University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

Our Hero, the present Thrice Illustrious TIMOTHY
PEACOCK, Esquire, was born in a small village in the
interior of Rhode Island. His father and mother were
deserters from a British fleet. They had, however, once
seen brighter days than this circumstance might seem to
imply; for Mr. Peacock, at one time, had the honor to
write himself Chief Butcher to His Majesty George III.,
London. Mrs. Peacock, before she united her destinies
to those of the honored father of our hero—that union which
was to bestow upon the New World the brightest masonic
star that ever illumined the wondering hemisphere of the
West—Mrs. Peacock, I say, was called the Billingsgate
Beauty. They very mackerels she sold might shrink from
a comparison with the plumpness of her person, and the
claws of her own lobsters were nothing in redness to the
vermillion of her cheeks. She made, as may well be supposed,
sad devastation among the hearts of the gallant
young fish-mongers.—Oystermen, clam-cryers, carpers,
shrimpers and all—all fell before the scorching blaze of
her optical artillery. But she would have mercy on none
of them; she aspired to a higher destiny; and her laudable
ambition was rewarded with the most flattering success;
for she soon saw herself the distinguished lady of
Peletiah Peacock, Chief Butcher to His Majesty. But

how she became the envy of many a dashing butcheress,
by the splendor of her appearance,—how her husband
flourished, and how he fell, and was driven from the stalls
of royalty,—how he took leave of the baffled bum-bailiffs
of his native city, enlisted on board a man of war, and
sailed for America, with permission for his loving rib to accompany
him,—how they both deserted at a New England
port, at which the vessel had touched, and were housed in
a friendly hay-stack in the neighborhood till the search
was over and vessel departed,—and, finally, how they travelled
over land till they reached the smiling village where
they found their abiding domicil, belongs, perhaps, to the
literati of Britain to relate. They have, and of right ought
to have, the first claim on the achievements of their countrymen
with which to fill the bright pages of their country's
biography; and to them then let us graciously yield the
honor of enshrining his memory with those of their Reverend
`Fiddlers' and truth-telling `Trollopes.' Far be it from
me to rob them of the glory of this theme.—Mine is a different
object; and I shall mention no more of the deeds of
the father than I conceive necessary to elucidate the history
of the son, whose brilliant career I have attempted, with
trembling diffidence, to sketch in the following unworthy
pages.

The place where the Peacocks had fixed their permanent
residence was, as before intimated, a small village
in the state of Rhode Island. This village, I beg leave to
introduce to the reader, under the significant appellation
of Mugwump, a word which being duly interpreted means
(unless my etymology is sadly at fault) much the same as
Mah-hah-bone—which last, after a most laborious and learned
research, I have fortunately discovered to signify nothing in
particular; though, at the same time, I am perfectly aware
that both these terms are used at the present day, vulgarly
and masonically, as synonymous with greatness and
strength. But to our story: Mr. Peacock had no sooner
become fairly settled than he began to devise the ways and
means for a future independence; and such was his assiduity

