST SERVICE 67 ing upon David's arm. "We will miss you sorely, Mr. Seixas," she said, sadly, "both as rabbi and as neighbor. I ah, I am too old to leave the city where I was born. But perhaps I will send David to his cousins in Philadelphia." "But I won't stay there," cried the boy, his cheeks flaming with excitement. "I'm going to be a soldier just like the Maccabees/' He raised flashing eyes to his teacher's face and something that he saw there made the happiness die out of his own. Boy that he was, he realized the ache in the rabbi's heart at leaving his work and his friends behind him. "I'm sorry you have to go, Mr. Seixas," he said simply. The young minister turned his somber eyes back toward the synagogue which he had entered a year before, his heart burning with great hopes for the future. Now, with the Torah in his arms, his con gregation scattered, he felt himself a fugitive on the face of the earth. He looked about him at the older folk like Mistress Phillips whose dying bedside he might never comfort, at the little children he could no longer teach. Lastly he looked down into the tearful eyes of his young bride a bride of a year, with exile and hardship before her. Then he straightened his shoulders and spoke bravely. "Some day," said Rabbi Seixas, "I will return to serve our God in a city that He has made free." THE GENEROUS GIVER The Story of a Jewish Money Lender of the Revolution Jonas Schmidt, one of *the jailors of the Provost, the grim old prison in New York, where the British had confined their numerous French and American prisoners after capturing the city from Washington in 1776, stood before Sir Henry Clinton, the Eng lish commander, shifting uneasily as he fumbled his cap with his great, hairy hands. Sir Henry looked him over coldly with his quiet, keen eyes that cowed man and horse alike; then he turned to his com panion, General Heister, Commander of the Hes sian mercenaries, purchased by the British king and sent overseas to fight his battles. "We can get nothing out of this man," he said in a tone of cold contempt. "He is either too stupid or clever enough to appear so ! to answer our ques tions." He nodded to the embarrassed jailor. "You may go now. But remember: if escapes become too numerous, I may find it necessary to use the gallows in the courtyard yonder and find another jailor for my prison." Jonas bowed respectfully and lost no time in put ting the door between him and Sir Henry. Tory though he was, the old man hated the English com mander with all the strength of his simple soul. He had been eager enough to secure the situation of 68 THE GENEROUS GIVER 69 jailor at the Provost, never dreaming of the horrors he might see there. Now, sickened with the prison stenches, with the half-starved prisoners wasting away with fever and dying before his eyes, he thought longingly of his little farm up in the hills where his placid wife and two stout daughters lived as peace fully as though the colonists had never rebelled against the mother country and hardly knew that the British held New York. "Too stupid to answer," muttered the old man, swinging his heavy keys, as he passed down the prison corridor. "But I am wise enough to hold my tongue when it profits me nothing to endanger the necks of better men than Sir Henry Clinton. Let him use his own eyes, if he will; mine will be shut when good Mr. Salomon chooses to walk abroad," and he chuckled softly as he passed down the dark, damp corridors. Sir Henry's teeth clicked angrily as the door closed behind the jailor. "Well?" he demanded of the Hes sian Commander. "Well, since this man seems to bear out the reputation for honesty you gave him, it seems that we are on the wrong trail. Yet I mistrust this Haym Salomon, though our friendly jailor de clares that he knows naught against him. It might be well to keep a stricter watch on this Jew broker in the future." General Heister nodded emphatically. He was far too good a diplomat to quarrel with Sir Henry or to waste breath defending a man whom the Englishman mistrusted. "I only know that he is a man of rare parts," he said, "a man who has traveled much be fore coming to America and has become versed in 70 THE NEW LAND many tongues. That is why, when I found him among the captured Americans two years ago, I deemed it better to use him and his talents rather than con fine him with the others to rot and die of the prison fevers. So I have allowed him greater freedom than the other prisoners and found a place for him in the commissariat department where his knowledge of tongues and his Hebrew shrewdness have proved of great value to me." Sir Henry gave a short laugh. "That Hebrew shrewdness of your learned friend may have proved of equal value to several of the French and Ameri can lads who have lately escaped from our prison. No, do not remove him just yet. Give the rogue a long enough rope and he may find it dangling around his own neck on the scaffold out yonder." He turned to the sheaf of papers before him, pushing back his fine lace ruffles. "Enough of Haym Salomon. He will be my care hereafter. Now go over these lists with me, Heister," and he began to turn the closely written sheets with his long, nervous fingers. At that moment Jonas, the jailor, was talking in low, excited tones to a man he had stopped in one of the prison corridors, a grave-faced man with shrewd eyes and a tender mouth which smiled now at the other's earnestness. "I can only warn you, Mr. Salomon," repeated the little jailor, "that Sir Henry is watching you as a chicken hawk watches a tender pullet. Many a time have I lost a choice fowl through the appetite of those accursed thieves," he added, half to himself, as his mind wandered back to his quiet farm. Then, THE GENEROUS GIVER 71 pulling himself back to the present: "I know that many things go on in this prison which which might not suit the pleasure of his majesty over seas, but," with a shrewd chuckle, "I cannot be every place and if a lad or two does escape well, may the dear God be as gracious to my one boy should he fall into the hands of your George Washington and his rebels. But, Mr. Salomon," detaining the quiet man in the black coat who was about to pass on, "do not take too many risks just now. Do not allow your kind heart to lead you into danger. For if your are dis covered being ah too kind to some of our pris oners, I cannot save you from Sir Henry. Promise me," laying one of his great, red hands on the other's arm, "promise me, you will attempt no more 'prison deliveries' until his suspicions are quieted." Haym Salomon shook his head. "I am sorry to cause you anxiety, my friend," he answered, kindly, "for you have been a good friend to me. And I will try to be careful if I can. But first there is a promise I must redeem. When that debt is paid, I will try to behave so discreetly that even Sir Henry Clinton will own his suspicions of me unfounded." "A debt to be paid!" The jailor looked puzzled. "Why, you