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<Dth year of American Inde 
 pendence."
 
 THREE AT GRACE 
 
 The Story of the First Jewish Settler 
 in Alabama. 
 
 Colonel Hawkins, the Indian agent for the gov 
 ernment at Pole Cat Springs, Alabama, in 1804, 
 leaned across the pine table to extend a cordial hand 
 to his visitor. Abram Mordecai, who stood before 
 him, although almost fifty, gave one the impression 
 of a much younger man. Lean and lithe as a pan 
 ther, with shaggy black hair and keen eyes, his dis 
 tinctly Jewish features were so tanned and weather- 
 beaten that he looked far more the Indian than the 
 Jew. He nodded gayly to his employer before he 
 flung himself into a chair, his gun-stock between 
 his knees, his great brown hands clasped behind his 
 head. As he sat there dressed in the buckskin shirt 
 and trousers of his half-civilized Indian neighbors, 
 every free movement of his large body suggesting 
 his life in the wilderness, the Jewish adventurer pre 
 sented a perfect picture of the pioneer of his day. 
 
 "I have come, Colonel Hawkins," he began in 
 his usual abrupt manner, "to ask your help in build 
 ing a cotton gin. Yes," as the other showed sur 
 prise, "I know the enterprise seems a strange one 
 for a rover like me to suggest, and, perhaps, a fool 
 ish undertaking in the wilderness. Yet the wilder 
 ness must pass and we must build now for the days 
 to come." 
 
 105
 
 106 THE NEW LAND 
 
 "Go on, Mordecai," encouraged his chief. "What 
 are your plans?" 
 
 "I know how eager you are to civilize the Indians 
 in our region and teach them the arts of peace," 
 went on Mordecai. "Thus far we have done noth 
 ing but trade with them for pelties and healing barks 
 and oils. But could we not have the squaws raise 
 the cotton and bring it down the river in their canoes 
 and prepare it in our gin for the market in New 
 Orleans?" 
 
 "Good." Hawkins nodded approvingly. "First 
 we must gain permission of the Hickory Ground 
 Indians for the erection of our gin, for it will not 
 be wise to risk their enmity at the outset. But there 
 is not another gin in the state. Where shall we 
 find a pattern; where shall we get the workmen to 
 fashion one for us; or the needed tools?" 
 
 "I have thought of that," Abram Mordecai told 
 him. "There are two Jews of Georgia, Lyon and 
 Barrett, who have both the tools and the skill for 
 the task. I met Lyon when we were both young 
 men serving in the army under General Washington. 
 You can rely upon him for faithful service." 
 
 A little smile curved the agent's lips. "You Jews !" 
 he exclaimed. "Is there any enterprise in which 
 you have not had a hand? Even back to the build 
 ing of the pyramids in old Egypt! It is like a Jew 
 to plan the first cotton gin in Alabama and to bring 
 two of his race to build it." 
 
 "We are indeed builders," answered Mordecai a 
 little dryly, "but not always for ourselves." He 
 rose. "Shall I send for them?"
 
 THREE AT GRACE 107 
 
 "The sooner the better. And it will be good to 
 meet your fellow Hebrews again, eh, Mordecai?" 
 
 Abram Mordecai, already at the door, turned a 
 moment. His eyes, a striking hazel in the tan of 
 his roughened face, grew wistful for a moment. "I 
 am more Indian than Jew, more savage than white 
 man," he answered gravely. "Perhaps it is a pity," 
 and he was gone. 
 
 Mordecai, the child of the wilderness, where the 
 struggle against savage and beast of prey sharpen 
 the wits and teach the pioneer the need for rapid de 
 cisions, lost no time in executing his commission. 
 As soon as word could reach Lyon, he informed his 
 old comrade of the work he had in mind for him. 
 The next post told Mordecai that the two men with 
 their tools, gin saws and other materials loaded upon 
 pack horses, were already on their way to Alabama. 
 He waited eagerly for their arrival. The gin meant 
 more to him than a source of revenue, were he suc 
 cessful in the cotton market. For, as Hawkins had 
 observed, the Jew was not content to be a mere 
 trader and hunter, like so many adventurers of the 
 back woods. He longed to build, to create some 
 thing lasting even in that ever-changing wilderness. 
 And perhaps, mingled with his impatience, was a 
 queer longing to see his own again, not merely white 
 men like Colonel Hawkins, but Jews such as he had 
 known before leaving his native Pennsylvania so 
 many years ago. He smiled to find himself actually 
 counting the days before he could expect Lyon and 
 Barrett to arrive. 
 
 They came at last one evening near sunset, two
 
 108 THE NEW LAND 
 
 brown-skinned rovers in half-savage dress affected 
 by the backwoodsmen of that day; Lyon, grave and 
 silent, Barrett, with a boy's laugh, despite the sprink 
 ling of gray in his curly hair. Mordecai stood at 
 the door of his hut to greet them. A little behind 
 him, humbly respectful like all the women of her 
 nation to her lord and master, stood a squaw clad 
 in a blanket with strings of beads woven in the long, 
 dark braids of her hair. Her bright, black eyes 
 sparkled with interest as she surveyed the strangers; 
 but as they came nearer, she turned quickly and 
 went back into the hut, where she continued to pre 
 pare the evening meal. But Mordecai advanced to 
 ward the travellers, his hand extended in wel 
 come. 
 
 "Shalom Aleichem" he began, his tongue falter 
 ing a little over the old Hebrew greeting he had 
 not used for so long. "I am glad you have come at 
 last." 
 
 "Aleichem Shalom'' answered Lyon. "It is long 
 since we have met, Abram Mordecai." He took 
 his old comrade's outstretched hand and indicated 
 Barrett with a curt nod. "My friend," he said, 
 briefly. "He will help us build the gin." 
 
 "You are both welcome," their host assured them. 
 "Becky," he called, and the Indian woman appeared 
 at the door, "unload the horses and bed them for 
 the night with ours," and he indicated a roughly 
 constructed barn a little way from the hut which it 
 so resembled. "But first bring a pail of fresh water 
 from the spring that these gentlemen may wash after 
 their journey."
 
 THREE AT GRACE 109 
 
 Becky, still devouring the newcomers with her 
 eyes, curiously, like those of an inquisitive squirrel, 
 caught up a wooden bucket that stood by the open 
 door and started down the winding path that led 
 to the spring. "My wife," explained Mordecai, pre 
 tending not to see the look of surprise with which 
 his former friend Lyon greeted his statement. 
 "Yes," half in apology, "I know it seems strange 
 to you. But for so many years I felt myself a part 
 of the Creek nation, that when I was ill with malarial 
 fever and she nursed me back to health, I was glad 
 to lessen my loneliness and make her my wife ac 
 cording to the customs of her people. Yet," and 
 he smiled a little bitterly, u yet, strange as it may 
 seem, I still remember that I am a Jew." 
 
 He led them into the little cabin with its one win 
 dow and floor of clay. At one end stood a rude 
 fireplace made of bricks where a huge kettle swung 
 Indian-fashion above the logs. At the other end of 
 the room several heavy blankets indicated a bed, 
 the only furniture being a few rough chairs, a table 
 and an old trunk half covered by a gayly striped 
 blanket such as Indian women weave. "A rough 
 place, even for the wilderness," confessed Mordecai, 
 "but I dare attempt no better. Of late, the Indians 
 once so friendly, have grown surly and suspicious; 
 they rightly fear that the white man will wrench 
 the wilderness from them. Especially Towerculla, 
 a neighboring chief, who hates the ways of the whites 
 and has been murmuring against me ever since he 
 has heard that a cotton gin will be erected through 
 my agency. So who knows when I will be driven
 
 110 THE NEW LAND 
 
 from this place by the red men providing that they 
 allow me to escape with my life." 
 
 "And have you no white neighbors?" asked Bar 
 rett, who had seated himself upon the trunk, where 
 he sat loosening his dusty leggins. 
 
 "There is 'Old Milly'." Mordecai's hazel eyes 
 twinkled a little. "She is the wife of an English 
 soldier who deserted from the army during the Revo 
 lution. After her husband's death she took up her 
 abode here. She is a woman of strong and resolute 
 character and has considerable power over the In 
 dians of this district, who stand greatly in awe of 
 her. She lately married a red man and is really a 
 great person in our little community, for she owns 
 several slaves and many horses and cattle. Tomor 
 row I will introduce you to my only white neighbor. 
 But here is Becky with the water," as the squaw 
 entered with the brimming pail. "Wash the dust 
 from your faces that we may sit and eat, for you 
 must be nearly famished." 
 
 The travelers, having washed in the wooden basin 
 that stood on one of the chairs and shaken some of 
 the dust from their garments, now came eagerly 
 enough to the table, which the silent Becky had pre 
 pared for them. Upon the bare boards she had set 
 several mugs and heavy crockery bowls, pewter forks 
 and a large, steaming vessel of the stew which she 
 had taken from the fire, as well as several cakes 
 made of corn flour and cooked in the ashes. Such 
 fare was familiar enough to the pioneers, but the 
 two guests could not help staring at the book that 
 lay at each plate, a worn Sidur (prayer book), the
 
 THREE AT GRACE 111 
 
 ancient Hebrew characters looking strangely foreign 
 in the primitive forests of America. Abram Mor- 
 decai saw the two men exchange glances and flushed 
 a little beneath his tan. 
 
 "A foolish thought of mine," he murmured. 
 "When I left my father's house in Pennsylvania I 
 carried one of these in my pack, wrapped in the 
 talith (praying shawl), he had brought with him 
 from Germany. And later I found the two others 
 in the bundle of a Jewish peddlar murdered by the 
 Indians. The Indian agent at St. Mary's sent me 
 to ransom him and several other captives taken by 
 the Creeks, but I came too late. Somehow, I could 
 not bear to throw them away or destroy them. They 
 have been with me in all my wanderings and more 
 than once when I thought it about time for the 
 fall holy days have I read the prayers and wished 
 that I might have a few of my brethren with me 
 to observe them aright. And tonight " for a mo 
 ment the confident, self-reliant adventurer seemed as 
 embarrassed as a bashful child, "and tonight I hoped 
 that since there would be three of us at grace, we 
 might read the benedictions together if you care 
 to and I would know how it feels to be a Jew 
 again." 
 
 Barrett laughed, his hearty school boy laugh, as 
 he flung himself unceremoniously into a chair beside 
 the table. "It's many a day since I've said or heard 
 a brocha (blessing)," he said, "but I'll go through it 
 without any book, thank you." 
 
 Lyon said nothing, as he took the place Mordecai 
 assigned him at the foot of the table, but there
 
 112 THE NEW LAND 
 
 was a tender look about his grave mouth. Perhaps 
 he realized how difficult it had been for Mordecai 
 to confess his loneliness for the customs of his peo 
 ple; but, according to his wont, he said nothing. 
 
 Smiling almost childishly, Mordecai passed a bowl 
 of water to each of his guests that they might wash 
 their hands, which they did, murmuring the blessing 
 as they did so. Then, taking his place at the head 
 of the table, he poured water over his own hands, 
 saying the Hebrew benediction as he wiped them 
 upon a faded red napkin which lay beside his Sidur. 
 Somehow, after his brief confession, he felt ashamed 
 to tell his guests that the napkin had belonged to 
 his mother and had rested beside the neglected Sidur 
 for so many years. Then, breaking a bit from the 
 bread and handing it to each of the men, he repeated 
 the blessing for which, although he had not recited 
 it for so many years, he need no prompting from 
 the worn black book beside his plate. 
 
 "Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of 
 the universe, who bringest forth bread from the 
 earth," he said in Hebrew. 
 
 Becky, as her husband called her, stood in the 
 background as silent as a bronze statute until the 
 little ceremony was over. If she was impressed by 
 the strangeness of it all, she gave no sign. For so 
 many of the customs of her husband's alien race were 
 strange to her that she had long ago ceased to won 
 der or desire any explanation. Now at a sign from 
 Mordecai, she took away the bowl of water, and, 
 filling a plate with the savoury stew, took it to the 
 corner of the hut, here, crouched upon the blankets,
 
 THREE AT GRACE 113 
 
 she ate her supper, quite content to watch the white 
 strangers from a distance. 
 
 Mordecai served his guests, then himself, and 
 over the stew and corn bread the men exchanged 
 stories of their experiences in the wilderness. The 
 host told a little of his own adventures since leaving 
 the east, of his life as a trader with the Indians, of 
 the peace treaty he had brought about with the Chick- 
 asaw nation, of his journeys south to New Orleans 
 and Mobile, his furs and medicinal barks piled high 
 in the barge with no companions but the painted sav 
 ages to assist him. A life of highly-colored adven 
 ture with variety enough to satisfy any spirit, but 
 even now Mordecai was growing restless and longed 
 for another enterprise to occupy him after the cotton 
 gin should be completed. 
 
