University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Dark and fearful were the troubled visions of our hero
after he had retired to his pillow for rest on that memorable
night when the awful mysteries of Masonry were uncurtained
to his view. Scenes of the most thrilling horror,
in their thousand rapid and startling mutations, were continually
rising, with terrible vividness, to his mind, and
haunting his distracted fancy. He now seemed falling,
for days and months, down, down, some bottomless abyss—
now suddenly arrested in his swift descending course by a
tremendous jerk from a rope, which, fastened around his
neck, had run out its length, and now brought him to the
end of his tether—now slowly hauled up through the same
gloomy passage, attended by winged monsters, flapping
their great pinions about his head, as they labored upwards
along this vault of darkness and terror; and now quickly
transported to the middle of a vast, interminable plain,
where the sky was immediately overcast—storms arose—his
ears were stunned by frightful peals of thunder—streams
of vivid lightning overpowering his vision, and scorching
his hair and garments, were flashing around him, and kindling
up the combustible plain to a general conflagration;
while he was beset on every side by a troop of tormenting

fiends, who, armed with sharp spears, and clothed with
aprons woven, warp and woof, with living serpents, and
fringed with their hissing heads, thronged thickly about
him—some stripping off all his clothes, dancing on before
him and holding them up to his grasp, yet forever eluding
it; and others constantly running by his side, howling,
goading and stinging him in every part; while bleeding
and blistered, he vainly endeavored to escape, and strove
on, in unutterable agony, through the scorching and burning
regions, hoarsely crying for water, and begging for his
clothes,—for his shirt—even a shirt!—

“I have brought you a shirt, Brother Peacock,” said a
voice at his bed-side. He started from his disturbed slumbers
at the word, which, in seeming echo to his own deep
mutterings, now fell on his ear. “Where—where am I?
Who are you?” he hurriedly and fiercely exclaimed, looking
wildly around him.—“Are they gone?” `What gone?'
said the voice. “Them awful—Oh!—Ah!—Why, it is only
Jenks—Yes, yes, I remember now, I went home with
you last night; but O, Jenks, what a dream I have had!
And then, to think of last night at the lodge-room!”
`Come, come,' said Jenks, `you are like a puppy with his
eyes just opened,—every thing looks strange and terrible,—
a cat seems to him as big as a yearling, and the little fool
will bristle up and yelp at his own shadow. But never
mind; we will make a man of you yet. I will explain all
to you in good time. I have got a decentish sort of shirt
here, which I rather guess you had better put on,' he continued,
looking down on the stained remnant of what was
yesterday our hero's best India cotton shirt, the choice
freedom gift of his mother, still pertinaciously clinging in
shreds to the limbs of the owner, as if loath to break off so
old a friendship: `and I think I could tie up that old one
you have on in your handkerchief, and throw it into the
swamp going home, or burn it or something, so it should
not lead to any discoveries of what we do in the lodge-room.
But come, rouse up, man! Our breakfast is about ready.
I have got to be off to-day; but I shall be going by Joslin's

in a day or two, when I will call, and we will have
some talk together.' So saying, he left the room.

Timothy now attempted to rise, but so sore and stiff was
he in every joint, from what he had last night gone through
in the masonic gymnastics of initiation, that he found himself
somewhat in the condition of that hapless South-American
animal, whose movements are so painful, that it is said
to utter a scream of agony at every feeble bound it makes
in its progress. After several trials, however, with as many
interjectional grunts, he succeeded in getting on to the
floor and dressing himself: after which, he found way to
a cool spring in the door-yard:—its pure bubbling waters
seemed to his parched throat sweet as the Pierian fountain
to the thirsty aspirants of Parnassus; and had it been that
consecrated spring, Pope's direction, “Drink deep,” would
never have been more faithfully followed. He then went
into the breakfast-room where the family were already assembled
and waiting his presence.

“Is the gentleman unwell this morning?” asked Mrs.
Jenks, glancing from the pale, haggard features of Timothy
to her husband. Jenks smiled and said nothing. “O,
ho! I had forgotten,” said she—“you were both at the
lodge last night—that accounts for all—I have seen new-made
Masons before, I believe.”

`My wife,' observed Jenks, with a knowing wink to Timothy,
`my wife don't like masonry very well.'