are one of the richest brokers in New York. If you owe any money, give me a word to your wife and I will see that the debt is discharged and your mind at rest." Salomon shook his head, smilingly. "It is a debt money cannot pay," he answered. "I have pledged my word and that has never been broken, nor can I break it now." He passed on and the jailor looked 72 THE NEW LAND after him, a look of mingled respect and affection on his fat, stupid face. A place of horror even to a well man, the old Provost meant unspeakable tortures to a youth slowly recovering from prison fever. Young Louis di Ver- non, lying upon the dirty wooden floor, faint from the fever and sick for home, turned longing eyes toward the grated door which had not swung open since Jonas had entered with his breakfast of bread and water for the prisoners. But Haym Salomon had promised to come later in the day and the boy waited confidently, for like many others he trusted the quiet man with the shrewd eyes and tender mouth. At last the door opened and Jonas enter the room, wooden bowls of a sticky, floury substance he called "gruel" on his tray. He passed between the men, leaving his bowls besides them on the floor. When they complained of thirst, he stopped for a moment to ladle out a dipperful of water from the wooden pail he carried upon his left arm, while now and then he stopped to hear some complaint of a weary man, to promise aid or seek to jest away the prisoner's melancholy. "The broth too salt?" he repeated, gravely. "How can that be when one of your rebel friends serves behind the soup kettle this month? Now if a poor Hessian or loyal Englishman like myself were cook, you might have reason to complain that he spitefully over-seasoned your victuals. Or is it that the cook ing of your rebels is as evil as your politics?" And again: "Too crowded, eh? Well, some folks are never satisfied and you'd be among the growlers, my THE GENEROUS GIVER 73 friend, if you slept on down and fine linen. Why among the well prisoners, 'tis so cramped for space that when their bones ache from the floor at night and they would turn, they find themselves wedged in so tight that not a man can budge till I give the order, 'Left, Right!' when they turn in a solid body and ease their weary sides. And you, who sleep in what they would consider a palace, poor souls, call your self suffering for room." He had reached Louis by this time and his quick eye noted how flushed the lad was, while his eager glance kept turning toward the grated door. With an impatient gesture the Frenchman pushed away the bowl the jailor set beside him. "I am sick of prison fare," he cried, hotly. "When I left France to fol low Lafayette I never dreamed that I might die of prison fever in a hole like this. Take away your food; the sooner I starve, the sooner I am free." Jonas looked him over sympathetically, but could say nothing of comfort; instead he pushed the bowl toward him again, thinking, perhaps, the dinner might do something to restore the boy's peace of mind. But the prisoner again shoved him aside and sat up, his eyes straining toward the grated door, where some one now rattled the bars. "Let me in, friend Jonas," said the voice of Haym Salomon, "and I promise not to steal any of the good dinner you have brought your fledglings." The heartsick prisoners smiled at the poor jest and more than one man turned eagerly as Jonas unlocked the door and admitted the Jewish broker, a prisoner like themselves, yet bringing with him the free air 74 THE NEW LAND of the outside world. Haym passed from one to the other, with here a smile, there a word of com fort or bit of quaint philosophy. Into the fever-hot hands of one flaxen-haired farmer, lad lying half de lirious and dreaming of home, he dropped a few flowers plucked in the prison yard that morning; to a lonely, discouraged Frenchman he spoke in his own tongue, uttering a homely proverb that caused the homesick foreigner to laugh back into his smiling face. At last he came to Louis, and, with a nod toward the puzzled Jonas, lifted the bowl of soup and placed it to the boy's lips. "Drink," he commanded gently, but gravely. "You must eat and drink and grow strong or you will not be able to go back to your sweetheart in France. I have not forgotten my promise to write to her for you, but first you must please me and eat. And, now, Jonas, some of your good clear water as sparkling as the wines of sunny France. Did I ever tell you, Louis, my lad, of the little inn where I ate my first meal in your country and how the good landlord laughed at my blunders, for then I knew little of your tongue?" Never taking his eyes from his friend's face, the boy obediently ate and drank and Jonas looked on, well satisfied. He knew that his masters did not concern themselves whether the prisoners starved or not; yet, somehow, it made him uncomfortable at times to see boys no older than his own son wasting away before his eyes. He wondered whether he was hardy enough to be an efficient jailor. Something of his thoughts must have been written 75 upon his broad, red face, for Salomon looking up quickly, nodded as though he understood. "Louis is a good lad, Jonas," he said, taking out his writing material and spreading it upon his knees. "There are many good lads here boys like your boy who chooses to serve the king instead of the colonies. My little one is not yet old enough for the army; such a tiny mite, Louis! but if he were, I should find it hard not to hate the man who caged him here behind bars like a beast and kept him stiffling in the prison darkness. You are too tender a man for such devil's work, friend Jonas. Ploughing and milking your peaceful cows might bring you less gold, but there would be no heart ache when the day's work was over." Jonas scowled heavily. Rumors had reached him before of certain English sympathizers like himself who had found their work distasteful after a quiet talk with Salomon and had suddenly left their posts, declaring that they no longer desired to serve the king and his cause. To be sure, he, Jonas Schmidt, would remain a loyal servant to King George until the end of his days, and yet why, should this quiet man prod his sleeping soul with disquieting thoughts? "And now," Haym spoke briskly to the young Frenchman, "we will write to your sweetheart and tell her how well you are getting on and that as soon as the wound in your hand is healed you will write to her again." His pen raced over the paper. "Perhaps you will care to look it over and correct my spelling which is even worse in French than in English," and he handed the sheet covered with 76 THE NEW LAND French characters to Louis. The boy took it lan guidly enough, but his weary eyes brightened as he read: "Do not show any surprise, but I must communi cate with you in this way lest there be spies among the prisoners who would betray us. Your are to grow weaker and tomorrow morning the jail phy sician, whom I have bribed, will