University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

Many were the strange faces—strange to the citizens
generally, though not to the brotherhood—which were
seen in the different parts of the town on the day following
the conclave described in the preceding chapter: For
many distinguished for the eminence they had attained on
the mystic ladder, coming on various pretences from the
neighboring towns and cities, had here now assembled to
assist their brethren in their deliberations, and in concerting
and carrying into effect all those provisional measures
for secrecy and safety which might be required for ensuring
the present and ultimate success of their fearful undertaking.

It was nearly sunset when Botherworth arrived in the
place. After putting up, and taking some refreshment, at
a public house, he immediately repaired to the quarters of
Rodgers, the commercial correspondent of whom we have
already made mention. That gentleman, however, though
apprised of Botherworth's arrival within a few moments
from the time it happened, as were most of the combination

of which the former, as the reader may have already
suspected, was an active member, not wishing to meet the
latter till about dark, both because it would not comport
with that part of the plan of operations which had been
assigned to his management, and because he was unwilling
to risk his countenance with so much concealed beneath
it, in a confronted meeting by full day light, had now
just stepped out, having left word that he should return in
a short time to attend upon such as might call in his absence,
or wait on them at their lodgings. On learning
this from the person in attendance, Botherworth slowly
sauntered back to his hotel, and amused himself with a
newspaper till it became too dark to allow of his reading any
longer by day-light. He then arose and left the house
with the view of going a second time in search of Rodgers.
He had proceeded but a few rods, however, when he was
met by the person in question. At the first sight of this
man, Botherworth made, he knew not why, an involuntary
start, recoiling from his approaching person as from the
contact of a viper, and felt for the instant all those dark
and fearful sensations of vague apprehension, which the
last evening at home he had so unaccountably experienced,
again rushing over him; but making a strong effort
to repel these unwelcome intruders, he soon succeeded in
so far mastering these feelings, as to salute Rodgers with
considerable show of cordiality. His greeting was returned
by the other with equal attempts at cordiality, but with
an air and manner no less embarrassed and hesitating,
though arising from causes far different, as the conscience
of the latter but too plainly informed him.

The mutual civilities and common-place questions usual
on such occasions being over, Rodgers carelessly observed
that his partner had just returned, as he had learned a few
minutes before, from an excursion to the neighboring port,
and had probably brought news with him which would be
interesting to them both, and perhaps necessary to know
before coming to any determination on the business which
had caused their present meeting: he would therefore propose

a walk, if agreeable, to his partner's residence, which
was situated, he said, in an opposite part of the town.
Botherworth, readily assenting to this plausible proposal,
and not being acquainted with the situation of the house
in question, immediately gave himself up to the guidance
of the other, and they proceeded leisurely along, frequently
pausing, at the suggestion of Rodgers, to inspect the new
buildings which they passed in their route, late improvements
in the streets, and such other objects as the latter
could find for enlisting the attention of his companion, and
consequently for delaying their progress. Upon all these
Rodgers now seemed uncommonly communicative, and, as
Botherworth thought, strangely disposed to linger. In this
dilatory manner they proceeded on, the latter expecting
every moment when they should arrive at the place of destination,
till they had reached the very outskirts of the town,
and it had become quite too dark for further observation
on the objects around them. Botherworth mentioning
both of these circumstances to his companion, asked him
if they had passed the residence of his partner. On which
Rodgers replied that the evening was so pleasant that he
had gone somewhat out of their direct route for the purpose
of observing and pointing out the novelties which
were always springing up in a town of that size, and they
had now got considerably beyond the place; but they
would immediately return by the shortest course. So saying,
and taking the arm of his still unsuspecting companion,
Rodgers turned about, and, with a quickened pace,
struck into another street leading back into the most populous
part of the town. In this way they passed rapidly
on, frequently making short turns, and crossing into other
streets, till Botherworth (it now having become very dark,
and he not being familiarly acquainted with this part of
the town) became wholly at a loss as to the street they
were traversing: when all at once, Rodgers, who had all
along been extremely sociable, and was now in the midst
of a ludicrous story, suddenly turned into the yard of a
tall building, and, with a sort of hurried motion, pulling
the other along with him, and interrupting himself only to
say, in a quick, parenthelical tone, “Here-here—this is
the place,” made directly up to the open door, and unceremoniously
entered.

