Part 7 (2/2)
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 dedication 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, Hus.h.i.+el, 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.
Hus.h.i.+el, usually patient and long-suffering, was now really angry. He grasped her shoulders and shook her so energetically that her bright beads rattled merrily together. ”Now listen to me,” he began sternly, as he released her, and she stood gasping for breath, staring at him with eyes wide with hurt astonishment. ”I've been listening to your foolish 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 Hus.h.i.+el 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 goodly sprinkling of red men at the dedication ceremonies of the city of Ararat held in Buffalo on that bright September day so long ago. So many citizens had expressed their desire to be present that it was discovered 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 Buffalo, 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 festival.
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 soldiers, many of whom had distinguished themselves in the war of 1812, in which conflict Noah had received 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 Governor and Judge of Israel, as he styled himself, followed 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 windows fell like an enchanted robe upon those who had marched and those who were gathered there; it was 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 Indians in their feathers and blankets and beads, stern-faced and tall and slender, seemed people from another world. For a moment Hus.h.i.+el 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 figure 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. Instead 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 Hus.h.i.+el and Peninah. Peninah, dressed ”just like a little American girl,” as she proudly told herself a dozen times a day, was sent to a school. But Mr. Noah, really interested in Hus.h.i.+el, undertook to teach him himself, 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 a.s.sistance to his benefactor, copying Mr. Noah's ma.n.u.scripts for the press, for that gentleman was an eminent journalist and one of the most popular dramatists of his day, and, in time, even a.s.sisting him with his foreign correspondence.
The letters from abroad grew extremely heavy, for directly after the dedication ceremonies, Mr. Noah, as self-appointed Judge of Israel, sent a proclamation 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 obligation 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, Mordecai Noah appointed influential Jews in every important Jewish community to act as his commissioners in governing the city of Ararat.
To Hus.h.i.+el the proclamation seemed all that could be desired and he waited eagerly for the warm response 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 denunciation; 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 homeland 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 emanc.i.p.ation. ”We are happy in our adopted land,” wrote one.
”When G.o.d in His mercy sends the Messiah, 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 American 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 a.s.sure 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 a.s.surances, although he never answered them directly. Once he kindly placed his hand upon the boy's shoulder and Hus.h.i.+el felt as proud as a young squire whom his master had dubbed knight.
Gradually the correspondence concerning Ararat diminished and finally it ceased altogether. Mordecai Noah made no comment; there was still plenty of work for Hus.h.i.+el 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 Hus.h.i.+el across the seas.
”I am going to Was.h.i.+ngton on business,” his master informed Hus.h.i.+el 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 Was.h.i.+ngton with me?”
Hus.h.i.+el 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 ma.n.u.script which I will leave for you to copy during 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 some pleasure with the money you have just given me. But I must have my holiday alone.”
So Hus.h.i.+el 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 fascinating 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 Hus.h.i.+el 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 realization 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 eloquent, 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, Hus.h.i.+el saw the cornerstone of the dream city, Ararat, displayed in one of the rooms of the Buffalo Historical Society. He was no 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 G.o.d, the Lord is One). Ararat, a City of Refuge for the Jews, Founded by Mr. M. Noah in the month Tishri, 5586, Sept., 1825, and in the 50th year of American Independence.”
THREE AT GRACE
_The Story of the First Jewish Settler in Alabama._
Colonel Hawkins, the Indian agent for the government 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 panther, with s.h.a.ggy black hair and keen eyes, his distinctly 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 s.h.i.+rt and trousers of his half-civilized Indian neighbors, every free movement of his large body suggesting his life in the wilderness, the Jewish adventurer presented 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 building a cotton gin. Yes,” as the other showed surprise, ”I know the enterprise seems a strange one for a rover like me to suggest, and, perhaps, a foolish undertaking in the wilderness.
<script>