Read Ebook: The New Land Stories of Jews Who Had a Part in the Making of Our Country by Levinger Elma Ehrlich

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Ebook has 519 lines and 49066 words, and 11 pages

"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 uncertain 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 Stuyvesant, 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," answered 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 Amsterdam."

"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 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 refuse 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 gentlemen 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 himself. 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 hers. "Come into the garden," she commanded, "I want you to see my rose bushes and my new kittens and the swing, before supper."

Samuel's eyes sought the governor's 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."

A PLACE OF REFUGE

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 moment 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 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, clinging to the trees as he moved. A few moments later he found himself before a little shack. A single tallow 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 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 surprise that his hosts had removed his wet garments and replaced them with a long, warm cloak of bearskin. 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.

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 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 received 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 persecuted and despised, and had proclaimed that no man would be troubled there for the sake of his religion, 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 follow 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 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."

"DOWN WITH KING GEORGE!"

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 General 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 Independence read before the army. They stood waiting in their ranks, the first army of the Republic: raw farmers 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 simply 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 the future president was only the leader of an army of untrained "rebels", knowing full well that a traitor'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 trading 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 redcoats. But you're not going to insult my people--understand?"

Tim laughed contemptuously. "How are you going to stop me?" He looked down at Isaac who was 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 American 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.

"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 their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." 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 appreciate the blessings of a home land where even the despised Jew might know the meaning of equality 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 opportunities 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 ancestors.

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 companions were fighting not the English people, but a servile Parliament and an unworthy ruler who, according to the Declaration, was indeed a "tyrant unfit 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 overdressed 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, anyhow, 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 assembled 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 leaning 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 attended a new church and had consecrated himself to her service. For a moment Isaac Franks forgot his 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." 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. Setting 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.

"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 behaviour 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 Durgan 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, respectfully, "but I cannot tell you the reason of our quarrel since it concerns only ourselves."

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