Here finding themselves in what appeared to be a broad
space-way, or passage leading to other parts of the building,
they continued to advance forward, groping their way
through the almost utter darkness before them, till they had
proceeded some fifteen or twenty feet from the entrance,
when Botherworth, wondering that no light was to be seen
in any direction, and thinking that things wore a rather
strange appearance for a private dwelling, began to pause
and hesitate about proceeding any farther. Just at this
moment a slight bustle from behind attracted his attention,
and partly turning his head he distinctly heard the sound
of slowly turning hinges: and whirling suddenly round, he
imperfectly distinguished some persons cautiously pushing
to, and closing the door, behind which, in a dark corner
of the space, they appeared to have been standing in concealment.
Scarcely had he time to rally his thoughts, before
Rodgers, now relinquishing his arm and stepping out
of his reach, gave a sharp rap on the wall with his cane.
Botherworth's suspicions being now thoroughly aroused,
he sternly demanded of Rodgers what building this was,
and what was the meaning of all these singular movements.
But before he received any reply, and while repeating the
question in a louder and more startled tone of voice, a man
suddenly appeared with a light at the head of a broad flight
of stairs leading up from the space-way to a large hall on
the second floor, and began to descend, holding the lamp
in one hand and a glittering poniard in the other, while
his person was invested with all the showy insignia of one
of the higher orders of masonry. Botherworth gazed on
the scene now unfolded to his eyes, in mute amazement.
At the entrance through which he had passed into the
building, stood two men, one just in the act of withdrawing
the key from the door which he had locked on the inside,
and both armed with the same weapons and clothed

with the same badges as worn by the brother who appeared
in the opposite direction. Rodgers was standing at the
further end of the space-way, pretending to be looking for
some door or place for escape, and affecting great flurry
and surprise, as if they had got into a wrong building by
mistake: while the man coming down stairs, having paused
about midway, now stood fumbling and trying to unfold
a paper which he held in his hands. A moment of profound
silence ensued, in which all parties stood gazing at
each other in deep surprise or awkward embarrassment.
Botherworth, however, who now saw the whole truth at a
glance, was not long in giving utterance to the rising tempest
of his emotions. “Treacherous wretch!” he exclaimed,
with bitter energy, turning his eyes, fiercely sparkling
with indignation, and throwing out his clenched fist towards
the mute and shrinking form of Rodgers, “treacherous
wretch! is this the game you have been playing all the
while to decoy me into this pit-fall! Speak, villain!” he
continued, uplifting his arm and advancing toward the
dumb-founded and trembling betrayer, “speak, perfidious,
doubly damned villian, or I will”—

`Stop, stop, sir,' cried one of the men at the door, rushing
quickly between them, `this course will not avail you
here.'

“Here!—where?” exclaimed Botherworth, turning
roughly on the intruder, “and who are you, to assume the
right of interfering in our private quarrels?”

`Where you are, and who we are, these badges will well
inform you,' retorted the other, pointing to their aprons,
`and as for this man, whom you are so harshly assailing,
he has done but his duty, as the business we have with you,
sir, will shortly show you. Brother,' he continued, motioning
to the man on the stairs, `why delay to execute your
mission?'

“Is your name William Botherworth?” now asked the
latter, in some trepidation, descending the remaining steps,
yet keeping at a respectful distance from the person addressed.

`And supposing it is, what then, sir?' said Botherworth
scornfully, in reply.

“Then, in that case, and you seem to admit the fact,”
replied this doughty minister of the mystic mission, holding
out the paper which quivered in his hand like the leaf of
an aspen, “then, sir, I have here a summons for you, in behalf
of our Venerable Council, above assembled, and by
order of our Most Potent Grand Master, to appear before
them, and answer unto certain matters and charges then
and there to be preferred against you, of which you may
not fail to comply.”

