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 assure 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 assurances, although he never answered them directly. Once he kindly placed his hand upon the boy's shoulder and Hushiel 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 Hushiel 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 Hushiel across the seas.
"I am going to Washington on business," his master informed Hushiel 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 Washington with me?"
Hushiel 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 manuscript 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 Hushiel 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 Hushiel 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, Hushiel 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 God, 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."