 Then, the meal being over, Mordecai, with the 
 same shamefaced bashfulness he had shown when 
 speaking of the Sidurim, turned the pages of the 
 book, saying almost wistfully: "I know that to 
 night is not a festival or Sabbath with us, gentle 
 men, but if you would care to go over the psalm 
 with me " 
 
 ''We've been waiting a long time for this and 
 we'll give good measure," laughed little Barrett, but 
 his eyes did not jest as Mordecai in the quaint old 
 sing-song of the synagogue began "When the Lord 
 turned again the captivity of Zion" and Lyon gravely 
 followed, 
 
 "And now," Mordecai's face fairly glowed with 
 pleasure, "now we will have the special grace, since 
 there re three of us at the table."
 
 114 THE NEW LAND 
 
 "Let us say grace," he began, with hardly a look 
 at the Hebrew. 
 
 "Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time 
 forth and forever," responded his guests. 
 
 "With the permission of those present," went on 
 the host, "we will bless Him of whose bounty we 
 have partaken." 
 
 Blessed be He of whose bounty we have par 
 taken," answered the others, "and through whose 
 goodness we live." 
 
 As Mordecai repeated the Hebrew phrases, 
 learned in his almost forgotten Cheder (Hebrew 
 School) days, a great longing came upon him and 
 the tears coursed down his cheeks. To return again 
 to this home, to keep the customs of his people and 
 to die at last with Jewish friends about him and 
 the Hebrew's declaration of faith upon his lips! 
 But, as he closed the book, his eyes glanced about 
 the little room and they grew dark with pain. The 
 gun standing in the corner, the furs drying upon the 
 wall, Becky crouching upon the blankets all spoke 
 to him of a life he had lived too long to exchange 
 for the quiet existence of which he sometimes 
 dreamed. He rose, and, with an abrupt gesture, 
 pointed to a shaggy robe before the fire place. 
 
 "I have no better bed to offer you," he said, "but 
 I know you are not used to a soft couch. You 
 must be tired from your journey. Becky will tend 
 to your horses so you had better sleep now, that 
 tomorrow we may start out early and visit Colonel 
 Hawkins. He would see you before you begin work 
 on the cotton gin."
 
 THREE AT GRACE 115 
 
 The cotton gin, the first to be built in Alabama, 
 was completed in due time, and Barrett and Lyons, 
 their pack horses again loaded with their tools, were 
 ready to return to Georgia. If Mordecai felt any 
 pain at having his co-religionists depart, he was skil 
 ful in concealing it. For, after his confidence over 
 the supper table, he had slipped back into his stoical 
 reserve and not even the taciturn Lyon was more 
 silent or chary of speech in anything that did not 
 directly concern the business in hand. So it was 
 merry little Barrett who alone mentioned the occa 
 sion that for a moment had brought the strangers 
 of the wilderness together and had made them 
 brothers. 
 
 "We'll be coming back again when we want a 
 taste of Becky's good stew and a blessing after 
 wards," he jested as he swung himself into his sad 
 dle and reached down to shake hands with Morde 
 cai. 
 
 "Or to build another gin if the Indians do not 
 molest this one and drive me off," answered Morde 
 cai lightly, but the jest lingered in his mind. His 
 life among the superstitious savages, his solitary 
 hours in the wilderness, had helped to tinge his 
 shrewd, practical mind with a strong mysticism. He 
 tried to dismiss the matter; but, as he walked back 
 to his hut that evening, Barrett's light words haunted 
 him and gave him no rest. "Perhaps," he muttered, 
 "perhaps, before my life is over, we will meet again 
 and there will be three of us at grace." 
 
 But his fancies fled and his dreamy face grew 
 hard and alert as he came to the clearing before
 
 116 THE NEW LAND 
 
 his hut. There, in the midst of his Indian follow 
 ers, all armed with long poles, stood Chief Tower- 
 culla, threatening Becky. The squaw had placed 
 herself in the door of the hut, where she stood with 
 folded arms, listening to the Chief's angry threats. 
 If she felt any fear, there was no trace of it in 
 her expressionless face. Nor did she seem relieved 
 when Mordecai pushed between her and the angry 
 Indian and demanded what business had brought him 
 there. She merely shrugged a little, hitched up her 
 buckskin skirt and resumed her task of pounding 
 corn between two stones at the door of the hut, 
 appearing to take no interest in the quarrel that fol 
 lowed. For like a good squaw, she did not think 
 it seemly to interfere in her husband's business 
 affairs. 
 
 "And now, Towerculla," began Mordecai in the 
 Indian tongue which he spoke fluently. "Why do 
 you come here and seek to frighten my squaw in 
 my absence? And why have you brought your men 
 with you?" 
 
 The Chief grunted in disgust. "And why do you 
 bring the pale face here to build?" he answered 
 Mordecai question for question. "Our squaws are 
 well satisfied to work in the fields, to make oil from 
 the hickory nuts, to weave blankets. But you would 
 have them sell you cotton to make you rich; you 
 would build a store and other white men would be 
 greedy to trade with our women and build other 
 gins and other stores and soon there would be 
 
 many of your people while we " he waved his 
 
 hand toward his warriors, "we children of the red
 
 THREE AT GRACE 117 
 
 men would be driven further into the wilderness. 
 You have already driven us too far, you white men. 
 I am willing to spare you for the sake of 'Old Milly,' 
 whom we do not fear, for she is one of us. And 
 she has pleaded for you more than once. So I 
 will allow you and your squaw to depart in peace. 
 By tomorrow morning leave for some other place 
 for it is not good to dwell here any longer." 
 
 For a moment Mordecai was too astonished to 
 answer. Then he laughed boldly into the Indian's 
 angry face. Towerculla sprang for him, but Mor 
 decai swiftly stepped aside, and crouching, sprung 
 upon the Chief and struck him to the ground. For 
 a minute the two struggled together. Then the In 
 dians fell upon Mordecai and released Towerculla, 
 who rose from the dust, his face terrible in his anger. 
 Mordecai struggled in vain against the blows of 
 Towerculla's followers. As he sank to the ground 
 overpowered, he caught himself murmuring, "They 
 cannot kill me, until we three say grace together 
 again," even while he longed for death to cut short 
 the agony which was beginning to wrack every limb 
 of his cruelly beaten body. Then out of the mist of 
 red which seemed to swim before his eyes, a merci 
 ful black cloud descended and he knew nothing more 
 until he regained consciousness and found himself 
 in "Old MillyY' cabin, with Becky, still calm of 
 face and quiet of voice bathing his wounds with cool 
 water from the spring. 
 
 "What has happened?" he asked, trying to rise, 
 but falling back moaning in his pain. 
 
 "Old Milly," a tall, sharp-faced woman, who sat
 
 118 THE NEW LAND 
 
 weaving a basket as skillfully as any squaw, an 
 swered him. "Towerculla would have slain you, 
 had not Becky brought me in time. He is not a good 
 enemy to have, Abram Mordecai. When you are 
 stronger, you must take his advice and go away. The 
 Indians did not burn the barn, so your horses are 
 safe, but the house was in flames before I could 
 reach it and persuade Towerculla to leave you in 
 peace." 
 
 Becky rose and walked to the table. Returning to 
 where her husband lay, she placed in his hand three 
 books with worn black covers and a faded red nap 
 kin. "I ran and got these when I saw they were 
 destroying our cabin," she told him. "I knew you 
 had kept them long; that they were dear to you as 
 the gods of our people are to us like a charm, 
 maybe, to keep death away. And perhaps, when 
 the white men come again, you will want to have 
 them on the table and sing." 
 
 For the moment, Mordecai forgot that Becky was 
 only a squaw, undeserving, according to the custom 
 of her people, either thanks or praise. "You are a 
 very good wife," he said, gently, "and I will buy 
 you real gold earrings with the first money I earn 
 from the cotton gin." And since he was so weak, 
 neither woman dared to tell him for several days that 
 the vengeance of the Indians had extended to the 
 gin house, which now lay a heap of black ruins near 
 the river. 
 
 Broken in body and ruined in fortune, Mordecai 
 accompanied by the faithful Becky, bade farewell to 
 Colonel Hawkins and journeyed further into the
 
 THREE AT GRACE 119 
 
 wilderness. For the Indian agent prudently refused 
 to erect a second gin while the Indians still planned 
 to injure Mordecai, and the adventurer himself felt 
 that it would be hopeless to seek to gain the friend 
 ship of the embittered Chief. Trader and trapper, 
 he led his solitary existence in the south, with no 
 companionship but Becky's, until her death left him 
 entirely alone. 
 
 He had regained his former vigor by this time 
 and sometimes dreamed of returning to his boyhood 
 home. But from the pioneer towns springing up 
 wherever he passed, he knew that a new civilization 
 was rising in America ; that he was of the generation 
 that must pass away as surely as the Indian and he 
 realized that he would feel sadly out of place in 
 the surroundings that he had known as a boy. Yet, 
 dreamer that he was, he never ceased to picture him 
 self, a sober stay-at-home citizen, living out the last 
 years of his life in communion with his fellow Jews, 
 who had never left their quiet firesides. Nor in all 
 his wanderings did he ever part with the three Sid- 
 urim and the faded red napkin. For as he grew 
 older, the fantastic notion grew ever stronger that 
 before he died he would again say grace with the 
 builders of his cotton gin. 
 
 Almost a century old, he wandered back at last 
 to Montgomery county, seeking the very spot where 
 his hut had stood before Chief Towerculla had 
 driven him away. Now the settlement of Dudly- 
 ville, so close at hand, made him feel cramped and 
 uncomfortable. Colonel Hawkins had long since left 
 Pole Cat Springs; Chief Towerculla, driven away
 
 120 THE NEW LAND 
 
 by the white men he had always feared, was dead; 
 "Old Milly" no longer lived in her savage kingdom 
 with her husband and her slaves. 
 
 But he felt too tired to travel further; perhaps 
 he realized that no matter where he went he would 
 feel lonely as the survivor of another day and gen 
 eration. So he built a tiny cabin for himself, even 
 putting together some crude furniture. Here he 
 lived, never seeing a human face unless he walked 
 to the village to secure supplies, which the settlers, 
 vaguely touched by his loneliness, never failed to 
 press upon him. He talked to them sometimes of the 
 days before the wilderness had been conquered, speak 
 ing too, of the first cotton gin, which the Indians had 
 destroyed. "I love the spot," he used to say, "but 
 it is growing too crowded; yes," with a shake of his 
 white head, "too crowded for one who needs plenty 
 of fresh air to breathe. Next spring I must journey 
 on." But when spring came, he would wait until 
 fall, and again through the long winter. For his old 
 ambition had left him and though his heart still wan 
 dered afar through the forests, his feet were too 
 weary to follow it. 
 
 But one evening he felt strangely strong and re 
 freshed. He had worked hard all the afternoon 
 cleaning his little hut and now the humble room 
 looked as spotless as spring water and vigorous scrub 
 bing could make it. Even the table and chairs were 
 scoured and the fireplace cleaned, while, to complete 
 the day's task Mordecai had emptied an old barrel 
 in the corner, burning the heap of odds and ends 
 which had accumulated since his return. But now as
 
 THREE AT GRACE 121 
 
 he stood behind the table he held in his hand three 
 black books and a faded napkin which he could not 
 bring himself to destroy. As he stood there with the 
 rays of the setting sun falling through the open door 
 on his shaggy white head, old memories burned in 
 his faded eyes and a strange, dreamy smile played 
 about his mouth. 
 
 "I have found the books it is time for them to 
 come and say 'grace'," he murmured to himself. "I 
 have put my house in order. I know it is time for 
 me to go away into the Great Wilderness but not 
 until we have three at grace once more." 
 
 Carefully placing a book at each place, he drew 
 up two chairs and a box, spread the napkin at the 
 head of the table and set out his few poor dishes 
 and humble evening meal. Then he took his place, 
 opened his book and waited. The Hebrew letters 
 seemed strangely blurred; for the first time in his life 
 his keen eyes failed him. But, glancing up, he 
 thought he saw his two guests, Lyon and Barrett 
 in their places waiting for him to begin the blessing 
 before the meal. 
 
 "I am ready," he said, and even as he spoke, his 
 head dropped upon the open book and Mordecai's 
 restless spirit was at rest forever.
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 
 
 The Adventures of Uriah P. Levy, the First Naval 
 Officer of his Day 
 
 A little brown sand piper scudded along the beach. 
 Uriah Levy, a brown-faced lad who looked several 
 years older than a boy who had just passed his elev 
 enth birthday, lay upon the shore and smiled to see 
 it flirt importantly past him as though in a tremen 
 dous hurry to reach its destination. Then his keen 
 eyes turned toward the sea, blue and stainless, as 
 level as the long looking glass in his mother's parlor 
 at home. Several sea gulls skimmed the quiet wa 
 ters, now rising until their gray-white plumage melted 
 into the clouds, now seeming to float upon the tide. 
 Uriah was a trifle sorry when they disappeared at 
 last, for he loved the sea gulls dearly. They seemed 
 so akin to him in their wild freedom, in their love 
 for the solitary waste of waters. Ever since he could 
 remember, he, too, had loved the sea, since the days 
 when he was a tiny boy, sailing his paper boats to 
 strange ports across the ocean. And tomorrow he 
 was going to sea at last a real cabin boy in a real 
 vessel ! He threw himself back upon the warm sands 
 and with half-closed eyes lay dreaming of the future. 
 