to business, and such his financial wisdom derived
from lessons of sad experience in the old world, that his
exertions in the new soon began to count brightly; and
the third anniversary of his entry into Mugwump found him
the owner of a snug little establishment devoted to public
entertainment, under the sign of a bull-dog, which he lucklessly
selected in memory of a faithful animal of that species
that had once backed a writ for him, that is, had given
him bail by holding back a sheriff by the tail of the
coat till his master could shift for himself—I say lucklessly,
for the malicious and unfriendly took occasion from this
circumstance to christen Mr. Peacock's inn by the name of
the Doggery; and hence unjustly sprung that epithet now
extensively applied to low grog-shops, sluttish taverns, &c.
In this situation, however, notwithstanding these attempted
disparagements of the envious, Mr. Peacock soon had
thriven to such a degree as to be able to bid defiance to
all the constables and sheriffs this side of London.—Indeed
he now began to be reckoned a man of some pecuniary
consequence. This was indeed a source of much pride
and gratification to Mrs. Peacock, who began, both by precept
and example, to enlighten her ignorant neighbors in
matters of London gentility; but was it sufficient to satisfy
the mind of one of Mr. Peacock's endowments—of one
whose honored name and avocation was once coupled with
the Majesty of England? By no means!—He wished only
a competence; and this attained, his ambition began to
soar to higher honors than the mere possession of sordid
lucre, in this land of republican simplicity, will bestow.
But how to gain these honors and arrive at his former dignity
of station was a subject that often sadly puzzled his
mind. The people of his adopted country entertained
such singular notions respecting the qualifications they required
of those who should ask promotion at their hands,
that he soon perceived that any attempt to gain their civil
distinctions would be fruitless, and he turned his attention
to a different object. He had heard much, both in this
and his own country, of the sublime order of Freemasonry—of
its titles, its grades, its honors, its talismanic powers
in ensuring escapes from pursuing enemies, its advantages
in putting its possessors directly into the highway of
office and power, and, above all, its wonderful secret, which
the brotherhood had so often defied the whole world to
discover. “Ah! this must be something,” said he, as he
pondered on the subject, “this is something that these
leveling Yankees have not yet laid their hands on.—This
looks indeed a little like old England.” In short his curiosity
became awakened, his ambition fired to possess the
key to this labyrinth of mystery, this great secret treasury
of honors and advantages, and he firmly resolved to become
a member of this wonderful fraternity. With this determination
he applied for admission into a lodge in a neighboring
village, it being the only one then in the vicinity. But
here alas! his commendable ambition was doomed to suffer
defeat and disappointment.—When the important day
arrived on which he expected to be initiated, great indeed
was his mortification and surprize to be informed that he
could not be admitted, as “all was not clear.” “It is all
very clear to me,” replied Mr. Peacock, after the first shock
of his surprize was a little over, “it is all very clear to me;
but you are all most wilfully out of your wits I can tell ye.
I have led as honest a life, both in this country and England,
as the fattest of ye, and as to knuckling to a pack of scurvy
dimecrats, I'll let ye know I sha'nt;—so, good bye, and
be d—d to ye!” After giving these aproned heralds of his
defeat this spirited reply, he went home to sleep off his indignation.
Sleep however could do but little towards assuaging
so bitter a disappointment; and the next day he
set off to visit a neighboring farmer, with whom he was intimate,
for the purpose of unburdening his troubled feelings.
This person, who was called Bill Botherem, on account
of his propensity for hoaxing, (his real name being
William Botherworth) had been a sailor till about the age
of twenty, when, after having seen considerable of the
world, and made something handsome in several lucky
ventures at sea, he relinquished that kind of life, and purchasing
a farm in the vicinity of Mugwump, settled down,
and now led a jolly life, keeping bachelor's hall to board
himself and his workmen. Mr. Peacock, who had contracted
a sort of confidential intimacy with Bill, because he
could talk about London, or because he had been a liberal
customer, or both, having heard from his own lips that
he had been a Mason, though afterwards expelled for some
trick or other played off on a brother Mason—Mr. Peacock,
I say, considered that he would be the most suitable person
to whom he could communicate his difficulties, and at the
same time the most capable adviser in putting him in a way
of overcoming them, and accomplishing his still ardent desire
of becoming a Mason. With this purpose in view, he
called on his merry friend, and, withdrawing him a little
from his workmen, he candidly related the whole story of
his troubles and wishes. Botherem listened to the tale of
Mr. Peacock's wrongs with deep attention—sympathized
with him in his disappointment, and bestowed many hearty
curses on the stupidity of those who could reject a man who
would have been such an honor to their society. And, after
musing awhile, he told Mr. Peacock that he should advise
him not to go near the fellows any more, or make application
to any other lodge, but if he wished to become a
Mason he had better be initiated privately by some friendly
Mason. “Privately!” said Peacock, “I did not know
it could be managed in that way.” “O, nothing easier,”
rejoined Botherem, (his eyes beginning to dance in anticipation
of the sport of such a process) “nothing easier, Mr.
Peacock—you may as well be taken in privately as publicly;
and when you have once received the secret by a private
initiation, I will venture to say you will be as wise as
the best of them.” Mr. Peacock, overjoyed at this information,
sprang up and exclaimed, “Then, Bill, you shall
be the man what shall do it, by the Lord Harry!” Botherem,
with some hesitation, consented to the proposition;
and it was soon arranged that the ceremony should be performed
that very evening at Botherem's house, where no
women or other evesdroppers or cowans would be about
to pry into their proceedings. Botherem was to send off
his workmen and call in such masonic friends as he might
wish to assist him in the performance; and the candidate
was to come alone about dark, when every thing should be
in readiness for the ceremony. All things being thus settled,
Mr. Peacock departed, exulting in the thought that
the wish nearest his heart was now so near its accomplishment.
When Botherem was left alone, he began to be
somewhat startled at his own project, lest it be productive
of serious consequences to himself should he really initiate
the man into the secrets of Masonry; for he well understood
the fiery vengeance of the fraternity in case of
detection. But his desire to see so fine a piece of sport, as
he conceived this would be, at length prevailed over his
scruples, and he determined to proceed; varying, however,
by way of caution, the usual ceremonies of a regular initiation
so far, that while he gave the candidate the full
spirit of Freemasonry, he would keep from him so much of
the letter as would exonerate him from the charge of divulging
the true secrets, which he believed to consist of
grips, pass-words, &c. By pursuing this course, he supposed
he should be doing ample justice to the candidate,
while he could himself escape with impunity, should the
transaction ever reach the ears of the fraternity,—a supposition,
alas! in which the sequel well shows how fatally
he was mistaken.

