So,— quite early the next morning there they both are, about to go visit one of the local Mounds with the possibly unstable Capt. Shelby as their Guide,— the frost along the Tent-Rigging bleach'd in the last of the Moon,— their breaths upon the Air remaining white for longer than 'twould seem they ought. Mason and Dixon step out of the Perimeter, into the Wild, now as entirely subject to the Captain's notions of Grace as any Romans, lur'd by promises of forbidden Knowledge, in the Care of an inscrutable Druid. "Come along," cries the Captain jovially. "We need to be there just at Sunrise."
"Folly," Mason mutters.
"Aye," Dixon replies, "you'd've pre-ferr'd the Moonlight, I guess, and an Owl or two." Down by the creek they fall in with the Path Shelby means to follow,— the North-Mountain rears above them, soon to catch the first light at its crest. Trees fill with whistling. Squadrons of cloud go rushing in the sky. The breeze has a cold edge. Dead leaves are everywhere. Soon all odor of woodsmoke has faded behind them. That of Ripeness, come and gone, enfolds them. And then something else.
"There's a new barrel-mill in the neighborhood,— smell it?" They are coming near the bank of a creek. Shelby, Eyebrows wrinkling together, takes hold of his Shot-Bag and begins to toss it lightly in his Hand. He seems eager to begin firing at any target that may present itself.
"Grist-millers," he declares, "discover there is more money in grind?ing out cheap barrels for rifles for the Savages. Philadelphia money. Here, up this way."
Mist is gather'd in the hollows, thick and cohering, blinding whilst carrying to each the Breaths and Mutterings of the others. Ev'rywhere between these white Episodes, the clarity of the Dawn slowly, piercingly, emerges. "This Ridge, another Valley," the Captain exhorts them, "and we are there." Over the crest and down to ford and then follow the creek through a gap in the hills to another Stream, where, in the angle of Con?fluence, its tip just catching the first rays of the Sun, stands Capt. Shelby's "Mound."
"Eeh!" cries Dixon. "Why, 'tis a great Cone!"
"Reg'lar as Silbury Hill," Capt. Shelby's head at an admiring angle.
Mason, slow to enthusiasm, sniffs the air. "No fermented Maize fumes about, but then, 'tis Still, so to speak, early in the Day."
"My Sacred Word," the Welshman rolling his eyes Heavenward, pro?ducing, however, an effect more of Madness than of Piety. "Come, Boys. Come." They are boys. They approach the giant Solid, alone upon its Promontory, as light slowly envelopes it, dyeing it a cold, crystalline Rose. Mason's first question, though he refrains from asking it aloud, is, Might it be under invisible Guard,— and how zealous are they? Shelby, watching his face, knows gleefully enough his Apprehensions.
"How do the Indians here about fancy Spectators like huz?" Dixon asks.
"They laugh. They but appear a solemn People,— worshiping Laugh?ter, rather, as a serious, indeed holy, Force in Nature, never to be invok'd idly. This Mound is something they understand perfectly,— that white people do not, and show no signs of ever doing so, is a source of deep Amusement for them."
"Is there a way inside?"
"There shouldn't be, but there is." The Welshman's eyes tighten. "It was broken into years ago, perhaps by some larcenous Fool who had it confus'd with a Pyramid. His disappointment was the only good to come of it, for he found nothing,— no ancient corpses, nor even Copper bracelets or Tobacco-Pipes, for Indians never built it."
"Eeh!" cries Dixon, who's been peering into the opening. "D'yese see this, how these Layers are set in?— Mason! That Device Mr. Franklin
 show'd us,— his Leyden Jar! Remember thee all that Fancy Layering inside it...?"
"Yes," impatiently, "but those were Gold-leaf, Silver foil, Glass,— Philosophickal Materials," a quick glance toward Shelby, "whilst these,— " having a Squint, " - seem but different kinds of Refuse,— dirt...ashes...crush'd seashells...not likely to be an ancient Leyden Battery, Dixon, if that's what you're thinking."
"A Marvel no one taught you this, Mr. Mason, for there is lengthy Knowledge of such things,— according to which, alternating Layers of dif?ferent Substances are ever a Sign of the intention to Accumulate Force,— not necessarily Electrical, neither,— perhaps, Captain, these Substances Mr. Mason so disrespects may yet be suited to Forces more Tellurick in nature, more attun'd, that is, to Death and the slower Phenomena."
Mason is shaking his head, having no idea how to control Ranting like this, genial though it be. He's long known that Leadership is not his best Quality. Captain Shelby is staring at them both, with apprehension more than curiosity, for he has seen the Deep Woods and its mysteries quite derange more than one visitor from the Sea-coast and beyond. Deciding to place his faith in Reason, "Ye'll note, how the Sun-light has been creeping down the Cone. A Progressive warming of the Structure. The Diameters of each infinitesimal Ring, at each moment, being the crucial values. Did either of you bring a Compass?"
"Here's one...eeh!" Dixon, regarding his Needle, feels himself begin to drift somewhere else, off at an angle to the serial curve of his Life— Mason peers over his shoulder,— "Hum!" right into Dixon's Ear.
