Part 1 (2/2)
The sad eyes of Luis de Torres glowed with a strange light. ”Nay, friend,” he corrected gently, ”the G.o.d 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 G.o.d!” 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 s.h.i.+p, 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.
”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 pa.s.sionate outburst of grief for his people. For, like the others, he could not know that instead of a new route to India a mighty continent 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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, s.h.i.+ning with the exquisite neatness that characterized the dwelling of every Dutch housewife in New Amsterdam with the same simple, well-made furniture and bright hand-woven rugs. Yet it differed strikingly 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 bra.s.s 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_, Samuel's father had once told him, hung upon the eastern 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 centuries the Temple had been in ruins and the children of those who had wors.h.i.+pped there scattered to the four corners of the earth. Jacob Barsimon himself had wandered from Spain to Holland, from Amsterdam to Jamaica, from Jamaica to the Dutch 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 b.u.t.tons of his coat. Samuel, a.s.sisting 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 angered him. But his mother, after watching her husband 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 asking:
”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 b.u.t.tons of the little girl's dress, her eyes gazing dreamily through the window. ”We were still in Amsterdam, in dear old Holland, with our own people. Do you remember, Jacob, how on the day when he was made a 'Son of the Covenant,' your old uncle acted as G.o.dfather 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 sorrow. 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 Stuyvesant 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 refuse 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 Samuel'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 Jewish ceremony) to hear you recite your _barmitzvah_ 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 honorable 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 residence in New Amsterdam.
And perhaps,” he spoke with a sort of grudging honesty, ”perhaps, one can scarcely blame the worthy burghers for mistrusting 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 pa.s.sage, and two of the pa.s.sengers, 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 vessel, for this same pa.s.sage money; and although the matter is now settled, some of our honest citizens are not ready to welcome strangers who they believe are little better than vagabonds and paupers.”
”But, father,” protested the boy, ”a goodly number 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'
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