After having digested his plan of operations, Botherem
called his men together, (having no notion of calling
in other aid) and swearing them to secrecy, revealed to
them his whole scheme. Entering with great spirit into
the project of their leader, they went to work with all their
might to finish their tasks in time to make the necessary
preparations for the interesting occasion. As the nature
of these preparations will best be learned in a description
of the ceremonies, it will be needless here to detail them.

At the appointed hour, Mr. Peacock, with a heart beating
high with expectation, and fluttering at the thought of
the lofty honors about to be conferred upon him, made

his appearance at the house where the ceremonies were to
be performed. A man, with a white birch bark mask on
his face, and an old dried sheep-skin apron tied round his
waist, and holding in his hands a pole into one end of which
was fastened part of an old scythe-blade, stood at the door
officiating as Tyler; and, hailing the approaching candidate,
bade him wait at a distance till all was ready for his
reception. At length a loud voice within the house was
heard exclaiming—
A heavy blow from an axe or falling block, and a sharp report
of a pistol instantly followed, and a man, masked, and
otherwise strangely accoutred, soon issued from the door
midst the smoke of gunpowder, and, approaching the wondering
candidate, took him by the hand and led him into a
dark room to prepare him for initiation. Here Botherem,
as Most Worshipful Master of the ceremonies, was immediately
in attendance.—“Deacon Dunderhead,” said he,
“place the candidate so that his nose shall point due east,
while I propound the usual questions.”—

“Do you sincerely desire to become a Mason?”

`To be sure—why, that is just what I come for, you
know, Bill.'

“Call me Worshipful!” thundered the Master.

`Worshipful, then,' muttered the abashed candidate.

“Will you conform to all our ancient usages?” continued
the master: “Will you cheerfully submit yourself to
our established and dignified custom of blindfolding the
candidate and stripping him even to the nether garment?”

`Why, I should not much mind about your stopping my
blinkers awhile,' replied the candidate; `but as to being
put under bare poles, that's too bad, by a d—d sight, Mr.
Worshipful!'

“Silence!” exclaimed the Master; “for as the sun riseth
in the east, and as a man sticketh an axe in a tree, so do I
forbid all profane language on this solemn occasion: will

you conform to this our indispensable regulation also?”

`Unless it comes too hot, Mr. Worshipful,' said the rebuked
candidate, `that and all the rest on't.'

“Deacon,” said the Master, “prepare the candidate for
the sublime mysteries of Masonry, and let him take heed to
curb his unruly member, for if he swears during the ceremonies,
it will be necessary to stop and go over with every
thing again.” So saying, he left the room.

The candidate was now stripped to his shirt, blindfolded,
and, to guard against any rising of a refractory spirit,
his hands strongly tied behind him. Thus prepared, he
was led to the door of the initiating room, when, after the
customary raps within and without, he was admitted, and
stationed on one side of the door. There the Master and
his men, all masked and duly aproned, stood arranged
round the room in a circle, some holding old tin pails, some
brass kettles, some loaded pistols, and one an old drum.

The Master now stepped forward and said, “Brother,
you are now in the sanctorum totororum of Solomon's temple,
but you are not yet invested with the secrets of Masonry,
nor do I know whether you ever will be, till I know
how you withstand the amazing trials and dangers that
await you—trials, the like of which, none but our Grand
Master, Hiram Abiff, ever experienced.” Saying this, he
turned to the man stationed as Warden at the south gate,
and exclaimed,

