University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER TENTH
THE GOLDEN SIGNET AND ITS COUNTERPART.

“The drug has done its work—” he exclaimed, in a voice whose joyous
intonation could not be drowned, even by his mask—“The fellow has
done his work. We have used him—he shall trouble us no more!”

Scarce had he spoken, when an incident occurred, which exercised an
important influence on the fate of the doomed hunter.

At the back of the Deathsman, treading at his very heels, appeared a
man, whose sharp features were shadowed by a three-cornered hat, while
his slender limbs were clad in dark attire, made after the fashion of the
oklen time, the coat with its skirts drooping to his knees, the vest reaching
far below the waist, and the ends of a white neckcloth dangling on
the breast.

The face of this man—clad, not in the robes and symbols of the secret
order, but in the attire of a plain citizen—was marked by a long hooked
nose, pinched lips, sharp eyes, and high cheek-bones. It was dark-brown
in complexion, and the hair which straggled from beneath his
three-cornered hat, was of jetty blackness, with here and there a lock of
silvery whiteness.

“While he is in this stupor, we will have him conveyed on to the
City, placed on shipboard, and then!—ho, for the Coast of Africa, and
the Slave Trade. Gilbert Morgan will never trouble the Wissahikon
woods again.”

A smile was perceptible on the sharp features of the stranger, dressed
in black, as he stole softly on tip-toe behind the Deathsman, and touched
his shoulder with the forefinger of his right hand.

“Tell your Grand Master that I wish to see him, and have a few
moments' conversation with him,” said the unknown, while the smile
deepened over his face.

“Hey? who spoke?“ The Deathsman wheeled suddenly, and saw
the slender form of the stranger—“Who are you?”

“Will you convey my message to your Grand Master?” And taking
a handsome snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket, he tapped the lid, and
conveyed same portion of its contents to his nose.

The hideous mask covered the face of the Deathsman; the surprise,
the overwhelming wonder stamped on his features, was not visible, but as
he spoke again, the intonation of his voice—no longer deep and measured
—but harsh and hurried, told the story of his amazement. “And who

are you? You dare intrude upon the council of our Order—you!
Know you not—”

“Pooh, pooh! That is sufficient,” said the gentleman, smiling all
over his sharp features—“Convey my message, and let the Grand Master
attend me.”

The unknown crossed his hands behind his back, and advanced to the
hearth.

For a moment the Deathsman seemed to hesitate, and again he asked—

“Who are you? Your name, your business here? If you belong to
the Grand Lodge, give me the Word and the sign—”

“I shall do no such thing, for I do not belong to the Grand Lodge. I
merely wish to see the Grand Master. Is that not plain enough? Can
you understand me now?”

“This is against our laws. You—a person altogether unknown—
have penetrated into this house, and dared to spy out those mysteries in
which you have neither part nor lot. Without regalia—without one sign
to indicate Brotherhood or authority, you desire to see the Grand Master.
It cannot be—”

The Deathsman stood, resting his hand on the chair of the unconscious
hunter, with the light playing freely over his grotesque disguise, and
showing, in bold relief, the contrast between it and the plain, dark apparel
of the unknown.

“It can be—” the slender gentleman wheeled suddenly, and tapped the
lid of his snuff-box—“It must!”

Then, passing before the slumbering Gilbert, he seated himself in the
unoccupied chair, and stretched his spare limbs, with silver buckles on
the knees and shoes, in the cheerful glow of the fire.

The Deathsman retired in silence; again the key grated in the lock.

“A huge fellow—brawny form—a vast fund of nerve. Something
might be made of him. That forehead tells the story of a man who won't
stand upon trifles, or—once aroused—be held back by scruples of
any sort.”

Glancing upon the brown visage of the sleeper, the unknown very
coolly applied himself to his favorite stimulant—the dark tobacco dust—
crossed his limbs in a posture of great complacency, and, placing his
thumbs together, seemed to be altogether at home in this mysterious
chamber.