“And what woman would?” she tartly replied. “You
go to your lodge-meetings every few nights, leaving your
families alone and unprotected—your wives and children
perhaps sick, or suffering for the want of the money you
are squandering in your midnight carousals; and when you
come reeling home, the only comfort they receive for a
long and lonely night of tears and anxiety, is to be told,
in answer to their inquiries, concerning the employment
of your cruel absence, `You can't know—you are not worthy
to be made acquainted with this part of your husband's
secrets!”'

`My wife,' said Jenks, `don't appear to know that masonry

takes the wives of Masons under its special protectection,
and that their poor widows are always provided
for by her charities.'

“Charity! Poor widows!” retorted she,—“they may
well be called poor; for Mason's widows generally are poor
enough. And what is the amount of the mighty charities
they receive at your hands? After their husbands have
spent all their property by neglecting their business to attend
to their masonry, paying out their money, or by bad
habits they first acquire at the lodge-room, then if they die
and leave penniless widows—well, what then? Why, the
lodge will be so very charitable as to pay back to those widows,
perhaps, one tenth part of what they have been the
sole means of robbing them: And this they call charity!”

`O wonderful!' replied Jenks—`And then the horrors of
being left alone a few hours, and the tears'—

“Yes!” retorted the nettled dame—“yes, the tears: If
there is any affection between a man and his wife, masonry
does more to destroy it, and break up that mutual confidence
which is necessary to preserve it, than any one
thing I can mention. And if all the tears that have been,
and will be, shed by Masons' wives, on account of their
husbands' masonry, could be collected into a running
stream, it would carry a saw-mill from this hour to the day
of judgement!”

`Come, come, wife,' said Jenks, `I think you have said
quite enough for once.'

“Enough of truth for your conscience, I presume,” replied
the fair belligerent, determined to have the last word
in the argument.

Timothy wondered much to hear such irreverent invectives
against masonry so boldly expressed by the wife of a
brother Mason. He had supposed that all wives were
proud of the honor of having masonic husbands; for he
knew his mother was so. Still there were some of the observations
he had just heard which tallied so well with
what he had already seen of masonry, that he felt a little
staggered, and could not prevent his conscience from secretly

giving a response to many of the lady's remarks. But
the sneering way in which Jenks laughed off these remarks
of his wife, soon convinced him that there was no truth in
them, and that they were the effects of the woman's ignorance,
or arose from some freak or prejudice she had taken
against masonry, so the matter passed off without again entering
his mind.

After breakfast was over, and brotherly adieus had been
exchanged between Jenks and Timothy, the latter mounted
his horse and rode homeward. Many, and somewhat
sober were his reflections, as he slowly pursued his solitary
way over the same road which he yesterday passed with
feelings as different from what they now were as the speed
of his horse in the two cases. His thoughts recurred to
the fearful trials he had gone through, and all the strange
scenes of the lodge-room. To his yet darkened mind, they
seemed to him nothing but vague mysteries, strangely
blending the trivial and odd with the solemn and terrible.
The sun had indeed shone out, but the dark rolling clouds
had not yet passed entirely from the field of his fancy, and
the ravages of the storm were yet too recent on his feelings
to allow him to contemplate the late scenes of the lodge-room
with much pleasure.

On the following day Jenks called at Joslin's, but being
somewhat in a hurry, he proposed to Timothy that they
should meet in a certain field, about equidistant from their
respective residences, on the next Sunday, when the promised
explanations and instructions in Masonry should be
given. Timothy, however, rather objected to a meeting
on Sunday; for his mother, who was a church woman, and
a strict observer of the Sabbath, notwithstanding her odd
notions about rank and family distinction, had always
taught him that the seventh day of the week should never
be devoted to worldly matters; and never having been
taught any better since he left his paternal roof, the proposal
to spend this day in the manner contemplated struck
him unfavorably. He accordingly stated his objections candidly,
and proposed another day for the intended meeting.