"Aagghh!" leaping away. "Mason, don't do that.—  " He struggles to refocus,— in fact, to remember where he is. The Needle is swinging wildly and without pause, rocking about like a Weather-Vane in a storm, Dixon pretending to gaze at it knowingly.
Mason a-squint, "— Well, thank you for allowing us to witness your Experience, aye very helpful indeed—"
Shelby would have preferr'd the slow chatter of three Men, in the early morning, with nought more to discuss than the Day ahead. "This Struc?ture happens to be quite in the projected path of your Line," he informs them, " - When at length your Visto is arriv'd here, the Mound will become active, as an important staging-house, for.. .whatever it may be,”
with an attempt at a Chuckle, tho' it comes out too loud, and imperfectly controll'd. "To quote Mr. Tox, in his famous Pennsylvaniad,—
'A "Force Intensifier," as 'tis styl'd,
A geomantic Engine in the Wild,
Whose Task is sending on what comes along,
As brisk as e'er, and sev'ral Times as strong.'
- Welsh in origin, it goes without saying."
"How so? Welsh Indians?"
"Oh! Absolutely. Only a few days west and south of here— 'Twas in The Turkish Spy but a few years since...?" The Cymry, Capt. Shelby explains, having first come to Britain from far to the East,— some say Babylon, some Nineveh,— their Fate ever to be Westering,— America but one of their dwelling-places, the Ocean nearly irrelevant. "Hugh Crawfford believes they are the Tuscaroras. Come along."
He leads them uphill again, to what seems the Ruin of a Wall, encir?cling part of the hill-top,— where he stoops and brushes away some Dirt. Here, inscrib'd in a roughly dress'd Stone, they see a Line of brief Strokes, some pointing up, some down, some both ways. "These are all over the British Isles,— 'tis a Writing call'd Ogham, invented by Hu Gadarn the Mighty, who led the first Cymrick Settlers into Britain. As ye'll note, 'tis useful for those who must move on quickly, yet do wish to scribble down something to commemorate their presence."
"What does it say?"
"Well...as nearly as I can make out,— 'Astronomers Beware. Survey?ors too. This means you.' Of course I haven't read any of this for Cen?turies...yet 'tis indisputably Old Welsh."
"As you describe this Line," opines the Professor, back at Camp, "— the Marker Stones set at regular intervals,— a cascaded Array of Units each capable of producing a Force,— I do suspect we have the same structure as a Leyden Battery,— and, need I add, of a Torpedo." "With the head aim'd close by New Castle?”
"Or the other way, were the Cascade reversible,— the emitted Blast, being as easily directed Westward as East? Either direction, 'twould be a Pip of a Weapon, even with your Marker Stones placed no further than Sideling Hill."
"Why fire at Sideling Hill?" Dixon all innocence.
"Not at the Hill," chuckles Capt. Shelby, "— at what's coming over the Hill."
"Pontiack? The French?"
"Too late for them. One day, one of you'll risk a Peep over the Ridge-line, and then you'll see."
"More mountains," says Mason.
"Exactly,— Mountains such as these, which may be liv'd among the
year 'round. Therein ever rocks the cradle of Rebellion. Sooner or later,
something up here will grow hungry or hopeless enough to want to
descend to the plain, to stoop like Hawks upon rich Chesapeake, aye the
Metropolis itself— If the Black Boys so easily had their way with the
British Regulars at Shippensburg, who knows what Wonders are yet pos?
sible out here, over the North-Mountain "
Yet removing Trees to create a pair of perfectly straight Edges, is to invite Sha, as Captain Zhang, ever eager upon the Topick of the Line and its Visible expression upon the Landscape, with its star-dictated indif?ference to the true inner shape, or Dragon, of the Land, will be happy to indicate to them.
"They came from the Sky, they prepar'd to emplace these Webs of right lines upon the Earth, then without explanation they went away again. Their work is being continued by the Jesuits, inscribers of Merid?ians, whether in blind obedience to some ancient Coercion, long expir'd, or in witting Complicity with it, who can say?" Captain Zhang can of course imagine Jesuits guilty of anything, including conspiring with Extra-terrestrial Visitors, to mark the living Planet with certain Signs, for motives of their own, motives they do not discuss, especially not with their Jesuit hirelings.
"Hearken, Gentlemen,— Someone wants your Visto. Not your Line, nor the Boundary it defines. Those are but a Pretext for the actual clear'd straight Track. In the Domain of very slow Undulations we're discussing
 here, Wood is as much an Element as Air or Water,— living Trees in par?ticular producing a Force that might interfere in too costly a way with whatever is to be sent up and down this Line.
"Earth, withal, is a Body, like our own, with its network of Points, dis-pos'd along its Meridians,— much as our medicine in China has identi?fied, upon the Human body, a like set of Lines invisible, upon which, beadwise, are strung Points, where the Flow of Chee may be beneficially strengthen'd by insertions of Gold Needles. So, this arrangement of Oolite Shafts, at least partly inserted into the Earth,— you see, i............