intended,— an act of Him so strange, His purposes unknown."
"Eeh,— that is, I'm not sure which one tha mean."
Mason instantly narrows his eyes. "Who else could— oh. Oh, I see. Hum.. .a common Belief among your People?"
"All thah' Coal-Mining, I guess."
In the crucial moments, neither Mason nor Dixon had fail'd the other. Each had met the other's Gaze for a slight moment before Duty again claim'd them,— the Vapors rising from the Wounds of dying Sailors smoothing out what was not essential for each to understand.
For the moment, they know they must stand as one, tho' not always how. Arriv'd in Plymouth Dockyard, drafting the letter to the Royal Society, thro' the dark hours, each keeps rejecting the other's ideas. The Candles tremble with the Vehemence of their Speech. They are well the other side of Exhaustion, and neither has bother'd to keep his defensive works mann'd against the other. With what they've lately been through together, it seems quite beside the point for them to do so. At least they are past that. Each knows, that is, exactly how brave and how cowardly the other was when the crisis came.
"Say, 'If You might arrange for us each to have a Regiment,— a Frigate being impractical, given our Ignorance of how to sail, much less fight, one,— we should be happy to proceed to war upon any people, in any quarter of the Globe His Majesty should be pleas'd to send us to,—
"Dixon, think,— what if they should say yes? Do you want to command a Regiment?"
"Why,... say, 'tis nothing I'd rule out, at this stage of my life,—
"You're a Quaker, you're not suppos'd to believe in War."
"Technically no longer a Quaker, as they expell'd me back at the end of October from Raby Meeting, just before I came to London,— so I guess now I may kill anyone I like...?"
Mason pretends interest, having already heard about it in his briefing by the R.S. "And will any personal difficulties attend that, do you think?"
"We've all of us,— the same Quaker Families, Dixons, Hunters and Rayltons in particular, again and again,— a long history in Durham of being toss'd out for anything, be it drinking, getting married by a Priest, working for the Royal Society, whatever someone didn't like. To some Christians, Disfellowship is a hard Blow, for they have been allow'd to know only others of their Congregation. But Quakers are a bit matier, the idea being to look for something of God in ev'ryone...? The Denomination's less important. Ah mean, Ah've met Anglicans before...?"
"I wonder'd why you never stare at me much."
"Eeh, Ah've even seen the Bishop of Durham. One of the very biggest among thee, correct? A Prince in his own lands. No,— I've no problem with Anglicans."
"Thank ye. I welcome the return of at least an Hour's more Sleep each Night otherwise spent in Fretfulness upon the Question. Be assur'd, I have run across the odd Quaker as well,— Mr. Bird of course coming to mind,— and have ever found you Folk as peaceable in your private Discourse, as you are Assertive in your Publick Doings."
"That's what people say, for fair."
There they sit, drinking up their liquor allowance, feeling no easier for it, trying to understand what in Christ's Name happen'd out in the Channel. Neither is making much sense. They will talk seriously for half an hour about something completely stupid, then one will take offense and fall silent, or go off somewhere to try to sleep. Out in the hall they keep running into each other, Wraiths in night-clothes.
"What if we said," Mason appearing to have given it some Thought, ' 'In view of an apparent Design, by well-known Gentlemen, to put me in harm's way—
" 'Huz.' "
"If you like. — exposing an undermann'd Warship to a certain Drubbing, Questions must emerge. Why could not the French Admiralty have been advis'd, via Father Boscovich or another available messenger, of the Seahorse's approximate Route, her destination and purpose?''
"Eeh, Mason, come, come. They would have
"Eeh,— that is, I'm not sure which one tha mean."
Mason instantly narrows his eyes. "Who else could— oh. Oh, I see. Hum.. .a common Belief among your People?"
"All thah' Coal-Mining, I guess."
In the crucial moments, neither Mason nor Dixon had fail'd the other. Each had met the other's Gaze for a slight moment before Duty again claim'd them,— the Vapors rising from the Wounds of dying Sailors smoothing out what was not essential for each to understand.
For the moment, they know they must stand as one, tho' not always how. Arriv'd in Plymouth Dockyard, drafting the letter to the Royal Society, thro' the dark hours, each keeps rejecting the other's ideas. The Candles tremble with the Vehemence of their Speech. They are well the other side of Exhaustion, and neither has bother'd to keep his defensive works mann'd against the other. With what they've lately been through together, it seems quite beside the point for them to do so. At least they are past that. Each knows, that is, exactly how brave and how cowardly the other was when the crisis came.
"Say, 'If You might arrange for us each to have a Regiment,— a Frigate being impractical, given our Ignorance of how to sail, much less fight, one,— we should be happy to proceed to war upon any people, in any quarter of the Globe His Majesty should be pleas'd to send us to,—
"Dixon, think,— what if they should say yes? Do you want to command a Regiment?"
"Why,... say, 'tis nothing I'd rule out, at this stage of my life,—
"You're a Quaker, you're not suppos'd to believe in War."
"Technically no longer a Quaker, as they expell'd me back at the end of October from Raby Meeting, just before I came to London,— so I guess now I may kill anyone I like...?"
Mason pretends interest, having already heard about it in his briefing by the R.S. "And will any personal difficulties attend that, do you think?"
"We've all of us,— the same Quaker Families, Dixons, Hunters and Rayltons in particular, again and again,— a long history in Durham of being toss'd out for anything, be it drinking, getting married by a Priest, working for the Royal Society, whatever someone didn't like. To some Christians, Disfellowship is a hard Blow, for they have been allow'd to know only others of their Congregation. But Quakers are a bit matier, the idea being to look for something of God in ev'ryone...? The Denomination's less important. Ah mean, Ah've met Anglicans before...?"
"I wonder'd why you never stare at me much."
"Eeh, Ah've even seen the Bishop of Durham. One of the very biggest among thee, correct? A Prince in his own lands. No,— I've no problem with Anglicans."
"Thank ye. I welcome the return of at least an Hour's more Sleep each Night otherwise spent in Fretfulness upon the Question. Be assur'd, I have run across the odd Quaker as well,— Mr. Bird of course coming to mind,— and have ever found you Folk as peaceable in your private Discourse, as you are Assertive in your Publick Doings."
"That's what people say, for fair."
There they sit, drinking up their liquor allowance, feeling no easier for it, trying to understand what in Christ's Name happen'd out in the Channel. Neither is making much sense. They will talk seriously for half an hour about something completely stupid, then one will take offense and fall silent, or go off somewhere to try to sleep. Out in the hall they keep running into each other, Wraiths in night-clothes.
"What if we said," Mason appearing to have given it some Thought, ' 'In view of an apparent Design, by well-known Gentlemen, to put me in harm's way—
" 'Huz.' "
"If you like. — exposing an undermann'd Warship to a certain Drubbing, Questions must emerge. Why could not the French Admiralty have been advis'd, via Father Boscovich or another available messenger, of the Seahorse's approximate Route, her destination and purpose?''
"Eeh, Mason, come, come. They would have
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