Part 6 (2/2)
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 grat.i.tude that is in our hearts.” He bent over Mistress Salomon's hand 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 p.a.w.n the little that remains of our silver. But until then--” he shrugged goodnaturedly, 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 Advertiser,” pausing to stare at a modest notice tucked 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 Mordecai Noah._
The two children stood hand in hand in a corner 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 surroundings. They still wore the dress of their native Tunis; Hus.h.i.+el 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 admitting them, had gone off to summon his master, declaring to himself that these visitors looked even more heathenish than the painted Indians who occasionally called upon Mr. Noah at his Buffalo home.
”Do sit down, Peninah,” suggested the boy in a half-whisper, too overawed by the elegant furnis.h.i.+ngs 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 s.h.i.+p, and the many people when we came on sh.o.r.e in New York and this room--” with a gesture towards the 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 Hus.h.i.+el, 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. Mordecai 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 distinguished 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.
Hus.h.i.+el 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 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 nothing 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 nodded 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 believe have been in the land for centuries--even before 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 Promise for the Jews over the entire earth and that I might be permitted to be the Messiah to lead them here.”
Hus.h.i.+el 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 appear 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 promised 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 G.o.d 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 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 trading vessels--the Phoenicians of the New World.” He had forgotten his listeners and spoke as though addressing a great mult.i.tude. ”And others have shared my dreams. My good friend, Samuel Leggett, 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 purchased 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 Ca.n.a.l, through which our vessels loaded with the produce of our farms will sail to feed the nations.”
He paused for breath and Hus.h.i.+el nodded, understanding but little the reason of his hosts' enthusiasm, but at least grasping the fact that the city of refuge of which his father had dreamed so long was about to be built.
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