Mason & Dixon Read Online Free PDF

Mason is nonetheless eager to be aboard a ship, bound somewhere impossible,— long Voyages by sea being thought to help his condition, describ'd to him as Hyperthrenia, or "Excess in Mourning." Somehow the Learned Dog has led him to presume there exist safe-conduct Procedures for the realm of Death,— that through this Dog-reveal'd Crone, he will be allow'd at last to pass over, and find, and visit her, and come back, his Faith resurrected. That is as much of a leap as can be expected of a melancholick heart. At the same time, he smokes that the Learned English D.,— or Fang, as now he apparently wishes to be known,— in introducing them thus, is pursuing an entirely personal End.
    "Angelo said there'd be a Package for me?"
    "Quotha! Am I the Evening Coach?" The two rummage about in the Shadows. "Look ye, I'll be seeing him later, and I'll be sure to ask,—
    "Just what you said last time," the Dog shaking his head reprovingly.
    "Here, then,— a Sacrifice, direct from me own meager Mess, a bit of stew'd Hen,— 'tis the best I can do for ye today.”
    "Peace, Grandam,— reclaim thy Ort. The Learned One has yet to sink quite that low." The Dog, with an expressive swing of his Head, makes a dignified Exit, no more than one wag of the Tail per step.
    "Your ship will put to Sea upon a Friday," Hepsie greets Mason and Dixon, "- - would that be a Boatswain's Pipe into the Ear of either of you Gents?"
    "Why, the Collier Sailors believe 'tis bad luck...?" Dixon replies, as if back at Woolwich before his Examiners, "it being the day of Christ's Execution."
    "Nicely, Sir. Thus does your Captain Smith disrespect Christ, Fate, Saint Peter, and the god Neptune,— and withal there's not an insurancer in the Kingdom, from Lloyd's on down, who'll touch your case for less than a sum you can never, as Astronomers, possibly afford."
    "Yet if we be dead," Dixon points out, "the Royal Navy absorbing the cost of a burial at sea, what further Expenses might there be?"
    "You are independent of a Family, Sir."
    "Incredible! Why, you must be a very Scryeress...?" Dixon having already spied, beneath her layers of careful Decrepitude (as he will later tell Mason), a shockingly young Woman hard at work,— with whom, country Lout that he is, he can't keep from flirting.
    But Mason is now growing anxious. "Are we in danger, then? What have you heard?"
    Silently she passes him a soil'd Broadside Sheet, upon which are printed descriptions of varied Services, and the Fees therefor. "What's this? You won't do Curses?"
    "My Insurance? Prohibitive," she cackles, as the young fancy the old to cackle. "I believe what you seek is under 'Intelligence, Naval.''
    "Half a Crown?"
    "If you insist."
    "Ehm... Dixon?"
    "What? You want me to put in half of thah'?"
    "We can't very well charge.. .this.. .to the Society, can we?"
    "Do I shame you, Sir?" Hepsie too 'pert by Decades.
    "Oh, all right," Mason digging laboriously into his Purse, sorting out Coins and mumbling the Amounts.
    Dixon looks on in approval. "You spend money like a very Geordie. He means no harm, lass... ?" beaming, nudging Mason urgently with his Toe, as Bullies shift about in the Dark, and Boats wait with muffl'd Oars to ferry them against their will over to a Life they may not return from. The smell of the great Anchorage,— smoke, Pitch, salt and decay,— sweeps in fitfully.
    "Sirs, attend me," the coins having silently vanish'd, " - Since last year, the Year of Marvels, when Hawke drove Conflans upon that lee shore at Quiberon Bay, the remnants of the Brest fleet have been understandably short of Elan, or Esprit, or whatever they style that stuff over there,— excepting, now and then, among the Captains of smaller Frigates, souls as restless to engage in personal Tactics as dispos'd to sniff at national Strategy. Mortmain, Le Chisel, St.-Foux,— mad dogs all,— any of them, and others, likely at any time to sail out from Brest, indifferent to Risk, tSte-a-tete as ever with the end of the