find that you have died in the night. The grave digger will turn your body over to friends of the cause who will help you to leave New York and reach the Colonials in safety. If I am ever free and you need a friend, call upon me without reserve." The boy, his eyes filled with sudden tears, reached out and would have pressed Salomon's hand, but the latter drew back laughingly. "Why such gratitude over a mere letter which has taken me but a moment to pen?" he said lightly, speaking loudly enough to be heard by those about him. He folded the sheet carefully, placing it in his breast; as he did so, he felt the eyes of a prisoner upon him; a newcomer who looked him over carefully; then turned away with an indifference that Haym believed was wholly feigned. But if Salomon felt that the man was an informer he gave no sign. "Now I must about my work," he told Louis. "I will see that your missive leaves by the next ship. So eat, my little friend, grow fat, and cease to worry. Au revoir" "Au revoir," answered Louis, with equal lightness. "I know my betrothed will rejoice to see your letter." THE GENEROUS GIVER 77 In one of the darkest cells of the old Provost sat Haym Salomon with chains about his wrists and angles. From the courtyard he could hear the merry laughter of the British soldiers and their Hessian comrades as they smoked and jested after their even ing meal. Like true soldiers, they took it all in a day's work and there seemed to be no lack of spirits among them even if they were assigned the grim task of hanging a man upon the morrow. And Haym Salomon, being condemned to death by a military court, smiled his grave, gentle smile to hear their mirth. He had played the game of chance and he had lost, so why should he complain? Down the damp corridor came the shuffling of feet and a moment later Jonas Schmidt entered, a lantern in one hand, a straw basket on his arm. "Your wife has sent you something for your evening meal," he said gruffly, placing the basket on the bench beside the condemned man. He spoke loudly as he noticed a red-coated Briton loitering at the end of the pas sage. "Faith, she has sent you enough to feed a regiment. But women are ever foolish. My own wife is waiting for me below. She has come all the way to New York merely for advice about our milch heifer and traveled weighted down with cakes and eggs and butter which all her careful packing could not shield enough from the August sun, and it has oozed through her finest linen napkin and she is sorely grieved. But not an egg is broken and to morrow Sir Henry Clinton will eat eggs laid by loyal Tory hens for his breakfast with my compliments." Haym glanced sharply at his old friend who sel- 78 THE NEW LAND dom indulged in such lengthy speech. He was abuot to the basket, touched at his poor wife's thoughtful- ness, when the jailor gave a warning gesture and tip toed to the door. Then he came back, nodding, well pleased at his own craft. "The lobster has disappeared," he whispered. "I thought that my chatter would mislead him. But we have not a minute to lose. Open the basket and dress quickly in the woman's raiment you find there." Then, as Haym stared at him bewildered, "Dress, I say," and he pulled from the basket a calico dress, tightly rolled, a gay shawl and a woman's deep straw bonnet. "When you were pronounced guilty and every man in New York knew what the outcome of your trial would be I said that I for one would not have your blood upon my hands. No, no, Haym Sal omon. You may be an infidel Jew, but you are a bet ter Christian than all who worship in Trinity Church every Sabbath. By the will of God, my son passed through New York on his way home for a moment's visit with his mother. I entrusted him with a letter I dared not send through the post, telling her to come to me at once, bringing a set of garments exactly like those she herself would wear." He chuckled. "She came, thinking me quite mad, but obeying me as is her habit. In a moment, I had told her all. She left the extra clothes in that basket with me and now waits us beyond the courtyard, where Sir Henry and his friends will find an empty scaffold tomor row." Thus the little jailor, unlocking Haym's chains as he spoke. THE GENEROUS GIVER 79 "But I do not understand " Haym was still be wildered, after his long hours of torturing doubt and uncertainty "You never spoke to me of escap- ing." "I dared not raise your hopes too high. What if Sir Henry decided I was not so stupid after all and put another jailor in my place? But now all is ready. The sentinels below have seen my wife visit me today and I took pains to let them believe she was dining in my room, whereas she slipped away when the guard was being changed. Now when you leave the prison with me, I have but to say that I am taking my good dame to the stage coach." Again he chuckled, half forcing Salomon into the calico dress. "Instead, we will meet her at the appointed place, you will slip off these flounces she cautioned me that you should not tread upon them and tear them down, as she loves this frock dearly, and seek your good friend, General McDougall, who com mands the rebel forces in our neighborhood and will grant you protection, while my wife and I will hurry back to our little farm." "But your position here " Haym fumbled with the unfamiliar buttons of the dress. "I do not care to remain here and have Sir Henry Clinton try me in his court," answered the other, simply. "So a week ago I handed in my resigna tion my rheumatism cannot endure this prison dampness my wife insists that unless I come home for the harvest, she will come to fetch me and other strong proofs that I must leave the dear old Provost. And, fortunately, my friend, the noble gen- 80 THE NEW LAND tleman who secured this post for me has fallen in battle, and no one else knows where to look for the stupid jailor who helped Haym Salomon to escape." "But, my friend, I cannot allow you to take such a risk for me," protested Salomon. "And even if you are not punished do you care to give up your post for my sake?" "I, too, have grown tired of this devil's business," answered the little jailor. "Even if you were to die tomorrow, I should give it up and go back to my little farm where I might feel myself an honest man again." Suddenly Haym sat down upon the bench, his mouth grim and stubborn. "I will not go. My name has always been spotless. But if I escape, there may be some who will believe that the charges brought against me are true, that I have acted as a secret agent for General Washington, endeavoring to burn the British warships and warehouses at his instiga tion. Whereas you know that my one crime was helping those few poor lads escape from their tor ture." "Will you stay here and argue until morning when the guards will take you below to let you swing for your folly!" muttered Jonas, now thoroughly exasperated. "You and I and the world know that not even Sir Henry himself believes the charges brought against you at your trial. It was only when that young Frenchman escaped two months ago and one of Sir Henry's ready spies betrayed you, that you were clapped into his cell to face charges in his THE GENEROUS GIVER 81 *.