Botherworth, after sending an anxious glance round the
apartment and scrutinizing anew the looks and persons of
those around him, as if searching for some avenue of escape,
or weighing the chances of overpowering his captors
in a sudden onset, and seemingly rejecting such expedients
as hopeless, at length, in a tone of mingled submission
and defiance, observed, `Well, be it so—I see I am
ensnared, and in your power, and what I am compelled to
do, I may as well do unconstrained—I will go in, but if the
liberty of speech is not also denied me, they shall hear
some truths, though all the mock King Solomons in the
country should be present.'

So saying, he motioned to his keepers his readiness to
attend them to the hall; when two of them immediately
closed in on each side of him, after the manner of the
guards of a prisoner, and, while the less stout-hearted
brother, who had acted as grand summonser on the occasion,
nimbly mounted before them to herald their coming
to the council, they all ascended the stairs, leaving Rodgers
(who was, it seemed to be understood, having now fulfilled
his part in the drama, to be excused from any farther
attendance) alone to his own enviable reflections on the
noble and generous part he had acted towards his confiding
acquaintance. On reaching the hall door, one of the
brothers gave the appropriate rap, which was immediately
answered by another within, when, after waiting a few moments,
the door opened, and they were ushered into the

same spacious lodge-room mentioned in the foregoing
chapter.

Here a scene, in which the splendid, the grotesque and
the terrible, were strangely blended, now burst with over-powering
brightness on the dazzled and unexpecting senses
of Botherworth. The lodge had been opened with the
imposing and fearful degree of Elected Knights of Nine, as
being, in the opinion of the brotherhood, more appropriate
than any other to the important occasion which had
called them together. The hall, intended to represent
the audience chamber of King Solomon, who is said, by
the standard historians of the craft, to have instituted, in
his wisdom and mercy, this tragical order of knighthood,
was decorated with hangings of white and scarlet, pictured
in flames, as typical, probably, of the leading characteristics
of the degree, like the fiery and torture-painted robes worn
by the victims of the Inquisition on their way to the stake.
Nine bright lights in the east and eight in the west sent
forth their steady streams of reflecting light, and filled the
room with the most dazzling effulgence. The Most Potent
Grand Master, personating Solomon, was seated in the
east under a purple canopy, embroidered with skeletons,
death's heads and cross-bones, with a table before him
covered with black, dressed out in all his royal robes, with
a crown on his head and a glittering sceptre in his hand.
While the brethren, arranged in formidable array on either
side of the throne, and clad in the deepest black with
broad ribbons of the same color pending from their shoulders,
and terminating in tasselled dagger sheaths, with
aprons of white, but sprinkled with blood and painted with
the figures of bloody heads and arms, holding bloody daggers,
and with broad brimmed hats on their heads, slouched
over their eyes, now stood with drawn poniards in their
uplifted hands, fiercely scowling at the new comer at the
door, and looking like a gang of bandits just interrupted in
some bloody achievement with the gory evidences of their
unholy deeds freshly reeking upon them. The whole presenting
a scene to the unapprised spectator, as wild and

incongruous, as it was terrific and revolting. A spectacle
more calculated perhaps to inspire awe, to dazzle and appal,
than any one to be met with, in the whole round of
masonic machinery, and a spectacle indeed, before which
even the naturally fearless Botherworth could not keep his
stout heart from quailing.

