by Desmond Dilg
“Ah,” replied Judge Livingston, smiling jocularly. “No wonder the astute Children of Israel set up the Golden Calf and boldly worshiped it in the Asiatic desert. No wonder, for truly there is a supernatural magic in gold—a something half divine.”
As the buzz of conversation increased throughout the hall, Hamilton again stood up and suggested that the ceremony of forming the new lodge and the election of permanent officers be proceeded with in accordance with the unwritten traditions of the order.
“It is growing late,” he said, ‘and we have much routine business before us.”
“Yes,” interjected Burr, “and the ladies in the drawing room must be wondering what has become of us all.”
“You’re always thinking of the ladies, Burr,” replied Hamilton with a smile full of banter and hidden meaning.
Whereupon Colonel Schuyler struck one blow on the Iron Altar of the ING and said:—
“Brethren, I demand your attention to open and dedicate this new lodge of the Iron Cross.” Whereupon all arose, drew their swords and held them point upwards.
“What is our first duty upon assembling?” said the Master.
“To see that none are present but sworn and tried brethren,” answered Burr from the South end of the hall (where he was stationed in his official capacity as deputy-grand-Seig).
“Take heed, brethren, is there anyone here unknown or doubtful, or suspected”
“All are good men and true,” answered Burr.
“Brethren, aid me to form the Iron Circle,” spoke the Colonel.
Whereupon, every man stepped forward into the center of the hall holding his naked sword in the right hand. Then placing each man his left hand upon his neighbor's shoulder, they form in a circle. At a word from the Master every sword is uplifted and its tip immersed in the blood on the altar, remaining there fully 60 seconds, during which time the Master slowly, solemnly intoned part of the ritual and invocation of the order, which of course cannot be divulged.
The swords were then withdrawn and (while the Master recited another portion of the ritual) clanged together in the form of an arch of steel above the smoking flame that also stood upon the altar, while the blood from off the blades dripped hissing into the brazier.
Colonel Schuyler then stepped into the middle of the circle with an illuminated manuscript in his hand and called upon the brethren to repeat after him, word for word, the ancient and solemn oath of the degree (which they did). First however, he pointed out to them the figure or letters traced on both sides of the unopened coffin, and said they represented the chart or original authorization issued by the Supreme Grand Lodge of Dalkarlheim founded exactly 800 years ago by Iron Skeggi the unvanquished Jarl; and thereafter handed down in secret (from fear of the Oriental Conquest) through Konar Thurar the “recorder.”
After further impressive ceremonial (which it is unlawful to even mention) every brother formally wiped the blood from off his sword and returned to his seat.
Then the Master of the Hammer reascended the dais and, turning round with the uplifted sign, said:
“Let us now close this lodge of the Iron Cross in the usual form and chant the parting ode.” Each man then filled his long drinking goblet (made of horn) from a large leather bottle of red wine, and sang together, while clinking drinking cup to drinking cup:
Oh, spirit of our Iron Creed,
So stern and strong and high
Help us in this hour of need—
The foe is drawing nigh.
Aid us to free our fatherland
And in its glories share—
Behold thy sign—the naked brand!
Behold the cross we bear!
O, Power. . . . . .
Suddenly in the midst of the solemn anthem, the cock crowed lustily inside of the eight-day clock.
The mechanism had discovered Betsy. Consternation was on every face. Each man's thought was of “spies.”
Immediately the chant ceased and the Master's hammer sounded angrily on the iron altar and he spake in a hoarse menacing tone, saying: “An alarm from the Evil One. To your steel, O, my brothers! The hour is.”
Each brother stepped swiftly back into the shadow of the wall, sword in hand, gazing towards the clock. While all the lights went out except two on each side of Betsy.
Then the Master of the Hammer spoke again, saying:
“Cast open the hidden chamber—that we may behold an intruder and smite him with the stroke of ING. Who seeketh unlawfully to unveil the hidden mysteries of Konar hath incurred the penalty and wrath of the brotherhood.”
