As all History must converge to Opera in the Italian Style, however, their Tale as Commemorated might have to proceed a bit more hopefully. Sup?pose that Mason and Dixon and their Line cross Ohio after all, and con?tinue West by the customary ten-minute increments,— each installment of the Story finding the Party advanc'd into yet another set of lives, another Difficulty to be resolv'd before it can move on again. Behind, in pursuit, his arrangements undone, pride wounded, comes Sir William Johnson, play'd as a Lunatick Irishman, riding with a cadre of close Indian Friends,— somehow, as if enacting a discarded draft of Zeno's Paradox, never quite successful in attacking even the rearmost of the Party's stragglers, who remain ever just out of range. Yet at any time, we are led to believe, the Pursuers may catch up, and compel the Surveyors to return behind the Warrior Path.
Longer Sights, easier Grades, wider Night Skies, as the landscape turns inside-out, with Groves upon the Prairie now the reverse of what Glades in the Forest were not so many chains ago. Far less ax-work being requir'd, soon the Axmen are down to Stig alone, who when ask'd to, becomes a one-man assault force on behalf of the Astronomers. The Musick, from some source invisible, is resolutely merry, no matter what it may be accompanying.
One late Autumn, instead of returning to the Coast, the Astronomers will just decide to winter in, however far west it is they've got to...and after that, the ties back in to Philadelphia and Chesapeake will come to mean that much less, as the Pair, detach'd at last, begin consciously to move west. The under-lying Condition of their Lives is quickly estab-lish'd as the Need to keep, as others a permanent address, a perfect Lat?itude,— no fix'd place, rather a fix'd Motion,— Westering. Whenever they do stop moving, like certain Stars in Chinese Astrology, they lose their Invisibility, and revert to the indignity of being observ'd and avail?able again for earthly purposes.
Were they to be taken together, themselves light and dark Sides of a single Planet, with America the Sun, an Observation Point on high may be chosen, from which they may be seen to pass across a Face serene and benevolent at that Distance, tho' from the Distance of the Planet, often, Winter as Summer, harsh and inimical.
Into the Illinois, where they find renegade French living out a fantasy of the Bourbon Court, teaching the Indians Dress-making, Millinery, Wine-Growing, Haute Cuisine, orchestral Musick, Wig-Dressing, and such other Arts of answering Desire as may sustain this Folly. They believe Mason and Dixon to be Revolutionary Agents.
Descending great bluffs, they cross the Mississippi, the prehistoric Mounds above having guided them exactly here, by an Influence neither can characterize more than vaguely, but whose accuracy is confirm'd by their Star observations, as nicely as the Micrometer and Nonius will per?mit. They stay at villages of teepees where Mason as usual behaves offensively enough to require their immediate departure, at a quite inconvenient time, too, for Dixon and his Maiden of the day, who've both been looking forward to a few private moments. Instead, the Astronomers spend the rest of their Day running from the angry Villagers, and only by Fool's Luck do they escape. They subsist upon Roots and Fungi. They watch Lightning strike the Prairie again and again, for days, and fires rage like tentacles of a conscious Being, hungry and a-roar. They cower all night before the invisible Thunder of Bison herds, smelling the Ani?mal Dust, keeping ready to make the desperate run for higher ground. They acquire a Sidekick, a French-Shawanese half-breed Renegado nam'd Vongolli, whose only loyalty is to Mason and Dixon, tho' like the Quaker in the Joak, they are not so sure of him. When they happen across an Adventurer from Mexico, and the ancient City he has discov-er'd beneath the Earth, where thousands of Mummies occupy the Streets in attitudes of living Business, embalm'd with Gold divided so finely it flows like Gum, it is Vongolli, with his knowledge of Herbal Formulas, who provides Mason and Dixon with the Velocity to avoid an otherwise certain Dissolution.
Far enough west, and they have outrun the slowly branching Seep of Atlantic settlement, and begun to encounter towns from elsewhere, com?ing their way, with entirely different Histories,— Cathedrals, Spanish Musick in the Streets, Chinese Acrobats and Russian Mysticks. Soon, the Line's own Vis Inertiae having been brought up to speed, they dis?cover additionally that 'tis it, now transporting them. Right in the way of the Visto some evening at Supper-time will appear the Lights of some complete Village, down the middle of whose main street the Line will clearly run. Laws continuing upon one side,— Slaves, Tobacco, Tax Lia?bilities,— may cease to exist upon the other, obliging Sheriffs and posses to decide how serious they are about wanting to cross Main Street. "Thanks, Gentlemen! Slaves yesterday, free Men and Women today! You survey'd the Chains right off 'em, with your own!"
One week they encounter a strange tribal sect, bas'd upon the worship of some celestial Appearance none but the Congregation can see. Hun?gry to know more about the Beloved, ignoring the possibility of a nega?tive result, recklessly do they prevail upon the 'Gazers to search scientifickally, with their Instruments, for this God, and having found its position, to determine its Motion, if any. It turns out to be the new Planet, which, a decade and a half later, will be known first as the Georgian, and then as Herschel, after its official Discoverer, and more lately as Uranus. The Lads, stunn'd, excited, realize they've found the first new Planet in all the untold centuries since gazing at the Stars began. Here at last is the Career-maker each has dreamt of, at differing moments and degrees of Faith. "All we need do is turn," cries Mason,— "turn, Eastward again, and continue to walk as we ever have done, to claim the Prize. For the first time, we may forget any Obligations to the current Sky,— for praise God (His ways how strange), we need never work again, 'tis t'ta to the Mug's Game and the Fool's Errand, 'tis a Royal Entrance at Life's Ridotto, 'tis a Copley Medal!"
"Eeh!" Dixon amiably waves his Hat. "Which half do thou fancy, obverse or reverse?”
"What?" Mason frowning in thought, "Hum. Well I rather imagin'd we'd...share the same side,— a Half-Circle each, sort of thing—"
Yet by now they can also both see the Western Mountains, ascending from the Horizon like a very close, hitherto unsuspected, second Moon,— the Circumferentor daily tracking the slow rise in vertical angle to the tops of these other-worldly Peaks. They are apt to meet men in skins, and Indians whose Tongue none of the Party can understand, and long strings of Pack-Horses loaded with Peltry, their Flanks wet, their eyes glancing 'round Blinders, inquiring... Survey Sights go on now for incredible Hundreds of Miles, so clear is the Air. Chainmen go chaining away into it, and sometimes never come back. They would be re-discover'd in episodes to come, were the episodes ever to be enacted, did Mason and Dixon choose not to turn, back to certain Fortune and global Acclaim, but rather to continue West, away from the law, into the savage Vacancy ever before them—
"The Copley Medal!" Dixon trying to get into the spirit of things.
"Attend me,— nothing would lie beyond our grasp. We would be the King's Own Astronomers, living in a Palace, servants to obey our desires! Weighty stipends, unlimited Credit! Wenches! Actresses! Observing Suits of gold lame! Any time, day or night, you wanted,— what do you people eat? Haggis! You want a Haggis after Midnight, all you need do is pull upon a bell-cord, and hi-ho!"
"Tha've certainly sold me," nods Dixon, gesturing with his broad hand at the Sun-set, which happens tonight to be wildly spectacular. "Yet all those — "
Mason nods back, impatiently. "They will have to live their lives with?out any Li............