After a few moments of profound silence, maintained apparently
in order that the imposing scene before him
might have its full effect on the mind of the prisoner, the
brethren, at some slight signal from the throne, all sunk
back into their seats, crossing their legs at the knee and
resting their heads on their right hands;—when the Master
knocked eight and one with the handle of his poniard
which was instantly repeated by the Grand Warden in
the west, and then by all the brethren together. The
noise of this instructive ceremony having died away, and
all again become hushed in silence, the Grand Master, laying
aside the poniard and elevating his sceptre, looked
round the Council and said: “Elected Knights and Princes
of Jerusalem present, let the accused now be presented
before our tribunal of justice and mercy.” The two brother
Knights, who conducted Botherworth into the room,
and who still retained their places at his side, now led the
latter forward near the middle of the floor and directly in
front of the throne; when the Most Potent, in the deep
and passionless tones of a judge, addressed him as follows:

“William Botherworth—you stand charged of wantonly
and wickedly violating the sacred obligations which you
have voluntarily taken never to reveal, except to a brother,
the secrets and mysteries of our divine institution, by
communicating the same to one of the profane and uninitiated.
You are also accused of having, in an early period
in your life, set at nought the sacred injunctions of our institution
by a pretended initiation of one seeking the true
light, wherein our awful solemnities were impiously turned
into ridicule and mockery, and our order greatly scandalized.
To these dreadful allegations which have been fully
substantiated to us and of which we have proofs at hand,

what do you plead in defence, and what reasons offer, why
the ancient usages of our honorable fraternity should not
be conformed to, touching the punishment of so heinous
and high-handed offences?”

With a slight quivering of the lip and tremulousness of
the voice, but with a firm and undaunted countenance,
Botherworth, looking slowly round on the portentous faces
of the brotherhood, and settling his keen and indignant eye
on the Master, replied:

`Most Worshipful Master, and you gentlemen, abettors,
or Knights, or whatever title you, or either of you may
please to assume, to sit in judgement upon me, addmitting
all the facts set forth in your charges, the truth of which
you assume to have been already established against me,
though I have never been confronted with my accusers, or
allowed even the shadow of hearing or trial—admitting I
have confidentially communicated to an individual the secrets
or ceremonies of an institution from which I have
been long ago expelled—admitting all this, I hold myself
justified and blameless in the act. I account myself absolved
from the obligations which you say I have violated—obligations
which I never voluntarily or understandingly took,
but which were forced upon me, trembling under the often
applied torture of sharp pointed instruments, and confused
and bewildered by the new and startling objects around
me—obligations which, even in any circumstances, those
imposing them had no just right or authority to administer,
—which in themselves, are immoral and illegal, enjoining
as they do, in many parts of them, acts contrary to the
laws of the land and prohibited by the precepts of revelation,
and which, therefore ought not, and cannot be binding
on the conscience or conduct of those who unfortunately
become subjected to their unjust and soul-damning
enthralment. And having violated no law of my country
—contravened no rule of morality or any way infringed
upon the rights of individuals, I deny, fearlessly deny, the
right of your institution, to which I owe no allegiance,
to arraign, and bring me to judgement, and I will hold myself
amenable to none of your tribunals.'

“Perjured wretch!” exclaimed the Master, kindling in
resentment for the insulted dignity of his sacred office,
and shocked at the audacious heresies of the accused,—
“perjured wretch! dare you in the same breath confess
your sacred oaths violated, and exult in your unatoned
guilt? We are not wanting in authority to judge, or power
to execute. Tamper not with the sword of justice, for
it is not slow in vengeance. Villain! fear and tremble!”

`I fear you not,' resumed Botherworth, in the same undismayed
and reckless tone, `I neither fear your authority,
or tremble at your threatenings. I will say nothing of the
singular and volume-speaking fact that I now stand a guarded
prisoner before you, in a free country, and in the heart
of a christianized and intelligent community, arrested by
no legal authority, and retained in duress by those who
have no right to control my actions. I will say nothing of
the base and detestable plan of deceit and treachery, by
which I was entrapped and brought into this place by one
of your number, acting doubtless under commission from
this illustrious Council. I will say nothing of these, for
they flow directly from that system of darkness and iniquity
which are the Jachin and Boaz, the very pillars and keystone
of your boasted institution—they are but the legitimate
fruits of those fearful oaths which require of the poor
blinded and haltered candidate, at the very threshold of
your pagan temple, to give his sanction to murder and suicide;
and which go on enjoining, as he advances step by
step along its bewildering labyrinths of moral pollution,
the same connivance or commission of acts of a deeper and
deeper turpitude, till at length he finds himself, as the occasions
arise, doubly, trebly, and irretrievably sworn to
the participation or execution of half the foul deeds to be
found in the whole dark catalogue of crime! I will not
trouble you with a further recital of my private opinions
of the character of your institution, nor of those settled
and honest convictions which long ago forced me to the
choice of burning my Bible and rejecting its law of universal
love, charity and forgiveness, or of discarding forever

