High Twelve

THE "BOY MASON"

I have had something to say in Low Twelve" about the "Woman Freemason" who lived and flourished in Ireland nearly two hundred years ago. I can only repeat that I believe the story is a myth, even though the claim is engraved on her tombstone. I suspect she went down to her grave under the most beautiful delusion of which her sex was ever made the victim.

Such being my conviction, you will accuse me of a similar absurdity in claiming that a boy was ever made a member of our Order, and that, too, before he was ten years old! I beg you to suspend judgment until you have heard me through. When you have done that I shall calmly await your verdict.

Among the thousands of overland emigrants to California in the summer of 1851, was a party which numbered about forty men, women and children. They left Independence, Missouri, one of the principal starting points in those days, and were fortunate, not only in having an experienced guide but in numbering twenty able-bodied men, all good horsemen and rifle shots. The great peril to the early seekers of gold during a journey across the plains was not so much from the terrific storms, the sudden changes in weather, the almost impassable trail and the furious, overflowing torrents, but from Indians, who in many instances killed every member of an emigrant train, after it had passed two-thirds or more of the distance to San' Francisco.

The company which I have in mind was so well guarded against this danger that it cannot be said they were in serious trouble more than once on the way. They exchanged shot times almost without number with dusky warriors who had a way of circling about the train or the camp on their ponies, and launching their arrows or firing their defective guns from under the necks or bodies of their galloping animals.

In two of these attacks, one of the men was wounded, but the defenders inflicted such loss upon their assailants that they were glad to scurry off, taking their dead and injured with them.

The most alarming affray was near the central part of the present State of Wyoming. A large party of Cheyenne hovered on the flanks of the white men all of one afternoon, displaying such reckless bravery and persistency that the guide assured his friends that they intended to make a more resolute assault during the night. The sky was without a moon and so overcast that objects could not be seen for more than a dozen paces distant. Accordingly all preparation possible was made. The lumbering, canvas-covered wagons were drawn up in a circle with the horses and oxen within, while the women and children were huddled in the largest vehicle, whose sides were bullet proof. This was placed in the interior of the enclosure, every man taking his turn in acting as sentinel.

Sure enough, about "Low Twelve" the darkness was rent by hideous yells, and fully two-score warriors, all on foot, charged the defenses. The fight was of the most desperate nature, and for a few minutes a general massacre seemed inevitable. The redskins forced their way through the lines, and seeming to suspect where the helpless ones were cowering in, terror, strove to reach them. They were beaten off, though not until they had slain two women and one of the children. Roused to fury, the whites fought like tigers, and the guide gave it as his belief that when the warriors fled, they carried one-third of their number, most of them dead, with them.

It was a close call, for all had come nearer death than ever before; but on the whole the emigrants were fortunate. Nothing further was to be feared from their enemies, but while the dead and injured were being attended to, Mr. Victor Patten and his wife made the horrifying discovery that their only child, a boy of nine years, was missing. The frenzied search through camp in which all, more or less, took part failed to find him, and before morning dawned it was certain, that he had been carried off by the Cheyenne. One of the women recalled the cry of the lad whose meaning she did not suspect in the horrible confusion, but which the guide said was forced from the boy when he found himself in the grip of a dusky miscreant.

The parents were crushed to the earth by their grief, and the father would have risked his life over and over again, if by so doing he could gain the slightest chance of recovering his child. The guide assured him that nothing could be done, and after the slain were buried in that wild region, the stricken couple accompanied their friends on the long, trying journey through the mountains, their sorrow so profound that every heart was wrung with pity.

The company reached the Pacific coast without further incident, and the father met with unusual success in diggings. Nothing, however, could lift the burden from his heart, and he saw that even in that favorable climate his wife was declining fast, and could not live more than a year at the most, unless some mental relief came to her.

"If I only knew that Berton was dead," she said, as and her husband talked for the hundredth time over the loss, "I could be resigned, but to know that he may be alive and that we have abandoned him is more than I can bear."

One evening when the pale, sad mother repeated these words, her husband sprang to his feet, compressed his lips and said with flashing eyes:

"You are right, Molly; we have deserted Berton: he may have been killed on that awful night, but perhaps he was spared, and I'm going to find out!"

