Mason, convinc'd that he has been set upon a Pilgrimage by Forces beyond his ability at present to reach,— a Station of the Cross being his preferr'd Trope,— finds much to Puzzle in Maskelyne's insistence that they move to the other side of the Island, from enclosure to exposure, from Shelter to an unremitting and much-warn'd-against Wind. "The Attraction of Mountains," Maskelyne Jobates, whilst slowly 'round him The Moon becomes a Dormitory, "— according to Newton, these Peaks may hold enough Mass to deflect our Plumb-lines, thereby throwing off our Zenith Obs. We must therefore repeat these Obs at the other side of the Island, and take the Mean Values betwixt 'em."
"The Other Side,"— it does give Mason a Chill. If the Cape of Good Hope be a Parable about Slavery and Free Will he fancies he has almost tho' not quite grasp'd, then what of this Translocation? That Maskelyne's Obsessedness in the Article of Plumb-lines, may be a factor in the change, will not become apparent till too late. Days in a row now pass in which Maskelyne speaks of little but the faulty Suspension of the Sisson Instrument. "My career, my Life,— hanging from a damn'd Pin!" He takes to accosting strangers in The Moon and then in other taverns, sub?jecting them to long wearying recitations describing the malfunction in numbing detail, and what he has instructed be done to correct it, and how others have complied, or not,— a history without sentiment or sus?pense (save that in which the Plumb-line, as it proves faultily, hangs upon its Loop, and that upon its Pin).
"How did Waddington like it over there?" Mason inquires.
"He wouldn't go. Not even a Day-Excursion to Sandy Bay. 'I know the Score,' he said, again and again, 'I've seen them come in to Town from the Windward Side, I see what the Wind does to 'em, it is no condition I care to enter,' was how he put it."
"It doesn't sound all that appealing to me, either," allows Mason. "Yet, to cancel Error when possible,— it's like turning the Instrument, isn't it? An Obligation, not easily neglected."
"Ah, Neglect. Ah, Conscience."
Flank'd by the D——l's Garden and the Gates of Chaos, the Company
Fort at Sandy Bay commands that inhospitable, luminously Turquoise
Recess in the Shore, representing the level of Daring that John Company
is expecting one day in its ideal Enemy,— the silent Windward-Side
companion to the great Fort at James's Town, which ever bustles with
Sentries, and martial Musick, whilst this one appears deserted,— Flag-
less, Walls unpierc'd, as if drawn in against the Wind. The Discipline
here, tho' Military in name, is founded in fact upon a Rip-Rap of Play-
Acting, Superstitions, mortal Hatreds, and unnatural Loves, of a solem?
nity appropriate to the unabating Wind, that first Voice, not yet
inflected,— the pure Whirl,— of the very Planet. The Gunfire here is at
Sunset, and aim'd full into the Wind, as if to repel an Onslaught. Years
ago the Soldiers set up, and now continue as a Tradition, various Suicide-
Banks and Madness-Pools, into which one may put as little as a six?
pence,— more substantial Sums going into side-Wagers, and the
Percentages of Widows' Shares being ever negotiable,— and thus con?
vert this Wind into Cash, as others might convert it to a Rotary Impulse
upon a Mill-Stone. Fortunes certainly the equal of many a Nabob's are
amass'd, risk'd, and lost within a Night. "We are the Doings of Global
Trade in miniature!" cries the Post Surgeon, who tries never to stir too far
from the deepest rooms of the Fort, where the Wind may oppress him
least, and is careful to include it in each daily Prayer, as if 'twere a Deity
in itself, infinitely in Need, ever demanding
Pois'd at length upon the last Cliff, with the eternal South-easter full upon them, Mason, knowing he cannot be heard, says, "Well,— Waddington may have had a point." Maskelyne nevertheless plucks from the Wind his Meaning, and later, indoors at Sandy Bay, replies, "It is not to all tastes, here. Tis said those who learn to endure it, are wond'rously Transform'd."
"Oh, aye, that Farmer last night who ran about barking, and bit the Landlorrrd's Wife,— verry diverting, Sir,— yet perhaps upon this Coast they be merely mad, finding as little welcome at James's Town, where Sobriety is necessary to Commerce, as those Folk might upon the Wind?ward, where, against such helpless Exposure as this, a vigilant Folly must be the only Defense,— two distinct nations, in a state of mutual mistrust, within ten Miles' Compass, and the Wind never relenting, as if causing to accumulate in the Island yet another Influence that must be corrected for. Perhaps, if discover'd, 'twould be as celebrated as the Aberration of Light."