my masonry with its whole system of selfish favoritism,
iniquity and vengeance,—and which, I need not tell you,
resulted in the determination to retain the former and renounce
the latter. I will not detain you, as well I might,
with arguments and allegations like these. But, in answer
to your question when you ask what reasons I have to offer
why the ancient usages of your order should not be conformed
to respecting my punishment, I again repeat, that
no law either human or divine has given you jurisdiction
over me. I again boldly deny your right to judge or control
me. I fearlessly impeach your pretended authority,
and, aware as I am of the fearful doom which a conformity
to those usages would involve—of the dark and murderous
designs which your menaces imply, I bid you beware
how you attempt to execute your hellish purposes. I bid
you beware how you lay a finger upon me for evil. The
loud cry of murder will reach beyond the walls of your infernal
conclave, and summon up a host to my aid. But
should you succeed in the foul designs which you are plotting
against me, I bid you remember the prophetic warning
which I now give you—my blood will not long be unavenged;
but crying up from the ground, will be answered
in the judgement of heaven, which will soon smite your
proud fabric to the dust, and lay open to a hooting and
exasperated world your ridiculous mummeries, your unhallowed
and impious mysteries, and your bloody register
of crimes!'

As Botherworth closed this audacious speech, arraigning
with such daring mockery the exalted purity and justice
of the divine institution of masonry, and bidding defiance
to its heaven-delegated authority with such high-handed
insults, there was a deep and general commotion
in the Council. Dark and sullen looks of hatred and detestation,
and quick and fiery glances of indignation were
every where bent on the blaspheming speaker, and, accompanied
by the heaving breast, the short, suppressed breathings,
and the low, broken mutterings of out-breaking
wrath, now but too plainly indicated the determined

and unanimous purposes of the outraged and agitated
brotherhood.

The Most Potent now hastily rising from his seat, with
every muscle quivering with rage, and with a voice half
choked with emotion, rapped furiously on the table, exclaiming,
“Anathema maranatha! Anathema maranatha!”

Swift as echo came the startling raps of the brotherhood
in response.

“Nekum!” cried the Master.

“Vengeance!” responded the Council.

“So mote it be!” said the Master.

“Amen, amen, amen, amen!” exclaimed the brotherhood
in eager reply.

The formalities of order were now no longer attempted
to be maintained in the Council; and the members, hastily
leaving their places, began to scatter promiscuously over
the floor of the lodge-room—some gliding stealthily out of
the door, some gathering into small groups about the room
and whispering together with quick and earnest, but restrained
gestures—some passing in and out the preparation-room
and disrobing themselves of their masonic habiliments
or badges, and others with hurried, nervous steps,
and excited countenances, moving to and fro in seeming
preparation for some approaching event; while the low,
half suppressed murmur of eager voices which ran through
the hall, and the expectant looks and attitudes every
where visible, seemed to indicate that the crisis was now
at hand.

Botherworth was by no means unmindful of these ominous
appearances; and, not being very strictly guarded at
this moment, he began to edge along by degrees towards
the door, which, though still effectually tyled, afforded
nevertheless the only avenue for his escape from the hall.
His progress, however, was quickly arrested by the watchful
brotherhood, who no sooner observed the movement
than they immediately gathered round the spot where he
stood, some falling in between him and the door to obstruct
his way, and others, with affected indifference and

