Conspiracy, not only possible, but resultful as well. One may be inches from a neighbor, yet both blurr'd past recognizing,— thus may Advice grow reckless and Prophecy extreme, given the astonishing vol?ume of words moving about in here, not only aloud but upon Paper as well, Paper being waved in the air, poked at repeatedly for emphasis, held up as Shielding against uncongenial remarks. Here and there in the Nebulosity, lone Lamps may be made out, at undefin'd Distances, snugly Halo'd,— Servant-Boys moving to and fro, House-Cats in warm currents of flesh running invisibly before them, each Boy vigorously working his small Bellows to clear a Path thro' the Smoke, meantime calling out Names true and taken.
"Boy, didn't they tell you that Name is never to be spoken aloud in this Room?"
"Ha!" from somewhere in the Murk, "so ye've sneak'd in again, where yer face can't be seen!"
"I have ev'ry right, Sir,—
"Boy, clear me a pathway to that infamous Voice, and we shall see,—
"Gentlemen, Gentlemen!"
"There'll be Pistol-Play soon enough, by the looks of this new Express here, just arriv'd from over Susquehanna, for there's no doubt about it now,— the Paxton Boys are on the Move."
"Hurrah!"
"Shame!"
"How many, Jephthah?"
' 'Tis Micah. An hundred, and picking up Numbers by the Hour. So says it here." Smokers pause in mid-puff. The communal Vapors
 presently beginning to thin, human forms emerge in outline, some stand?ing upon Chairs and even Tables, others seeking, in literal Consterna?tion, refuge beneath the Furniture.
"The Boys say they're coming for the Moravian Indians this time."
"Indians, in Philadelphia?" Dixon curiously.
Mr. Chantry explains. Converted by the Moravian Brethren years before the last French war, caught between the warring sides, distrusted by ev'ryone, wishing only to live a Christian Life, these Indians were peacefully settl'd up near the Lehigh when the Rangers there came after them, but a few Weeks before the Conestoga murders, suspecting them of being in League with Pontiac, whose depredations were then at their full Flood. Tho' some of these People were slain, yet most escaped, arriving at Philadelphia in November,— "About the time you boys did, in fact,— 'spite of the Mob at Germantown, who nearly did for 'em,— and now an hundred forty Souls, from Wyalusing and Wecquetank and Nazareth, they're down at Province Island, below the City, where the Moravians and Quakers tend them,— the Army, given its showing at Lancaster, being no longer trusted."
"The Paxtons'll kill us all!" someone blubbers.
"Fuck 'em, they shan't have anyone here. Enough is enough."
"Our Line had better be set no nearer than Schuylkill, and the Ferries there brought back, first thing."
"How many Cannon have we in Town?"
Mason and Dixon look at each other bleakly. "Well. If I'd known 'twould be like this in America..."
In fact, when word arriv'd of the first Conestoga Massacre, neither Astronomer quite register'd its full Solemnity. The Cedar-Street Obser?vatory was up at last,— Mr. Loxley and his Lads were done shimming and cozening square Members to Circular Purposes,— and after two days of Rain and Snow, Mason and Dixon were taking their first Obs from it. Mason did note as peculiar, that the first mortal acts of Savagery in America after their Arrival should have been committed by Whites
against Indians. Dixon mutter'd, "Why, 'tis the d——'d Butter-Bags all
over again."
They saw white Brutality enough, at the Cape of Good Hope. They can no better understand it now, than then. Something is eluding them.
Whites in both places are become the very Savages of their own worst Dreams, far out of Measure to any Provocation. Mason and Dixon have consult'd with all it seems to them they safely may. "Recall that there are two kinds of electricity," Dr. Franklin remark'd, "positive and negative. Cape Town's curse is its Weather,— the Electrick Charge during the Stormy season being ev'rywhere Positive, whilst in the Dry Season, all is Negative."
"Are you certain," Dixon mischievously, " 'tis not the other way 'round? That the rainy weather—
"Yes, yes," somewhat brusquely, "whichever Direction it goes, the relevant Quantity here, is the size of the Swing between the two,— that vertiginous re-polarizing of the Air, and perhaps the ?ther too, which may be affecting the very Mentality of the People there."
"Then what's America's excuse?" Dixon inquir'd, mild as Country Tea.
"Unfortunately, young people," recalls the Revd, "the word Liberty, so unreflectively sacred to us today, was taken in those Times to encompass even the darkest of Men's rights,— to injure whomever we might wish,— unto extermination, were it possible,— Free of Royal advice or Procla?mation Lines and such. This being, indeed and alas, one of the Liberties our late War was fought to secure."