Jenks, however, firmly combatted these fastidious scruples
of our hero, as he termed them, and told him he had
hoped he was above minding these old womanish superstitions.
Still Timothy could not entirely conquer his doubts
on the subject; and in this I think he was, in a good degree,
excusable; for it must be recollected he had but
just been initiated, and had not enjoyed as yet scarcely any
opportunity of being enlightened by the true principles of
masonic philosophy; and when it is considered how deeply
early impressions, however erroneous, become engrafted
on the heart, I do not think it at all strange that he could
not divest himself at once of all these notions which he
had been taught to believe correct. Finding his companion
still in hesitation on the subject, Jenks, therefore, to
remove all further scruples, now informed him that masonry
was the very handmaid of religion—indeed it was religion
itself, and all the religion that was needed to give
a man a passport to heaven; consequently, whatever time
was spent in studying masonry, was, in fact, devoted to
religious employment, which was the object of the
Sabbath, aswas admitted by all the most rigidly pious.
But what was more than all, he said, the control of
this day peculiarly belonged to the craft, as it was a
day of their own establishing; for to masonry, and to
masonry alone, the world were indebted for the consecration
of the Sabbath. This was put beyond all dispute
by the unerring records of masonic history, which,
in the words of the learned Preston, Brother Webb,
and many other great Masons, expressly says, that “In six
days God made the world, and rested on the seventh: the
seventh, therefore, our ancient brethren consecrated.” Of course
this day, being one of their own making, must be the
rightful property of the order, and, although they could do
what they pleased with it, yet it could be spent no way so
suitably as in the study of their art.

Such were the forcible arguments used, and the unanswerable
facts cited by Jenks, in enlightening his pupil in
the path of his mystic duties, and teaching the extent of his

privileges as regarded the observance of the Sabbath. And,
although these were abundantly sufficient to enforce conviction
on all except the most obdurate of uninitiated heretics,
yet there is another curious fact relative to the ancient
history of this day, thus clearly traced to masonic origin,
which he might have added, and which I cannot persuade
myself here to pass unnoticed, it being, as I conceive,
a fact of the most momentous import to the glory of
the institution, as not only showing the connexion between
masonry and the Sabbath, but figuring forth the greatness
and divine exaltation of the former, more strikingly perhaps,
than any one occurrence related within the whole
compass of its marvelous history: Josephus, that authentic
ancient historian, informs us that there was a certain
river in Palestine that stayed its current and rested on the
seventh day, in observance, as he supposed, of the Sabbath.
Now if this day was established and consecrated
by masonry alone, does not the plainest reason dictate
that it was the institution itself, and not the day it had established,
that this pious and considerate river thus stayed
its course to reverence? Or was not this worship in fact,
thus apparently bestowed on the object created, clearly intended
for the creator? Nothing, it appears to me, can be
more certain than that such was the fact. How stupendous
the thought! To what a magnificent pitch of exaltation
then has that institution arrived, to which the works
of nature thus bow in reverence,—to which the otherwise
forever rolling rivers of the earth are held in quiet subjection,
resting in their rapid courses at her omnipotent
behests!

But to return from this digression—Timothy no sooner
learned that such was the case with regard to the connexion
between Masonry and the Sabbath than he magnanimously
yielded his scruples, and, handsomely apologizing
for his ignorance of the facts just stated by his superior in
the art, cheerfully consented to the proposed meeting.

Accordingly, on the following Sunday, he repaired on
foot and alone to the appointed place of meeting. Jenks

was already on the ground awaiting his arrival. After the
customary greetings were exchanged, they seated themselves
on the grass under the spreading branches of a large
beach tree which grew on the margin of the field, affording
an excellent shade to screen them from the sultry rays
of a July sun. The field which they had thus selected for
their masonic rendezvous adjoined a deep piece of woods
which extended back unbroken to the mountains, and, being
more than a half mile distant from any dwelling-house,
furnished a secure retreat against all cowans and evesdroppers,
without the aid of a Tyler. Here in this silent and
sequestered spot, our two friends, stretched on their grassy
bed beneath their cooling covert, proceeded to the business
of their appointment. Jenks then producing an old
worn pamphlet, went on to read and explain the ceremonies
of initiation, which, he said, in its main outlines, represented,
as was supposed by the learned men of their order,
the creation of the world; because when all was darkness,
God said “Let there be light, and there was light.”
The candidate, he concluded, represented Adam, who came
out of the darkness naked, and was admitted to the light,
and became endowed with noble faculties, as was the case
with all admitted to the glorious light of Masonry.

“But do you suppose, Jenks,” said Timothy, “that God
led Adam round with a rope tied to his neck, before he
let him see the light?”

