Mason & Dixon (14 page)

Astronomers will seek to record four Instants of perfect Tangency between Venus's Disk, and the Sun's. Two are at Ingress,— External Contact, at the first touch from outside the Sun's Limb, and then Internal Contact, at the instant the small black Disk finally detaches from the inner Circumference of the great yellow one, Venus now standing alone against the Face of the Sun. The other two come at Egress,— this time, first Internal, then external Contact. And then Eight more years till the next, and for this Generation last, Opportunity,— as if the Creation's Dark Engineer had purposedly arrang'd the Intervals thus, to provoke a certain Instruction, upon the limits to human grandeur impos'd by Mortality.

The Sky remains clouded up till the day of the Transit, Friday the fifth of June. Both the Zeemanns and the Vrooms speed about in unaccus-tom'd Bustle, compar'd to the Astronomers, who seem unnaturally calm.

"Dutch Ado about nothing," Mason remarks.

Dixon agrees. "And they're usually so stolid, too...?"

Els comes skidding across the floor in her Stocking Feet, heading for the Kitchen with an Apron's load of Potatoes. "Nothing to worry about!" she cries, " 'twill clear up in plenty of time!" Even Cornelius is up on the Roof, scanning the Mists with a nautical Spy-Glass, reporting upon hopeful winds and bright patches. " 'Tis ever like this before a Cloudless Day," he assures them. The Slaves speak inaudibly, and are seen to gaze toward the Mountains. They have never observ'd their owners behaving like this. They begin to smile, tentatively but directly, at Mason and Dixon.

Of whom one is insomniac, and one is not. Afterward, none in the Household will be able to agree which was which. Drops of what proves to be ketjap in the pantry suggest Dixon as the sleepless one, whilst a Wine-Glass abandon'd upon a chicken-Battery indicates Mason. The Rattle-Watch make a point of coming by ev'ry hour and in front of Zeemanns' singing out the Time of Night, adding, "And all's clouded over yet!"

Somehow, ev'ryone is awake at first Light. "The Sun ascended in a thick haze, and immediately entered a dark cloud," as Mason and Dixon will report later in the Philosophical Transactions. Clock-time is o Hours, 12 Minutes, o Seconds. Twenty-three minutes later, they have their first sight of Venus. Each lies with his Eye clapp'd to the Snout of an identical two-and-a-half-foot Gregorian Reflector made by Mr. Short, with Darkening-Nozzles by Mr. Bird.

"Quite a Tremor," Mason grumbles. "They'll have to ascend a bit more in the Sky. And here comes this damn'd Haze again."

Upon first making out the Planet, Dixon becomes as a Sinner converted. "Eeh! God in his Glory!"

"Steady," advises Mason, in a vex'd tone.

Dixon remembers the Tale Emerson lov'd to tell, of Galileo before the Cardinals, creaking to his feet after being forc'd to recant, muttering, "Nonetheless, it moves." Watch, patiently as before the Minute-Hand of

a Clock, become still enough, and 'twould all begin to move.... This,

Dixon understands, is what Galileo was risking so much for,— this majestick Dawn Heresy. " 'Twas seeing not only our Creator about his Work," he tells Mason later, "but Newton and Kepler, too, confirm'd in theirs. The Arrival, perfectly as calculated, the three bodies sliding into a single Line...Eeh, it put me in a Daze for fair." Whatever the cause, the times he records are two to four seconds ahead of Mason's.

"With all the other Corrections to make, now must we also introduce another, for observational impatience," supposes Mason,— "styling it 'Leonation,' perhaps,— "As well might we correct for 'Tauricity,' " replies Dixon, "or Delays owing to Caution inflexible."

The girls have also been observers of the Transit, having cajol'd a Sailor of their Acquaintance into lending them a nautickal Spy-Glass, and smoak'd with Sheep-tallow Candles their own Darkening-Lenses,— taking turns at the Glass, even allowing their Parents a Peep now and then,— Jet breathing, "She's really there," Greet adding, "Right on time, too!" and Els,— hum,— we may imagine what Els was up to, and what transpir'd just as the last of the Black Filament, holding the Planet to the Inner Limb of the Sun, gave way, and she dropp'd, at last, full onto that mottl'd bright Disk, dimm'd by the Lenses to a fierce Moon, that Eyes might bear.

As before the Transit the month of May crept unnaturally, so, after it, will June, July, August, and September hasten by miraculously,— till early in October, when Capt. Harrold, of the Mercury, finds a lapse in the Weather workable enough to embark the Astronomers, and take them to St. Helena in. By which time, ev'ryone is more than ready for a change of Company. The North-West Rains have well possess'd the Town,— all Intrigue lies under Moratorium, as if the Goddess of Love in her Visitation had admonish'd all who would invoke her, to search their Hearts, and try not to betray her quite so much.

