Meantime Peloni on his island awaited the coming of its Ruler. He
heard faintly the cannonade that preceded and concluded the laying of
the foundation-stone in the chancel of the church, and he expected
Noah the next day at the latest. But the next day passed, and no Noah.
Peloni fed on the remains of his corn and drank from the river, but
though his Indian guide was gone and he was a prisoner, he had no fear
of starvation, because he saw the wigwams of another Indian encampment
across the river and occasionally a party of them would glide past in
a large canoe. Despite hunger, his sensations on this first day were
delicious. The poet in him responded rapturously to the appeal of all
this new life; to feel the brotherhood of wild creatures, to sleep
under the stars in the vast night, to watch the silent, passionate
beauty of the sunrise, ripening to the music of the birds.
On the second day his eyes were gladdened by the oncoming of a boat
rowed by two whites. They proved to be a stone mason and his man, and
they bore provisions, a letter, and newspapers from Noah:--
"MY DEAR PELONI:
"A hurried line to report a glorious success, thank Heaven! A
finer day and more general satisfaction has not been known on
any similar occasion. All the dignity and talent of the
neighbourhood for miles was present. I hear that a vast
concourse also assembled at Tonawanda, expecting that the
ceremonies would be at Grand Island, but that many of them came
up in carriages in time to hear my Inaugural Speech. You will
see that the newspapers, especially the _Buffalo Patriot Extra_,
have reported me fully, showing how they realize the importance
of this world-stirring episode in Israel's history. Their
comments, too, are for the most part highly sympathetic. Of
course the _New York Herald_ will sneer; but then Bennett was
once in my employ on the _Courier and Enquirer_. They tell me
that you duly set out to plant the flag of Judah, and I assume
it is now by God's grace waving over Ararat. Heaven bless you!
my heart is too full for words. I had hoped to find time to-day
to behold the sublime spectacle myself, but urgent legal
business calls me back to New York. But I am resolved to start
the city without delay, and the bearers of this have my plan for
a little monument of brick and wood with the simple
inscription--'Ararat founded by Mordecai Manuel Noah,
1825'--from the summit of which the flag can wave. I leave you
to superintend the same, and take any measures you please to
promote the growth of the city and to receive, as my
representative, the inflowing immigrants from the Ghettos of the
world. I appoint you, moreover, Keeper of the Records. To you
shall be given to write the new Book of the Chronicles of
Israel. My friend Mr. Smith, one of the proprietors of the
island, will communicate with you on behalf of the Shareholders,
as occasion arises. Expect me shortly (perhaps with my bride,
for I am entering into holy wedlock with the most amiable and
beautiful of her sex) and meantime receive my blessing.
"MORDECAI MANUEL NOAH, Judge of Israel,
"_pro_ A.B. SEIXAS, Secr. _pro tem._"
While the little monument was building, and the men were coming to and
fro in boats, Peloni made friends with the Indians, the smoke-wreaths
of whose lodges hovered across the river, and he picked up a little of
their language. Also he explored his island, drawn by the crescendo
roar of Niagara. It was at Burnt Island Bay that he had his first, if
distant, view of the Falls themselves. The rapids, gurgling and
plunging with foam and swirl and eddy, quickened his blood, but the
cataracts disappointed him, after that rainbow glimpse of the upper
spray, and it was not till he got himself landed on the Canadian shore
and saw the monstrous rush of the vast tameless flood toward the great
leap that he felt the presence and the power that were to be with him
for the rest of his days. The bend of the Horse-Shoe was hidden by a
white spray mountain that rose above its topmost waters, as they
hurled themselves from green solidity to creamy mist. And as he
looked, lo! the enchanting rainbows twinkled again, and he had a sense
as of the smile of God, of the love of that awful, unfathomable Being,
eternally persistent, while the generations rise and fall like
vaporous spray.
The tide was low and, drawn by an irresistible fascination, he
adventured down among the rocks near the foot of the Fall. But a
tingling storm of spray smote him half blind and wholly breathless,
and all he could see was a monstrous misty Brocken-spirit upreared and
in his ears were a thousand thunders. A wild elemental passion swelled
and lifted him. Yes, Force, Force, was the secret of things: the vast
primal energies that sent the stars shining and the seas roaring.
Force, Life, Strength, that was what Israel needed. It had grown
anaemic, slouching along its airless _Judengassen_. Oh, to fight, to
fight, like the warriors who went out against the Greeks, who defended
the Holy City against the Romans. "For the Lord is a Man of War." And
he shouted the cry of David, "Blessed be the Lord, my Rock, who
teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight." But he stopped,
smitten by an ironic memory. This very blessing was uttered every
Sabbath twilight, in every Ghetto, by every bloodless worshipper, to a
melancholy despairing melody, in the lightless dusk of the synagogues.
The monument was speedily erected and, being hollow, proved useful for
Peloni to sleep in, as the October nights grew chilly. And thus Peloni
lived, a latter-day Crusoe. He had now procured fishing-tackle, and
grew dexterous in luring black bass and perch and whitefish from the
river. Also he had found out what berries he might eat. Occasionally a
boat would sell him cornmeal from Buffalo, but his savings were
melting away and he preferred to forage for himself, relishing the
wild flavour of uncivilized living. He even wished it were possible to
eat the birds or the rabbits he could have killed: but as various
points of Jewish law forbade such diet, there was no use in buying a
musket or a bow and arrow. So his relations with the animal world
remained purely amicable. The robins and bluebirds and thrushes sang
for him. The woodpeckers tapped on his monument to wake him in the
morning. The blue jays screamed without wrath, and the partridges
drummed unmartially. The squirrels frolicked with him, and the rabbits
lost their shyness. One would have said these were the Lost Ten Tribes
he had found.
Peloni had become, not the Keeper of the Records, but the Keeper of
Noah's Ark.