The key grated in the lock, and as the door flew open, the Grand
Master entered, his tall and somewhat commanding form clad in the purple
robe, dazzling with embroidery, the white veil shadowing his bronzed
features, and the solitary plume waving from the coronal of gold leaves
on his forehead.

Advancing one step from the threshold, he paused, and exclaimed, in
that deep tone, evidently assumed—

“Who is it that demands audience with the Grand Master of the B.
H. A. C.?”

“A-h—you have come,”—the unknown carelessly turned his head
over his shoulder—“I have waited for you. I have waited. Be pleased
to close the door, turn the key, and come hither.”

The Grand Master started; his eyes flashed, even through the lace
which veiled his features. For an instant he stood as if completely confounded
by the words of this slender gentleman, whose neat black attire,
and features—sharpened as by the systematic attrition of traffic—indicated
the plain citizen, the restless merchant of the large city.

However, as though mastering his indignation for the moment, he
quietly closed the door, turned the key in the lock, and approached the
unknown.

“Now, sir, I will hear you. After I have heard—” his voice, growing
bold and harsh with anger, was interrupted by the sharp tones of the
gentleman in dark attire.

“After you have heard, you will obey. That is plain, sir. Will you
permit me to ask you a question?”

“Speak on.”

“To whom does the Initiate into a subordinate Lodge of the B. H. A.
C. swear allegiance?”

“To the Honorable Master of the Lodge, of course. Did you know
any thing of our Order—”

“Bah! Enough of that kind of talk. Let me ask you another
question. To whom does the Honorable Master of a subordinate Lodge
of the B. H. A. C., swear allegiance.”

“To the Most Venerable Grand Master of the B. H. A. C. for the
Continent of America—to me!”

And the dazzling robe fluttered with the impulse of the broad chest
which swelled beneath it. The entire appearance of this personage, clad
in kingly robes, and standing erect, was in vivid contrast with the plain
attire and careless attitude of the slender gentleman.

“And, my dear friend—” the snuff-box was again called into play—
“if I may be so impertinent as to press the subject—To whom does the
Right Venerable, the Grand Master of the Order for the Continent of
America, swear allegiance?”

“The Most Venerable, you mean—”

“No, sir. The Right Venerable. `Most' does not belong to you—
nor to your office.”

The Grand Master was silent.

“You seem to hesitate. Is not the question easy? You remember
the last act of your installation into the Grand Master's chair, when the
box or casket containing the Will of your predecessor was placed in

your hands, sealed with the Great Seal of the Order, which no one save
the Elect Grand Master dare touch?”

“True—there was an obligation—a charge—but there is no such body
in existence as the Supreme Lodge of the Order, controlling its operations
throughout the World.”

There was a strange hesitation in the manner, a perceptible tremor in
the voice of the Grand Master.

“Ah—ha! You have discovered at last, that there is such a body as
the `Supreme Lodge'—” the sharp-featured smiled in his parched lips
and small black eyes—“And the obligation that you took, invoking upon
your head the vengeance of God, the tortures of Eternal Death, in case
you broke your vow—do you remember its last and most important
word?”

“Who are you?” fiercely exclaimed the Grand Master, unconsciously
echoing the question which the Deathsman had asked—“You have
dared to question me, and I have tamely answered. Now, it is my turn
to question; yours to answer. Unfold at once your name, your
mission within these walls, or, at a sign from me, the members of the
Order will throng this room, and mete out to you the doom of the
—spy.”

He raised his right arm, and his eyes flashed through the veil with
the glare of ungovernable rage.

“ `And in case I refuse at any time to obey the mandate of the Supreme
Lodge, when conveyed to me in ancient form, the Brothers of the Order
shall be absolved from all allegiance to me; the Lodges on this Continent
are from that moment empowered by the sacred customs of the B. H. A.
C., to disown my sway, dishonor my name, and hunt me to the death,
under the irrevocable BAN.' ”

As he repeated these words, in a slow and measured tone, the gentleman
dressed in black arose, and passing before the sleeping hunter, confronted
the Grand Master.