Brae, on her way out of the Room for a moment, turns in the Door-way, shock'd. "What a horrid thing to say!" She does not remain to press the Point.
"At the Time of Bushy Run," confides Ives LeSpark, "— and I have seen the very Document,— General Bouquet and General Gage both sign'd off on expenditures to replace Hospital Blankets us'd 'to convey the Small-pox to the Indians,' as they perhaps too clearly stipulated. To my knowledge," marvels Ives, "this had never been attempted, on the part of any modern Army, till then."
"Yes, Wicks?" Mr. LeSpark beaming at the Revd, "You wish'd to add something? You may ever speak freely here,— killing Indians having long ago ceas'd to figure as a sensitive Topick in this House."
"Since you put it that way," the Revd, in will'd Cheeriness, "firstly,— ev'ryone knew about the British infection of the Indians, and no one spoke out. The Paxton Boys were but implementing this same Wicked Policy of extermination, using Rifles instead,— altho',— Secondly, unlike our own more virtuous Day, no one back then, was free from Sin. Quakers, as hand?somely as Traders of less pacific Faiths, profited from the sale of Weapons to the Indians, including counterfeit Brown Besses that blew up in the faces of their Purchasers, as often as fell'd any White Settlers. Thirdly,—
"How many more are there likely to be?" inquires his Brother-in-Law. "Apparently I must reconsider my offer."
"Ev'ryone got along," declares Uncle Wicks. "Ye can't go looking for Sinners, not in an Occupied City,— for ev'ryone at one time or another here was some kind of Rogue, the Preacher as the Printer's Devil, the Mantua-Maker as the Milk-Maid,— even little Peggy Shippen, God bless her, outrageous Flirt even at four or five, skipping in and out, hand?ing each of us Flowers whilst her Father frown'd one by one over our Dis?bursements. 'Papa's Work is making him sad,' the Miniature Temptress explain'd to us. 'My work never makes me sad.' 'What is your work, little Girl?' asks your innocent Uncle. 'To marry a General,' she replies, sweeping back her Hair, 'and die rich.' During the Occupation, having reach'd an even more dangerous Age, she had her Sights actually train'd upon poor young André, till he had his Hurricane, and march'd away, whereupon she sulk'd, tho' not without Company, till Arnold march'd in,— the little Schuylkill-side Cleopatra."
"Am I about to be shock'd?" inquires Tenebrae, re-entering.
"Hope not," DePugh blurts quietly.
"Well, DePugh."
"You've made an impression," mutters Ethelmer.
"Didn't mean to, I'm sure."
Tenebra? surveys the Pair. Unpromising. She sits, and bends to a Patch of Chevron-Stitch'd Filling.
Meanwhile, Mason and Dixon, a-jangle thro' Veins and Reins with Caf-feous Humors, impatient themselves to speak, are launch'd upon the choppy Day, attending, with what Civility they may summon, the often reckless Monologues of others.
"The true War here is between the City and the back Inhabitants,— the true dying, done by Irish, Scots, Indians, Catholics, far from Philadelphia, as from any Ear that might have understood their final words. Yet is the City selling rifles to anyone with the Price, most egre-giously the Indians who desire our Dissolution,—
"The rivalry is withal useful to the British, our common Enemy, who thus gain the pretext for keeping troops forever upon our Land."
"Whilst their damn'd Proclamation Line, forbids to venture there those same back Inhabitants who took Ohio, at great suffering, from the French. These damn'd British, with their list of Offenses growing daily, have much to answer for."
"Oh, I tremble that Britain should ever have to reckon with the base cowards who left Braddock to die,— who will turn and flee at the stir of a feather, be it but upon some dead Turkey-cock. Oh,— let us by no means offer Offense to the scum of Hibernia, nor to the Jacobite refuse of Scotland, nor to any one of this mongrel multiplicity of mud-dwellers, less civiliz'd, indeed less human, than the Savages 'pon whom they intrude."
"Is he in here again? Someone, pray, kill him."
"Reason, Reason,— the Irish, Sir are school'd long and arduously in Insurrection, knowing how to take a Magazine, or raid a Convoy. Britain, tho' evoke she the tenderest feelings, has made it so."
Thus does the Lunch-Hour speed by. Soon there's a distinct feeling in the Rooms, of Afternoon. Maps have been brought and spread, Pigeons bearing Messages dispatch'd from under Roof-peaks by expert Belgians, resident here, to as far away as Lancaster County. Boys old enough to handle a Rifle are drilling out in Back. Younger brothers are active at the next Order of M............