by Desmond Dilg
The older men smiled grimly at this proposition, but the younger men received it with evident enthusiasm.
The beautiful blushing Betsy had won the sympathy and love of nearly every one of them—by the very brave manner with which she bore herself through an ordeal which might shake the nerve of the strongest man.
Whereupon the question was formally put to the vote:
“Shall Phillip Schuyler, Junior, be elected and initiated as a member of this lodge of the Iron Cross?”
Needless to say, Betsy was elected.
She was then released from the bonds that bound her, removed to an ante room and permitted to arrange her dress for the coming ceremony—in accordance with the preparatory regulations and rules of the order which were quickly explained by her father (who now felt as if a mountain of lead had been lifted from off his heart).
Then the lodge room was re-arranged and Betsy re- admitted—her hands only bound. By her side walked Burr and Dr. Spring, each armed with a naked sword. . . .
“Mr. Phillip Schuyler, I must now claim your attention to some searching questions and I expect an honorable series of replies,” said the Master to Betsy from the dais as she entered under guard.
You have been elected as a first degree brother of the most noble Order of the Iron Cross—an order more ancient than the Pylonites of Atalanta, the temple of Eleusis, the caverns of Kos, the pyramids of Khem.
“Are you now prepared to face every trial with a stout heart, for it is our custom to test the courage and fortitude of every one seeking to lift the weapon?”
“I am,” answered Betsy, prompted by Burr.
“Do you pledge your sacred word of honor not now to withdraw from the distinction of initiation which the Iron Cross proposes to confer upon you, both for its own safety and for yours? Remember, Mr. Phillip Schuyler, Junior, your life is absolutely forfeit and if we spare that life we expect you to swear unlimited obedience to the Lords of the Iron Cross and be faithful till death. Are you ready to take such oath and make such sacred and solemn declaration?”
“I am,” answered Betsy, again prompted by Burr.
“Art thou by inheritance a man of the Blood—free-born and without blemish?”
“I am.”
“In the hour of supreme dismay in what dost thou put thy trust?”
“In the Averter of Destruction.”
“In What else?”
“In mine own fortitude and the unflinching aid of all my brethern of the blood.”
“Should you ever betray the mysteries and purpose of our Order, what do you agree should be thy fate?”
“Annihilation,” replied Betsy, still prompted by the kind gentle tones of Burr, who quietly stood beside and encouraged her from time to time.
“Art thou prepared to give up friends and family; and, go forth to battle, at the Order's call?”
“I am so prepared,” replied Betsy.
“You agree to be a companion, good and true—to strictly uphold the principles of the Iron Cross—as handed down to you and obey at all times the summons of the Supreme Seven?”
“I do,” replied Betsy.
“You agree that it is not in the power of any human being, or association of human beings, to make fundamental changes in the ritual, creed, or secrets, symbolized by the Iron Sign, and the Saga of Thurar.”
“I do.”
“You agree to aid any brother (companion of the Order) in all his laudable ambitions when requested by him so to do; also at all times and under all circumstances to defend his fame, and his private and public reputation to the utmost of your strength and ability, whether you believe him to be right or wrong?”
“I do.”
“You agree that men are fundamentally divided by nature and from birth into the noble and the base?”
“I do.”
“You agree that no power either spiritual or temporal can abrogate the Iron Law that the Higher Man has a just and proper right to reign and possess—also that it is nobler in this world to rule over others than to be ruled over?”
“I do.”
“You agree that the higher and the lower among men and throughout all animate nature can only be discovered to us, through and by the omnific Word and procedure of the Sign of Ing.”
“I do,” replied Betsy.
“You agree that the secret arts, parts, and philosophies of the Wonderful Legend cannot safely be entrusted to subordinate personalities—to woman or to slaves?”
“I do.”
“Your answers to these leading interrogations proving satisfactory,” continued the master of the hammer, “I have now to request you to subscribe to the ancient obligation as a final test of your sincerity. You will therefore take this naked steel in your right hand and this fleshless skull in your left hand:
Then raising the steel thus, you will repeat after me.” (Here the members of the lodge surrounded Betsy and held their swords in the form of an arch over her head.)
“I, Phillip Schuyler, Junior, in the name of the Iron Cross and of the Three Amens, seated upon this coffin, with emblems of mortality in each hand, and in the presence of twenty one brethern of a superior degree, do hereby and hereon most solemnly and sincerely pledge my sacred word of honor, to conceal the double philosophy of the Fiery Volume from all persons whatsoever outside the Ring of Fate; that I will hide the same from child or wife, from father, mother, sister or brother—from fire and wind—from wood and stone—from paper and ink—from solid and liquid—from all things living or dead—from all things spiritual or temporal—from all things born or yet to be born—upon earth, above earth or beneath it.
“Under no less a penality than that of being taken out at the hour of high night and. . . . and also that my name and the name of my family, be razed forever and ever from the everlasting records of the Lords of the Iron Ing.
“I also pledge myself to uphold and defend the chastity and honor of a brother's wife, his sister, mother or daughter—and never on any account to reveal what passess within this lodge to priest or to physician, whether in sickness, in death or under torture.”