“This is the last word of the Obligation which you took over the
dead body of your Predecessor. Do you remember it now?”

It was a singular thing to see the change which came over the gorgeously
arrayed Grand Master, as this plainly attired man uttered these
words. He was silent; he tottered, and only saved himself from falling
by placing his hand upon the back of Gilbert's chair.

“ `And I will recognise the Messenger of the Supreme Lodge, whenever
he appears holding in his hand the counterpart of the golden signet,
which I wear on my heart as the emblem of my authority, and also as
the Great Seal of the Grand Lodge—' ”

Extending his hand, the unknown grasped the golden medal, or, to
describe it more properly, the Great Seal, which, supported by a heavy chain
—also of gold—shone on the Grand Master's breast.

“You behold the figures on this medal, which—when it is impressed
upon the melted wax—appear in the distinct shape of King Solomon on
his throne, with the Temple in the distance, and Hebrew and Arabic
characters, traced on the Mosaic floor at his feet? Now look upon the
counterpart of this signet.”

He placed in the hands of the Grand Master a small casket of dark
wood, the lid of which flew open at his touch.

“Hah!” ejaculated the Grand Master, as he beheld the medal which
the casket contained—“It is indeed very like the signet—”

“Like? It is the same, only on your medal the figures are sunken;
here they are raised. Do you want further proof?”

He took the medal of the Grand Master, and placed his own upon it.
The raised figures on the one, fitted into the sunken spaces on the other,
with so much exactness, that the two seemed but one piece of solid gold.

“What do you demand?”—the voice of the Grand Master was changed
from its late fiery and indignant tones. “I must confess that it appears
to me, that this may be only an imposition—I never heard of the Supreme
Lodge as a body in actual existence—”

“You thought, my good sir, that it was only a masonic expression
for the Power of the Almighty, and, governed by this thought, have assumed
titles and privileges which do not belong to you—have in fact invaded
the Prerogative of the Supreme Lodge, and usurped its functions!”

The gentleman in dark attire placed the casket within his waistcoat,
and again supplied his nostrils with tobacco dust, as he remarked—

“Right Venerable Grand Master, you will take one arm of this insensible
man, and assist me to convey him into the presence of the Supreme
Lodge—”

“But the Grand Lodge await my return. The Brothers will think
strangely of my absence—”

“They will have to continue thinking strangely, for a great while,”
said the dark gentleman, with an ominous smile. “Was it not enough,
sir, that you held in your grasp the revenues and power of the Order?
At your word, a thousand men—all bold and unscrupulous, and fitted by
desperation for any deed—started into action, on every part of the Continent
of America. At your mandate, the ocean was whitened by the
sails of at least five hundred ships, whose dark flags bore the same skull
and crossbones with the dagger and the motto of the order. You had
only to speak, and lo! in any of the cities of the North or South, your
bidding was done—property and life became, through the ten thousand
hands of the Order, your easy prey. But this it seems was not enough.
Not enough to hold a power, which, striking from the dark—deemed
fabulous by the great mass—rivalled, in its certainty of action, the sway
of an absolute Monarch, and, at the same time, was secured from all
danger, all responsibility, by the cloud of an impenetrable mystery. Not

enough to dwell in a splendid mansion, in the great city, and be caressed
by the rich and aristocratic, while every Minion of the Crown thought it
but a proper reverence for `high birth and great property' to do you especial
honor. This did not satisfy your ambition. You aimed at the
supreme power—ay, sir, only this night, laid your plans to convey into
your own hands the thousand doubloons, which were ordered to be
secured for the use of the Supreme Lodge.”

Even beneath his royal robe, the Grand Master trembled like a reed in
the blast.

“You know my name—” he faltered.

The slender man tapped the lid of his snuff-box, and, with a deep bow,
offered its contents to the Grand Master—

“Will you take the arm of this insensible man?”