 He was aroused from his day dreaming by the 
 strange uneasiness that comes to one who feels that 
 he is being observed. Sitting up, he saw that Ned 
 Allison, a lad whose father owned a fishing shack 
 
 122
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 123 
 
 near by, had come down to the beach and was now 
 standing over him, his hands thrust into the pockets 
 of his ragged trousers, his bare, brown toes kicking 
 among the pebbles at his feet. The newcomer was 
 a few years younger than Levy, a grave, stolid lad 
 with bright, restless eyes. 
 
 "Hello, Ned," Uriah greeted him. "Did you know 
 I was going to sea tomorrow?" 
 
 "No. You're lucky." The other's tone was de 
 lightfully envious of Uriah's good fortune. "I've 
 got to wait till I'm twelve or maybe fifteen, I guess. 
 Father's rheumatism is bad lately and I have to help 
 him. How' re you going?" He sank beside Uriah 
 on the sands and gazed longingly over the blue wa 
 ters. 
 
 "I'm going to ship as cabin boy; but I won't be 
 gone long." Uriah couldn't help bragging a little as 
 he told his good fortune. "I'm going to be like Paul 
 Jones and that crowd if it takes a hundred years." 
 
 "You'll be too old then," observed Ned dryly. He 
 began to turn over the heap of pebbles that lay be 
 tween them. "Now if you were to find an oyster or 
 clam shell with several big pearls you could buy a 
 ship of your own right now and " 
 
 "I'd make you first mate," promised Uriah, gen 
 erously. Leaning on his elbow, he too began to turn 
 over the pebbles, for like every boy of his years he 
 never gave up hope of finding an oyster shell thickly 
 studded with pears, each one milk-white and shining 
 and worth a king's ransom. "Yes," he went on, 
 dreamily, "I'd rig out a brig right away and sail the 
 seas till I got tired. First, I guess, I'd clear the
 
 124 THE NEW LAND 
 
 Spanish Main of pirates and then I'd visit far-off 
 countries across the ocean. Remember what old Cap 
 tain Ferguson told us about 'em; palm trees, and 
 naked black men who'll sell you ivory and precious 
 stones for a string of beads or a piece of red cloth? 
 That's what I'd do if I had a ship of my own." 
 
 "I think I'd rather go to war," observed Allison 
 with equal seriousness. 
 
 "Of course I If there would only be a war with 
 some country or other, I'd like to be captain of the 
 American Navy and capture all the other nation's 
 vessels and tow 'em into port." His eager face 
 clouded. "But I've heard my father say that this 
 country's lucky to have peace after the Revolution; 
 that we have to rest and grow strong. I suppose it 
 isn't any more likely than either of us ever finding 
 a pearl among all these stones." Suddenly he inter 
 rupted himself with a shrill whistle of delight. "I 
 found a lucky stone," he exclaimed, "a beauty," hold 
 ing it up for Ned's inspection. "And I'm going to 
 wear it for luck as long as I'm a sailor." He took 
 a piece of string from his pocket and ran it through 
 one of the holes. "Maybe," he laughed, hanging 
 the charm about his neck, "maybe this is almost as 
 good as finding a pearl. Anyhow, I don't care about 
 being rich as long as I can go to sea." 
 
 Uriah Levy stood upon the sea shore, no longer 
 a dreaming boy, but a stalwart youth of twenty. At 
 sixteen he already held the position of first mate after 
 becoming part owner of the brig, "Five Sisters," on 
 which he had made five voyages. It had not been 
 easy for a youth with the down of manhood scarcely
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 125 
 
 visible upon his cheeks to rule a crew gathered in that 
 day from the riff-raff and scum of the sailing-ports. 
 Yet the Jewish lad, who one day was to make it his 
 boast that he had abolished the barbarous custom of 
 corporal punishment from the United States Navy, 
 by resorting to force ruled without difficulty when 
 his lawless seamen once realized his courage and 
 the strength of his fists. 
 
 But in the year 1812 the times were still wild 
 times upon the ocean and it was no uncommon thing 
 for a law-abiding crew to grow weary of the re 
 straints of their commander, mutiny and follow the 
 sea after the manner of the pirates who still ruled 
 the Spanish Main. And so, when Uriah P. Levy 
 became master of the schooner, "George Washing 
 ton," not even his iron discipline was strong enough 
 to withstand the plotting of several of the bolder 
 spirits of his crew. Almost under his very eyes, the 
 mutiny had been hatched and had grown to a head. 
 
 Standing upon the lonely sea shore, Uriah re 
 called the swarthy, leering face of Sam Jones, re 
 cently punished for infraction of discipline, and the 
 crooked smile of Martin, he who puffed everlastingly 
 at his pipe and wore a red handkerchief for a tur 
 ban and earings of heavy gold. He had known them 
 for the ringleaders in the plot against him, even be 
 fore they had seized command of the vessel and taken 
 possession of the cabin that they might hold coun 
 cil whether their master should be spared or cast into 
 the sea. 
 
 "He's but a boy," Martin had argued. "Let him 
 go. Put him in a boat and set him adrift. We're off
 
 126 THE NEW LAND 
 
 the coast of Carolina now and even if he gets there 
 with a whole skin, he's not likely to worry us when 
 we're flying the black flag on the Main." 
 
 But Sam Jones had urged instant death. "Let him 
 walk the plank," he suggested, his small eyes glit 
 tering with hate. "He's only a boy, but I tell you 
 I'm afraid of him sore afraid." 
 
 Martin laughed scornfully, puffing at his pipe. 
 "I'm willing to take the risk," he declared, "though 
 it's no concern of mine. So let's shake dice and the 
 man who wins will say what's to be done with him." 
 
 There in the dimly lighted cabin, Levy with his 
 arms bound behind him, had watched the game of 
 dice as calmly as though his life did not lie in the 
 hands of the two who played for such a ghastly stake. 
 Out on the deck, the mutineers drank and jested and 
 sang uproariously in their new freedom. He won 
 dered if that were to be the end: a short plank, a 
 blow to thrust him into the dark waves of the ocean 
 which he had loved so well. Uriah closed his eyes, 
 swaying a little ; but he was quite calm, even smiling, 
 when Jones sneered in disgust: 
 
 "Born to hang, will never drown. You win, Mar 
 tin." He pushed the dice aside and rose to release 
 Levy from his bonds. "Here you," he called to sev 
 eral sailors loitering near the door, "get a small boat 
 ready and set him adrift." 
 
 "And put in a pair of oars," added Martin. "Give 
 the lad a fighting chance, can't you? And some bread 
 and a jug of water, too." Somehow he felt sud 
 denly uncomfortable before the boy's quiet gaze. 
 "Aren't you going to thank me?" he half blustered.
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 127 
 
 "I am an American gentleman," answered Levy, 
 very slowly, "and I hold no speech with outlaws 
 and pirates." And before the astonished mutineer 
 could answer him he followed the sailors from the 
 cabin. 
 
 And now his perilous journey was over at last, al 
 though his frail boat had been destroyed on the rocks 
 before he reached the shore. An excellent swimmer, 
 Levy had stripped off his shoes and coat and jumped 
 into the water. Cleaving the waves with long power 
 ful strokes, he soon reached land, where for several 
 hours he lay wet and exhausted, so bitterly discour 
 aged that he almost wished Jones had prevailed and 
 cut his throat or forced him to walk the plank. Better 
 to have fallen asleep beneath the waves, he thought, 
 than try to live, a hopeless and a defeated man. 
 
 It was now past sunset and Levy mechanically set 
 about building a fire to warm his aching limbs and 
 keep off any prowling beasts while he slept. Scoop 
 ing a hollow in the sand beyond the reach of the 
 tide, he gathered dry drift wood which he finally 
 lighted by the aid of a spark struck from two stones. 
 He was hungry now and even more anxious for a 
 smoke than for food; at that moment he hated the 
 crew less for making off with the vessel in which he 
 had had a third interest than for casting him on this 
 deserted shore without even the solace of his evening 
 pipe. Muttering angrily, he leaned over the fire to 
 stir the blaze; as he did so the damp string about 
 his neck swung free and he noticed the little lucky 
 stone still fastened to the end. 
 
 Strangely enough, the sight of the pebble he had
 
 128 THE NEW LAND 
 
 worn as a charm for so many years gave him courage. 
 His bold spirit which for a little while had lain 
 bruised and discouraged grew strong again; he felt 
 that he was not the man to submit tamely to treachery 
 and misfortune. He must win back all that he had 
 lost that day, not only the stolen vessel but his self- 
 respect. He must not allow himself beaten. Crouch 
 ing by the fire, his chin resting on his clenched fists, 
 his eyes on the flames, the boy vowed not to rest until 
 he had defeated his enemies and secured what was 
 his own. "I'm strong and young," he told himself, 
 confidently, "and so far my luck has never failed me." 
 And he fingered the little stone on the string about 
 his neck. At last the fire died down, but there was 
 no one to stir the dying embers, for Uriah Levy had 
 fallen asleep upon the sands, the luck stone still 
 clutched between his strong, brown fingers, a confident 
 smile upon his lips. 
 
 In the days that followed, it was not an easy thing 
 for young Levy to smile confidently in the faces of 
 those who predicted certain failure in his undertak 
 ing. "Other merchants and commanders have suf 
 fered from pirates and mutinous crews before your 
 day," he was informed at every turn. "Better ship 
 again and look for better luck." 
 
 Kindly and well-meant advice, but Levy would have 
 none of it. He still smiled, though now somewhat 
 grimly, as he went from friend to friend, insisting 
 that he would not fail to bring his piratical crew to 
 justice. And so confident was he that he would even 
 tually find a backer, that he even spent several days 
 roaming about the wharves in order to pick out a
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 129 
 
 trustworthy crew, should he find anyone willing to 
 send him to sea on his own vessel again. 
 
 "Why, Uriah Levy," exclaimed a deep voice as 
 a stout sailor came toward him. "You surely haven't 
 forgotten me?" 
 
 "You're Ned Allison," said Levy after a long look 
 had convinced him that the slender fisher boy had 
 grown into the burly man before him. "And do you 
 follow the sea now as you planned?" 
 
 "Yes. My poor father died two years ago. So I 
 sent mother to live with her sister and here I am. I 
 just hit port last week and now I'm ready to leave 
 again as soon as I find a good berth. Just can't feel 
 at home on dry land anymore." 
 
 Levy nodded understandingly. "Take me to a 
 good tavern around here," he suggested. "I want to 
 talk to you." 
 
 Allison willingly led the way to a tavern in the 
 neighborhood much frequented by sailors, chatting 
 lightly as they walked. Levy hardly knew him for 
 the shy, taciturn playfellow of his boyhood. He sip 
 ped his ale slowly as he studied Ned's bright, eager 
 face. Somehow he felt encouraged at the thought 
 that he might induce Allison to accompany him, 
 should he set out on what seemed to be a hopeless 
 voyage. 
 
 "And what have you been doing?" asked Allison, 
 pausing for breath. "The last I heard of you, you 
 were master of the 'George Washington' and part 
 owner. Not that you look very lively and prosper 
 ous," he added with a keen glance.
 
 130 THE NEW LAND 
 
 Levy briefly related the story of the mutiny and 
 his hope to pursue and punish his mutinous crew. 
 "And I'll do it, too," he added, passionately. 
 "Though I suppose you, like the rest, think it's a 
 mad venture," he ended, doubtfully. 
 
 Allison put down his mug before replying. "I 
 can't say that I do," he answered slowly. "Though 
 it's risking a good deal if you catch up to the dogs 
 and they sink your ship in the scuffle. You couldn't 
 afford that, could you?" 
 
 "I'm not thinking of the money alone," insisted 
 Levy. "Nor of revenge; although I've been treated 
 pretty shabbily and they'll pay for it, if I live long 
 enough to track them down. But it's a matter of con 
 science with me, too, Allison. I'm going to do my 
 share in making the sea clean of piracy. Maybe 
 there won't be a war in our time, though they say 
 there's trouble threatening with England, but I'll 
 serve my country in this way at least. Want to help 
 me?" and he leaned across the table, looking straight 
 into Ned's eyes. 
 
 "I'd rather ship with you as master than any man 
 I know, Sir," answered Allison, gravely. 
 
 Less than a week later, Uriah Levy succeeded in 
 convincing several wealthy friends of the sanity of 
 his plan. They advanced the necessary funds and 
 with a carefully picked crew he started out on a ves 
 sel of his own with Allison as first mate in pursuit 
 of the sailors who had cast him afloat near the Caro 
 lina shores. 
 