After further questioning and impressive symbolic ceremonial the star-eyed Betsy was entrusted with the second sign, countersign, and simulacra of the first degree and around her waist Aaron Burr knotted the Mystic Girdle and the Weapon of Fate.
Then spake her father from the dais:—
“Brethern I sincerely thank you for admitting my daughter. I thank you also for my own sake, as well as hers. My position tonight, if you had voted for her rejection would indeed have been terrible to say the least. If you had voted for death, I can assure I would never have raised my voice against the immediate execution of the sentence—though it would have wrung my heart and probably blasted my life—or driven me insane.
“It is, I know, better that one life should be extinguished than that all of us should be destroyed. It requires no further words of mine to remind you of the omnipotence of the Iron Cross. Better that we individually and collectively had never been born than to incur its hostility.
“However, (under fearful provocation) you have given me back my child. It is as if she had been born again, and in gratitude therefor—also as an additional safeguard to us all—I now adopt the suggestion of Brother Judge Livingston, for it will be admitted, that we must to the utmost make ourselves absolutely secure.
“It would be well I think, that my daughter should marry someone from among those who are present tonight. I therefore offer Betsy as a wife and £10,000 in gold to any man of you whom she herself may select. I will add an additional condition also viz., that he whom she selects must win himself a high and honorable position in the world within five years.”
This proposition met with universal favor and enthusiastic acclaim.
Betsy looked at Burr inquiringly, then at Alexander Hamilton, then at Clinton and young Brockholst Livingston—and then again at Burr.
“Betsy,” said her father. “In gratitude for the salvation of yo
ur life are you willing to obey my wish in this matter. You have heard my proposition?
“Will you now promise to pick a husband exclusively from among the members of this lodge, who are now every one of them chancing their lives to save yours?”
Betsy replied in the affirmative—looking demurely yet furtively at Burr and Hamilton alternately— while the tears again rolled down her cheeks.
“Father,” she replied. “I will do as you wish. But O, this is dreadful. Did ever a girl have to go through such terrible things.”
Nevertheless Betsy had already decided to marry Burr, and if not him, then Hamilton.
Then the lodge took an interval for refreshments. Biscuits, wine and cheese were placed on a side table and . . . . . . . . . . .
So they seated Betsy like a lovely queen on the center of the circle. And toasted her—(with clinking glasses and naked blades clashing above her wondering head.)
Thus the toastmaster Burr:—
A bumper to Miss Betsy—
Confusion to the King—
Now fill your flowing glasses
And let your voices ring.
Thus the brethern enjoyed themselves for a while (as was the old custom) drinking revolutionary toasts. While many of the younger men were eagerly making love to Betsy. After a while Colonel Schuyler took Betsy over to the clock and explained its hidden mechanism while at the same time gently chiding her for her perilous breach of decorum. He showed her how the machine was intended for the entrapment of spies or eavesdroppers and how it was fitted up to crush and slay anyone who ever surreptitiously hid therein, and how the turning over of a lever within the lodge room set it in motion, and how upon the pressing of another lever the crushed body would be cast into a sewer which connected with the Hudson.
Before the business of the gathering concluded Colonel Schuyler made a short address, impressing upon the brethern the increasing necessity of care and circumspection in all external affairs and lodge matters as the times were full of danger, suspicion, underground conspiracy, threatenings of civil war, arrest and deportation.
He also spoke of the unwritten, and traditional history of the Iron Cross, pointing out that it had been in existence for ages, that being founded on the Eternal Order of Things it could never be crushed out, that it arose again and again (at critical periods) to vindicate the inherent Identity of the Individual Man, against the groping terrorism of insane monarchs, shrieking demagogues or crazed serviles.
Then he turned to Betsy and quoting from the Book of Ritual (the Book of Double Interpretations) read unto her in highly impressive tones:
“Should you ever from any cause whatsoever fail to remember your solemn pledge tonight, and in consequence thereof should injury result to any of the brethren or to the Order-in-general, then evil shall surely come upon thee and thine to the third and fourth generation.
“Thy days shall be shortened in the land of thy fathers and thy children made desolate. For thine iniquity and treachery thy kindred shall suffer as well as thyself. They shall be cast down and beg their bread from door to door, for the punishment of wrongdoing cannot be absolved. Their dwellings shall be given over to the loaners of money who shall sweep away all that they hath. No one shall aid them in the dark hour of their despair, for the penalty of sin is in the blood of the sinful breed. No one shall have mercy upon them and both thou and they shall be blotted out forever, from the memory of man and woman.
As Nature is inexorable to the backslider (and to his generations) so is the Iron Cross. It neither relents, nor relaxes, nor repents. Onward and ever onward it goes, over good and evil, through glacial ages and ages of flame, through joy and through sorrow, through tranquility, decay, and hushless whirlwinds of strife.”
Now, Colonel Schuyler was in his heart very proud of his beautiful daughter (for her display of courage) and when the ceremonial and the toasts had all been concluded he kissed and commended her tenderly and walked out of the open lodge door with her on his arm, warning her again and again to be silent and discreet. It was the small hours of the morning before the brethern completed their labors and finally dispersed.