carelessness, jostling about his person. But Botherworth,
not relishing such familiar proximity just at this time,
sternly bade them stand off at their peril. This repulse
had a momentary effect in making them give way; yet
they soon again closed up around him, and, though awkwardly
mute, still continued the same manœuvres of frequently
changing places, turning round and rubbing
against his body. Becoming more and more suspicious
of this singular conduct, he again attempted to disengage
himself and make his way out of the crowd, when all at
once one of the brethren, who, like the tiger, had been
watching for a favorable opportunity to seize his prey, suddenly
sprang upon him from behind, and grasped him with
both arms fast round the middle. A brief but desperate
struggle now ensued. With a prodigious effort, Botherworth
wrenched himself from the grasp of his antagonist,
and hurled him headlong to the floor: But before he could
avail himself of his advantage, both of his own legs were
grappled by another of his foes, and he himself was prostrated
in turn. A dozen now sprang upon his body at
once, and with maniac grasp confined him to the floor,
while one darting to his head, passed a large pocket-handkerchief
over his face, and, holding both ends, drew it forcibly
through his mouth just as the stifled cry of murder
was escaping his lips. Holding him in this situation till he
had nearly exhausted his strength in his ineffectual struggles
to get free, his victors then proceeded to disable him
from making uny farther resistance. They first firmly tied
his wrists together behind him—next closely pinioned his
arms with a rope, one end of which was left dangling in
his rear for future purposes; and lastly, so effectually gagged
him as to prevent the possibility of his raising an
alarm by any articulate cries for assistance. He was now
helped on to his feet, and, after being threatened with instant
death if he attempted to groan or make any noise, led
down stairs by two of the brethren walking each side and
holding their poniards to his breast, while a third holding
on to the end of the rope, and armed with the same weapon
to prick him if he faultered, followed behind. At the
door stood a close carriage drawn up in readiness to receive
the prisoner, and two of the three brothers who had
been allotted the preceding evening to the last important
duty, and who had now left the lodge-room for the purpose
on the breaking up of the Council, were in attendance,
anxiously awaiting his appearance from the hall—one of
whom, having mounted the driver's seat, was now holding
the reins, while the other, who was no other than our hero,
was seated within to take charge of the unfortunate
man on the way to the place which had been appointed
by the three for the final catastrophe, and whither the
third one of their number had already proceeded alone to
see that all things were duly prepared, and to await the arrival
of his companions.

When the keepers of Botherworth had got him to the
door, they made a brief pause, and, in a quick, under-tone
of voice, exchanged the pass-word with their companions
in waiting. They then, after peering about a moment in
the darkness to discover if any one was approaching, hastily
urged him forward, forced him into the carriage, and,
in willing ignorance of the identity of the brothers to whom
they had delivered their charge, instantly retreated back
to the recesses of their sanctum sanctorum to join their
brethren in resuming the deliberations of the conclave.
But having no occasion to witness the further proceedings
of the rest of this illustrious assemblage, let us bid them a
final adieu, and follow the fortunes of our hero, who was
now about to fill the measure of his masonic glory in the
closing scene of our changeful and sad-ending story.

As soon as Timothy had seated the prisoner by his side
in the carriage, securely possessed himself of the end of
the rope by which he was pinioned, and sternly enjoined
the strictest silence at the point of his poniard, he made a
signal to his companion, and immediately they were in motion
on their way out of town.

Trembling with the most painful solicitude and fearful
apprehension lest something should occur to excite suspicion,

or frustrate their purposes, did our hero and his trusty
companion pass slowly and cautiously along the different
parts of the town, and though the streets were now
dark and deserted, or illumined only by here and there a
light dimly twinkling through the gloom, and silent as the
city of the dead except occasionally perhaps the distant
and dying sounds of the receding steps of some benighted
debauchee stealthily pursuing his way homeward, yet they
suffered not their vigilance to abate, nor would their feelings
allow them to breathe freely, till they had passed the
last straggling tenement of the suburbs,—when feeling
comparatively relieved from this agitating sense of insecurity
and fear, they struck off into an uninhabited road, and
proceeded rapidly onward to the place of destination. After
a drive of about half an hour, during which the gloomy
silence of the way was only broken by the deep sighs and
stifled groans that sometimes involuntarily burst from the
bosom of the agonized and wretched prisoner, or the rumbling
of distant thunder now occasionally heard in the
south, which seemed to send forth its low, deep utterance
in mournful response to his sufferings, the carriage halted
near an extensive sheet of water.