 Of all the tales Ned Allison loved to tell his grand 
 children when he had grown to be an old man, they
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 131 
 
 clamored most for the story of the sea fight in 
 which Uriah Levy conquered the pirate crew of the 
 ''George Washington." It was a short battle, but 
 a terrible one, which he fought a year after the mu 
 tiny; and before the mutineers finally lowered their 
 black flag in token of surrender, a third of the crew 
 lay dead or wounded upon the slippery decks. Old 
 Martin, his pipe still between his teeth, lay among 
 the dead, but Sam Jones, his right arm hanging limp 
 and useless at his side, was among the survivors who 
 were put into irons when their vessel was taken in 
 tow and Levy turned his face homeward. Like the 
 other mutineers Jones never doubted what his fate 
 would be, for those days were hard days and the 
 men who lived by the sword knew only too well that 
 at any moment death by the sword might be their 
 portion. Hourly they waited for Levy to pass judg 
 ment upon them, to hang them from the yard arm 
 of the ship which they had sailed under the flag of 
 piracy. While Levy's own crew grew impatient until 
 the first mate, Allison, ventured to speak to him of 
 the matter as they sat in Levy's cabin the night after 
 the battle. 
 
 "I can't help wondering, sir," Allison began, doubt 
 fully, "why you have said nothing so far concerning 
 the fate of our prisoners, since it is practically in 
 your hands." 
 
 Levy shook his head as he puffed thoughtfully at 
 his pipe. Perhaps he was thinking of the night when 
 Jones had threatened him with death and laughed 
 at his helplessness. "According to the 'unwritten 
 law' which is made to cover so many lawless acts, I
 
 132 THE NEW LAND 
 
 have the power to deal with them as I think fit," he 
 answered. "And I must confess I was sorely tempted 
 to take the law into my own hands when I knew the 
 mutineers were in my power. But," smiling a little, 
 "it is much better to leave it to the law courts when 
 we reach port." 
 
 "And if they should be acquitted?" Allison's eyes 
 snapped with excitement. "Sir, if I were in your 
 place " 
 
 "If you were in my place, you might not be cen 
 sured for yielding to your desire for revenge," re 
 turned Levy, very quietly. "But I " his voice took 
 on a tinge of bitterness, "I am a Jew and these 
 wretches, no matter how criminal, would be pitied as 
 the victim of a Jew's vengeance. Even in America, 
 my dear Allison, and in spite of the liberal influence 
 of men like Thomas Jefferson, it is not always easy 
 to be a Jew." 
 
 The civil authorities, however, were entirely on 
 Levy's side at the trial and the mutineers were duly 
 tried and condemned to death. The young sailor was 
 about to put out to sea again, for he longed for fur 
 ther adventure, when the outbreak of the war of 
 1812 set him a-dreaming once more of serving his 
 country upon the sea. In spite of his youth, he was 
 commissioned sailing master in the United States 
 Navy, serving on the ship, "Alert," and later on the 
 brig, "Argus," which ran the blockade to France, Mr. 
 Crawford, the American minister to that country, be 
 ing aboard. The "Argus" captured several Eng 
 lish vessels, one of which was placed at Levy's com 
 mand; but his triumph was short-lived; recaptured by
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 133 
 
 the English, Levy and his crew were kept prisoners 
 of war in England for over a year. 
 
 Regaining his freedom, Levy returned to America 
 to be promoted to the rank of lieutenant. It was then 
 that he realized how just had been his complaint to 
 Allison, for on every hand those who were envious 
 of his good fortune proved even more malicious be 
 cause of his loyalty to his faith. Levy suffered, too, 
 from the hatred of those naval officers who looked 
 upon him as an intruder into their ranks. For, with 
 the exception of a year's attendance at the Naval 
 School in Philadelphia, he had had no naval train 
 ing and had worked his way up from the ranks. 
 Perhaps his long fight against the practise of flogging 
 unruly sailors helped to add to the number of his 
 enemies, for those in authority were outraged that 
 this Jewish upstart should criticise a custom so deeply 
 rooted in the traditions of the navy. Another man 
 of quieter temper might have tried to combat the 
 prejudice and hatred which met him at every turn; 
 but Levy's nature was not a patient one. When 
 raised to the rank of captain, he felt that he could 
 not allow the slanders of one of his enemies to go 
 unanswered; he challenged the Jew-hater to a duel 
 and caused his opponent to pay for his insults with 
 his life. 
 
 Although the duel was still recognized as an hon 
 orable means of settling a controversy between gen 
 tlemen, Levy was made to pay bitterly for his vindi 
 cation. His enemies were too strong for him. He 
 fought them bravely and with his old proud spirit, 
 but when the trial was over, Allison still serving in
 
 134 THE NEW LAND 
 
 the navy, read in one of the newspapers that his old 
 master had been court-martialed and dropped 
 from the roll of the United States Navy as cap 
 tain. 
 
 "I knew they'd get him," thought the honest sea 
 man. "Ah, he was too good for them and now they 
 put him to shame. I couldn't blame him if he turned 
 against his country when he's treated so after all his 
 services. And I wonder what'll happen to him if 
 he doesn't follow the sea." 
 
 Allison was right in suspecting that his old play 
 mate would turn in his trouble to the sea as a child 
 when hurt or tired runs to its mother for comfort. 
 Glad of an offer to take charge of an important busi 
 ness commission in Brazil, Levy left the United 
 States, hoping that the long sea voyage might do a 
 little toward easing the pain in his heart. But he 
 found that he had been mistaken, although no one 
 ever knew how deeply he suffered from the moment 
 he left the land he had sought to serve from his boy 
 hood. Disgraced by his country, tired and broken 
 in spirit, he spent endless hours in brooding over his 
 misfortune. No longer the commander of his men, 
 not even a common seaman, he spent the long days on 
 board leaning upon the rail, looking with somber eyes 
 upon the waves. His proud heart was bitter against 
 those who had goaded him on to his ruin; he felt 
 that there was no justice for the Jew in the whole 
 world, not even in America. Although he had al 
 ready set the wheels in motion for a new trial, he 
 was confident that his enemies would again prove too 
 powerful for him. It was a hopeless and a heart-
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 135 
 
 sick man who landed at last and began his new duties 
 at the Brazilian Capital. 
 
 Several days after his arrival, Uriah P. Levy stood 
 by the window of his room reading a letter, his brows 
 knitted in thought. The note was written on the 
 royal stationery and requested him to appear the 
 next morning for an audience with Emperor Dom 
 Pedro. Levy could think of but one reason for such 
 a strange command. Perhaps the slanders of his ene 
 mies had preceded him even to this far-off place; 
 perhaps he was already under suspicion and the audi 
 ence with the emperor might lead to imprisonment or 
 ejection from the country. The thought of new dif 
 ficulties to encounter wakened his fighting spirit; he 
 was strangely elated and the dreadful langor which 
 had seized him during his journey disappeared. 
 
 "I am ready for another good fight," he told him 
 self grimly as he prepared for bed. That night for 
 the first time since his court-martial he slept the long 
 hours through, and he rested as peacefully as a little 
 child. 
 
 Dressing himself with his usual care and Holding 
 his head as proudly as though he still wore his coun 
 try's uniform, Levy appeared at the palace and was 
 immediately ushered into the emperor's presence. His 
 quick eyes, long trained to notice the smallest detail, 
 quickly took in every feature of the richly appointed 
 room, noting even the fantastic carving of the chair 
 on which the emperor sat, and one of the rings he 
 wore, a flat green emerald with a mystic letter carved 
 upon it making the jewel, so he judged, a sort of 
 talisman. He smiled in spite of himself as he re-
 
 136 THE NEW LAND 
 
 membered his own humble charm, the lucky stone. 
 Perhaps the pebble's usefulness was over; he could 
 hardly call his career especially fortunate just now. 
 
 Emperor Dom Pedro was a man of a few words. 
 He murmured a few polite phrases of greeting, asked 
 Levy of his voyage and whether he had completed 
 the mission which had brought him to Brazil. "For 
 if you have," he ended, "I may have matters of in 
 terest to discuss with you." 
 
 "I am not quite finished with the business which 
 brought me here," answered Levy, "but naturally I 
 am honored by your majesty's request to appear be 
 fore you and not a little eager to learn what mat 
 ters you may care to discuss with me." 
 
 The emperor twirled the rin-g with its strange green 
 stone about his finger. "I have heard much of you," 
 he returned, briefly, "and I need men of your daring 
 and enterprise in my service. Will you take an im 
 portant commission under the Brazilian govern 
 ment?" 
 
 For a moment Levy wavered. Already an exile in 
 spirit, he felt he did not have the courage to return 
 to his native country. Here was an opportunity for 
 an honorable career which would bring him position, 
 wealth, all the excitement his daring heart desired. 
 Then, curiously enough, as he gazed at the emperor's 
 ring, there flashed across his mind the picture of a 
 brown-faced boy upon the sands, a boy turning a lucky 
 stone in his fingers as he dreamed of a glorious career 
 in the country of his birth. He turned to the em 
 peror and spoke quietly, but with his characteristic de 
 cision.
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 137 
 
 "Your majesty," said Uriah Levy, "I thank you. 
 But the humblest position in my country's service is 
 more to be preferred than royal favor." And bow 
 ing before Dom Pedro, he left the court. 
 
 Nor was Levy's trust in the justice of his country 
 unfounded. Just as he had persisted in bringing his 
 mutinous crew to punishment, now he showed the 
 same determination in insisting that a court of in 
 quiry be established to question the justice of his 
 court-martial. He prepared his own defense 
 merely a statement of his record while in the service 
 of his country a record that won his complete and 
 honorable acquittal. Not only was he restored to his 
 old rank in the United States Navy, but shortly af 
 terwards he rose to the advanced rank of commo 
 dore. 
 
 When the Civil War broke out he was holding the 
 position of flag officer, the highest rank in our navy 
 at that time. The years had been kind to the little 
 cabin boy and his private inheritance had grown into 
 a considerable fortune. He had already purchased 
 Monticello, the home of his old idol, Thomas Jef 
 ferson, intending to preserve it as a national shrine, 
 and had presented a statue of the author of our 
 Declaration of Independence to the nation's Hall 
 of Fame. Now he felt that there was but one cause 
 to which he cared to devote his wealth ; he sought an 
 interview with President Lincoln and placed his en 
 tire private fortune at the nation's disposal. 
 
 A few days later, his boyhood friend, Ned Allison, 
 now crippled with rheumatism but with a laugh as 
 hearty and boyish as of old, visited his former mas-
 
 138 THE NEW LAND 
 
 ter. He found Uriah Levy grown frail and listless, 
 the fires of his youth beginning to burn low as he 
 neared his seventieth year. Te be sure the commodore 
 tried to rouse himself, asking after Ned's children, 
 and even laughing feebly at the latter's account of 
 his youngest grandson, "named Uriah Levy Allison, 
 after you, sir," who now toddled along the beach 
 where the two boys had searched among the pebbles 
 so long ago. 
 
 "We didn't know we'd live to see two wars, did 
 we, sir," mused Allison, "when we were just lads 
 playing before my father's shack. Well, even if 
 we're past our prime now, they can't say we didn't do 
 our part back in 1812," and he chuckled a little in 
 his pride. 
 
 But Levy's eyes were sad. "We have lived a little 
 too long, Allison," he said, gravely but without bit 
 terness. "When this war broke out I tried to help 
 once more. But my offer of my entire fortune and 
 it was little enough to offer my country has been 
 refused, although I am allowed to subscribe to the 
 war loan. Yet money means so little in a time like 
 this. Whenever I hear the call for volunteers, I 
 am like the old war horse that is turned out to grass. 
 I am an old man now, nearly seventy, and must sit 
 at home by the fire. But it hurts a little, Allison; it 
 hurts a little." 
 
 For a while there was silence between them. When 
 Allison rose to go, Levy followed him to the door, 
 stopping a moment at the drawer of his desk to wrap 
 a small package which he thrust into his old friend's 
 hand.
 
 THE LUCKY STONE 139 
 
 ; 'Tis for the boy, my name-sake," he explained. 
 "The money will buy him some toy maybe a small 
 vessel to sail when the tide is low and the other ,'* 
 he laughed a little confusedly. "I found the trifle 
 among some old keepsakes and papers the other day 
 when I put my affairs in order. Give it to the boy 
 and tell him of the day we found it. And come 
 again soon, Allison, and talk over old times." 
 
 Out in the street, Ned Allison removed the wrap 
 pings from the little package. It contained a gold 
 piece and a lucky stone with a bit of soiled string still 
 fastened through one of the holes.
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 
 
 The Story of Rebecca Gratz and Washington Irving 
 
 The spring rain fell on the roof with a gentle mur 
 mur, tinkling merrily as though it were pleased to 
 hear the happy laughter of the children playing in 
 the garret of Michael Gratz's house in Philadelphia. 
 Six children romped there that Saturday afternoon in 
 early springtime, away back in the year 1712, Re 
 becca Gratz, her younger brothers and sister and the 
 one guest she had invited to her eleventh birthday 
 party, Matilda Hoffman, a girl about her own age, 
 whose fair long braids formed a striking contrast to 
 Rebecca's dusky curls. 
 