Whereupon the Master caused the Red Veil to slide down between him and the brethren.
Young Clinton and Swartwout then seized the back of a high bench, fastened to the wall by iron clamps and dragged it over towards them. Whereupon a creaking sound came from the wall behind the great clock. The rusty mechanism began to move.
The overhead crowing of the cock ceased and the panels of the eight-day clock opened up from the front like the leaves of a great iron book with a harsh grating, grinding sound, exposing to the astonishment, anger and dismay of the entire body of men, the pale, frightened form of Miss Betsy fastened helplessly to the hinges of the unfolding panel by her dress in such a way that she could not move an inch to the right or to the left.
Her head hung down discomfitedly—her face was suffused with blushes and her arms and hands were stretched out at right angles (in the form of a living cross) and from her black lustrous eyes, great bead-like tears began to roll.
The members of the lodge sword-in-hand rushed out of the darkness toward her (amazed at what they saw) then they stopped suddenly half way, irresolute, as if recollecting something. They had all thought the intruder a man—a government secret service agent. Now this clock mechanism had been devised in a previous century for the purpose of trapping spies; also as part of the ceremonial. When the old grey-bearded man (the outer guard) turned the crank in the wall—he had set the spring of the man-trap that now held Betsy helplessly a prisoner.
The iron hammer of the master again sounded thrice—louder than before—the outer guard knocked on the door in response. In the clang of the master's hammer there was a note of menace and rage not to be misunderstood.
Immediately, every brother came to attention—except Clinton and Swartwout, who continued of their own volition to hold on firmly to the lever mechanism that moved the clock and held Betsy captive. If they had pulled it forward another inch—Betsy would have been crushed to death in an instant.
Burr made a sign to the master with his sword which the master replied to, by another sign without speaking. Then Burr walked over to where Betsy was fastened, moved the lever which locked the mechanism and stood by her side as if on military parade. She saw him through her agitation and felt safe again. Meanwhile the master's mind was busy considering how he should act. After fully five minutes had elapsed he stood up and in slow even tones, evidently hiding a deep emotion, said:
“Brethren! This—this—is terrible, terrible. I hardly know what to do or advise. Never before have I, during twenty-five years membership of the Order, been placed in such a predicament. Here we have discovered an intruder—a spy—my own daughter—one known to us all. If it had been a man we would ere this have rid the world of him; for assuredly, the deepest foe of our Order is ever him or her who seeks unlawfully to fathom our fates and our purpose. But can my own daughter, can the child of your chosen master—can Elizabeth Schuyler, be considered and treated as a traitor and a spy? Brethren what shall I do? What shall we all do? My daughter must certainly have heard some of the secrets—she must have listened to the penal oath of the Third Abode, she must have seen the mystery of the great ING— she must have beheld the grips and tokens of the Ninety-and-Nine—she must have heard the Omnific Echo which we have all sworn that no non-initiate can hear and live. She must also have hearkened to our plans for overthrowing and out maneuvering the king's authority—and in high affairs of the State a woman'
s tongue is never to be trusted, even though she be a daughter, a sister, a wife or a mother. Such I declare is the unalterable law. The prisoner before you, she who is my beloved daughter, has thus committed an offense against the Iron Cross, which it is impossible for us as a body or even as individuals to condone—on peril of our own lives—for we belong to a world-encircling society that has never yet permitted any breach of its unchangeable constitution. Therefore, should we personally be unable or unwilling to uphold its sacred constitution (in the workings of our own lodge)—our lives shall surely pay the forfeit. Brethren—our lives are at stake.”
Colonel Schuyler continued in cold calm judicial tones—there was not even a tremor in his voice. He had steeled his heart to go through with the matter. He felt that there was no one present who could act on higher grounds than himself, as master of the lodge—as the oldest initiate—and as father of Betsy. (However, he had seen in his own mind a method of escape, but judiciously gave no hint of it by act or voice. Colonel Schuyler was a diplomat and an old Indian warrior. He knew how to snatch good out of things evil.)