The brother who had acted as driver, having dismounted
from his seat, and fastened his horses, now repaired to
the carriage door and threw it open;—when he and our
hero helped Botherworth out upon the ground, and after
placing him between them, and cautiously securing their
holds on his person, they turned into a narrow lane, and
forced him along till they arrived at the water's edge.

Here lay a boat in which their pioneer brother was now
standing, just handling the oars, and making ready to push
off from the shore. The boat was a large skiff with three
boards thrown across for seats, besides the low one near
the stern for the oarsman, but with nothing else about it
uncommon or suspicious except a fifty-six pound iron
weight which lay in the bottom in the rear of the middle
seat.

As soon as the brother in charge of the boat was recognized

as such by his companions on shore through the
official medium of the pass-word, the prisoner, after some
ineffectual attempts at resistance, was dragged on board
and placed on the centre cross board or high seat. Our
hero took the seat in front, and his compani on the driver
the one next behind the prisoner, while in rear of all,
the third of the consecrated band, betook himself to the
seat and office of oarsman. Thus arranged, they headed
round, and immediately pushed out towards the middle of
the wide expanse of sleeping waters that lay shrouded in
darkness before them.

For some time they rowed on in silence, while the gloom
seemed every moment growing more and more deep and
impenetrable around them. When all at once a broad
and lingering flash of lightning burst upon the waters in
the brightness of noon-day, displaying a scene in the boat
at which the brotherhood themselves startled. The oarsman
with his lips in motion counting the stroaks of his
oars, a calculation having been made of the number required
to carry them far enough from the shore for their
purpose, was now bending lustily to his work, while the
large drops of persperation were falling fast from his anxious
and troubled brow. The brother sitting immediately
behind the prisoner, was egerly engaged in tying the end
of the rope, by which the arms of the latter were confined,
to the iron weight that lay between them in the bottom of
the boat. While the victim himself, still unconcious of
the fatal machinery preparing at his back, was glaring,
with the attitudes of surprise and horror, upon the face of
Timothy, whom he seemed now for the first time to have
recognized as his old acquaintance; for the latter had not
only kept his return a secret from all but the brotherhood,
but, for reasons best known to himself, had carefully avoided
confronting Botherworth in the late lodge meeting. And on
thus unexpectedly discovering among his foes the person
whom he had supposed some hundred miles distant—whom
he had often obliged as a friend and neighbor, and to whom
now, but for the connection in which he found him, he

would have confidently appealed for aid in this emergency,
the astonished and heart-struck man started from his
seat, and gazing an instant on the rapt and lofty mien before
him with a look which spake that to which the Ettu
Brute of Caesar were meaningless, sunk dispairingly down
with a groan of unutterable anguish as the last glimmerings
of the wasting flash played faintly over the deeply
depicted wo of his distorted features. A loud peal from
the approaching thunder-cloud came booming over the
broad face of the bay, and all again was hushed in silence
and darkness.

Our hero's philosophy and sense of masonic justice as
stern as was the one, and as exalted and deep-rooted as
was the other, were, it must be confessed, a little shaken
by this unexpected incident. The thought that he was
about to lift his hand against one whom he had long familiarly
known as a kind and agreeable neighbor produced indeed
some unpleasant sensations, and made kim for the
moment almost relent of his noble purposes. But other
thoughts soon came and brought with them an antidote
for this excusable frailty of feeling. He thought of his insulted
father whose injuries had never been avenged. He
thought of the just behests of that institution to which his
heart was wedded—whose sacred principles he had irrevocably
adopted as his only guide of action in life, and his
pass-port to heaven in the hour of death, and whose violated
laws now seemed to cry aloud for vengeance on the
audacious wretch who had spurned and trampled them
under foot with such impious defiance. And above all,
he thought of his own solemn oaths in which he had unreservedly
sworn on the holy bible, invoking the everlasting
God to keep him steadfast. “To sacrifice the traitors of
masonry.” “To be ready to inflict the same penalty (that
suffered by Akirop) on all those who disclose the secrets of
their degrees,” and “to take vengeance on the treason by the
destruction of the traitor”—and were not these sacred obligations
to be regarded? What were the ordinary injunctions
of the civil laws of the country to these? What indeed