 Just now the merriment was at its height for Re 
 becca, aided by Matilda, was setting the table, while 
 nine-year-old Rachel tried to amuse baby Benjamin 
 who was making violent efforts to nibble at the trim 
 mings of the birthday cake. Joseph and Jacob, fine 
 sturdy fellows of seven and six, had found a pair of 
 fencing foils in one of the old trunks in the corner 
 and were engaged in a lively duel, displaying such 
 recklessness that had their mother seen them she 
 would have confiscated the weapons without delay. 
 Perhaps Rebecca would have stopped this dangerous 
 play had she not been too busy with the banquet-table 
 really a board placed upon two barrels and cov 
 ered with a gay red scarf Rachel had found with the 
 fencing foils. 
 
 140
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 141 
 
 "It does look nice," she admitted, viewing her ef 
 forts with her head on one side as Matilda poured out 
 the last glass of gooseberry wine and set it in its place. 
 "Only," with a little sigh, "I do wish my birthday 
 hadn't come today so we could have had candles in 
 stead of those wax roses on the cake." 
 
 "Why couldn't you?" Matilda asked curiously. 
 
 "It isn't right for people to light birthday candles 
 on Shabbas," explained Rachel. "Jewish people, I 
 mean," she qualified as she tied a napkin around Ben 
 jamin's fat neck and deposited him in a seat at the 
 table furtherest from the birthday cake. "But it's 
 different for you 'cause you're not Jewish." 
 
 "It's queer people are all different and go to dif 
 ferent churches," puzzled Matilda. "My mamma 
 says 
 
 But no one ever heard her mother's opinion on the 
 subject, for Joseph and Jacob on seeing Rebecca take 
 her place at the head of the table raced to their seats 
 with howls like hungry Indians at dinner time. For a 
 few minutes the children's noisy tongues were hushed 
 as the little hostess passed out sandwiches and jelly 
 tarts. But when all the plates were empty to the last 
 crumb and only the birthday cake remained in soli 
 tary splendor, just beyond the reach of Benjamin's 
 greedy fingers, Joseph remarked with a satisfied sigh : 
 
 "This was just like one of those king's dinners in 
 the fairy books. Like the banquet Esther gave the 
 king at Purim." 
 
 "I wish it was Purim again," observed Jacob, who, 
 seeing that the pitcher was empty, began to wish 
 that he had drunk his second glass of gooseberry
 
 142 THE NEW LAND 
 
 wine a little more slowly. "Don't you remember last 
 Purim, Becky, how you wore mother's old black 
 silk and played you were Queen Esther? But Joe 
 and Hyman took all the good parts and wouldn't let 
 me be a king or anything." 
 
 "We don't have to wait till Purim to dress up and 
 play king and queen," Rebecca told him, her brows 
 knit in her effort to divide the pink and white cake 
 into six slices of equal thickness. "As soon as we've 
 finished our cake, we'll look through those old trunks 
 over there. There're ever so many dresses and things 
 from Austria and an Indian blanket and beads and 
 such things and I know mother wouldn't care if we 
 played with them as long as we put 'em all back 
 again." 
 
 Joseph sprang up, his piece of frosted cake in 
 his hand. "I want the Indian stuff," he cried. 
 
 "And I'll shoot you with my gun," challenged 
 Jacob, pushing Rachel away from the trunk. "You're 
 so slow, Rachel, we'll never get anything out." 
 
 The other children followed, all but little Benja 
 min. Benjamin was still too young to be interested 
 in the game of "dressing up." So he toddled about 
 the deserted table, picking stray crumbs from the 
 plates and turning over the empty glasses in the hope 
 of finding a few drops of gooseberry wine. 
 
 Strange, isn't it, that no matter how long it takes 
 to get ready for breakfast, the slowest boy or girl 
 can button himself into a make-believe outfit in the 
 twinkling of an eye. In an incredibly short time, the 
 five youngsters were dressed, each to satisfy his own 
 peculiar taste: Joseph as an Indian in blanket and
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 143 
 
 beads, with a crimson band about his head; Jacob, 
 carrying a sword, wore a moth-eaten smoking jacket, 
 a bright sash and crimson Turkish turban; Rachel 
 and Matilda were two dainty ladies in full skirts of 
 blue and pink, with deep bonnets; while Rebecca was 
 rather splendid in a yellow silk wrapper, a long veil 
 fastened about her head with a string of pearl beads 
 she had found in the treasure trunk. Laughing mer 
 rily, they all raced to the long mirror which stood at 
 the other end of the garret; though cracked and dis 
 colored they were able to distinguish the gaily clad 
 figures within its mottled depths, more like the quaint 
 images of an old tapestry than happy, romping chil 
 dren at play. Then they scattered to their own 
 games, the boys to stage an exciting battle between a 
 red skin and a gallant soldier, the little girls to com 
 fort Benjamin, who, having cleared the table, be 
 gan to howl dismally that he wanted to get "dwessed, 
 too!" 
 
 Laughing at his earnestness, the girls dressed him 
 in a bright dressing gown striped in red and yellow, 
 even providing him with a cane "for a gun like 
 brother's." Then, the boys having grown tired of 
 their Indian warfare, the entire company began a gay 
 game of blind man's buff which ended somewhat 
 abruptly as it was easy to tell at a touch just who 
 was "caught" by the peculiar costume he wore. 
 
 "Ball play ball," suggested little Benjamin, wan 
 dering from the open trunk, a small crystal ball in 
 his hand. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Joseph, taking it curiously, 
 "a paper weight or "
 
 144 THE NEW LAND 
 
 "I know," cried Matilda, as she examined the 
 crystal globe. "My aunt has one just like it she 
 got it from London. You do crystal gazing in it." 
 
 "Crystal gazing?" Rebecca was frankly puzzled. 
 
 "Yes. She showed me how to do it. You just 
 sit with the ball in front of you and look into it for 
 a long time and don't think of anything else and all 
 of a sudden you see pictures; that's what aunt said." 
 
 "What kind of pictures?" Joseph demanded. 
 
 "Pictures of what's going to happen. You see 
 just what you're going to do when you grow up." 
 
 "I don't believe that nonsense," declared Rebecca, 
 with an emphatic shake of her dark curls. "Father 
 says it's all foolishness like believing what a gypsy 
 fortune-teller promises you." 
 
 "Well, let's try it, anyhow," suggested Rachel. 
 "It won't do any harm and it'll give us something to 
 do till the rain's over and we can go out and play 
 again." 
 
 The crystal ball placed upon the table, the five 
 dark and the one flaxen head bent over it eagerly. 
 "But we'll never see anything this way," corrected 
 Matilda. "It's Rebecca's party, so let her have the 
 ball first. No one else must look or say a single word 
 till she's seen her picture." 
 
 Cheeks flushed with excitement, shining dark eyes 
 fastened upon the crystal, Rebecca sat motionless, 
 scarcely daring to breathe as she wainted for the pic 
 ture of her future to appear in the glass. The others 
 clustered about her, expectant and silent. At last 
 she shook her head and pushed the ball aside. "I 
 can't see a single thing," she complained.
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 145 
 
 "But I want to try it," declared Jacob, reaching 
 for the crystal. "Now all keep quiet and maybe I'll 
 see something, even if Becky couldn't." 
 
 Again patient waiting until Jacob got up in dis 
 gust. "It's a silly game," he jeered. "Maybe your 
 aunt could see things in an old glass ball, but nobody 
 else can." 
 
 "It's more fun just playing 'pretend'," declared his 
 sister Rachel. "Let's do it." She flung herself upon 
 an old fur rug near the window, pulling Benjamin 
 down beside her. "We'll just sit in a circle and pre 
 tend we've looked in the glass ball and it told us just 
 what we were going to do when we grow up. I want 
 to tell my fortune first," she ended importantly. 
 
 "That's a silly girl game," objected Jacob; but, 
 tired of romping, he, too, threw himself upon the rug 
 and waited with the rest of the circle for Rachel 
 to disclose her future. 
 
 "When I'm grown up," began Rachel very slowly, 
 her eyes fixed on the trees beyond the window, drip 
 ping with rain, "I'm going to be very beautiful like 
 Miss Franks in New York used to be, and go to par 
 ties and balls every single night and have all the 
 officers in the army writing poetry about me and 
 making toasts for me, just as she did. And I'll al 
 ways wear pink silk," she concluded, with a glance 
 at her rosy ruffles. 
 
 "I should think you'd get awfully tired of balls 
 every night," observed Matilda. "I'd much rather 
 be like my governess. She isn't pretty at all but she 
 knows just everything and she writes verses, too. 
 When I grow up, I'm going to write a whole book
 
 146 THE NEW LAND 
 
 and everybody will say how smart I am." She spoke 
 very seriously and the others looked at their am 
 bitious little friend respectfully. Happy children as 
 they were, they could not read the future and see 
 that Matilda Hoffman, although one of the most ac 
 complished young women of her time, would never 
 write the wonderful book of which she dreamed. 
 Nor could they guess that instead her lovely life 
 would be an inspiration to a writer whose books every 
 American would come to know and cherish. 
 
 "And I'm going 'way west to the lands father's 
 just bought," declared Jacob, "and live with the In 
 dians and wear a blanket and go hunting all the 
 time." 
 
 "And I'm going with you," piped Benjamin, not 
 understanding what the game was about, but de 
 termined not to lose any of the fun. Though some 
 thing of that afternoon's pretending came to pass for 
 him, for when a man he actually sought what was 
 then the far western territory of Kentucky and be 
 came one of the leading citizens of Lexington. 
 
 "Well, I'm going to be a merchant like father," 
 Joseph spoke with his usual grave determination, 
 never dreaming of the day when he would become a 
 senator. "And what are you going to do, Becky?" 
 
 Rebecca considered for a moment. Although older 
 than the others, this child's play was very fascinating 
 to her. "The other day," she said slowly, "I had 
 the legend of St. Elizabeth for my French lesson. 
 I think I'd like to be just like her when I grow up." 
 
 "Was she beautiful and everything like that?" 
 asked Rachel.
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 147 
 
 "I suppose so." Rebecca's voice had grown rather 
 dreamy. "The ladies in stories always are beauti 
 ful, aren't they? But I liked her because she went 
 about doing good among the poor peasants, even if 
 her mean husband wanted her to stay at home." 
 
 "Did he ever find out?" asked Jacob. 
 
 "Once he thought he did." Rebecca smiled at the 
 recollection. "She was going through the castle court 
 yard with a basket on her arm and some one told 
 him she was taking bread to the poor people. He 
 was very angry and ran after her and asked her 
 what was underneath the napkin on her basket. You 
 can just imagine how frightened she was !" 
 
 "Did she tell him?" Matilda wanted to know. 
 
 "I suppose she was so frightened she just didn't 
 know she was telling a lie," Rebecca excused her hero 
 ine, "and before she knew what she was saying, she 
 told her husband that she was carrying roses. And 
 it was in the middle of the winter, too ! And when 
 he snatched the napkin off the basket " the story 
 teller paused impressively, "what do you suppose he 
 found there ?" 
 
 "Bread," chorused her listeners. 
 
 "No!" Rebecca shook her curls. "Because she 
 was so good, God saved her from telling a lie and 
 her basket was filled with beautiful red roses. And 
 when her husband saw how much God thought of her, 
 he became good, too, and tried to help Elizabeth care 
 for all the poor people in the country." 
 
 "She must have been very rich to help so many 
 poor people," observed Joseph. 
 
 "Oh, she was a real princess and I guess all prin-
 
 148 THE NEW LAND 
 
 cesses have plenty of money," answered his sister 
 easily. 
 
 "Then you can be just like her, if you want to," 
 the admiring Matilda assured her. "Your papa's one 
 of the richest men in Philadelphia, I guess, and you're 
 beautiful like Elizabeth and with that long veil and 
 those pearls you look just like a real princess this 
 minute, doesn't she, Rachel?" 
 
 "Let's play the princess in the tower?" cried Jo 
 seph, springing up, already weary of the game. 
 "Becky, you get on top of that trunk and we'll put 
 chairs around it and play it's a high tower and Jacob 
 and I will be princes and come and rescue you and 
 take you away on our horses the way they did in 
 the fairy boolc you read us the other day." 
 
 "But what'll we be?" cried Rachel and Matilda to 
 gether. 
 
 "You can be her ladies-in-waiting or something," 
 Joseph decided, "and Benjamin can be our page and 
 hold our horses while we climb into the tower." He 
 straddled one of the fencing foils and pranced across 
 the room. "A rescue !" he called shrilly to his broth 
 ers, "a rescue for the lovely Princess Rebecca." 
 
 Hyman Gratz, Rebecca's sixteen-year-old brother, 
 entering the room at that moment, smiled at their 
 sport. Swinging Benjamin to his shoulder he ad 
 vanced toward the tower which sheltered the three 
 lovely ladies and pulled Rebecca's face down to his 
 for a kiss. "Having a happy birthday?" he asked. 
 
