Crown of Serpents (9 page)

On the second floor Hibbard paused. “In 1759 the fort was taken over by the British after the French and Indian War and used during the fur trade. It was held throughout the Revolutionary War and used as a base for the British and their Iroquois Indian allies to raid the New York and Pennsylvania frontier until America took it over in 1796. The British then recaptured it during the War of 1812, during the fort’s last armed conflict. In 1815, it was ceded back to the U.S.”

Jake nodded. Impressed.

Hibbard turned left down the narrow main corridor. He followed. At the far end she unlocked a tall oak door to a room once acting as the original commandant’s office.

Leading him into the room, no bigger than a modern day jail cell, she shut the door behind them then proceeded to the window. Sliding back an iron bolt, she hauled open the heavy wooden shutters allowing the late afternoon light to flow in. A heightened view of Lake Ontario’s shimmering blue waters lay below, the brownish sediment of Niagara River emptying at its mouth. To her right was another locked door leading to the commandant’s bedroom, one of the few rooms on display for the public. Jake heard hushed tourist voices on the other side through cracks in that door.

Hibbard had Jake take a seat at an old wooden table in the center of the room. The table held a box of white linen handling gloves. Grabbing a pair for herself, she unlocked a floor-to-ceiling cabinet off to the side, entered it, and reappeared with a corroded leather box in her gloved hands. It was slightly larger than a shoebox.

“Major. Here’s what you came for,” she announced in a business-like tone as she set the box on her side of the table. She looked directly at Jake and handed him a pair of gloves. “Please adhere to normal handling procedures. Here are your gloves. You may take digital photos, no flashes. You may take notes by pencil only. Do you need a pencil and notepad?”

“Actually — I apologize. I have the notepad but forgot a pencil. Do you have an extra one?

She pulled a sharpened number 2 pencil from some hidden back pocket and handed it to him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. She was serious now, Jake observed. Not a relaxed bone in her body, but then again, considering the financial distress she was under, he couldn’t blame her. He rested his beret on the table, extracted a notepad and a credit card sized digital camera from his tote, put on his gloves, and looked up at the director.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am.”

Hibbard took a seat, lifted the top of the box and set it aside. “These items, the best I could conclude from my research, belonged to Lieutenant Thomas Boyd of General John Sullivan’s Continental Army during the campaign in the summer of 1779. There are six items in the box — just the way it was found. I’ll take them out one at a time. We have just one hour scheduled for you to conduct your review. Feel free to ask questions at any time. I’ll start with his knife.”

Hibbard reached into the box and carefully lifted out a wooden handle rusted blade typical of the Revolutionary War period. She placed it on the table in front of Jake pointing out Boyd’s name carved on the handle. He photographed it at several different angles, handled it carefully, and took copious notes.

He repeated this procedure with Boyd’s black powder horn and a brass belt buckle — both engraved with his initials. The buckle contained the raised symbol of the letter G surrounded by a compass and square to form a perfectly symmetrical triangle. The symbol for the Freemasons. Jake touched it lightly with his index finger.

Next came a handwritten letter on parchment paper pertaining to Boyd’s sword. The letter read:

Buffaloe Creek 14th September 1779

Brother Brant,

I write to you in response to your displeasure of the fate of the late Rebel Scout Lieutenant Thomas Boyd. I was unaware that he had given you the Universal Hail Sign of Distress of a Worthy Brother in Need upon capture with his Sergeant, a one Michael Parker. I had not been informed that you had accepted the Sign and the Word, promising his Safekeeping. He did not present the Sign, nor the Word to me, knowing me full well also to be a fellow Traveling Man of the Craft. Boyd was a brave leader of his Scouts. There is no doubt. He fought us hard during the Ambuscade, even after being wounded in his side. Had I known of your intentions that he was under your Personal Protection, I would not have interrogated him, but in my interpretation at the time, he was the Enemy and thus my duty and my responsibility to the King that I examine the Rebel for intelligence. You should know Boyd refused to divulge any information of General Sullivan’s army under thrice repeated threat of death. But the non-Mason Parker gave me everything I needed. Had you not departed on unrelated matters, you might have saved Boyd’s life after I was done with him, for I could not control the Anger possessed within Little Beard and his clan of Seneca under your command. They sought revenge for the destruction the Rebel Army had laid upon their villages and crops. Little Beard inflicted torture practices I have never witnessed before. I could not stop them. Such a young man at the age of twenty-three, Boyd was truly a brave soul, even during the pure agony leading up to his death. He never begged for mercy once and died with his dignity intact much to the displeasure of Little Beard. Parker was summarily dispatched with similar techniques. In honor of your initial Obligation to help a Worthy Brother in Need, I’ve directed the bearer of this letter, a runner from Little Beard’s clan, to present to you the sword of the Lieutenant Thomas Boyd, confiscated by my sergeant before your warriors stripped the man. Keep it well. I shall meet you in Niagara.