* ' court. I warned you then how it would be and you would not heed my words. Now let me save you before it is too late." "But my wife and little son," murmured Salomon, as the other adjusted the heavy shawl about his shoulders. "Who will care for them?" "You can send for them when you have found shelter. And if you stay and are hanged, who will protect them?" He pushed the large bonnet upon Salomon's head, nodding with satisfaction to see how it concealed his face. "Now, remember, say noth ing and try to walk slowly no, no, shorter steps! And put the basket on your arm." He stepped back to admire the result of his scheming. "Mr. Salo mon," he said, seriously, "if I did not know that my good wife was waiting for me outside I would swear she stood before me. Come, take my arm, remember, walk slowly " and the two passed out into the sultry August night. The Revolutionary War was over, and young Louis di Vernon, still very much of a boy despite the down upon his lip and the manly assurance achieved by almost seven years hard soldiering, leaned back in the shabby arm chair and looked ques- tioningly at his host across the table. Since his escape from the old Provost, he had often heard tales of Haym Salomon's great wealth, the magnificent sums he had lent the government, his generosity toward the nation's unpaid representatives, especially his 82 THE NEW LAND young friend Madison. And yet this man of almost fabulous wealth, this patriot who with his business partner, Robert Morris, had made it possible to feed and clothe Washington's starving and naked soldiers, this financier who had negotiated loans with Holland and France, now sat before him, meanly dressed, his brows wrinkled with care, his drooping shoulders too expressive of defeat for one who had helped his country win a glorious victory. "It is good to see you again," said Haym, slow ly. "I have not forgotten you, but I thought you might have forgotten me." He coughed, a hard, dry cough, leaning his fast graying head upon his hand. "We are used to having our friends forget us," murmured his wife, who sat sewing beside the lamp. She was a brisk, dark-haired woman, a member of the famous Franks family which had served the coun try so well during the dark days of the Revolution. "Of the many youths my husband aided in prison, you are the first one who came to thank him for his service." "Nay, Rachel," her husband chided her gently. "I did not seek for thanks. And it was not those brave soldiers I tried to serve, but freedom." His tired eyes glowed with a warm light as he turned to Louis. "I was born in unhappy Poland, so it is not strange that I loved freedom with all my heart and with all my soul. And when I was in prison, no longer free to serve this country which had wel comed me so heartily, I thanked God that I was permitted to aid those who were fighting her battles THE GENEROUS GIVER 83 and seeking to make her free before the world." "And after he escaped here to Philadelphia," add ed his wife, a note of pride in her voice, "he fought for the colonies just as surely as Colonel Franks upon the battlefield. You have heard of the vast sums of money he lent the bankrupt government and without a bit of security, too." Haym held up his hand in protest. "What secur ity did I need? If I could not trust my country, whom should I trust?" he asked her in quiet sin cerity. She bent her dark head over the little garment she was mending, her lips curved a bit scornfully. "I try not to be impatient. I know that even though peace has come, commerce is still languishing; that it will take many, many months for the government to pay its debts. Yet it hurts me to see you so wor ried, so hampered because you lack capital to go on with your business." Her dark eyes sparkled with indignation. "You are only forty-five, Haym," she declared, almost fiercely, "and yet your many cares make you seem almost an old man." "I am glad to have been able to give my youth to my country," he answered. Then, turning to Louis di Vernon: "Do not think my wife too bit ter? She has had sore trials," and he gently patted her work-worn hand. "I know it is not for her self she grieves, but she is troubled for me and for our little ones. And, in truth, things have grown dark for us of late. My business has suffered dur ing the war and I was obliged to neglect it while I attended to affairs of state. And now that peace 84 THE NEW LAND has come at last, I find that my old good fortune has deserted me." "If you had only kept the remnant of your for tune," sighed his wife, "the sixty-four thousand dol lars you lent to Mr. Morris for his bank would have tided us over these evil times." "But I could not allow the National Bank to fail," protested Salomon. "Somehow," turning to his guest, "I have grown like the old philosopher of my people who was so unfortunate that he once de clared that if he took to making shoes everyone would go barefoot, if he became a shroud maker, no one would die." He laughed softly, then grew suddenly grave. "The merchants to whom I have extended credit have failed. There have been losses at sea " he shrugged, and became silent, his eyes grown strangely large in his thin white face, seeming to look into the far future. "Mr. Madison and my other friends will not forget me," he said slowly, "and my country in whose keeping I may have to leave my wife and infant children before long, will be glad to repay her debt and care for them." A strange look of peace swept over his tired face; it was well that his dimming eyes could not see the long years during which his country would forget to be grateful and to repay. A feeling half of pity, half of shame filled the young man's heart. "I I am sorry," he stammered. "You need not pity me." Salomon smiled his old gentle smile. "I have been given a chance to serve the cause of freedom with my fortune; I have been of service to my own people, too, the Hebrews of THE GENEROUS GIVER 85 Philadelphia, and it gladdens my heart to believe that my children's children will worship the God of our fathers here in this place in the synagogue I have helped to build. I do not think my life has been such a very great failure after all," he ended, naive ly. "And it is good to know that what I have done has borne fruit. That is why your coming here tonight to thank me has heartened me more than news of the safe arrival of those missing merchant- ships at port." Louis arose, his honest face red with shame. "I did not want to hurt you," he said, speaking with difficulty. "When I came here tonight and you both thought it was just to thank you before I set sail for France, I was ashamed to tell you the reason of my visit For I am like the others; I would not have come to thank you for favors