 "Just splendid." Rebecca's eyes danced with hap 
 piness. "We're playing the princess in the tower 
 and I'm the princess."
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 149 
 
 Hyman, his face suddenly grave, looked over the 
 happy, dancing figures in their fantastic dresses. Al 
 though he did not know why, he wished at that mo 
 ment that the children playing in the old attic need 
 never grow up, but might always be carefree and 
 laughing in their idle games. His eyes lingered long 
 est on Rebecca, such a dainty little princess in her yel 
 low silk and pearls and he sighted a little. But all he 
 said was: "If I were you youngsters, I'd play in the 
 garden. The rain's all over and there's a fine rain 
 bow just behind the old chestnut tree." 
 
 Washington Irving sat crouched in one of the great 
 arm chairs of the drawing room in Mr. Gratz's house 
 in Philadelphia. His elbow on his knee, he sat with 
 his hand shading his face, his eyes seeking the floor. 
 When Rebecca Gratz entered the room, he seemed 
 about to rise, but with a gesture she urged him to 
 remain seated and took a chair beside him. For a 
 long time they sat there in silence, Rebecca's hands 
 twisting a small package that lay in her lap, her face 
 pale and tired, her dark eyes filled with tears. 
 
 Sitting there with the soft candle light falling upon 
 her simple blue dress and white arms, she made a 
 picture which young Irving would have appreciated 
 at any other moment. The slim little princess of the 
 nursery had grown into a graceful young girl of grac 
 ious, yet dignified bearing, her abundant hair brushed 
 simply back from her forehead, the gravity of her 
 sweet face increased by the earnestness that never left
 
 150 THE NEW LAND 
 
 her large dark eyes, even when she smiled. For even 
 in her gayest moments there was always a hint of 
 gentle gravity about Rebecca Gratz; tonight, when 
 utterly exhausted from watching at the deathbed of 
 her childhood friend, Matilda Hoffman, she looked 
 like a beautiful graven image of Sorrow. 
 
 At last Rebecca spoke, her low voice tremulous 
 with tears : "The end was very easy God was good 
 to her at the last. And I do not think she suffered 
 much lately. Matilda just seemed to fade away, not 
 like one ill, but very tired. She often spoke of you 
 when we were together; that is why I asked brother 
 Hyman to send for you. .1 thought you would like 
 to hear it all from me." 
 
 The young man in the arm chair shifted a little. 
 "Yes, I would like to hear everything from you," 
 he answered, not trusting himself to meet her eyes. 
 
 Simply, tenderly, Rebecca told young Irving of 
 the last illness of the young girl whom he had hoped 
 to marry. Now and then her voice broke, for she 
 had loved Matilda Hoffman dearly; but she went 
 bravely on until the end, when she placed the little 
 package in Irving's hand. "She said I was to give 
 you this," she told him, and looked away while he 
 opened the cord with fingers that trembled a little. 
 
 The tokens that Washington Irving now gazed 
 upon with tear-dimmed eyes and which were never 
 to leave his possession during all the years when he 
 was to acquire fame and wealth as America's lead 
 ing author were a little prayer book and Bible. Be 
 tween the pages of the latter the dead girl had placed 
 a lock of her bright hair; as he raised the worn little
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 151 
 
 book several faded rose leaves fell upon the carpet 
 
 "I pressed one of the roses from her coffin for 
 you," Rebecca told him. "I did not think it would 
 fade so soon." 
 
 "There was a long silence between them, then, the 
 two books pressed again his cheek, the young man 
 burst into a fit of passionate weeping. "It was not 
 right," he cried fiercely. "She was so good and 
 beautiful and young. And we would have been so 
 happy together. It was not right that she should 
 die." 
 
 "I know I loved her, too," said Rebecca gently. 
 
 He turned upon her almost angrily. "You can 
 never know. I was her lover; you were only her 
 friend." 
 
 " 'The heart knoweth its own bitterness'," quoted 
 the girl softly. 
 
 But Irving impatiently shook off the pitying hand 
 she had dropped upon his arm, "What do you know 
 of sorrow?" he demanded. "You have everything 
 your heart can desire; wealth, youth, beauty, friends 
 . I have no one." 
 
 "And with all my gifts I am more unhappy than 
 you," Rebecca persisted. "For I have not even the 
 memory of a happy friendship and love like your's 
 to bring me comfort now." 
 
 For a moment Irving forgot his own grief. "I 
 do not understand," he murmured. 
 
 She smiled sadly. "You will not repeat this, I 
 know," she told him quietly. "Only my own family 
 know, but you have been such a close friend of my 
 brother's that my secret is safe with you. I have
 
 152 THE NEW LAND 
 
 loved and been loved by a young man who was 
 all my parents could desire for me. But last month 
 he went away and I shall never see him again." 
 
 For the first time that evening Irving's eyes met 
 her's. The girl's glance was sad but very brave. "I 
 do not understand," he repeated. 
 
 Again she smiled sadly. "You know how liberal 
 my family have always been in their religious opin 
 ions. We have always mingled freely with non- 
 Jews; Matilda, although not a Jewess, was my dear 
 est friend. In fact, a number of my relatives have 
 married outside our faith. "She broke off a mo 
 ment. "The young man was not a Jew," she said 
 slowly. "He loved his religion as well as I did 
 mine. It was very hard to have him go away." She 
 leaned toward Washington Irving and lightly 
 touched the two little books she had given him. "You 
 have lost your joy, too," she said, and now her clear 
 tones trembled a little. "Neither of us can ever 
 be very happy again. We will both be so lonely 
 sometimes, that I think we must learn to be very good 
 friends, don't you?" And Irving pressed her hand 
 in silence. 
 
 It was a more portly Irving, the Irving with the 
 bright eyes and kindly smile which we have learned to 
 associate with the author of "Rip Van Winkle" and 
 "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," that waited for 
 Rebecca Gratz in the drawing room of her father's 
 home about ten years later. Since the death of Ma 
 tilda Hoffman, he had grown to be a very close 
 friend of the Gratz family, never failing when in 
 Philadelphia to visit their home where he might
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 153 
 
 "roost," as he put it, in the large, comfortable guest 
 room. He had never referred to his intimate con 
 versation with Rebecca when she had tried to com 
 fort him after Matilda's death; yet their mutual 
 grief and confidence had created a strong bond be 
 tween them, and when Irving returned from an ex 
 tended trip abroad, he welcomed the opportunity of 
 going to Philadelphia to see his latest book through 
 the press. For he longed to visit Miss Gratz, who, 
 so the home letters had informed him, had grown to 
 be a famous beauty and belle during his absence. 
 
 She came into the room with her swaying, graceful 
 carriage of old days, but with a new dignity and re 
 serve of manner, carrying her lovely head with just 
 a little more pride than in her girlhood, greeting Irv 
 ing, for all her warm friendliness, like a young queen 
 graciously ready to accept homage from her sub 
 jects. She sank into a low chair beside the fire, the 
 flames casting a warm glow over her arms and neck 
 from which her gold colored scarf had slipped at her 
 entrance. Irving thought of another night ten years 
 ago when she had sat in that very chair with the 
 candle light falling upon her blue draperies. Then 
 she had been a lovely girl just on the threshold of 
 life; now she was a cultured, well-poised woman of 
 the world, crowned by virtue of her beauty and posi 
 tion as the ruler of the society in which she moved. 
 He sighed a little and suddenly felt that he was grow 
 ing old. For a while they spoke of what had oc 
 curred during Irving's absence from America, the 
 countries the young author had visited, the great 
 men he had met on his travels. Finally he told her
 
 154 THE NEW LAND 
 
 of his visit to Sir Walter Scott, "days of solid en 
 chantment," he described them, from the moment 
 when the famous author had limped down to the 
 gate of his estate in Scotland to welcome him, his 
 favorite stag hound leaping about him, as he grasped 
 his guest's hand. 
 
 "We spent much of our time in long rambles over 
 the hills," Irving continued, "Scott telling me legends 
 of the countryside as only he could tell them. And in 
 the evenings we would sit like medieval barons be- 
 for the blazing logs in the great dim hall at Abbots- 
 ford and there would be more stories and confidences 
 until long after midnight. Ah, Rebecca, it was worth 
 a trip across the Atlantic, just to touch his hand." 
 
 She leaned toward him, her eyes sparkling. "How 
 I would like to know him not only his books, which 
 I love so much, but the real man in his home," she 
 cried. 
 
 Irving smiled mysteriously. "You may not know 
 him, but he knows you well, my lady. I told him 
 of my American friends, your brother Hyman among 
 them, and, surely, I could not omit you, another hero 
 ine to hang in his gallery of fair ladies of romance." 
 
 Rebecca shook her head, smilingly. "But I am 
 not a heroine nor a lady of romance," she protested. 
 
 "Scott seemed to think you were," Irving insisted. 
 "I told him of your beauty, your goodness well, you 
 can't deny them," as she raised a protesting hand, 
 "and your loyalty to your people. He had not fin 
 ished his novel, 'Rob Roy,' then, but he told me he 
 was eager to write a new romance, with the adven 
 tures of a lovely Jewess named Rebecca to form the
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 155 
 
 silver thread of the story. He has written me from 
 time to time," went on Irving, as Rebecca smiled a 
 little incredulously, "to tell me how the work pro 
 gressed. Much of the romance was dictated when 
 Scott lay on a couch too ill to write. He tells me that 
 his two secretaries grew to love the heroine, Rebecca, 
 as much as he did, and that once one of them grew 
 so impatient to hear what became of her, that he 
 looked up from his manuscript and cried: 'That is 
 fine, Mr. Scott get on get on P ' 
 
 "And did Mr. Scott finally 'get on' and finish his 
 book with a Jewish heroine?" laughed Rebecca. 
 
 Irving reached toward the table and handed her a 
 package he had placed there. She broke the string 
 curiously, a slow flush mounting her cheek as she saw 
 the volume, the first to be read by an American, but 
 now in every library in the land. " 'Ivanhoe'," she 
 read the title, softly, "but, surely, I am not in the 
 story." 
 
 "He sent me this letter with the volume," answered 
 Irving, drawing a sheet of folded paper from between 
 the pages. "I brought it with me because I knew it 
 would interest you." 
 
 And Rebecca, flushing over one of the most beau 
 tiful compliments ever paid an American girl, read: 
 "How do you like my Rebecca? Does the Rebecca 
 I have pictured compare well with the pattern given?" 
 She folded the paper and slipped it back between the 
 pages. "But, surely, I am not in the story," she re 
 peated. "I am not a lady of romance, not a real prin 
 cess since the days little Matilda and Rachel and I 
 used to dress up and pretend we lived in a fairy tale."
 
 156 THE NEW LAND 
 
 Irving's merry eyes softened at mention of their 
 dead friend. Then: "You are more like a lady of 
 romance than any woman I have ever known," he de 
 clared stoutly, "and I have met some of the greatest 
 ladies of all Europe. But none of them seemed half 
 so much a queen as you. No, I am not flattering you, 
 Rebecca. Hasn't your brother written me of all 
 your triumphs in society, here in Philadelphia, when 
 he took you to Saratoga Springs, when you visited 
 your brother in Lexington and were treated like a 
 real princess by everyone who met you from Henry 
 Clay down to the negro slaves?" 
 
 "Oh, that " Rebecca shrugged a little disdain 
 fully. "I hope the Lady Rebecca in 'Ivanhoe' does 
 something worth while." 
 
 "She heals the sick and comforts the suffering; she 
 is a great lady in the real sense of the word; lady, a 
 loaf-giver," answered Irving. "Just as you are," he 
 concluded, warmly. 
 
 "What else is there for me to do?" said Rebecca. 
 "I shall never build a home of my own or have little 
 ones to love and care for. So I am glad to use my 
 wealth and leisure in building other homes, in being 
 something of a mother to the little orphans of our 
 city." 
 
 "No matter whether they are Jew or Gentile," 
 added Washington Irving who had heard much of her 
 many charities. 
 
 "We have all one Father," she reminded him, 
 gently. "But, really, I do not do half that I would. 
 I am not a St. Elizabeth and no miracles are wrought 
 for me," and she smiled a little at her childish ad-
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 157 
 
 miration of the generous lady. "So I am half afraid 
 to read what you have brought me," indicating the 
 volume, "for I know I shall be found wanting when 
 I am cast in the scale with the lovely Lady Rebecca." 
 
 "No, indeed ! She is all that a princess in romance 
 should be, but I prefer our own Princess of Philadel 
 phia," answered Washington Irving, gallantly. 
 