Fraternally,

John Butler

Jake blinked several times. He stammered for words. “Unbelievable! A letter to Joseph Brant from Colonel John Butler. And completely shrouded in Masonic mystery.”

“I’m sorry Major. I don’t understand what the letter pertains to.”

“Butler and Brant were famous figures,” answered Jake. “Or infamous, I should say. The Americans despised them and placed a bounty on their heads. Their actions during several massacres in the Wyoming and Cherry Valley led to Washington’s decision to destroy the Iroquois homeland. What you have here is an amazing artifact of history. This letter alone will fetch a pretty penny.”

Ms. Hibbard’s demeanor changed at the mention of money. “Is that right? Go on.”

Jake took several minutes to explain to her the magnitude of the correspondence. Colonel John Butler was the leader of Butler’s Rangers, a British detachment based out of Fort Niagara. Chief Joseph Brant was a Mohawk Indian who led a contingent of Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, and Mohawk Indians. The Rangers and the Indians were undeniably the fiercest combination of guerilla warriors in the Revolutionary War. Brant had persuaded many Iroquois to ally with the British instead of staying neutral. And because of this stance many Iroquois looked down on Brant and labeled him a monster for getting them involved in the war and thus destroying their Confederacy. He and Butler were co-commanders in the western New York and Pennsylvania wilderness and often did not get along. Although they distrusted each other and vied for power, they did work for a common cause — to kill rebels.

During their reign of terror, their soldiers murdered many American settlers and burned countless villages in a brutal land grabbing campaign to oust the Patriots, yet they blamed each other for the atrocious acts of the troops under their command. Jake interpreted the letter, rife with Freemasonry terminology, to be sort of a gotcha moment or I told you so for Brant harboring rebels against the King’s will, even if they were Brother Masons. It added to the mystery surrounding Thomas Boyd’s last hours of his life.

Rising from his seat, Jake began to pace, arms folded behind his back. He went on to explain that Chief Brant was raised and educated in British Tory schools. He was the epitome of the noble warrior and had even visited the King of England in 1776. It was there he was initiated into the ancient fraternity called the Freemasons and had the distinction of having his Masonic apron given to him from the hand of King George III himself. The reasoning behind the letter, Jake thought, revolved around the notion that Masons always helped out their Brothers, even when on opposite sides of war, or of different ethnicities or political persuasions. The Brit John Butler was a Freemason, as were the Patriots Thomas Boyd, his General John Sullivan, and even their superior George Washington.

Jake stopped and turned to the executive director. “Now here is the real interesting part that has Freemason historians mystified to this day. It was upon Boyd’s capture after he was ambushed that he communicated the secret signal of distress to his captor, Chief Brant — knowing him to be a fellow Mason. It is a highly secretive hand gesture given from one Mason to another when you think you’re going to lose your life and you need help. You see, Brant had already proved to be a worthy, quote-unquote Brother, in Boyd’s eyes because he had helped two other rebel Masons escape execution after the surrender of American forces after the Battle of the Cedars in 1776. Anyway, Brant took Boyd’s signal to heart. He felt obligated to save Boyd’s life and assured him he would have safe passage to Montreal for a prisoner exchange. But that’s where the official history became muddled.”