These words were no sooner uttered than whang! went
an old horse-pistol, followed by such a tremendous din from
the rattling of old tin pails, brass kettles, and drum, as
made the house ring again, and the poor candidate shook
in every joint like a man in an ague fit. All was soon still,
however; and an open pan filled with hot embers, with a
grid-iron over it, was now placed on the floor; when four

of the acting brethren, taking the candidate by the arms
and legs, held him over the pan, and gradually lowered him
down till his seat touched the grid-iron, which in the mean
while had become somewhat too warm for parts of so sensitive
a nature; for they no sooner came in contact with
the iron than the candidate floundered and leaped from the
arms of the brethren, exclaiming, “Zounds and fury! do
ye want to scorch a fellow's t'other end off? I will wait till
h-ll is burnt down before I'll be a Mason, if this is the
way!” “The spell is broken,” cried the Master, “the
candidate has uttered unseemly and profane language;
and the ceremony must be repeated.—It is necessary he
should feel the torture before he can be permitted to behold
the glorious light of Masonry.” They then took the
struggling candidate in hand again, and by dint of coaxing,
induced him to submit himself once more to the fiery ordeal
of masonic purification. But, alas! this attempt was
attended with no happier results than the other; for, on
touching the grid-iron, his old habit (I regret to say it)
again beset him, and bounding like a parched pea, he once
more broke out into the most unmasonic expressions. The
ceremony of course had to be yet again repeated; and it
was not till the fourth trial that he was brought to the use
of such exclamations as were adjudged not inconsistent
with the rule adopted on the occasion. This part of the
ceremony being concluded, the candidate was put in motion
on his journey round the lodge-room; and when, as
they approached the Warden at the west gate, the Worshipful
Master stepped forth and exclaimed,

In an instant two pistols were let off in rapid succession,
and the mingled din of pails, kettles, drum, and the shouts
of the brethren were still louder than before on the stunned
ears of the affrighted candidate, who at the same time
received the usual blow from the acting Jubela of the performance;

nor was this all or the worst part of Number
Two, which he was doomed to encounter: For after the
noise had ceased, he was again taken in hand.—His last
remaining garment was now stripped off, and he was placed
on his hands and knees on the floor, with his rearwards
pointed due west, to symbolize the winds, doubtless, that
after the deluge, wafted the glorious art westward, till it
at length reached our own favored hemisphere. As soon
as the candidate's position was duly adjusted in this manner,
the Deacon, stationed and prepared for the purpose,
dashed a full pail of cold water directly on the premises
that had just suffered so cruelly from an opposite element,
(these being the parts for which Masonry is supposed to entertain
a particular predilection.) Starting from the shock,
the poor candidate leaped, howling like a shot mastiff, to
the wall, and gave vent to his feelings in some of those unmasonic
exclamations which had already cost him so much
to subdue. This, according to the rigid rules of the Worshipful
Master, led to a repetition of the watery wo, till the
hapless victim of this mystic deluge, sighing and gasping
for breath like a drowning puppy, became so subdued by
the water-cooling process, that he most piteously begged
for mercy;—when the rule, though violated to the last
drenching, was graciously dispensed with. The candidate
was then rubbed down with a cloth, and dressed in all his
clothes—still, however, remaining blindfolded. He was
then led up to the old drum, placed in the middle of the
floor to serve for an altar, when, being made to kneel beside
it, an old copy of Gulliver's Travels was duly placed under
his hands and properly adjusted on the drum-head: After
which, he was made to repeat, while the Worshipful Master
administered, the following obligation:

“You solemnly swear, that you will never divulge the
mighty secret which has been, and is about to be revealed
to you. You swear without equivocation, hesitation, mental
reservation, or explanation, that you will never tell,
spell, sell, hint, print or squint it, nor the same ever write,
indict, or recite, whatever your plight, whether placed under

locks, put in the stocks, or reduced to starvation. In
short, you swear never to reveal these, the great mysteries
of Masonry, which are equalled only in truth and wisdom
by the wonderful Book on which you swear to preserve
them. You sacredly and solemnly swear it—you swear it
singly, you swear it doubly and trebly—you swear it up hill
and down hill, forward and backward, slanting and perpendicular,
side-ways, end-ways, and all ways—you swear it
by your eyes, nose, mouth, ears, tongue, gizzard and grunnet,—yea,
by every part, piece, portion and parcel of your
body, singed or unsinged, washed or unwashed—you swear
it by the sun, moon, stars, earth, fire, water, snow, rain,
hail, wind, storm, lightning and thunder.—All this, by all
these, you swear, under no less penalty than to be drawn,
naked and tail foremost, forty-nine times through dry crabtree
fences—be shut up a month in a den of skunks, hedgehogs
and rattlesnakes, with clam-shells and vinegar for
your only food and drink—run fourteen miles barefoot in
January, and be tarred and feathered and kicked and cowskinned
from Mugwump to Passamaquoddy and back again.
So help you Nebuchadnezzar and St. Nicholas, and keep
you steadfast in the same. So mote it be—so mote it be.
Amen.”