past; not know ing of your misfortune, I only came to ask new boun ties ; that is why I am ashamed." "Then why do you tell me now?" Salomon's voice had grown very tired. "I should have liked to be lieve that you were not here for favors." "I could not go away and have you believe a lie. You are too honest a man to lie to, Mr. Salomon. Are you sorry I told the truth?" "No. That takes the pain away." A long silence while the January wind howled outside. At last Haym spoke. "What did you wish of me though now I may be unable to grant it." "I leave shortly for France," answered the young man, flushed beneath the other's quiet gaze. "Al though I return a poor man, my betrothed has waited 86 THE NEW LAND f-r me and I desired to buy a bit of land for my own that we might become householders as our par- erts were before us. I knew you would trust me and that is why I came to you, my one friend in America." "Now I am truly sorry for my losses," answered Salomon. "If I could only help you but, perhaps, Mr. Morris yes, I will give you a note to him, and though I am not prosperous today, he will be willing to trust me as your security." But Louis di Vernon shook his head. "I cannot think of it," he answered, stubbornly. "Do not in sist, or I shall be sorry that I told you of my de sires. Please have this visit as it should have been; to thank you for your great kindness to me; not to ask more favors." u As you will," answered Haym with a smile. "But you must not leave us without a little token for your betrothed." Going to the mantel piece, he took down a silver cup, quaintly carved, and slipped it into the young man's unwilling hand. "Nay, lad, take it, it is all I can give you this and my blessing for your future." Again the wind shook the window pane. "It is a bitter night outside. We have no guest chamber, but if you care to sleep be side our fire " "Nay, after Valley Forge a soldier is not afraid of the storm," laughed the Frenchman. "And I cannot thank you for this and all your kindness. But she is a woman and when I tell my Mairie, she will write you all the love and gratitude that is in our hearts." He bent over Mistress Salomon's hand THE GENEROUS GIVER 87 with all the courtly breeding of his race. "It is only AU revoir tonight, Madame, for I will try to see you again before I leave Philadelphia." He gathered his cloak about him and went out into the storm, leaving Salomon to meet his wife's reproachful eyes. "Yes, I know, heart's dearest, that I should not give silver cups to beggarly Frenchmen," he told her with a whimsical smile, "for who knows when we will have to pawn the little that remains of our silver. But until then " he shrugged good- naturedly, and a fit of coughing drowned the rest. Several days later young Louis di Vernon sat in a coffee house, his traveling bag and a bundle of toys and goodies for the little Salomon children at his feet. Over his cup he read the latest edition of the "Pennsylvania Journal and Weekly Adver tiser," pausing to stare at a modest notice rucked in an obscure corner of the sheet. He put down his cup untasted and read it again with whitening lips : "On Thursday died Haym Salomon, a broker." ACROSS THE WATERS A Story of the City of Refuge Planned by Mordecal Noah. The two children stood hand in hand in a cor ner of Mr. Mordecai Noah's handsome library in New York, both badly frightened, although the boy tried hard to appear at ease in his strange surround ings. They still wore the dress of their native Tunis; Hushiel in silken blouse and short black trousers, with mantle and fez such as Mohammedans wear, his little sister, Peninah, a quaint picture in her short jacket, baggy trousers and pointed cap. No wonder the old family servant, who had gasped when admit ting them, had gone off to summon his master, de claring to himself that these visitors looked even more heathenish than the painted Indians who occa sionally called upon Mr. Noah at his Buffalo home. "Do sit down, Peninah," suggested the boy in a half-whisper, too overawed by the elegant furnish ings and long rows of books to speak out loud. He pointed to a tall, carved arm chair but Peninah shook her head and clung more tightly to his arm. "It's all so strange," she whispered back, "just like an old tale Nissim, the story teller, used to tell sometimes at home all of it, the big ship, and the many people when we came on shore in New York and this room " with a gesture towards the 88 ACROSS THE WATERS 89 table on which stood a tea service of heavy silver. "He must be a prince to have such treasures. Aren't you afraid to speak to him when he comes in?" 'A man is never afraid," answered twelve-year- old Hussiel, stoutly. "He may not remember me, but I am my father's son and he will do us kindness for his sake." He stopped suddenly as Mr. Morde- cai Noah entered the room. The master of the house was about forty, with deep, kindly eyes and a heavy mane of black hair brushed back from his benevolent forehead. He carried himself with the dignity befitting an author and statesman who was, perhaps, the most distin guished Jew in America in 1825. Yet in spite of his touch of hauteur there was a real kindliness in the manner in which he held out his hands to the strangers and bade them welcome. "You have come a long way," he said, with a quick glance at their foreign garb. "Let me make you welcome to America." He drew them to one of the carved settles he had brought from England and seated himself in the great armchair before it, smiling at the quaint picture little Peninah made, her slippered feet dangling high above the floor. "And how can I serve you?" he asked graciously. Hussiel felt his shyness disappearing before the great man's courtesy. "We are from Tunis," he answered, "and you may remember me, though I was but a tiny lad when you were the American consul there and visited my father about ten years ago. My father was Rabbi Reuben Faitusi," he added, not a little disappointed as the loved name failed to 90 THE NEW LAND awaken any memories in the eyes of the man before him. "I met so many rabbis while I was in the East," apologized Mr. Noah, "that the name means noth ing to me for a moment. But if I were to meet your father again I am sure I should know him at once," he ended politely. "My father died six months ago," answered the boy, "my mother when she was born," and he nod ded toward Peninah, who sat clutching his sleeve in her pretty bashfulness. "Before he died he told me how you visited our house and spoke long and bitterly of the persecution of our brethren which you had encountered through Europe and Africa on your travels. My father knew of what you spoke only too well, for the lot of our people has often been a harsh one in Tunis. And we have suffered for a long time." He drew himself up proudly. "My father's house are of the Tunsi, who some be lieve have been in the land for centuries even be fore the First Temple was destroyed. And he told me what it meant for