Part 1 (1/2)
The New Land.
by Elma Ehrlich Levinger.
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 Was.h.i.+ngton, 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,” originally appeared.
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 flags.h.i.+p 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 dampness 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 s.h.i.+fting light of the s.h.i.+p's lantern, swinging from the mast above his head, the pilot saw Bernal, the s.h.i.+p's doctor, advancing toward him; a little dark man, who dragged one foot as he walked. He would have pa.s.sed without speaking; but Alonzo, hungry for companions.h.i.+p, caught his arm.
”You are in high favor with Columbus,” he began, ”and he confides in you. Tell me, is he still determined to go on if the next few days do not bring us to land?”
The s.h.i.+p's doctor nodded almost sullenly, yet there was pride in his voice when he spoke. ”The admiral 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.
”Hus.h.!.+” exclaimed the little pilot, ”Hus.h.!.+ 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 ma.s.ses.” His face twisted with rage as he pointed to his useless foot. ”In Valencia I was denounced to the Inquisition, 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 sh.o.r.e.” 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 sensitive 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 pa.s.sion. ”'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 refuge. But there is no refuge for Israel, no rest for Him until death.”