It was agreed that the next meeting should be held in “Liberty Hall,” at Elizabethtown, one of the Livingston's new mansions. A few of the Brethren living at a distance were cordially invited to stay all night by the hospitable Judge Livingston—(he who afterwards became the personal friend of General Bonaparte—the grandest, boldest and most commendable Venturer of his age.)
Burr and Hamilton departed together. At that time Burr was sojourning with some relatives of his brother-in-law, Judge Tappan Reeve.
“Well, with the exception of the trouble over Miss Betsy,” remarked Hamilton inquiringly, “our first move has been an exceptionally brilliant success. What next, Burr?”
“O, don’t be in a hurry,” replied Burr lightly, “let the yeast work—let it have time to work. A little leaven you know leaveneth the whole lump. One thing, however, I do not like is this unfortunate affair of Miss Schuyler. It fills me with a curious foreboding of evil to you and to me. There is an old saying and I think a true one that bad luck overtakes conspirators who share their plans with a woman.”
“What do you mean, Burr? Do you think Miss Betsy will denounce us to the government before our plans are completed. Betsy, our newly made 'brother'—the beautiful, black-eyed Betsy.”
“I don’t know what to think,” answered Burr. But an inner voice tells me that the presence of a woman among us in this early stage of our venturing presages misfortune, the breaking of friendships, perhaps the spilling of blood. I think she is in love with you too, Hamilton. If so you are a lucky dog. She is very handsome, well-born, well-bred, has a certain dowry of ten thousand pounds in gold, and her father has a splendid lumber and trading estate near Saratoga. He is, I hear, the richest man in Albany—a sort of Colonial Baron.”
“Look here, Burr,” was Hamilton's reply. “That Miss Betsy is handsome I admit, but that she is in love with me I doubt. She danced all the best dances with you and young Livingston. For my own part I love another woman—a lovely creature. But I am a penniless student and Betsy's promised dowry is an almost irresistible attraction. Is she not good, beautiful and rich.
In this world a man without money is like a prisoner in chains. And to marry without money is therefore a hazardous undertaking, very. After all, Burr, gold is the universal divinity. Gold, gold, how glorious is gold—and yet love is glorious, too. How happy must he be who has them both. I have no patience with those who laud the beauty of poverty. Let them be poor who want to be poor, but give me riches. Ah, it is godlike, Burr, to be wealthy and powerful and young.”
“No doubt about it,” answered Burr. “Your sentiments are mine. Gold is certainly the most convincing thing in the world, but the love of woman is sweet beyond compare. Why then not marry Miss Betsy if she loves you? Why not set yourself out to capture her? But, by the way, who is this other lovely creature you rave about?”
“Her name is Provost. You have never met her,” replied Hamilton. “And the trouble of it is that she is the wife of another man and is ten years older than myself. You’ve heard of Colonel Sir George Provost, who led the Royal American Regiment so gallantly at the storming of Quebec under General Wolfe. I met her about three months ago in New York and I can assure you she stole my heart before I had spoken five words to her. Indeed I was drawn towards her as if she were a living magnet.”
“What is the new divinity's name?”
“Her maiden name is De Visme—Theodosia De Visme. She is of Swiss descent, has great lustrous hazel eyes, long brown hair, a glorious complexion, a superbly molded ankle, walks with the step and mien of a Cleopatra and wears a silken turban, which sets her off to great advantage.”
“But,” replied Burr, “as you cannot have the wife of another man, you had better marry Miss Schuyler. I am sure it would please her father, for he has I’ve heard a very high opinion of you, because of those pamphlets you wrote in conju
nction with Livingston.”
“Burr,” said Hamilton “you touch me to the quick. I really don’t know how to act for the best. What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
“I would be practical. I would marry Miss Schuyler. She has the money and with money you can become famous.
“You have never been in love?” inquired Hamilton.
“No, I don’t know what love is. I only know of love as it is in books. I have met many specimens of the superb feminine, but none of them has ever put me off my balance.”
“You will meet your fate some day, Burr, and then you'll understand how I feel. I believe I could willingly lay down my life to gain Mrs. Provost. I love her madly, Burr. I love her with a fierce passionate burning love, a love that can never be quenched within me except by the clods rattling down on my coffin lid. Burr, I feel I could commit murder for that woman.”
“Hamilton! With all your cold calculating phrases you are yet as full of sentiment as any maiden. She must indeed be a glorious woman to have captivated you in that way, you are so very fastidious.”
“She is, Burr. She is a royal creature—a woman beyond compare.”
“But as she is married,” replied Burr, “that is an insuperable difficulty.”
“Married or not married I love her still,” cried Hamilton with an emphatic gesture. “Her husband may die.”
The two friends walked on conversing thus until they reached Ferry street.
That night, as Aaron Burr blew out the light in his room before retiring, he muttered to himself:
“Betsy loves me, not Hamilton, that, I am absolutely certain. She and her ten thousand belong to Aaron Burr, if he so desire. I have a strange wish, however, to behold this lovely Mrs. Provost of the Silken Turban. Do I care for Betsy? No. No I don't.”