“How so?” asked Hibbard. Her eyes alight and engaged in Jake’s tale of Freemasonry on the battlefield.

“Well, Brant had to take temporary leave before he could help Boyd after his capture. Boyd ended up in the care of Butler,” said Jake, thoroughly enjoying his presentation. “Butler took that opportunity to interrogate Boyd himself — he called it an examination in the letter. He gained the intelligence on Sullivan’s army, and then deliberately handed him over to the Indians so they could exact their revenge. He claims the Indians took Boyd by force in this letter, but I’ve read other witness accounts that his act was deliberate. If this were so, then Butler would be in direct defiance of the sworn obligations of a Freemason to never deprive a fellow brother of his life or property.”

Jake rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Hibbard made a humming sound. He walked over to the window, looked out, and continued speaking. “But it was also known that Butler never did play by the rules and saw only one loyalty, and that was to the British monarchy. He had supposedly justified his actions by saying that any Masonic obligations were overruled by the duty of an army officer to serve his King, and must not be invoked to protect rebels. His letter clearly states he was unaware of the arrangement Brant had made, that it was his duty to interrogate, and furthermore was not in control of the Indians afterward.” He turned and faced Hibbard again. “But I think it’s a farce.” He pointed to the letter.

“What? The letter?”

“No, no. Not the letter itself, but Butler’s content, his explanation to Brant within the letter.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve personally read a contradictory letter by Colonel Butler to his superior at Fort Niagara on that same September 14th and it was anything but this explanation. He claimed that Boyd was escorted under protective guard and sent forward to Fort Niagara, but while passing through the Genesee Valley an old Indian rushed out and tomahawked him. Obviously a bold-faced lie.”

The director leaned forward, a puzzled look on her face.

“You see, given the history of confrontation between Butler and Brant, I think the letter we have here might have been a ploy on Butler’s part to claim innocence in the whole execution and at the same time stick Brant as being responsible for another atrocious act to tarnish his record. He then slaps him in the face by presenting the sword of the one he was supposed to protect.”

“Oh, I see now,” said Hibbard. “It was personal. Very interesting.”

“Very interesting indeed as almost a year later in Pennsylvania, Boyd’s sword was taken off a wounded elderly Seneca Indian. How it ended up in this other Indian’s hands and not Brant’s we’ll never know.”

Hibbard nodded thoughtfully. “Which means we could possibly conclude that the Seneca runner who was given this letter and the sword intended for Brant never fulfilled his delivery for Butler. And thus this letter sleeps in a box with Boyd’s other possessions.”

“Right,” said Jake. He pointed his index finger in the air. “And like you said earlier, this runner hides this box away here at Niagara, for whatever reason, then simply dies that same winter from starvation or disease like so many others did.”

“And the rest of Boyd’s story dies too.”

Jake pursed his lips. “A sad ending because the way he died was one of the most atrocious acts of murder against an American Patriot in this country’s history.”

“How so?”

“I’ll spare you the gory details, but basically he was tortured to death for hours in every way thinkable.”

“I see,” said Hibbard, with a frown. She then glanced at her watch. “Oh dear Major, your time is running short and we still have his campaign journal.”

“Yes, I’m sorry to ramble like that. This is a truly remarkable discovery. You could write an entire book based on this letter alone.”

Hibbard extracted a small leather bound booklet out of the box and set it in front of Jake as he sat back down in his chair. She retrieved the letter and replaced it back in the box.

“Like I said, I had not read much of the entries but Boyd’s writing was most terrible.” She smiled as she watched Jake open the cover.

He read a little, turned to a random page inside, read some more, saw a few illustrations on a page with a torn corner, then flipped to the last page, noted some odd lettering and that the page had a similar ripped corner as the previous one. He looked over to Hibbard.

“Apparently this is one of several journals from Boyd,” explained Jake. “This indicates it was the last in a series. The entries here start on September first. The final entry was dated Sunday, September twelfth, the day before his capture. I wonder what happened to the other journals?”

“Interesting.”

“There’s a lot here and I noticed several small illustrations and strange lettering too. How much time do I have left?” Jake asked.