She encouraged him in his determination, and two days later, Victor Patten, alone and carrying only his rifle and a supply of ammunition, started eastward, resolved not to return until he learned beyond all doubt the fate of his little boy.

It would require a volume to describe that journey east ward. It was in the depth of winter and more than once the man was in danger of being overcome by the fearful snowstorms, the intense cold and the hostility, of the treacherous redskins. Before bidding his wife good-bye he had talked with the guide, who advised him to make his way to old Fort Laramie, in the southeastern corner of the Wyoming of today, He would there meet hunters and trappers who might give him information and possibly aid him. The Indians, it will be remembered, were Cheyenne, who had their principal hunting grounds in that section. Their most famous war chief was Ca-wa-to, and if communication could be opened with him, he might be persuaded to tell what he knew.

Patten reached the old fort in the midst of a driving snowstorm. Tough, strong-limbed and hardy as he was, he had pushed his capacity to the limit. He could not have fought his way a mile farther. He was treated with great hospitality and kindness by the garrison, and after he had been fed and warmed, he related his story.

"Can any of you tell me how I can get word to Chief Ca-wa-to?" he asked, looking up in the bronzed and sympathetic faces gathered round him.

"Ca-wa-to," repeated a rugged hunter; "he's here at the post now, but is going home tonight."
"Let me see him!" said Patten eagerly; "I know he will tell me something about my lost boy; don't let him go till I meet him."

A few minutes later the Cheyenne leader, clad in deerskin and his face daubed with paint, and carrying a long, formidable rifle, was ushered into the large room of the post, while the group watched him and Patten with no little curiosity.

"Can he understand English?" asked the visitor of his informant.

"As well as you do, though he talks bad."

The scene which followed was extraordinary, and no one except the actors understood what it meant. Patten was sitting on a bench when the impressive looking chief strode into the rough compartment. The white man rose to his feet and extended his hand.

"How do you do, brother?"

The remarkable fact was that when the white man took the hand of the Cheyenne chief in his own, he gave the Masonic grip and the Indian instantly returned it. Then followed a few rapid exchanges in low voices, meaningless to the listeners, except those who were Masons, and the truth was established that the American and Caucasian were members of the mystic tie. Why Patten made the test he could never explain, but he said that, having heard that there were Masons among the Indians, he felt no harm could result in finding whether Ca-wa-to was one.

An intimacy thus established, the two held a long talk. Patten explained why he had come on the long and hard journey alone in winter, and begged the chief to help him find his boy, if he was alive, or to let him know if he was dead. Without the slightest excitement, the chief replied (I improve his diction):

It was I who led that party which attacked your train and it was I who carried off your child; he is in my lodge now and is well; he longs to go to his father and mother, but it grieves me to part with him. You are his father, you are my Brother, and in two days he shall be here at the fort with you. But you must not go home alone with him, for he cannot live in the mountains before the spring comes.

And then the chief used the following words to the overjoyed parent (I still trim his sentences for him):

"Your boy is a Mason like us."

With the load lifted from his mind, the parent was able to laugh, but he had not the remotest idea of what the chief meant. All was made clear, however, when true to his promise, he brought Berton to Fort Laramie, and restored him to the arms of his father, and later to his overjoyed mother. Like a true Mason, Ca-wa-to accompanied the couple through the terrible mountains, never parting with them until well beyond the boundary of California and all danger was left behind.

The Cheyenne chief formed a strong liking for the boy Berton Patten, which was proved by the fact that although he must have known he had no earthly right to do such a thing, he nevertheless set out to make him a Freemason. He actually taught him the grips of the Entered Apprentice, and would have taken him in his crude way through the other two degrees, had not the arrival of the father prevented.

It may be added that it did not take Berton long to forget all the Masonic lore he had learned, so that when he was duly elected, at the age of twenty-one, a member of Alpha Lodge, No..., he began over again; but I still insist that he was as much a boy Mason as any female has ever been a woman Mason. If you agree with me you will justify the caption I have used, and if you do not agree with me, I don't see how you are going to help yourself.