“We are witnesses of your solemn obligation. Who vouches for Benjamin Bamforth?”
“That do I,” said Booth.
“That, too, do I,” said another voice that sounded familiar to my ears.
“Place before him the Book. Place your hands, Brother Bamforth, upon the Bible and fix your eyes upon these emblems of mortality. As they are, so be you, if you falter, or if you fail. Repeat after me the words of our oath.”
Then, phrase by phrase, in a silence only broken by the voices of us twain and the heavy breathing of that grim group, I repeated after the playfellow of my boyhood and my manhood’s friend the solemn words: “I, Benjamin Bamforth, of my own voluntary will, do declare and solemnly swear that I never will reveal to any person or persons under the canopy of heaven the names of the persons who comprise this secret committee their proceedings, meetings, places of abode, dress, features, complexion, or anything else that might lead to a discovery of the same, either by word, deed or sign, under the penalty of being sent out of the world by the first brother who shall meet me, and my name and character blotted out of existence, and never to be remembered but with contempt and abhorrence. And I further do swear, to use my best endeavours to punish by death any traitor or traitors, should any rise up among us, wherever I may find him or them, and though he should fry to the verge of nature I will pursue him with unceasing vengeance, so help me God and bless me, to keep this my oath inviolate.”
“Kiss the Book.”
I kissed the Bible.
“Show more light.”
In each quarter of the room a light shone forth, its rays till now obscured.
“Brethren, unmask, and let our brother know his brethren.”