 The Princess of Philadelphia, as the great author 
 often called her, half in jest, half in earnest, lived fo 
 be very old, surviving many members of her family, 
 and the brilliant circle over which she had long 
 reigned as a queen. But she was not too lonely; the 
 young girls whom she guided as an older sister, the 
 orphan children who found in her a second mother, 
 countless unfortunates, some of them needing gold, 
 others a word of hope and comfort, became her sub 
 jects and enthroned her in their grateful hearts. Her 
 life, after all, was a placid one. Unlike the Rebecca 
 of the romance, she never experienced thrilling ad 
 ventures; no duels were fought in her names; no 
 gallant knights sought to save her from her enemies. 
 Yet even when her marvellous beauty faded and her 
 glossy hair became threaded with gray, she remained 
 as youthful as any princess in a fairy tale, for she 
 never grew old at heart. And little children, divin 
 ing the youth in her soul, always felt that she was 
 one of them. 
 
 It happened one day that Rebecca Gratz visited 
 the Hebrew School she had founded in Philadelphia, 
 the forerunner of our modern Jewish Sabbath School 
 and the first institution of its kind in America. She 
 had not only donated large sums of money for its
 
 158 THE NEW LAND 
 
 support, but had helped to select and plan text books 
 for the students, even writing some of the daily pray 
 ers to be used by the little Jewish children of her 
 native city. It was her birthday the seventy-fifth 
 and as the gentle-faced old lady passed down the 
 quiet corridors, she thought half-tenderly, half-sadly 
 of the birthday party in the garret so many years ago. 
 What silly things children dream ! she thought with a 
 smile. Matilda had written no wise books and her 
 adventure-loving brother had never lived with the 
 Indians. For herself -well, she was not really a 
 princess as Matilda had declared she ought to be, 
 but like the Princess Elizabeth she had been allowed 
 to go about doing good among the people. 
 
 A sound of stiffled sobbing reached her ear. Turn 
 ing, she saw a little girl curled up in one of the low 
 window sills, an open book on her lap. Rebecca 
 Gratz hurried to her and slipped a comforting arm 
 about the shaking shoulders. 
 
 "Tell me what is the matter?" she whispered. 
 
 The child raised a wet face. "Oh, it's you, Miss 
 Gratz," she exclaimed. "I know I'm just as silly, but 
 I can't help it. I came to the sad part of the book 
 where they want to burn 'Rebecca' for a witch and 
 I just couldn't help crying. Though I know it's go 
 ing to come out all right in the end," she added, wip 
 ing her eyes, " 'cause story books always do." 
 
 "Yes, story books do, even if real people's stories 
 don't always end happily," agreed Miss Gratz, sitting 
 beside her. "Do you like the book, Helen?" 
 
 "Ever so much, Miss Gratz. Miss Cohen, my 
 teacher, lent it to me. And what do you suppose she
 
 THE PRINCESS OF PHILADELPHIA 159 
 
 said?" She hesitated a moment, then, encouraged 
 by the kind eyes looking down into her's, added bash 
 fully: "Miss Cohen said, 'You ought to enjoy 
 'Ivanhoe,' Helen, because a great many people think 
 the character of Rebecca was taken from our Miss 
 Gratz.' Is that really true?" she ended, shyly. 
 
 Miss Gratz laughed as gayly as a child. "I 
 mustn't tell," she teased. "Only it doesn't seem 
 likely, does it? The Rebecca in the story wears pearls 
 and veils every day and is imprisoned in a dungeon 
 and goes to the tournament. While I am just a 
 plain old lady in a bonnet and shawl and never do 
 anything more exciting than visit your Hebrew 
 classes. So it's not likely Rebecca in the story and 
 I are the same person, is it?" 
 
 Helen considered a moment, her eyes fastened 
 upon Miss Gratz's face. When she spoke it was in 
 a tone of deep conviction. "Maybe Miss Cohen 
 wasn't exactly right," she admitted, "but even if 
 you're not a real princess, and all that, you're just as 
 sweet and good as Rebecca in the story book, any 
 how."
 
 A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN 
 
 How President Lincoln Set Out for Washington and 
 How He Returned. 
 
 Little Morris Rosenfelt stirred uneasily on the 
 hard bench as he tried in vain to concentrate his wan 
 dering thoughts on his Hebrew lesson. It happened 
 to be all about the building of the Tabernacle in the 
 wilderness, but Morris was not at all interested in 
 Bezalel, the artist of old, who built the first sanc 
 tuary for his people. Instead, although his eyes were 
 fastened to the coarse black characters in the page be 
 fore him, the boy was living over again the scene 
 that had passed in the parlor of his father's house, 
 the night before. 
 
 Mr. Abraham Kohn, city clerk of Chicago, had 
 dropped in to talk over congregational matters with 
 Morris's father, for Mr. Kohn was one of the early 
 presidents of Kehilath Anshe Ma'arav, Chicago's 
 first synagogue, and one of its most active members. 
 Morris, busy in the next room with his lessons for the 
 next day, had paid scant attention to their conversa 
 tion, until the words, "Mr. Lincoln," and "flag" 
 caught his ear. Then he closed his geography with a 
 slam, for like every other nine-year-old boy of his 
 day, he had heard much of the "rail splitter from 
 Illinois," as his opponents called him, and shared his 
 state's enthusiasm for the man who had just been 
 elected president. 
 
 160
 
 A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN 161 
 
 "I'm glad we Jews did our part in electing him," 
 said Mr. Kohn. "He will make a strong president 
 in these uncertain times; perhaps, the only man who 
 can keep this country out of civil war if the southern 
 states attempt to secede." 
 
 "They'll not fight, especially as Mr. Lincoln has 
 promised not to interfere with slavery in the states 
 where it now exists," Mr. Rosenfelt answered easily. 
 He was a stout, cheerful man who refused to borrow 
 trouble, very unlike Morris's mother who always saw 
 sorrow and accident for her family hovering in the 
 near future. "With a strong man like Mr. Lincoln 
 in Washington, we can stop worrying for a while." 
 
 "I hope so." Mr. Kohn's voice was a little doubt 
 ful. "I hate to predict trouble, but I do believe that 
 our candidate is going to have a harder row to plough 
 than any president we ever had since Washington. I 
 was thinking of that when I had the verses printed 
 on the flag I am going to send him." 
 
 "Oh, are you going to send Mr. Lincoln a flag?" 
 cried Morris, forgetting he was not supposed to be 
 listening. 
 
 His father shook his head and ordered the boy to 
 attend to his lessons. His reports are worse every 
 month," he told Mr. Kohn. "Rabbi Adler tells me 
 he is a good boy, but that doesn't raise his marks in 
 Hebrew and arithmetic and history, and his 
 mother " 
 
 "But I don't like history about dead people," 
 objected the boy. "Now Mr. Lincoln's alive and 
 he's history, too, isn't he?" 
 
 "The boy's right," laughed Mr. Kohn. "Come
 
 162 THE NEW LAND 
 
 in here, Morris, if your father'll let you, and I'll 
 tell you all about the flag I'm sending Mr. Lincoln 
 next week before he leaves his home in Springfield 
 for Washington." Morris, needing no second invi 
 tation, gladly deserted his books and slipped into 
 the parlor, curling up in one corner of the horse 
 hair sofa as he attempted to be as little in the way 
 as possible. For he didn't want his mother, should 
 she happen to come into the room, to send him 
 back to his lessons again. 
 
 "It is a large American flag," explained Mr. Kohn, 
 "woven of the finest silk. And across it I've had 
 inscribed in Hebrew the command given to Joshua 
 when he took command of the Israelites after the 
 death of Moses." He turned to Morris, a teasing 
 twinkle in his eyes. "I suppose you can tell your 
 father what that was," he said, very seriously. 
 "What?" as Morris, really embarrassed, shook his 
 head. "I thought you really learned more in Rabbi 
 Adler's school. Suppose you get your Bible and 
 show us how well you can translate the passage." 
 
 Doubtful of his skill as translator, but sure that 
 kindly Mr. Kohn who had been one of the early 
 cantors of the congregation and "knew everything 
 about Hebrew" would lend him a hand at the hard 
 places, Morris turned to the first chapter of Joshua, 
 and, with a little prompting translated the command 
 given to the Jewish leader: 
 
 "Have I not commanded thee?" he read. "Be 
 strong and of good courage; be not afraid, neither 
 be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with 
 thee whithersoever thou goest." He looked up, his
 
 A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN 163 
 
 boyish spirit thrilled with the words. "I like that," 
 he exclaimed naively, "it's so so alive not a bit 
 like the Bible." 
 
 "So that's what's written on your flag?" com 
 mented Mr. Rosenfelt. "Well, no matter what hap 
 pens, I guess we won't have to worry over our 
 Mr. Lincoln. He'll be 'strong and of good courage,' 
 alright, and make us glad we sent him on to Wash 
 ington. Morris, go into the dining room now and 
 study your lessons. Are you going to take the flag 
 to Mr. Lincoln yourself before he leaves Spring 
 field?" he asked, turning back to Mr. Kohn, as 
 Morris unwillingly went back to his lessons for the 
 next morning. 
 
 "No. I can't leave my work just now," an 
 swered Mr. Kohn, who was city clerk. "But I'm 
 sending it with a friend who will be in Springfield 
 before Mr. Lincoln leaves. I want him to have a 
 real going-away present to tell him what the Jews 
 of Illinois think of their new president." 
 
 Then the talk drifted to other matters, but Mor 
 ris went to bed his heart filled with envy for the 
 man who should take the flag to Mr. Lincoln. He 
 knew that there wasn't the slightest chance for him 
 to go to Springfield; his mother would remember all 
 the dreadful stories she had ever heard of little 
 boys being kidnapped while taking railway journeys 
 alone; his father would tell him he couldn't spare 
 the money for such a trip and that Morris couldn't 
 afford to lose a day of school. Then, if he couldn't 
 go to Springfield, it would be almost as good to 
 send a present to Mr. Lincoln such as Mr. Kohn
 
 164 THE NEW LAND 
 
 planned to do but what could a little boy with a 
 limited amount of pocket money send a man just 
 elected to be president of the United States. He 
 even crept out of bed very stealthily, not caring to 
 arouse his ever-wakeful mother in the next room 
 to look over the treasures in the top drawer of his 
 little dresser; the finest stamp collection ever pos 
 sessed by any boy who attended his school, he thought 
 proudly; a box of shells and lucky stones gathered 
 on the lake shore last vacation; a prize book given 
 him at school for perfect attendance, which Morris 
 never cared to read, as it seemed to be the tale of 
 a very good little boy who always stood at the head 
 of his class and never disobeyed his parents; a set 
 of fishing tackle discarded by his older brother, 
 Harry. Treasures, though they were, Morris would 
 have sent any or all of them with Mr. Kohn's flag 
 as a going-away gift to the new president, already 
 enshrined in so many hearts; but, boy though he was, 
 he knew that a grown up man would not care for 
 his poor presents. He even lifted his little blue bank 
 and rattled it softly; but he did not take the trouble 
 to pry it open, for he knew that for all its jingling, 
 the pennies inside would not amount up to more 
 than a dollar. Disappointed, yet determined not to 
 let Mr. Kohn outdo him in the matter, Morris crept 
 back to bed. 
 
 The next morning he found his plans for Mr. Lin 
 coln's present far more fascinating than his lessons 
 as he sat in the basement schoolroom provided for 
 the children of the congregation. One of the school's 
 non-Jewish teachers had heard his history and geog-
 
 A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN 165 
 
 raphy. In a little while Rabbi Adler would take 
 the classes in Hebrew and German. Morris knew 
 he ought to prepare the lessons so shamefully ne 
 glected the night before, but he found it difficult to 
 put his mind on his task. 
 
 Fortunately for him, he wasn't called upon during 
 the Hebrew session and managed to escape a scold 
 ing for his lack of preparation. So he sat sedately 
 with his eyes glued upon the thick black characters, 
 while his mind pictured the flag with the Hebrew 
 lettering which was to be sent to Springfield. He 
 had seen a good many pictures of Mr. Lincoln and 
 now he tried to imagine how the kindly, homely 
 face would break into a smile at Mr. Kohn's thought- 
 fulness. Then he roused himself to listen, for now 
 the rabbi was saying something about the lesson that 
 really interested him. 
 
 "Of course," said Rabbi Adler, "the Sanctuary 
 Bezalel built in the desert wasn't half so beautiful 
 as the Temple we afterwards raised at Jerusalem. 
 But we were willing to wait. It was always that 
 way with our people with every nation, too; we 
 must wait for what is worth while and if we wait 
 long enough and work while we are waiting, we 
 will finally achieve what we have been striving for." 
 He paused for a moment, closing his book, as he 
 looked over the class. "Has anyone a question to 
 ask about the lesson?" he ended, in his usual way. 
 
 Hardly thinking what he did, Morris shot his 
 hand up in the air, then wished with all his heart 
 that he had not raised it, when the rabbi said : "Well, 
 Morris, what's your question?"
 
 166 THE NEW LAND 
 
 "It's not exactly about the lesson," confessed the 
 boy, awkwardly. "But when you talked about wait 
 ing for something for a long time, I wondered I 
 how long is a person president of the United States ?" 
 he ended desperately, realizing how foolish his ques 
 tion must sound not only to the teacher but to his 
 fellow students as well. 
 