had they to do with him in such a case? He was entirely
aloof from their prohibitions, and above their control.
He was the honored subject of another, and paramount
government, and under its high sanction he was now
acting. And as for incurring any moral guilt by the deed
he was about to commit, that was inconsistent and impossible;
for in one of those sublime and exalted degrees he
had taken he had been “made holy,” and consequently was
now placed beyond the liability of sinning. He thought
of all these, and as they passed through his mind, he wondered
at his momentary weakness. His bosom again became
steeled, and his arm nerved for the high and enviable
duty before him, and he grew impatient for the moment
of its execution to arrive.

Meanwhile the thick and blackening mass of cloud in
the south was rapidly approaching. Nearer and nearer
fell the thunder-claps, and more and more vividly played
the lightnings around the wide-stretched and lofty van of
the dark, moving column—now shooting fiercely and perpendicularly
down from their vapory battlements above to
the face of the startled deep beneath—and now, like the
fiery serpents of the fabled Tartarus, crinkling and leaping
from wave to wave along the wide arena of their terriffic
gambols till the whole bay was kindled into light and
seemingly converted into one vast Phlegethon of flames.

The prisoner at each returning flash, during the first part
of this grand and fearful scene, was observed to send many
a searching and wistful look around over the face of the
vacant waters. And now, finding there was no foreign
vessel in sight, or any other craft indeed, to which his
keepers could be taking him, as he seemed to have imagined
was, at the worst, their purpose, he began to grow every
moment more alarmed and restive. A cold sweat stood
on his face, and his features became more and more troubled,
and his eyes more wildly despairing, till his whole
frame seemed to writhe in agony under the workings of his
dreadful apprehensions. And, though still painfully gagged,
deep and heart-rending groans, now in the accents of

wo and distress, and now in the tones of supplication to his
keepers, or to heaven for mercy, were continually bursting
in convulsive sobs from his anguished bosom.

For many minutes the boat still shot swiftly onward in
its course, with no other indication that the fast nearing
storm or the increasing restlessness of the prisoner were
heeded by the brethren, except in the augmented velocity
with which they forced their skiff through the surging waters.
But soon, however, the strokes of the oarsman began
visibly to relax, while the cautious changing of postures,
the fixing of feet, and the long-drawn and tremulous
respirations of the band, plainly told that the awful moment
was approaching. At length, in a chosen interval of
darkness, the now almost motionless oars were suddenly
thrown aback, and the boat brought to a stand. For one
moment there was a dead and fearful pause. Our hero
and his companion by the prisoner awaited with trembling
nerves and suspended breaths the fatal signal from the oarsman.
At last it came—the same significant word of the
lodge-room—“Nekum!” In an instant our hero was upon
his feet—in another his poniard was buried to the hilt
in the bosom of the prisoner;—while the other, fiercely
grappling at the same time one end of the seat on which
the unfortunate man was writhing, and the ponderous
weight to which he was fastened, hurled both together into
the water. With the splashing sound descended the lightning
stream in quivering flames to the spot, revealing here
the hero exultingly brandishing his reeking blade aloft,
and exclaiming, “Vengeance is taken!”—and there the
sinking man, with the crimson current spouting up through
the discoloured wave that was flowing over his convulsed
and death-set features. Darkness again succeeded. Once
more rose a faint bubbling groan, and all was still. The
boat wheeled swiftly round for the shore, and the loud
crash of thunder that followed told the requium of the
hapless Botherworth, the victim of masonic vengeance!