After this oath was administered, the candidate was ordered
to rise, and proceed to the east gate of the temple,
when the Master once more proclaimed—

On which Jubelum, or the Warden of this station, who
stood prepared for the emergency, with an old saddle-pad
in his uplifted hand, gave the candidate such a blow on
the side of the head, as sent him reeling across the room;
while at the same instant, whang! whang! bang! went
three pistols, with the old accompaniment of jangling instruments,
now tasked to their utmost for noise and racket,
together with the falling of blocks, kicking over of chairs,

and the deafening cheers of the company. The bandage
had been snatched from the eyes of the candidate in the
confusion, and he now stood bewildered, stunned and
aghast amidst the tumult, staring wildly on the strange,
masked figures around him, scarcely knowing where he
was, or which end he stood on. But being of that happy
temperament on which nothing less than dry knocks and
actual applications of fire and water make any very alarming
impressions, all of which being now over, he soon recovered
in a good degree his self-possession. The Master
then proceeded to instruct and lecture him as follows:

“Brother, I greet you: You are now a free and acceped
Mason. You have now received the principal mysteries
of the first degrees of Masonry. In your trials by fire
and water, you represented in the one case, Grand Master
Lot, and in the other Grand Master Noah, who both outlived
the two devouring elements that respectively threatened
them, and were more honored than all the multitudes
that perished by the fire and the flood. And in the third
wo you represented Old Adam, who, as traditions known
only to the craft inform us, was at first only a shapeless mass
of clay, which, becoming accidentally disengaged from the
top of a high hill, rolled down, and was thus reduced to
something like human shape, but was still senseless and
dark, till, like yourself in the last trial, it was knocked into
the light of existence by a blow from some unseen hand.
But let me now instruct you in some of the arts of our illustrious
order. There are the square and compass,” he
continued, producing a common iron square and compass.
“By the square you must square your actions towards your
masonic brethren—though as to all others, the d—l take
the hindmost. By this also you are taught to move squarely,
or in right lines and directly in all your comings and
goings, except in going from a lodge meeting, when the
rule does not always apply. And here is the compass: By
this you are taught to divide out your favors to your brethren,
and draw such circles as shall endow them and them
only for your charities. By this also you are taught the

art of making a new centre with one foot of the compass,
und thus drawing a new circle when the old one fails to
enclose the right number of friends, or otherwise does not
answer your purpose: This is called pricking anew. These
are the great emblems of Masonry, and they are full of
wisdom and profit, brother; for there is scarce an act
which a Mason may perform that cannot be satisfactorily
measured and squared by them, which could never be done
perhaps by the rules of the vulgar.

“Now for the signs and tokens.—If you would wish to
discover whether any one is a Mason for the purpose of
requiring his assistance, you must bring your right hand
to the rear, where you have just received the mark of Masonry;
and at the same time put the little finger of your
left hand in your mouth, and vice versa. This is the sign
by which one Mason may know another: Make this, and
a brother seeing it, is bound to help you, vote for you, and
do what you require. Thus you see, brother, the value
and advantage of our glorious art. And now, having finished
my instructions, I pronounce you a good, well-made,
and worthy Mason.”

The lectures being now finished, the lodge was closed,
and spirits and other refreshments brought in, when all
hands, after saluting brother Peacock with the most flattering
greetings, sat down to the cheer; and long and
merrily did the joke and bottle pass in honor of that memorable
evening.

Not a little elated were the feelings of Mr. Peacock,
when he awoke the next morning, by the proud consciousness
of his newly acquired dignity. Though it must be
confessed that these feelings were subjected to no small
draw-back, in consequence of a certain soreness experienced
about those parts which had been more immediately
exposed to the visitation of Masonic honors. But the skillful
applications of his loving partner soon relieved him of
troubles of this kind, except scars which remained as lasting
mementoes of his honorable service. He often spoke
in praise of Masonry, and enlarged in admiration on its

mysterious sublimities, which he likened to the terrors of
a thunder storm, in which fire, water and thunder came
mingling together in awful grandeur. Nor was he less impressed
with the opinion of the advantages of the art. He
was heard to say, that he would not take his best horse for
the secret. So highly indeed did he estimate the value
of this exalted mystery, that he firmly resolved that his expected
son should one day become a Mason.—His expected
son! But that important subject demands a new chapter.