him to listen to the words of a stranger from) a new land which was a land of hope for our ancient people." A satisfied smile played about Noah's lips. "Yes, he was like so many others," he nodded, "thirsty for the message of comfort I brought my brethren across the seas. For, as I told him, I dreamed even then that this America of mine would be a Land of Prom ise for the Jews over the entire earth and that I might be permitted to be the Messiah to lead them here." ACROSS THE WATERS 91 Hussiel tried not to look shocked. He had heard too many tales of the Messiah", the princely leader of the House of David, who would some day ap pear in all his glorious might to restore the Chosen People to their own country, not to wonder how even this powerful prince in Israel should dare to use his name so lightly. But his eyes sparkled at the memories his host's words had awakened. "My father spoke to me of his talk with you many times," he told Mr. Noah, "and how he dreamed that he might come to dwell in the city of refuge you planned for our people. And he prom ised to take me and her," with a gesture toward Peninah, who nodded vigorously. "But his eyes closed before he could behold our return. Year by year he had saved a little to make the journey; this he gave me and to it I added my mite that I had laid aside from my earnings as a mechanic; then I sold our household goods and came with Peninah to you that we might be among the first to enter your city, even as our father wished us to be." A strange look crept into Mr. Noah's eyes; a look of exultation and joy; he seemed for a moment like a man who sees a great hope fulfilled and is glad. "Your father had the faith of God in his heart," he said at last, "and you two are worthy of being called his children. Sometimes I myself have doubted whether I could forge my dream into reality. But when you come to me with your young and fearless hearts, trusting so in my mission, I must believe that I cannot fail. And you seem to have been sent here by a miracle. All through the 92 THE NEW LAND ten years since I was consul to Tunis I have planned for a city of refuge for our people. Perhaps some day we will return to Palestine, but meanwhile " he made a sweeping gesture "meanwhile the virgin wilderness of this land awaits our people. Here we will build and plough; here we will launch our trad ing vessels the Phoenicians of the New World." He had forgotten his listeners and spoke as though addressing a great multitude. "And others have shared my dreams. My good friend, Samuel Leg- gett, although a Christian, has seen my vision, and has aided me with his sympathy and his gold." His dream-filled eyes actually twinkled and now he spoke simply with no thought of a vast audience to listen. "I am grateful for his sympathy, but his gold with my own private fortune helped me even more. With it I have purchased a great tract of land on the Niagara River for the site of our Jewish colony. Yes," he repeated, proudly, "I have pur chased over two thousand acres of land on Grand Island. Persecuted Jews from all over the world will plant their farms there. And some day it will be one of the greatest commercial centers of the world, as well as a farming colony, for it lies close to the Great Lakes and opposite the new Erie Canal, through which our vessels loaded with the produce of our farms will sail to feed the nations." He paused for breath and Hushiel nodded, un derstanding but little the reason of his hosts's en thusiasm, but at least grasping the fact that the city of refuge of which his father had dreamed so long was about to be built. ACROSS THE WATERS 93 "And what will you call your city?" he ven tured. "Ararat," answered the founder. "Some of my friends have tried to persade me to name it after myself; this I would not do, but since I would have future generations know of my share in the building of the city, I shall call it Ararat, which they may interpret as the city of Noah. But above all would I remind all that hear its name that it is a city of refuge, even as the mountain Ararat was a place of safety after the flood which destroyed the earth in the days of Noah of old. Our people, tossed for so long upon the seas of bitterness and hatred, will rest here as the ark rested upon the mountain Ararat when the waters of the flood subsided." "But will only Jews be welcome there?" "It will be as open as Abraham's tent to every wan derer who seeks shelter there," replied Mordecai Noah with a magnificent gesture. "Especially to our brethren, the Indians. For I firmly believe," he went on, not pausing to think that the boy from across the seas could not possibly understand him, "I firmly believe that the red men are descended from the lost tribes of Israel and are ready to extend to us the hand of brotherhood and forsake their own gods for the God of our fathers. You have never seen our Indian brothers?" Hushiel shook his head, but Peninah, thoroughly worn out by her journey and the long talk which she could not comprehend, had fallen asleep and could not answer. "Then you will see them for the first time at the dedication cere mony of our city of Ararat," he promised graciously. 94 THE NEW LAND "And when will the city be dedicated ?" The boy's tone was eager. "Next week. And I will take both of you to Buf falo with me that you may see the ceremonies. You see you have come in good time," answered Mr. Mordecai Noah. "But I won't go in these clothes," objected Peninah hotly. For almost a week she and her brother had been guests in Mr. Noah's household, and every day one or another of his Christian or Jewish friends had come to visit them. They were very wonderful peo ple, these Americans, thought Peninah, and most wonderful of all were the little girls of her own age, with their full skirts and dainty bonnets. True, they had never seen the Sahara Desert or crossed the mysterious ocean, yet she envied them their pretty clothes, feeling outlandishly queer in her pointed cap and baggy trousers. Mr. Noah had been very kind to her; he had brought her several pretty trinkets and a box of sweetmeats, almost as good as those one could buy in the bazaar at home, she told Hush- iel but on one point he was firm and nothing could move him. "Tomorrow will be a great day for every Jew upon the face of the earth," he had told the chil dren the evening before the day set for the dedica tion ceremonies for which he had brought them to Buffalo. "I should like to purchase a little present for each of you, some token that you may show ACROSS THE WATERS 95 your children some day when you tell them of the founding of Ararat, my city. What shall it be?" he asked, smiling into their eager faces. "You have given us too much already, more than we can ever repay," protested Hushiel, but his mod est answer was quite drowned by Penman's shrill : "I want a new dress and a bonnet with strings and slippers like the little American girls wear!" "Peninah! Aren't you ashamed to ask