After the Transit, Astronomers and Hosts walk about for Days in deep Stupor, like Rakes and Doxies after some great Catastrophe of the Passions. The Zeemanns' servant difficulties being resolv'd, the Astronomers return to that Table, and for the next four months pursue Lives of colorless Rectitude, with the Food no better nor worse, waiting upon the Winds. In the Mountains, the Bull's Eye is sovereign. All over Town, Impulse, chasten'd, increasingly defers to Stolidity. Visiting Indian Mystics go into Trances they once believ'd mindless enough, which here prove Ridottoes of Excess, beside the purpos'd Rainy-day Inanition of the Dutch. The Slaves, as if to preserve a secret Invariance, grow more visible and distinct, their Voices stronger, and their Musick more pervasive, as if the Rain were carrying these from distant parts of Town. Johanna and the Girls, after a brief few weeks in a nun-like withdrawal from the Frivolous,— Jet going so far as to cover her hair with a diaphanous Wimple she has fashion'd of Curtain-stuff,— are all back to their old Theatrics, this time to the Delight of a trio of young Company Writers lately arriv'd at False

Bay, Mr. Delver Warp and the Brothers Vowtay, coming home from Bengal non-Nabobickal as when they went out, with only enough in their pockets to draw the interest of Cape Belles, who are far less particular than the Vrooms, and fearful that if they don't get it, 'twill be as soon gambl'd away into the Purses of Sea-Sharpers. Corrupted by India, yet poor,— ungovernably lewd, yet unwrinkl'd,— and withal, what a Heaven-sent Source of White Blood are these Lads! Johanna can almost see those Babies now, up on the Block, adorable enough to sell themselves, kicking their feet in the air and squealing,— and she grows mono-maniackal in her Pursuit, whilst Austra finds herself calculating which of the Sprigs shall be easiest to

seduce, and which, if any, more of a Challenge—

Presently, from across the back-Yards jealously patroll'd by their predatory Hens, come once again sounds of feminine Merriment. Mason looks over at Dixon. "At least they're back to normal over there," he remarks. "For a while, I puzzl'd,— had the Town undergone some abrupt Conversion? Had I, without knowing it?

Dixon recalls when Wesley came to preach at Newcastle,— "His first sermon in the North-East,— the congregations immense,— all the Side, and beyond, transform'd,— belonging to the Spirit. It lasted for Weeks after,— tho' it may have been months, for all I knew of Time in those Days,— I was a Lad, but I could make it out. Little by then surpriz'd me, yet this was the canniest thing upon the coaly Tyne since Harry Clasper out-keel'd the Lad from Hetton-le-Hole...? Nothing like it again, that I've noatic'd...? Until this Transit of Venus...this turning of Soul, have tha felt it,— they're beginning to talk to their Slaves? Few, if any, beatings,— tho' best to whisper, not to jeopardize it too much...?"

"The Dutch are afraid," Mason is able to contribute, "unto Death."

"Why, Aye. So do I recollect myself, the first time it happen'd to me...?"

Mason suspicious, sniffing Enthusiasm,— "To you? Do they allow you to talk about that?"

"I've been booted out of Raby Meeting, haven't I...? I can reveal all the mystick secrets I wish...?”

"One first must keep one's Hat on one's Head, correct?"

"Aye, the Spirit ever fancies a bonny Hat,— but the fairly principal thing, is to sit quietly... ? It took me till well out of my Youth to learn, tho' now I'm not sure I remember how, any more...?"

"That's it? Sit quietly? And Christ...will come?"

"We spoke of it as the Working of the Spirit, within. Tis a distinct Change from the ev'ryday...tha wouldn't be able to miss it, should it happen...?"

"Yet then, you say, it passes...."

"It abides,— 'tis we who are ever recall'd from it, to tend to our various mortal Requirements...? and so another such Visit soon becomes necessary,— another great Turning, and so forth...? Howbeit, 'tis all Desire,— and Desire, but Embodiment, in the World, of what Quakers have understood as Grace...?"

Starting about then, rain-bound, whenever he may, Mason contrives to sit in some shutter'd room, as quietly as he knows how, waiting for a direct experience of Christ. But he keeps jumping up, to run and interrupt Dixon, who is trying to do the same, with news of his Progress,—

"Jere! I think it almost happen'd! D'ye get a kind of rum sensation here,"— touching the center of his Forehead,— "is that it?"

"Mason, first tha must sit,— not jump up and down like thah'... ? And then, sit quietly. Quietly—"Back they go, till Mason in his Chair, falling asleep, topples with a great Crash, or Dixon decides he'll step out after all, nip down to The World's End, and see what the Cape Outlawry may be up to.

Little by little, as weeks pass, the turn of Spirit Mason and Dixon
imagine they have witness'd is reclaim'd by the Colony, and by whatever
haunts it. Any fear that things might ever change is abated. Masters and
Mistresses resume the abuse of their Slaves, who reply in Bush tongues,
to which, soon enough hoarse with Despair, with no hope of being under
stood, they return, as to childhood homes
     
Riding in and out of Town

now may often be observ'd White Horsemen, carrying long Rifles styl'd "Sterloops," each with an inverted Silver Star upon the Cheek-Piece.