`I know not how that may have been, Brother Timothy,'
replied Jenks, `but at all events, I think there is a striking
resemblance between the events of the creation and the
ceremonies of an initiation; and we have it from our ancient
books that Adam was made a Mason almost as soon
as he was created.'

This proving satisfactory to the mind of Timothy, Jenks
then proceeded to explain all the grips and tokens of the
first degree; after which he taught our hero the art or

mystery of halving and spelling Boaz. He next explained
the meaning of the several emblems of this degree,
such as the three great lights of masonry, representing
the sun, moon, and Master of the lodge.—The square
and compass, which teach the brethren in such a beautiful
and definite manner to square their actions towards
one another, whatever sharp corners may thus be made
to jostle against the ribs of the luckless uninitiated—
to circumscribe their conduct within due bounds, allowing
such extent to be fixed to that convenient epithet as their
own good judgement and circumstances shall dictate,—all
of which thus furnish a great moral guide to the man as
well as the Mason—far superior, as many pious and intelligent
of the brethren aver, to the Savior's golden rule,
“Do unto others,” &c., the latter being, as they say, too
indefinite for a practical guide by which to regulate their
conduct, or rather, we suppose, too general in its application
to suit the system of ethics peculiar to this exalted
fraternity. And finally he took up the lectures at large,
by which Timothy obtained the valuable information that
the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, as beautifully
shadowed forth in the respective stations of the Master
and Senior Warden of the lodge,—that the twenty-four
inch gauge, or rule, properly represents the twenty-four
hours of the day, and was for that reason made just of that
length, and not, as is supposed by the unenlightened, because
twelve inches make a foot, and a measure of an even
or unbroken number of feet is most convenient,—that Chalk,
Charcoal and Earth, represent Freedom, Fervency and Zeal,
because chalk is free to be broken, or rubbed off—charcoal
is hot when it is burning, and the earth is zealous to
bring forth, &c. &c. All this, and a thousand other equally
striking and instructive emblematical illustrations of this
degree were impressed on his understanding in the course
of these scientific lectures, expanding his mind with a new
stock of useful knowledge.

Having in this manner gone through his explanations of
the more prominent points of the lectures, Jenks now took

a general view of the principles they inculcated, and the
important instruction they afforded to the young aspirant
of this noble science. In short, he so eloquently portrayed
the many beauties of this degree, that Timothy began
to catch some bright gleams of the true light of masonry.
Although, to be sure, he had always supposed that
the sun rose in the east and set in the west, and that charcoal
was apt to be hot when it was burning, yet he never
before dreamed that meaning of such deep import lay hidden
under these simple facts; but the veil of his natural
blindness being now removed, he perceived the great wisdom
they contained—a wisdom which was impenetrably
concealed from the world, and, consequently, of which he
must have forever been deprived, had he never been admitted
into the portals of this glorious temple of light, and
put in possession of the “art of finding out new arts, and
winning the faculty of Abrac.”

It now occurring to our hero that he had promised, under
the most dreadful penalties, never to reveal, by writing,
printing, or otherwise, any of the secrets of masonry,
he asked Jenks how the book they then were reading came
to be printed, as it appeared to contain most of the secrets
and ceremonies of the degree he had taken.

Jenks replied, that this book, which was called Jachin
and Boaz, was doubtless a correct and perfect system of
masonry at the time it was first published, although not
strictly so in all respects now, as many improvements, and
some alterations in their signs and pass-words, to prevent
the uninitiated from getting into the lodge, had since been
made: still, being mainly correct, it was often used in the
lodges in lecturing, and might be profitably studied by all
young Masons. As to its publication, it was done by a
perjured wretch who had violated his oath by writing and
publishing it; and it was generally understood among the
craft that he had paid the just forfeit by the loss of his
life.

This last remark led Timothy to ask if all who revealed
the secrets of masonry were served in the same way.