for so much," chided her brother. "And I want a little black silk bag to carry to morrow," went on Peninah, unabashed. "And I think I'd like blue ribbons on the bonnet." Mr. Noah smiled indulgently, but he shook his head. "I will get you an outfit such as little Amer ican girls wear," he promised, kindly, "but you must not wear it tomorrow." Peninah stared at him. "But I want them for to morrow," she protested. "All the little girls I have met here in your house are coming tomorrow and if I am dressed as they are, they will not stare at me as though I were a dancing girl at a fair. I'm going to take off these," she tugged angrily at the bright beads about her neck, "and these," and she gave a defiant twitch to her hated Oriental trousers. "Your clothes are very pretty," soothed Mr. Noah, "but if you prefer to dress like the people of our country, I will buy you everything you need. Only tomorrow you must wear the clothes you wore at home even if the people stare." "But why? I look so different " "It is just because your clothes are so different," 96 THE NEW LAND explained Mordecai Noah patiently, "that I want you to wear them. My dream is to have our city a refuge for the Jews of all the nations of the earth. Many people of Buffalo have heard your story, but they have not seen you. When they see you and Hushiel in your native dress, it will impress them greatly as they realize that even the children of the lands far across the sea have sought my city and long to make their home there. You understand, don't you?" Hushiel nodded, but Peninah stamped her small, slippered foot angrily. "I won't go if I have to wear these horrid clothes which make people stare at me," she declared angrily, and ran from the room, crying as she went. Mr. Noah seemed really disturbed and was about to call her back, but Hushiel only laughed a little and shrugged at her anger. " 'The camel wanted to have horns, so he lost his ears for his greediness'," he quoted in Hebrew. "It is hard to satisfy a woman. Just let her have her cry and she will be as gentle as a lamb in the morning." But Peninah was decidedly sulky at breakfast the next morning and as the hour to attend the dedica tion ceremony drew near she grew actually violent in declaring that she wouldn't leave the house to be "a show thing for all those strange people to look at!" "They can look at you, Hushiel, all they want to," she exclaimed, "but I won't go out into the streets until I have new clothes!" She folded her small arms defiantly and glared angrily at her brother. ACROSS THE WATERS 97 Hushiel, usually patient and long-suffering, was now really angry. He grasped her shoulders and shook her so energetically that her bright beads rat tled merrily together. "Now listen to me," he be gan sternly, as he released her, and she stood gasp ing for breath, staring at him with eyes wide with hurt astonishment. "I've been listening to your fool ish words till I'm tired. So you must listen to me now and obey me for I take our father's place in our household, don't I?" She nodded sullenly, for she knew that in their native country a lad as young as Hushiel would be considered grown to manhood. "If he were here today he would command you to dry your foolish tears and come to the place where they are celebrating the founding of our new city. If he who has given us so many gifts and welcomes us to his home desires you to go there in your native dress, you will obey him. Else you will have to deal with me," and he scowled so fiercely, that even the dauntless Peninah was a little frightened. "Besides," he ended, craftily, "you are so anxious to see the Indians and Mr. Noah himself has promised that there will be red men at the great festival today." With a shrug of elaborate carelessness which didn't deceive her brother in the least, Peninah dried her eyes and began to smooth her rumpled attire. "I'll go," she said, indifferently, "but not because I have to obey you. It's just because I do want to see those Indians." Peninah's wish was gratified, for there was a good ly sprinkling of red men at the dedication ceremonies of the city of Ararat held in Buffalo on that bright 98 THE NEW LAND September day so long ago. So many citizens had expressed their desire to be present that it was dis covered that it would be impossible to secure enough boats to convey them to Grand Island. So, although a monument was erected on the spot where the city of Ararat was to be built, the dedication ceremonies were held in the large Episcopalian church of Buf falo, which was soon crowded with those who either wished Mr. Noah success in his strange undertaking or were drawn by idle curiosity to witness the fes tival. Neither of the children from Tunis ever forgot that day. First there was the long and impressive procession down the main streets of Buffalo, led by a band of musicians playing stirring melodies all the while. After the musicians came companies of sol diers, many of whom had distinguished themselves in the war of 1812, in which conflict Noah had re ceived the rank of major; behind them, garbed in their picturesque regalia, walked several companies of Masons, for Mr. Noah was a prominent member of that organization; and then came Mordecai Noah himself, wearing a magnificent robe of crimson silk trimmed with bands of ermine. Behind the Gov ernor and Judge of Israel, as he styled himself, fol lowed men prominent in the affairs of the city and state, a distinguished company, all eager to show their interest in the proposed Jewish city of refuge. At last the procession filed slowly into the church. The dim, rich light struggling through the stained win dows fell like an enchanted robe upon those who had marched and those who were gathered there; it was ACROSS THE WATERS 99 a picture the like of which has never been seen in America since that day. The two children from across the seas sat wide- eyed as they looked about them. The citizens of Buffalo, the richly garbed officials and soldiers who had marched in the procession, above all, the In dians in their feathers and blankets and beads, stern- faced and tall and slender, sieemed people from another world. For a moment Hushiel was troubled : would his father think it right for him to attend a Christian church even on such a day? Then he forgot his scruples as Mordecai Noah, still in his crimson mantle, advanced on the platform to speak to the people. The boy looked from his regal fig ure on the Christian clergymen in their dark, plain robes, and his heart thrilled with pride. Mordecai Noah, he thought, stood head and shoulders above all other men, as Israel, under his wise guidance, would some day stand above the nations. He heard not a word of the long oration that followed. In stead he dreamed of the city which would arise on Grand Island, a city as mighty as Jerusalem of old, and in his dream he saw the nations of the earth entering its gates to pay tribute to its crimson-clad king. So he happily built