“The constitution,” he said, “clause 10, proclaims the penalty of immediate death against any one who surreptitiously and unlawfully obtains full or partial knowledge of our mysteries.
“We have all, individually and as a body, sworn a solemn oath to protect these mysteries and uphold that constitution, as against the entire world—more especially against women and slaves, and even against our own kindred—our own mothers, fathers, sisters, wives or daughters.
“Thus you see the very trying position we are placed in, as a lodge—and the tragic position I am placed in, as a presiding officer of this lodge and father of the imprisoned intruder.
“Even though she is my daughter—the law as it stands must be vindicated—the unwritten code I affirm shall be upheld—as long as I am wielder of the hammer. BETSY SCHUYLER MUST DIE!’’
Then he repeated aloud that portion of the code which commanded absolutely the summary execution of all spies and traitors.
When Betsy heard her father's judicial words, a wave of chilling terror shot through her body. She rolled her eyes and looked around at the ghastly skulls, the snake flag, the coffin and its cabalistic letters, the shining book and the half-hidden faces of the brethren with their bloody swords standing around the burning altar. Then she swooned.
When she regained consciousness afterwards, Betsy found herself fastened secure in a heavy oaken chair in the center of the lodge. Burr stood by her right hand side, and a young doctor on her left.
The doctor was saying in an undertone with his thumb on her pulse: “She is coming 'round. She is both healthy and strong—stronger in her nerves than many men—which is very fortunate. Indeed she is a veritable chip of the old block.”
Lord Stirling then arose. (He was an American by birth, afterwards a field general under Washington.) He was a tall, robust, square-built man, slightly grizzled, but of a ruddy complexion—a lineal descendant of the lord of the Isles, famous in Scottish song and story. His mother was the widow of New York's celebrated smuggler “ready money Provost.”
“I can keenly feel for Colonel Schuyler,” said Lord Stirling, “and I appreciate his inexorable justness in declaring his own child worthy of death. That his beautiful daughter—our beloved bright-eyed Betsy, has committed a heinous crime against our ancient order I admit, but surely we can discover some other way of securing our secrets and keeping our obligations to the Iron Cross without slaying her. I hope so anyhow.”
“If Lord Stirling can suggest any method,” said Judge Livingston, “I am sure all of us shall be most happy to adopt it. We are in a sad dilemma. If we execute Miss Betsy, her blood will be on our souls and if we do not, we ourselves shall be held guilty by an invincible organization and denounced as traitors. In due time thereafter we shall assuredly be destroyed by the heavy hand—while even our families shall remain under a curse for three generations. Brethren, I adjure you, do not commit yourselves in haste.
“Miss Betsy, I am satisfied, has not become an eavesdropper with any malicious intent. She cannot surely be a royalist spy.”
“Betsy,” said her father, “what did you do this for? Why were you eavesdropping? For what foolish purpose did you hide yourself in the alcove? Did any one else know you to be there?”
“Oh, father, I am so sorry,” answered Betsy pleadingly, “I did it all just for fun. I never thought I was committing a crime. No one else knows anything about it. Oh, father, do save me. Don’t let them kill me!”
“What did you see and what did you hear?” asked her father sternly.
Betsy, thoroughly frightened explained in a severe cross examination that she had heard everything of importance, knew all the passwords, grips and signs—and saw the tragedy and heard the secret speeches. She also repeated the omnific word of AMEN—the word that had never previously been uttered by the lips of a woman or slave. (Many other test questions were put to her which had better remain unwritten, for the Iron Cross is by no means extinct. It is only a thousand times more exactingly select.)
Colonel Schuyler then took his seat on the dais and put the Chief Question to the vote of the brethren.
“Has Betsy Schuyler incurred the Penalty of ING?”