To this Jenks replied, that any mason who divulged the
secrets would undoubtedly die for the crime; for, if he did
not kill himself, as their traditions informed them some ancient
traitors had had the good conscience to do when
guilty of this crime, means would soon be taken to put such
a wretch out of existence. But, he said, Timothy would
much better understand these things when he was exalted
to the higher degrees, which, it was to be hoped, he would
soon take; for as yet he had seen comparatively nothing of
the glories of masonry which, at every degree as the candidate
advanced along this great highway of light and
knowledge, were more and more brightly unfolded to his
view. Jenks then drew such a glowing picture of the honors
and advantages of the higher degrees, that our hero,
who confessed to himself that his mind was not wholly filled
with what he had seen in the first degree, soon resolved
to make another attempt to advance in this bright road to
perfection, and especially so when he was informed that
he had passed through the worst of the terrors, while all
the pleasures of the mystic Paradise, since he was now
fairly within its gates, remained to be enjoyed.

It was therefore arranged between them that Timothy,
at the next lodge meeting, should make application for
taking the two next higher degrees, provided he could
raise the requisite fees for the purpose; and he was to
take home the book, and carefully keeping it from all eyes,
make it his study till the next meeting of the lodge, that
he might be the better prepared for his intended exaltation.

Having spent many hours under this delightful shade,
in this pleasing and instructive manner, the two friends
were now about to separate, when an incident occurred,
which, having an immediate bearing on the subsequent
destinies of our hero, we shall proceed to relate, as is our
duty to do in every thing that has conspired to affect his
remarkable fortunes, however trivial it may appear at this
stage of our narrative, or unworthy the dignity of the historian
of so renowned a personage.

When our friends were on the point of separating, as I
have mentioned, they were suddenly startled by a loud
cracking of the bushes behind the old brush-fence that extended
along the border of the woods, at the distance of
about ten rods from the tree under which they were standing.
The noise was soon repeated, and now plainly appeared
to proceed from the irregular steps or bounds of
some heavy, slow-going quadruped on the approach towards
them, while the sounds of the cracking brush were
followed, as the creature occasionally paused in his course,
by a sort of wheezing grunt, or blowing, not unlike that of
a hog suddenly falling into the water. Now, although
cowardice was no part of our hero's character, yet possessing,
in common with all other men, the instinct of self-preservation,
he soon felt a queer sensation of the blood
creeping over him as these ominous sounds struck his ear—
his hair, too, suddenly grew refractory, and began to rise in
rebellion against the crown of his hat, and he prudently
suggested to Jenks, in the firmest terms that he was able
to command, the propriety of losing no time in putting a
little more distance between them and such suspicious
noises. The latter, however, who was more accustomed
to the animals of the woods, only uttered an impatient
`pshaw!' at our hero's timely suggestions, and bidding
him remain where he was, went forward to reconnoitre that
part of the woods from which these singular sounds proceeded.
After creeping up to the fence and peering thro'
awhile, Jenks quickly retreated, and cutting, with his jackknife,
a couple of good shelalahs on his way back, he came
up to Timothy, and with great glee told him that there
was an old bear with two small cubs slowly making their
way towards the clearing, with the intention, doubtless, of
entering the field, which was covered with wheat, then in
the milk. At this intelligence our hero's all-overishness
alarmingly increased, and like a good general, he quickly
cast his eyes round to discover and fix upon the best way
by which to effect a safe retreat, and seizing his friend by
the arm, pulled him along several steps, eagerly pointing

towards the nearest house, while his teeth (his tongue just
at that time being strangely forgetful of its office) made a
most chattering appeal to the obdurate heart of the other,
and did their best to second their owner's pantomimic request
for immediate flight. “Pooh! pooh!” coolly replied
Jenks, “a pretty story if two such chaps as you and I
should run for an old bear and two little scary cubs! Here,
take one of these clubs, and stand by like a man.—They
will soon be over the fence, and if we can frighten off the
old one, perhaps we can catch or kill one or both the young
ones.—Follow me, and make no noise.” So saying, Jenks,
with Timothy following almost mechanically at his heels,
led the way into the grain to a station from which they
could sally out and cut off the retreat of the bears. Here
stooping down, they awaited the approach of the foe in silence.
In a few moments a loud cracking was heard in
the old fence; and immediately after, a rustling among
the grain told them that the objects of their solicitude
were fairly in the field. “Keep cool, Tim,” whispered
Jenks, carefully raising himself till he could peep over the
grain, “keep perfectly cool—wait till they get a little further
into the field. There, then! come on now, and do as
you see me!”

