The New Land | Page 2

de la Calle, crouching above his pilot wheel. The man's
eyes ached for sleep, his fingers were numb from dampness and fatigue,
his heart heavy with despair. "Dawn," he muttered at last, "almost the
last of the night watches; Gonzalo will take my place at the wheel and I
can sleep."
In the shifting light of the ship's lantern, swinging from the mast above
his head, the pilot saw Bernal, the ship's doctor, advancing toward him;
a little dark man, who dragged one foot as he walked. He would have
passed without speaking; but Alonzo, hungry for companionship,
caught his arm.
"You are in high favor with Columbus," he began, "and he confides in
you. Tell me, is he still determined to go on if the next few days do not
bring us to land?"
The ship's doctor nodded almost sullenly, yet there was pride in his
voice when he spoke. "The admiral will not turn back. Not though the
very boards of our three vessels mutiny and refuse him obedience. He
will go on!"
"It is madness. It is already seventy days since we left our fair land of
Spain, and----"
Bernal interrupted him with a mocking laugh. "'Our fair land of Spain',"
he sneered, "is not the land of the Jew nor have we found it fair." But
before he could speak further, the other clapped a warning hand over
his mouth.
"Hush!" exclaimed the little pilot, "Hush! We may be overheard, and,
though our admiral is gentle to the sons of Israel, it might fare ill with
us if the crew were to learn that there were 'secret Jews' on board. See,
some one is coming----. Be silent," and he pointed to one who moved
slowly toward them.

But Bernal laughed. "It is only Luis de Torres, the interpreter, one of
our own people. Shalom Aleicha," he addressed himself to the
newcomer, who answered, "Aleichem Shalom," but softly, glancing
over his shoulder as he did so.
"Even in the midst of the Sea of Darkness you fear to use our holy
tongue," taunted the physician. "We are no longer in Spain where the
very walls of our houses had ears to hear our Shema and tongues to
betray us to the officers of the Inquisition when we failed to come to
their cursed masses." His face twisted with rage as he pointed to his
useless foot. "In Valencia I was denounced to the Inquisition, tortured
almost unto death. But I escaped with my life; and now instead of
spending my last days in peace in the land of my fathers I have come
on this mad voyage across a sea without shore." He laughed harshly.
"Yet even on these endless waves, I am safer than in the pleasant land
of Spain."
Luis de Torres, who had stood leaning over the vessel's side, turned
toward the speaker, his sensitive face showing pale and grave in the
light of the swaying lantern. "Ah, Bernal," he said sadly, "has not the
whole world become a great sea of endless waves for the unhappy
children of Israel?" He shuddered slightly and drew his rich cloak more
tightly about him. "I am a strong man; but I sicken and grow faint when
I think of the tens of thousands of our brethren we saw scourged from
the land of Spain even as we embarked and our three vessels were
about to leave the port."
"Truly," Alonzo muttered, "truly, even a strong man may wish to forget
what our eyes have seen. Night after night as I stand at my wheel I can
see them, old men and little children and women with their babes.
Where will they find rest?"
"There is no rest for Israel." It was Bernal who spoke in his sullen
passion. "'Twas the ninth of Ab when our brethren were driven
forth--the ninth of Ab; the day on which our Temple fell. Then we were
scattered beneath the sky, but we thought at last that in the land of
Spain we had found a refuge. But there is no refuge for Israel, no rest
for Him until death."

The sad eyes of Luis de Torres glowed with a strange light. "Nay,
friend," he corrected gently, "the God of Israel will not forget His
children forever. Who knows that this new route to India, of which the
admiral dreams, may not lead us to a new land, an undiscovered place
where no Jew will suffer for his faith. But, O God!" he cried with
sudden pain, "We have waited so long, and still our people wander and
are tossed to and fro, as we are tossed about by the waves of this
unknown sea. Must each century bring its new Tisha B'ab, must we
indeed suffer forever? Where is rest for us?