When Mason and Dixon encounter Vrooms in the Street they bow, and pass, with each exchange lapsing closer to Silence. By the time the

 
Southeaster has advanc'd to the Circumference of the Day, there remains nothing to say to them, nor to any who have been their Hosts. "I warn'd you all," Mrs. De Bosch lilts, triumphant, "did I not, ev'ryone. Nor should I be much surpriz'd, if those frightful Instruments they brought, have serv'd quite another Purpose here."

When they leave the Cape, no one is there at the Quay to say good-bye but Bonk, the police official who earlier greeted them. "Good luck, Fellows. Tell them at the Desk, I was not such a bad Egg, no?"

"What Desk is that," ask Mason and Dixon.

"What Desk? In London, off some well-kept Street, in a tidy House, there will be someone at a Desk, to whom you'll tell all you have seen."

"Not in England, Sir," Mason protests.

For the first and final time they see him laugh, and glimpse an entire Life apart from the Castle, in which he must figure as a jolly Drinking Companion. "You'll see!" he calls as they depart for the Ship in the Bay. "Good Luck, Good Luck! Ha! Ha! Ha!" Resounding upon the Water ever-widening between them.

"What made them leave home and set sail upon dangerous seas, determining where upon the Globe they must go, was not,— Pace any Astrol-ogists in the Room,— the Heavenly Event by itself, but rather that unshining Assembly of Human Needs, of which Venus, at the instant of going dark, is the Prime Object,— including certainly the Royal Society's need for the Solar Parallax,— but what of the Astronomers' own Desires, which may have been less philosophical?"

"Love,— I knew it," Tenebrae all but sighs. " 'Twas Love for the Planet Herself."

"Nothing like your own, of course," beams her Uncle. "I recollect that when you were no more than Three, you saw Venus through your Papa's fine Newtonian for the first time. 'Twas in the crescent Phase, and you said, 'Look! the Little Moon.' You told us that you already knew the Moon had a little Moon, which it play'd with.”

"We would go outdoors, long after bed-time, up to the pasture," she is pleas'd to recall, "- - the Observatory wasn't built yet. The Ponies would all stand together, quite cross, and watch us as we came up, their eyes flashing in the light from our Lanthorns, and I always thought I could hear them muttering, for it was clear we were disturbing them."

"Did they bite you?" inquires Pitt.

"Hard?" adds Pliny.

"Rrr!" she raises her Hoop as if to hurl it at them.

"Do find a way," advises Aunt Euphrenia, careering into the room, with her Oboe and an armload of sheet-music, "to wrangle with less Noise, or your old Uncle will have to sell you, as a Brace, to the Italians rumor'd to live South of this City, where you shall have to learn to sing their vulgar Airs, and eat Garlick ev'ry day, as shall ev'ryone else,—

"Hooray!" shout Pitt and Pliny. "For Breakfast, too!"

"Tra-la, say, Food Perversion? nothing to do with the Cherrycoke side of the family," sniffs Aunt Euphrenia, producing the most wicked-looking of Knives, and beginning very carefully to carve a Reed for her Instrument from a length of Schuylkill-side Cane. "Yes lovely isn't it?" she nods after a while, as if responding to a Pleasantry. " 'Twas given me by the Sultan. Dear Mustapha, 'Stuffy' we call'd him in the Harem chambers, amongst ourselves..."

When Brae, once, and only once, made the mistake of both gasping and blurting, "Oh, Aunt,— were you in a Turkish Harem, really?" 'twas to turn a giant Tap. "Barbary Pirates brought us actually's far as Aleppo, you recall the difficult years of 'eighty and 'eighty-one,— no, of course you couldn't,— Levant Company in an uproar, no place to get a Drink, Ramadan all year 'round it seem'd,— howbeit,— 'twas at the worst of those Depredations, that I took Passage from Philadelphia, upon that fateful Tide...the Moon reflected in Dock Creek, the songs of the Negroes upon the Shore, disconsolate,— " Most of her Tale, disguis'd artfully as traveler's Narrative, prov'd quite outside the boundaries of the Girl's Innocence, as of the Twins' Attention,— among the Domes and Minarets, the Mountain-peaks rising from the Sea, the venomous Snakes, miracle-mongering Fakeers, intrigues over Harem Precedence and Diamonds as big as a girl's playfully clench'd fist, 'twas Inconve-

 
nience which provided the recurring Motrix of Euphrenia's adventures among the Turks, usually resolv'd by her charming the By-standers with a few appropriate Notes from her Oboe,— upon which now, in fact, her Reed shap'd and fitted, she has begun to punctuate her brother Wicks's Tale, with scraps of Ditters von Dittersdorf, transcriptions from Quantz, and the Scamozzetta from I Gluttoni.