With this he rushed furiously forward, swinging his hat
and screaming at the top of his voice, and came close upon
the astonished animals before they could discover, over-topped
as they were by the tall, thick-standing wheat,
whence this terrible out-cry came from, and on what side
the storm was about to burst upon them. The old bear,
however, quickly rallied, and throwing herself on her
haunches, and flourishing her broad boxers, tendered battle
to her antagonist in a style that would have done honor
to the most eminent pugilist of christianized England.
The poor cubs were immensely frightened, and, taking different
directions, bounded off with all their might, one towards
the beech tree, and the other, as fate would have it,
directly towards Timothy, who stood like a statue, in the
very place where Jenks had left him. But the instant he

saw this horrid young monster making towards him, his
faculties immediately rose with the occasion, and uttering
such a yell as scarce ever did a hero before him, he struck
a line in the direction his eye had before marked out for
a retreat, and, throwing one hasty glance over his shoulder,
in which he saw his friend engaged with the old bear,
one cub climbing the beech, and the other close to his
heels, run like a deer from the scene of action, clearing
the top of the grain at every leap, and crying `help!' and
`murder!' at every breath.

Meanwhile the battle was waged with manful courage
on both sides by the combatants still on the field; and the
issue might have been doubtful perhaps, but for the sudden
movement of our hero just described: for the cub
that ran towards him receiving a fresh fright from the
sturdy outcries of the latter in his retreat, quickly halted,
and after making several confused tacks about in the
grain, finally came round in sight of its dam, and ran off
into the woods. The old bear seeing this, and being satisfied
with saving one of her family, or supposing both to
have escaped, at once relinquished the battle, and fled in
the same direction. Jenks being thus relieved in this hazardous
contest, immediately bethought himself of the cub
in the tree, and at once determined to secure it. With
this purpose in view, he stripped some strong pieces of elm
bark from a neighboring tree, and began to climb the
beech, near the top of which he could soon perceive the
motionless form of the cub firmly grappling the forking
branches. After considerable difficulty, he came within
sight of the animal, which suffered him to approach without
starting, when carefully working a bark noose round its
hinder legs, he firmly tied them to the trunk of the tree,
and then soon succeeded in getting a pocket-handkerchief
over its head, and thus finally so blinded and muffled the
creature as to render it nearly harmless. This achieved,
Jenks untied its legs from the tree and commenced his descent,
leaving it the use of its fore paws to cling around

the body of the tree as he gradually pulled it down backwards.

While Jenks was thus engaged in this slow and somewhat
difficult process of bringing down his sable captive,
Timothy, who had reached a neighboring house, and borrowed
a gun and ammunition, hove in sight, now gallantly
returning to the rescue, advancing with a sort of desperate
determination in his looks, with his piece snugly bro't
to his shoulder, levelled and cocked for instant aim. When
within thirty or forty rods of the tree where he had left
one of the enemy lodged, he halted, and shutting his eyes,
boldly pulled away at the top; but his faithless gun only
flashed in the pan, and he was coolly preparing to try it
again, when taking a hasty glance at the tree, he perceived
a rustling among the branches. No time was now to be
lost; and he fell to priming and flashing with all his might,
till the clicking of the lock arrested the attention of Jenks,
who at the same time catching a glimpse of his friend's
motions, became alarmed, and sung out lustily to him to
forbear. Timothy was horror-struck at this discovery, and
he began most bitterly to reproach himself for suffering
his courage to carry him to such a pitch of rashness as to
lead him into such a dreadful risk of killing his friend; and
that friend too a masonic brother!—The thought was distracting!
He was soon consoled, however, by the information
that the battle was now over, and the enemy driven
into the woods, except one cub which, now disabled, remained
as the trophy of the victory.

Jenks soon got safely down with the cub, and secured it
at the foot of the tree, when feeling curious to know by
what lucky cause he had so narrowly escaped being shot
at for a bear, he unloaded the musket, and found, to his
surprise and amusement, that our hero had, in loading his
gun, entirely overlooked the important article of powder,
making some amends for this oversight however by the
quantity of balls he had put in, no less than four of which
Jenks found snugly wadded down at the bottom of the
barrel.

The exploits of this eventful day being now brought to
a close, Jenks shouldered his ursine trophy, and the two
friends separated for their respective homes, both pleased
with their achievements, and both thankful, though for
different reasons, that they had outlived the dangers of
the battle.