_A Tale of the First Jewish Settlers of New Amsterdam._
The warm spring sunshine 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, shining 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 brass 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 worshipped 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 buttons of his coat. Samuel, assisting
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 buttons 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 godfather 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 passage, and two of the passengers,
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 passage 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'
and----"
"Jacob Aboaf and I have done but little,"--half-growled Barsimon, as
though ashamed of the charity he was always ready to do by stealth.
"And they were our brethren." He became silent again, striding to the
window and scowling out into the bright spring sunshine. At last: "But
perhaps we have managed to serve them with our pens as well as gold.
Jacob Aboaf and I, with a few of our good Dutch townsmen, have written
to the directors of the Dutch West India Company in Amsterdam, praying
that these Jews, now forbidden lodging here, be allowed the rights and
privileges, of all good citizens. The directors should listen to our
plea, for a large amount of the company's capital comes from Jewish
purses. We might have heard favorably from them long ago had it not
been for the stubborn hatred of Governor Stuyvesant, whose letters
have poisoned their minds against us."
"But we have never harmed Governor Stuyvesant," observed Samuel, "so
why should his hand be against us?"
Jacob Barsimon laughed grimly, lowering his voice as he answered, for
he was a cautious man and did not care to risk having his words
carried through the town by the little slave girl Minna, now
clattering the breakfast dishes as she moved about the kitchen. "Does
Peter Stuyvesant ever need a reason for his follies?" he asked dryly.
"His head is as hard as his wooden leg and never a new idea has
pierced his brain since the day he was born. He hates our people with
as much reason as our black Minna fears witches and the evil eye. It
is said that he has written to the directors at Amsterdam, begging
that none of the Jewish nation be permitted to infest New Netherlands.
He has used those very words in public places; infest the colony and
be like a plague of hungry locusts. Perhaps he really believes the
evil things he says of our brethren. Even eyes as shrewd as his may be
blinded by hate. And one can understand his bitterness, his hardness
of heart toward all mankind. His post here is not easy, harrassed by
the savages on our borders, the Swedes, even the English, who have
already cast covetous eyes upon this rich port. While his private
life--" the man's stern face grew rather tender--"has not been very
happy. It is said that he left a half-sister in Holland, the one
creature he ever loved or who knew his kindlier side. A few months ago
her husband died and she dared the voyage with her little daughter
that they might make their home with the governor. But the vessel was
lost at sea and she was drowned. Only a sailor or two and several
passengers survived and one of them brought the little girl to Peter
Stuyvesant."
"I heard Minna tell of her," interrupted Samuel. "She says that once
she helped the governor's cook carry the Sunday dinner home from
market and she saw little Katrina playing on the great stairway of
Peter Stuyvesant's house. Minna says she has long golden curls and her
eyes are blue--blue as the little flowers that grow near the Wall
every spring. I wonder we never see her, father!"
Barsimon sat down on the low settle beside the window and lighted his
long pipe, puffing thoughtfully and gazing into the smoke as he spoke.
"I would not have you repeat this, son, for it may be but idle gossip.
But it is reported that since her mother's death the child has become
the idol of the governor's hard, old heart. He is filled with foolish
fears that he may lose her as cruelly as he lost her mother before
her. He scarcely ever permits her to stir abroad and then only when
she is followed by one of his faithful black slaves." He arose with
his characteristic abruptness, and walking to the chest of drawers
across from the fire-place, changed his black silken skull cap to the
broad-brimmed hat of his Dutch neighbors. "Forget what I have said,"
he told his son, briefly. "We live here only on sufferance and must
guard our tongues. But you are a good lad and I know I need never
regret having confided in you. And now study your _barmitzvah_
portion. Even if the folk from the 'St. Catarina' are deported before
your birthday and there is no _minyan_ here and we can have no real
feast in your honor, I would have you do your sainted grandfather
credit and please your mother who has waited so long for the day when
you should be old enough to be considered a man among our people." For
a moment his hand lay kindly upon the boy's shoulder; then, with a
shrug as though to shake off any foolish tenderness for the son he
loved so dearly, he passed out of the house.