 If Rabbi Adler failed to see any connection be 
 tween the building of the Sanctuary and American 
 politics, he was too kind to say so. "The president 
 is elected for four years," he answered, "although 
 sometimes he is reelected for a second term, which 
 makes eight years in all." 
 
 "Then Mr. Lincoln'll be in Washington eight 
 years, 'cause everybody will want him for two terms," 
 decided Morris, loyally, though a little disappointed 
 that the plan which had just occurred to him must 
 take so long to mature. 
 
 "So you're a Lincoln man, too?" smiled his teacher. 
 He hesitated a moment, then, feeling that high 
 civic ideals were as necessary to his class as Hebrew, 
 he went on : "We who have worked hard to elect Mr. 
 Lincoln feel that our country is in good hands. He 
 is not one of our people, yet I believe he is more 
 like our Hebrew prophets than any man, Jew or 
 non-Jew, living today. None of you boys may ever 
 be president, but if you strive as earnestly as Mr. 
 Lincoln has always done to serve the right, I shall 
 be well satisfied. . . . We will take the next chapter 
 for tomorrow," and the lesson was over. 
 
 Next came the German class and Morris, after 
 reading and translating his portion of a German fairy
 
 A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN 167 
 
 tale quite creditably, sank back in his place, again 
 busy with his plans. Rabbi Adler was right, he de 
 cided. If one just worked and waited, everything 
 would turn out all right. So Mr. Lincoln would 
 be gone for four years, perhaps eight. Well, since 
 a Jewish gentleman had sent him a going-away pres 
 ent, wouldn't it be a fine thing for a Jewish boy 
 to send him some gift when he returned to his home 
 in Springfield? Morris wasn't sure just what the 
 gift would be, but he was no longer worried. Even 
 four years were not long to wait, especially if one 
 had to save a good deal of money in the interval. 
 For Morris was sure that he would have to send 
 a really expensive present; perhaps a gold watch, 
 which at that particular moment was the one thing, 
 next to a Shetland pony, he most desired for him 
 self. 
 
 The four years passed for Morris, now slowly 
 when lessons were long and hard, now all too swiftly 
 during the holiday seasons. They were years of 
 struggle for the nation now torn asunder by a dread 
 ful civil war. Even from the first, Morris was not 
 too young to understand the history that was being 
 made about him; the firing upon Fort Sumter; the 
 secession of the southern states; Mr. Lincoln's call 
 for volunteers. How he despised himself for being 
 such a small boy when he saw his brother Harry 
 in his blue uniform with the brass buttons I He 
 couldn't understand why his mother had cried when 
 Harry went away to be a soldier, since he himself 
 felt cruelly cheated in being deprived of marching 
 off to the battle field. Nor could he understand
 
 168 THE NEW LAND 
 
 why Rabbi Adler's voice always faltered now when 
 he read the Kaddish prayer for the mourners every 
 Sabbath in the synagogue, although he had heard 
 that his teacher's young son, Dankmar, serving in 
 the artillery, was wounded at the battle of Chick- 
 amauga. For war to the little boy meant nothing 
 but lines of straight soldiers marching to music with 
 flying banners above them, and even when bits of 
 crape appeared, so it seemed, upon the doors of 
 every other home in the city, he thought only of 
 the glory, not the horror of it all. Nor did he ever 
 imagine how President Lincoln's great heart almost 
 broke in those days over the suffering not only of 
 his own Northern soldiers, but the Southern boys 
 too, whom he would never call "rebels" nor cease 
 to regard but as brother Americans. When the boy 
 thought of the president at all, it was always as the 
 captain of a mighty host, pressing fearlessly on to 
 victory. "Like Joshua," he thought, remembering 
 the verses on the flag, resolving that when victory 
 did come at last he would celebrate in his own way, 
 by sending Mr. Lincoln his present. 
 
 "We can't do too much for Mr. Lincoln," his 
 brother Harry had said when he came home on 
 a furlough, so tanned and sturdy that even Mrs. 
 Rosenfelt had to confess that his soldiering had not 
 broken down his health. And Morris's heart had 
 reechoed the sentiment again and again, especially 
 when Harry was taken to one of the Washington 
 hospitals and wrote glowingly of the president's 
 visits to the sick and wounded soldiers. "He's not 
 like a president he's just like a father," he wrote,
 
 A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN 169 
 
 and more than one bereaved household in those dark 
 days learned to agree with him. 
 
 For the sadly-tried man from Illinois was never 
 too busy with affairs of state to write a word of 
 comfort to a mother who had lost her son on the 
 battlefield, never too harassed with his many duties 
 to listen to a plea for a furlough or a pardon. But, 
 perhaps, of all the stories that reached Morris at 
 that time the account of Mr. Abraham Jonas of 
 Peoria meant the most. 
 
 Mr. Jonas was a Jewish citizen of Peoria, Illi 
 nois, and had been a staunch friend and political 
 associate of Lincoln before the latter left Springfield 
 for the White House. Strangely enough, Mr. Jonas's 
 four sons all enlisted in the Southern army. To 
 wards the close of the war, Abraham Jonas fell 
 ill, and, learning from his doctors that his disease 
 would prove fatal, felt that he could never die in 
 peace until he had seen his son Charles, then a Con 
 federate prisoner of war on Johnson's Island, Lake 
 Erie. The dying father appealed to his old friend, 
 and President Lincoln at once gave the order to 
 parole Charles Jonas for three weeks that he might 
 visit his father's bedside. 
 
 "After that," admitted Mrs. Rosenfelt, wiping 
 her eyes as she heard the story from a Chicago 
 friend of the Jonas family, "after that, I'll forgive 
 the president everything!" She never explained just 
 why she should feel called upon to forgive Presi 
 dent Lincoln for anything, but up to that time the 
 good lady had entertained the notion that the presi 
 dent had made the war and was entirely responsible
 
 170 THE NEW LAND 
 
 for her son's enlistment. "Things like that make 
 you feel that there's good in everybody's heart even 
 in war time. Anyhow, the war can't last much 
 longer." 
 
 The great war did end that very year and in the 
 spring of 1865 Morris realized that at last he might 
 send Mr. Lincoln his present. "Just for a sort of 
 extra celebration," he told himself, as he counted 
 the money he had so painfully hoarded in an old 
 wallet during the four years of waiting. 
 
 It was not a large sum after all, for Mr. Rosen- 
 felt was not a rich man and his business interests 
 had suffered during the war. And, it must be con 
 fessed, several times Morris had yielded to tempta 
 tion and had broken into his little treasury to buy 
 some toy or pleasure that he felt he just must have, 
 intending to pay himself back as soon as he could 
 earn the money. But chores were few and brought 
 little, and even his uncle's barmitzvah present of five 
 dollars failed to raise the sum above fifteen. Still 
 that was a good deal, thought Morris, although he 
 couldn't buy a gold watch with it. But he had grown 
 up a little during the past four years and realized 
 that probably Mr. Lincoln had a gold watch, any 
 how. And so, much as he hated to do it, for he 
 wanted the secret to be all his own, he decided to 
 ask his father's advice and waited impatiently for 
 him to come in from the porch, where he stood 
 talking with a neighbor, and have breakfast the 
 Saturday morning after peace was declared. 
 
 Although he was only a boy of thirteen at the 
 time, Morris never forgot how the parlor looked
 
 A PRESENT FOR MR. LINCOLN 171 
 
 that day with the flag draped over Harry's picture 
 taken in uniform, the pale sunshine of early spring 
 streaming upon the bright red geranium plant on 
 the marble-topped table. There was a large tidy 
 on the table, a doily his mother had crotched, his 
 mother who started up with a cry of alarm as Mr. 
 Rosenfelt entered, his face white with terror. 
 
 "Harry " was all she could say for a mo 
 ment. Then, when she could control her voice a 
 little: "Has anything happened to our Harry?" 
 
 Her husband shook his head. "No," he answered 
 in a matter-of-fact tone that contrasted strangely 
 with his dreadful pallor. "Harry, thank God, is 
 safe and will soon be on his way home. But Presi 
 dent Lincoln " 
 
 "Yes?" cried Mrs. Rosenfelt, "the president?" 
 
 "He was shot last evening by an assassin. He 
 has just died," answered her husband, and he spoke 
 as one speaks of a dear friend. 
 
 "It can't be true," cried Morris, hotly. "No one 
 would hurt him he was so good we all loved him 
 so." The tears ran down his face as he spoke and 
 for once he was not ashamed to have his father see 
 him cry. Without another word he turned and ran 
 upstairs to his own room. The little blue bank still 
 standing upon the dresser hurt him with a sudden 
 memory. He was comparatively rich now, but he 
 hated the fifteen dollars he had saved with so much 
 eagerness through the years of patient waiting. 
 
 The money, still unspent, lay in Morris's wallet 
 the day Mr. Lincoln came home to Springfield. The 
 humble rail splitter had returned to his home town
 
 172 THE NEW LAND 
 
 in kingly triumph. As his funeral train crossed the 
 continent, every great city, every tiny village, crape- 
 hung and grief-stricken, had sent its citizens to do 
 him homage. Even the farmers from the scattered 
 farms along the way lit funeral pyres as the dark 
 procession thundered past through the night. Now 
 the citizens of Chicago stood bowed in grief as the 
 body of the martyred president was borne through 
 the silent streets. Strong men wept openly and 
 unashamed; but Morris, standing at his father's side 
 on the curbing, did not cry. Somehow, it all seemed 
 too terrible for tears. And, because he was just 
 a small boy, after all not the least of his grief was 
 the thought that now it was too late to send Mr. 
 Lincoln his present.
 
 THE LAND COLUMBUS FOUND 
 
 The Story of the Tablet Placed Upon the 
 Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. 
 
 This isn't a story at all, just a sort of "good 
 bye" word to the boys and girls who have read 
 these tales of Jewish men and women who tried to 
 do their part in the making of America. Do you 
 remember away back to the first one, the story of 
 the Jews who from Columbus's flag ship dreamed 
 of the promised land, but never knew that the con 
 tinent their admiral discovered would some day be 
 a place of refuge for their race? Now, every year, 
 thousands of men and women and children, a great 
 many of our own people among them, seek a refuge 
 here. If you go to Ellis Island, you may see them 
 entering this New World where they hope to find 
 home and happiness. I have seen them with their 
 baskets and their bundles of household goods, their 
 little children in their arms, (do you remember how 
 Reuben wandered through the storm carrying his lit 
 tle son?), crossing the gang plank of the steamer 
 which brings them to the island, raising their tired 
 eyes in mute gratitude to the American flag which 
 floats above them as they pass. And from where 
 I stood I could also see the great Statue of Liberty 
 Enlightening the World, the woman with the light 
 in her hand to guide the weary wanderers across 
 the sea. 
 
 173
 
 174 THE NEW LAND 
 
 If you visit this statue, boys and girls, you will 
 see at the base a bronze tablet with a short poem 
 engraved upon it. The poem was written by a Jew 
 ish woman, Emma Lazarus, our first and greatest 
 Jewish American poet. As a girl she had cared lit 
 tle for the history and traditions of her people; her 
 verses were about the gods of Greece and Rome and 
 the legends of the Middle Ages. Then, when the 
 dreadful persecution of our people in Russia in 1881 
 drove many of them to our shores, she was called 
 upon to assist in caring for some of the homeless 
 wanderers and, like a loving mother, she gathered 
 them to her heart. 
 
 Something new and beautiful awoke in her soul 
 and she gave her strength and energy in caring for 
 these exiles of her own blood. When she wrote now 
 it was of her people. She read our long and won 
 derful history and immortalized the heroism of our 
 martyrs in such poems as her tragedy, "The Dance 
 to Death." She wrote shorter verses, too, and there 
 are few Jewish boys and girls who have not recited 
 or at least heard her stirring Chanukkah recita 
 tions, "The Feast of Lights," and "The Banner of 
 the Jew." Her poems had always been very beau 
 tiful, winning the praises of such a high critic as 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson, but now they glowed with 
 a new beauty, her love and new found kinship with 
 her race. 
 
 It was her passionate love for America and her 
 knowledge of all that our country means to the Jew, 
 both the native-born and the persecuted wanderer 
 from other lands, that made her see in the Statue
 
 THE LAND COLUMBUS FOUND 175 
 
 of Liberty more than a mere mass of sculptured 
 stone. Instead she saw a gracious, loving woman 
 guarding the gates of the New World, not like the 
 ancient giant figure striding the harbor at Rhodes, 
 a haughty menace to the nations, but a symbol of 
 welcome and freedom and justice to all mankind. 
 So she wrote her verses, to be inscribed later at the 
 statue's base, telling as only a great poet could what 
 America means to her children. 
 
 Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, 
 With conquering limbs astride from land to land, 
 Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand 
 A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame 
 Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name 
 Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand 
 Glows world-wide welcome: her mild eyes command 
 The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 
 "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she 
 With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, 
 Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, 
 The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, 
 Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, 
 I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
 
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