his city of the clouds until the ceremonies were almost over and a salute of twenty-four guns made little Peninah start with terror and cling to him, crying aloud in her fright. And now came busy, happy days for Hushiel and Peninah. Peninah, dressed "just like a little Amer ican girl," as she proudly told herself a dozen times 100 THE NEW LAND a day, was sent to a school. But Mr. Noah, really interested in Hushiel, undertook to teach him him self, delighting in the boy's fine mind, so well trained by his long Talmudic studies with his father. As soon as he learned to read and write English, the lad proved to be of great assistance to his benefactor, copying Mr. Noah's manuscripts for the press, for that gentleman was an eminent journalist and one of the most popular dramatists of his day, and, in time, even assisting him with his foreign correspond ence. The letters from abroad grew extremely heavy, for directly after the dedication ceremonies, Mr. Noah, as self-appointed Judge of Israel, sent a proc lamation to all of the leading Jewish communities of the world, declaring that Ararat was established and inviting citizens of every country to come and make their home there. Those who were content in their adopted lands, he wrote, might remain in their homes, and he begged all Jewish soldiers in foreign armies to remember that the Jew must be true to the obli gation of the state in which he lives. But he urged every loyal Jew who longed for the restoration of Israel's glory to pay a yearly tax of three shekels (ancient Jewish coin worth about a quarter in our currency) and to appoint deputies in their respective countries who would elect a new ruler or Judge of the Jewish state every fourth year. And that the new state should be thoroughly democratic, Morde- cai Noah appointed influential Jews in every impor tant Jewish community to act as his commissioners in governing the city of Ararat. ACROSS THE WATERS 101 To Hushiel the proclamation seemed all that could be desired and he waited eagerly for the warm re sponse he felt must come from every Jew to whom Noah appealed. But to his great surprise, the post brought letter after letter either of ridicule or de nunciation ; even the Jews who lived in the countries of darkest persecution refused to listen to his offer of a home in the new Jewish colony. True, many of them longed to emigrate to America, the land which had been a place of refuge to their brothers for so many years. Others dreamed of a return to Palestine, willing to live there as exiles in their home land until the coming of the Messiah brought Israel's freedom. Letter after letter from across the seas refused to aid Noah in his dream for Jewish eman cipation. "We are happy in our adopted land," wrote one. "When God in His mercy sends the Mes siah, then will He lead Israel back to the Promised Land, Palestine, and not before," wrote another. While the Jews of America, in their pride as Amer ican citizens, were as swift as their brethren abroad to ridicule Noah's plans for Ararat, denouncing them as impious or impractical. But the boy's faith in the project never wavered. He did not venture to offer his master sympathy for his disappointment, but in his shy, boyish way, he did manage to assure Noah again and again that he still believed in the city of refuge and longed to dwell there. And Noah never failed to smile at his half-uttered assurances, although he never an swered them directly. Once he kindly placed his hand upon the boy's shoulder and Hushiel felt as 102 THE NEW LAND proud as a young squire whom his master had dubbed knight. Gradually the correspondence concerning Ararat diminished and finally it ceased altogether. Morde- cai Noah made no comment; there was still plenty of work for Hushiel with the newspaper articles; he also copied portions of the Book of Jasher which Mr. Noah was translating from the Hebrew. So the two labored together day after day, but neither even mentioned the dream that had called Hushiel across the seas. "I am going to Washington on business," his mas ter informed Hushiel one morning as they sat in his study, ready to begin work on the day's tasks. "I may be gone for some time. You have been working hard and faithfully," he added kindly, "and you deserve a holiday. Would you care to go to Washington with me?" Hushel answered with difficulty, his eyes seeking the floor, for suddenly a daring idea had captured his brain. "You are very kind," he stammered, "but if I might may I spend my holiday as I please, if I am back at my tasks in time?" "Surely." Noah's hand sought his wallet. "Here is money. Give Peninah a little treat, too, and do not hurry back to your desk too soon. When you are ready for work again, you will find plenty of manuscript which I will leave for you to copy dur ing my absence. I think I will be gone a fortnight." "My holiday will not last that long," answered the boy, turning back to his papers. "And, please sir, do not mention this to Peninah. I will buy her ACROSS THE WATERS 103 some pleasure with the money you have just given me. But I must have my holiday alone." So Hushiel was alone when he stood before the monument of brick and wood which had been erected on Grand Island, the proposed site of the city of Ararat. To the lad, unused to the wilderness of America, the journey down the river had been a fas cinating one. Now he stood alone in the vast silence, broken only by the roar of the Falls in the distance. How long he stood here before the pile of bricks and wood Hushiel never knew. When he tried to recall the scene years afterwards, he pictured clearly a slender, dark-skinned boy lying upon the ground, weeping bitterly as he listened to the rumblings of Niagara which seemed to mock him as he grieved for the city which had perished at its birth. For now he realized without a word from Mordecai Noah that the dream had failed that his people must wait a little longer for a real Messiah to lead them into the Land of Promise. Bitterest of all, even more bitter than the breaking of his dream, was the real ization that Mordecai Noah, for all his lofty ideals, his generous motives, was not of the stuff of which leaders are made. His voice, no matter how elo quent, would never be heeded should he again seek to call the wandering children of Israel together. And thinking of these things, the boy wept like a little child. Years later, when the monument on Grand Island had fallen into decay, Hushiel saw the cornerstone of the dream city, Ararat, displayed in one of the rooms of the Buffalo Historical Society. He was no 104 THE NEW LAND longer a sensitive boy, yet the tears sprang to his eyes as he re-read the old inscription which you may still read if you visit the Society's rooms today: "Shema Yisroel, Adonoi Elohenu, Adonoi Echod (Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One) . Ararat, a City of Refuge for the Jews, Foun ded by Mr. M. Noah in the month Tishri, 5586, Sept., 1825, and in the 5