Maskelyne flushes darkly and seems to change the Topick.
"I was out upon the Cliffs today and fell in with one of the Company Soldiers here. German fellow. Dieter. Came out that he's in something of a spot. Enlisted in ignorance that anyplace like this could exist."
"Now he wants out," suggests Mason.
"A strangely affecting Case, nonetheless. I cannot explain it. He seem'd to know me. Or I him. Had you been there,—
"He might have seem'd to know me as well?"
"Am I so unwary? Your Innuendo is not new to me,— yet, he has ask'd for no money. And what matter, that he knows of my connection with Clive?"
"Oh Dear. How'd that happen?"
"I told him."
"Ah."
"He was quite distraught, and but a Pace or two from the Edge of the Precipice. 'No one can help me,' he was crying, 'not Frederick of Prus?sia, nor George of England, nor the great Lord Clive himself,' and so forth,— and I being the only one within earshot able to say, 'Well, actu?ally, as to Clive, you know,— ' What would you have done?"
"Were I in a position to offer Clive's Services to the Publick? Why, I don't know, Maskelyne. Determine first of all what percentage to take, I suppose...."
The German had stood there, in the late Sunlight, his Eyes enormous and magnetick, fixing the Astronomer where he stood, the Sea roaring
 below them, and in the Wind, Stock-ends, Kerchiefs, Queue-Ribands, all coming undone and fluttering like so many Tell-tales. "You...could really help?"
"I've been living over in James's Town," Maskelyne deferent, attempt?ing to speak calmly. "This is the first time I've pass'd more than a Day over here,— yet I find already, that the Wind is having an Effect, upon my Nerves. Causing me to imagine things, that may not be so? Have you notic'd that?"
"The Wind owns this Island," Dieter inform'd him,— "What awful Pride, to keep a Station here. Who would ever invade, by way of this mortal Coast? If they surviv'd landing upon a Lee Shore, they must get inland in a day,— once into those Mountains, oblig'd to cross all that width of Purgatory, before descending upon James's Town— Are the Dutch that crazy? ravening, lost to the world? The French? Three of their Men o' War, only the year before last, station'd themselves out there, lounging to windward, just in the middle of the Company's sea-lane, like village ne'er-do-wells hoping for a fight. They manag'd to intercept and chase four of the Company's China ships, who at last made a run for South America, finding refuge in the Bay of All Saints. We watch'd it all, as we had ev'ry day, day and night. The Sails, the Signals thro' the Glass...we swore to shapes in the Darkness, creeping ashore in the ter?rible Moon-Light...and what do your Hosts over there at James's Fort expect to see, coming down out of their Ravine? What last unfaceable enemy? When one night, out of habit, someone will look up at the Watch-fire upon the Ridge, and find there all black as Doom.—  Overrun? all gone mad and simply walk'd away? How much time elaps'd, and how much remaining to the Town?
"The Company promis'd travel, adventure, dusky Maidens, and one Day, Nawabheit.... A silken Curtain opening upon Life itself! Who would not have been persuaded? So I enlisted, and without time to catch a breath was I posted here, to the Windward Side of St. Helena, God who hath abandon'd us.... We are spiritually ill here, deprav'd. You are Clive of India's Brother-in-Law. A word from you would set me free."
"Well, I'm, I haven't that much influence with the Company...and Clive has but recently return'd to England, whilst I," he shrugg'd, "am here. I suppose.”
"And Shuja-ud-Daula, the Nabob Wazir of Oudh, is out there,— with an Army. Bengal, Sir, is a Magazine waiting to explode,— no time for your Schwager to be in England, when perhaps already too late it grows."
"His enemies among his own," Maskelyne supposed, "being inveterate as any Hindu Intriguer, and Leadenhall Street no simpler than the Bagh Bazaar, England is a Battle-Field to him, 'pon which he must engage. Since the Court of Directors' election, he has been lock'd in a struggle with Mr. Sullivan for the Soul of the Company. I am not sure how many favors he may command right now, even of the dimension you suggest."
"Sobald das Geld in Kasten klingt," Di............