Samuel watched him from the window until his stolid, heavy-set figure
disappeared down the winding road. Then, finding his portion in the
Hebrew book which his father treasured so highly in those days when
printed Hebrew books were still a rarity, he sank down on the settle
and tried to concentrate on the task which his father had left for
him. But more than once his dark eyes glanced from the heavy Hebrew
characters to the pleasant scene that lay beyond the window; a scene
one would never associate with crowded, bustling New York of our own
day; the low, comfortable looking houses of the Dutch burghers,
nestling under the great trees; the well-scoured windows blinking like
so many sleepy eyes in the warm spring sunshine. It was a day for
dreaming and adventure, not for study.
For a little while the boy sat with his head resting upon the low
window sill, his young mind busy with half-formed fancies, most of
them circling about his talk with his father concerning the unhappy
passengers of the 'St. Catarina.' Would the unfortunates be obliged to
seek shelter elsewhere, or would they be allowed to dwell in New
Amsterdam? If so, perhaps in time other Jewish families might come,
bringing with them boys of his own age, among whom he might find a
real playfellow. He sighed a little wistfully at the thought, for he
had no close friends among the sturdy young Dutch lads of the
neighborhood. Even a girl would be better than no one, he thought; not
a mere baby like his little sister, but a girl old enough to play with
him, to visit the Indians dwelling a little beyond the Wall, to wander
with him to the other end of the settlement and stand upon the sea
shore, searching for shells or lying upon the shining sands and
weaving fantastic dream stories, too foolish for older and wiser folks
to hear.
The boy fell to dreaming now, sitting there in the warm sunshine, for
he was a quiet, thoughtful lad, unaccustomed to playing with youths of
his own age, given to day-dreams and fairy legends. Today, as he half
reclined on the settle near the window, his busy young brain painted a
picture so strange that even Samuel himself had to smile over it; for
as he gazed through the window with half-closed lids, the dusty road
and little Dutch houses faded away and he seemed to see a shining,
white street with tall buildings on either side, and many, many
people--more than he had ever seen in his life, even in Amsterdam
across the seas--hurrying to and fro. He had heard his father say,
nodding gravely over his pipe, that some day little New Amsterdam
would be one of the greatest sea ports in the world. Jacob Aboaf had
hooted at his friend's prophecy; but as he recalled it today, Samuel
did not laugh. His day dream was very real to him, and when his mother
came into the room she found him staring through the window with a
strange smile about his mouth.
Frau Barsimon was a busy woman, with no time for day-dreams and she
was often annoyed (and secretly alarmed) at her son's tendency to
wander off into a world of his own making. Now she shook him, but
gently, and spoke with her usual briskness.
"Samuel, Samuel, have you nothing better to do than sit nodding like
an old spinning woman in the sunshine?"
The boy started guiltily, indicating his open book with a shame-faced
laugh. "Father told me to study--_barmitzvah_," he faltered.
His mother shrugged goodnaturedly. Pious Jewess that she was, she was
often inclined to quarrel with her husband who, she declared, was too
fond of keeping the boy tied to his Hebrew lessons. "He needs a strong
body now," she used to say when demanding an extra play-hour for
Samuel. "When he is older and his head is less stuffed with dreaming
it will be time enough to cram it with your learning. But first let
him play out in the open air until he is tired and the fresh wind has
blown all his nonsense away." She was thinking the same heresy that
moment, but all she did was to smile goodhumoredly and pull the boy to
his feet. "Out of doors with you," she commanded, gayly, "and I will
speak to father. Take a walk--a long one, and when you come back you
will be able to study without falling half-asleep over your book."