The voting was unanimously in the affirmative and was so announced, while Burr and Dr. Spring supported Betsy in the chair.
Lord Stirling again rose and said: “Brethren, let us not be too hasty. That the captive is guilty we all know, but shall we execute her that is another question? I therefore beg to put another test question to the vote if I am in Order. It is this: “That Betsy Schuyler be now executed by the members of this lodge in accordance with the ancient formula.”
This led to a prolonged and heated discussion, for every brother well knew that his own life was involved in the decision. Each man understood that in joining the Iron Cross he carried his life in his hands.
Lord Stirling's motion was put to the vote by the master. Result ten for and ten against—the casting vote of the master (her own father) could thus settle Betsy's fate.
Betsy's life hung on a hair. Her father only could save her. Col. Schuyler showed no sign. His face was like stone.
Then he arose and dropped his “AYE” vote into the urn, saying: “Brethren, I must vote in the affirmative. My obligation is more to me than the life of a beloved daughter. Let the penalty be carried out. The cause of the Revolution is more to me than the life of any living being—I—I—I will do my duty brethren, even as Job — 'though all my kindred perish.’”
At this point Aaron Burr arose. His fertile brain had also in the meantime been busy seeking for some expedient whereby Betsy's life could be saved and the lodge exonerated at the same time from blame or penalty.
“I have a suggestion to offer for the good of the Iron Cross and our own fame.” (All the brethren turned inquiringly towards him.)
“It is, that Miss Betsy Schuyler be now initiated into this lodge, in the regular and lawful manner. By doing so we can free our minds from the memory of her death and free ourselves (officially at least) from the penalty of the Iron Hand. Our action can thereafter be referred to the Supreme Council to pass upon. I am sure if this trouble is properly represented to them, by our executive, that they must absolve us from the severer blame.”
Burr's idea seemed to meet with general approval. The brethren began to look happy again and Betsy took courage and glanced pleasantly at Burr through her tears and blushes.
Then Robert Troup arose and said: “But if we initiate a woman to our order we break another vital law : “NO WOMAN SHALL ON ANY ACCOUNT BE ADMITTED.’”
Hamilton then arose and said:
“I believe that Brother Burr's suggestion is a most excellent one. I think we should all feel extremely grateful to him for his very timely proposition. We have also an excellent precedent for such action as he has suggested in an event which happened 8,900 years ago in the kingdom of Surrapuk. A beautiful prince
ss of the royal line named Zilla, being consumed with a burning curiosity to know the mysteries of the ING, intoxicated her lover, (Crown Prince Arling) by means of a magical love-drug and wormed out of him the first token of the second AMEN.”
“The Grand Commander—when this was discovered —ordered her to be first initiated into the Order, then married to her lover and immured for life in one of the triple-walled harems of the High Priest.”
“Thereafter Prince Arling was kept under the perpetual surveillance of the Selectors of the Slain and finally disappeared in the midst of a great naval battle with the men of Thurar—his younger brother, a man of sterner stuff—being anointed to the throne.”
“Then George Clinton (afterwards Governor of New York) arose and said: “I also have an idea. It is this, that Miss Betsy be initiated as if she were a man and possessed of a man's name. She can adopt her father's name for example. Thus we can avoid the difficulty alluded to by Brother Troup.
Brethren let us escape from this very awkward predicament the best way we can. Let us accept Miss Schuyler as a sworn brother of the first degree and thus free ourselves from a very grievous responsibility.
Let her be instructed to avow herself a MAN and we need not (officially at least) doubt her declaration. Technically also such declaration will be true—all women are ‘mankind.’”
At this Judge Livingston arose and said:
“Brethren and annointed Master, might I also make a suggestion? It is this: Why not also provide Miss Betsy with a husband before she leaves the lodge room? This would be an additional precaution and perhaps a very effective one. As the wife of a brother her tongue would be doubly sealed. She would not surely consciously betray her husband, father, brother and cousins to their sure destruction and the confiscation of their property.”