It was done. They raised the sleeping man from the chair, and, supporting
his unconscious form between them, departed from the room. As
they passed the threshold, the gentleman in black whispered pleasantly
to the Grand Master—

“You do not know all the secrets of this old house. You doubtless
thought that all its rooms were occupied by your subordinates, and quite
forgot the fact, that the second story of the back part of this mansion
communicates with the steep hill on the north, by a door and a passage
not ten feet from where we stand. Do you believe in the Supreme
Lodge now?”

They passed the threshold, and, instead of descending the stairs into the
room of the Grand Lodge, traversed the corridor in an opposite direction.
Presently, as he grasped the body of the unconscious hunter with his
muscular right arm, the Grand Master heard a key turn in a lock.

At the same moment, the whisper of the unknown thrilled on his ear,
even through the darkness:

“Let us enter. This passage leads us into the bosom of the hill, at
the back of the mansion.”

Scarcely had the Grand Master and the unknown, bearing the form of
Gilbert, left the small apartment, warmed by the cheerful wood fire, and
lighted by the candle on the table, when a figure crossed its threshold,
and the Deathsman appeared once more.

“Strange! The Grand Master not here, and the Traitor also gone!”
he ejaculated, as he surveyed the vacant apartment. “Who can it be,
that so boldly desired an audience with him?”

He left the room with a hurried step, and in a few moments reappeared,
with the Grand Herald by his side.

“This is indeed singular,” said that personage, as his white robe, dazzling
with stars, glittered in the light—“Gone, did you say? The Grand

Master, the doomed and the unknown? Have you no traces? By what
means could they have obtained egress from the house?”

To this hurried question, which he propounded without raising the veil
from his face, there was no answer. These two ministers of the Grand
Organization of the B. H. A. C. left the apartment, and descended into
the Hall of the Grand Lodge together.

Day was breaking without the desolate mansion; and in the hall, the
candles standing on the pedestals, were burning fast toward their
sockets.

Still seated in a circle, their purple robes glowing in the wavering light,
the Brothers of the Grand Lodge awaited the return of their Chief. His
platform was vacant; the Grand Herald, leaning on his wand, stood near
its foot, and by his side, the Deathsman. Through the masks which
covered their faces, they gazed over the forms of the brethren, who conversed
in whispers; their all-absorbing topic, the unaccountable disappearance
of the Great Head of the Lodge.

“It cannot be done—” whispered the Deathsman—“It is against all
custom, for even a Right Venerable Warden to adjourn the Grand Lodge.
It cannot be done without the presence of our Chief.”

“Yet, what else can we do?” interposed the Grand Herald—“Our
chief, who opened this session, is absent. It is near daybreak, and we
do not wish to be seen leaving this house in the broad light of morning.
Brethren,” he cried aloud, “in the absence of the Grand Master, I
would suggest that the Grand Warden be empowered to close this
session—”

The sentence was never completed. For, as the lights were burning in
the sockets, the hangings opposite the platform were raised, and a
murmur of surprise broke the stillness—

“The Grand Master! At last he has come—”

The Grand Master, clad in the robes of his office, strode slowly, and
with a measured step, through the ranks of his brethren. As he ascended
the platform, it might be seen that the golden signet was still suspended
from his neck, while his bronzed features were covered by the veil.

“Brothers of the Grand Lodge—” he began, but paused—as four veiled
figures, bearing a coffin, crossed the threshold and advanced toward the
platform. Every member could not fail to observe that the voice of the
Grand Master was strangely changed, as he continued:

“Behold the crose of Gilbert Morgan, who was executed in my presence
by the Ministers of the Supreme Lodge!”

The effect of his words upon the members of the Order, was not discernible,
for as he spoke, the lights, flickering for the last time, went out in

darkness, and, amid the whispers which echoed from every side, only
three words were audible—“The Supreme Lodge!”

The Grand Master had been gone for the space of three—perchance
four hours.

Shall we lift the curtain from the councils of the Supreme Lodge, and
reveal the history of those hours?