Samuel needed no urging. A moment later he had kissed his mother
good-bye, helped himself to a handful of sugar cookies from her blue
crockery jar, and was whistling down the dusty road, feeling strangely
anxious for some adventures; adventures as heroic as his father often
related before the fire on winter evenings. His mother might have
thrown up her hands in despair had she seen the dreamy look in his
large eyes. True, he was no longer drowsing on the settle, but as he
swung along under the soft spring sky, he saw himself the hero of a
hundred fantastic tales--the captain of a trading-vessel bound for the
Indies; the commander of a company of daring youths of his own age,
all ready to resist the Indians when they should seek to fall upon New
Amsterdam; again, a pirate with a plumed hat and a flashing sword. So,
lost in dreaming, he wandered on down the quiet streets to the Wall
which marked the boundary of the Settlement.
Suddenly realizing that he was tired and hungry, Samuel threw himself
upon the grass, and taking his cookies from his pocket, began to munch
them contendedly, wondering just what heroic deed he should plan for
his next undertaking. But in the middle of a bite he stopped short,
sitting up suddenly and rubbing his eyes as though he had been asleep
and feared he was still dreaming.
There on the grass beside him sat a little girl, almost his own age he
judged; a little girl with golden hair and eyes as blue as the flowers
growing in the young grass about them. To the simple lad she seemed as
richly dressed as a fairy princess, for her frock was of flowered
silk, she wore silver buckles upon her little shoes, and her daintily
flounced cap was fastened at either ear with a quaint medallion of
beaten gold. Samuel took in all of these details slowly, half afraid
to speak lest he should drive away the delicate little creature, who
had risen from the grass and now stood poised for flight like a gaily
tinted butterfly. Then she spoke, and he knew there was very little of
the fairy about her and that she was almost as human as himself.
"Boy," she said in unmistakable Dutch, pointing to the half-eaten cake
in his hand, "boy, give me that. I am hungry." She spoke like one
accustomed to instant obedience, taking the cake without a word of
thanks and eating it prettily, her large blue eyes never leaving
Samuel's wondering face. When nothing remained, she again held out her
hand, with her pretty, imperious gesture. "More," said the little
lady, and Samuel gave her his last cooky, wishing heartily that he had
brought his mother's blue crockery jar along for the little lady's
pleasure.
"I'm sorry," he said humbly, "but I ate the others before I knew you
were coming. They are good, aren't they? Does your mother ever bake
sugar cakes?" he ended in a desperate attempt to make conversation.
She shook her blond head. "My mother is dead," she told him. "She was
drowned and I would have been drowned, too, but a brave sailor held me
tight until he found a spar and he tied me to it and we floated and
floated and floated until a big ship passed us and brought us here."
She spoke between bites, very calmly, as though her tale, as thrilling
as any of Samuel's dream adventures, was no uncommon story for a
dainty little maid to tell on a spring morning.
"Now I know who you are," Samuel exclaimed, forgetting his shyness in
his delighted surprise. "Your name is Katrina and you live with the
governor and your mother was lost at sea."
Katrina, having finished her cooky, pensively picked up the few crumbs
from her lap as though she were still hungry. "I live with Uncle
Peter," she corrected. "He is very good to me and gives me pretty
presents;--he gave me these on my birthday," and she touched the gold
medallions upon her ears complacently. "Only he never lets me go out
and play alone like the other little girls who sometimes visit me say
they do, and I get tired of staying in the garden. And when I go out
walking with old black Daniel behind me, it is just as hard as staying
at home. I want little girls and boys to play with and take me
places;--I get tired of my dolls," she ended wistfully.
Samuel nodded with understanding sympathy. To have this little
stranger maid listen to his stories or follow him on his lonely
rambles! If he might even go to play with her sometimes in the garden
behind Peter Stuyvesant's house. He frowned at the thought: it was not
hard to picture the old governor falling into one of his rages at the
insolence of the Jewish boy who dared to walk down the garden path.
And yet what fun they would have had with every bush a mysterious
fairy castle, every tree a pirate ship to take them across the Main.
He sighed regretfully, turning to listen to his companion's bright
chatter.
"I suppose they're looking all over for me," she laughed
mischievously, "cook and black Daniel and Uncle Peter, too. Won't he
be cross! He was so cross this morning when he got a letter from
Holland, a big letter with a big red seal, and he'll be crosser yet
when I'm not home for dinner." She tossed her sunny curls defiantly.
"But he won't dare to scold me; he'll scold everybody else and shake
his cane at them, but he won't dare to be cross to me."
"But I think you ought to go home," suggested Samuel. "It isn't right
to worry your uncle so when he is so good to you and gives you such
nice presents."
She made a roguish little face. "I can't go home," she giggled,
teasingly, "I've never been out alone and I lost my way almost as soon
as I left the garden. So I'll just have to stay here all day until
somebody from home comes and finds me." She sprang up, shaking out her
silken skirts, dancing gayly in her little buckled shoes. "Come, boy,"
she commanded imperiously, "Come and play with me." She fumbled in
the pocket of her black satin apron and drew out a tiny worsted ball.
"Let's play ball," she cried, "and then we'll run races and climb that
tree over there and maybe you can tell me stories when I'm tired. My
old nurse in Holland used to tell me brave tales, but I don't like
those black Daniel tells--all about charms and goblins. Do you know
any nice stories, boy?"
"Yes, a few," admitted Samuel modestly. His cheeks, usually so pale,
were flushed with excitement; the little playfellow of his dreams
seemed to have come to life in the flower-strewn meadow. He caught the
bright ball she tossed to him and laughed with pleasure. "You catch
wrongly," he chided her, "but I like to play with you."
The afternoon sped on golden wings. Perhaps neither of the children
would have dreamed of the lateness of the hour had not Katrina
interrupted Samuel in the middle of one of his glowing tales,
exclaiming, "I'm hungry, now. I wonder what cook has for supper?"
Samuel started. The story of the old sea captain he had been telling
his new friend was very real to him; he could almost see the old,
ancient, weather-beaten vessel, hear the waves beating on the shores
of that distant island where the golden treasure lay hidden for so
many years. Now his dream people faded away and he saw that the sun
was setting and felt the air growing chill and damp about them. He
rose a little wearily and helped Katrina to her feet.
"We must go home," he said, gravely. "Perhaps we did wrong to stay so
long, but it was fun to play together, wasn't it? And did you like my
stories?"
She nodded, bending to pick up the bouquet he had gathered for her
earlier in the afternoon. "I like them as well as the tales my nursie
used to tell," she commented, approvingly. "You'll show me the way
home, won't you?"
Hand in hand, they walked slowly back to the dusty street that led to
the governor's house. At the gate, Samuel was about to bid his little
friend good-bye, but she caught his hand and drew him in after her.
"Oh, you must stay," she protested, "you must stay and let Uncle Peter
thank you for bringing me home. And I want you to tell me another
story after supper. You must come in!"
"But my mother will be worried," declared Samuel, "and father----"
"We'll have Daniel go and tell them you are here," she solved the
problem easily. Then she ran up the broad stairs, crying gaily, "Oh,
Uncle, I've had the loveliest time," as a short, stern-faced man
appeared in the doorway; a man with a silver-banded wooden leg and
leaning on a heavy cane.
"Katrina!" he exclaimed with some sternness, but she pulled his hard
face down to hers for a kiss.
"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."
Samuel walked home slowly through the April twilight. In the harbor he
could see the dim outlines of the 'St. Catarina,' which had in truth
brought the Jewish wanderers to a home in New Amsterdam. But Samuel
was not thinking of the wanderers who, after their months of weary
waiting, could look toward the future with hopeful eyes; nor did he
feel relieved that, since they were not to be deported, the newcomers
would surely come to his _barmitzvah_ party. At that moment he thought
only of the golden-curled fairy princess who would never romp and play
with him again.