A National Anthem & Billowy Conveyance
The San Sebastian Chronicles, Part XVIII
Not long later we’d taken a turn off the main road were following a narrow but even path through some coniferous woods. Birds flitted about and the breeze from the mountains was cool and reassuring as it combed through the trees’ verdant needles. The sun was heading toward the western ridge.
Continued from…
Johnny had climbed upon a mule after another Barnatzer and was now humped upon it, snoring. We knew whom to keep away from the liquor. Tomasso was at the rear of the mule train and Lord Gus was at the front, just behind Desotto and me.
Gus had proven an entertaining companion. He always had a quip or story at the ready, but only rarely volunteered them when not apropos.
“Quite the national anthem you have,” Gus said as he squinted through the sun’s rays, made harsher by the flickering induced by the foliage above. “How long does it go on?”
“Twenty verses?” Desotto guessed.
“Twenty-four?” I offered.
“Is there a translation?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Perhaps I could take a stab at working one out. Do you have it written? My Sebastianese is coming along, I think.”
“I do not have it in writing, but I would take caution at making the anthem your first attempt. It has a lot of colloquialisms, references to archaic words from our founding legends, confusing lexicography, poetic license, alternating meters, and many rhymes that are a bit of a stretch, if I’m honest.”
“Well, they can’t all be God Save the King, I suppose.”
“Yes, and considering the recent succession — our condolences — you should count yourself lucky that in English the terms for both a male and female monarch not only both contain only one syllable, but also rhyme.”
“Yes,” Desotto joined in, “consider Re and Regina, König and Königin — ”
“Roi, reine,” said I.
“Kral, kralitsa,” said Gus.
“Or, in our case, Margrave and Marquise.”
“Marchioness?”
“Possibly. At any rate, it would make for some awkward meter in our case. May as well rewrite the whole song.”
Just then we began to emerge from the woods into a small meadow. The trail dropped a bit sharply down and as we emerged from the pine-coney canopy we came upon quite the sight.
“Lord Gus, are you above leading the mules down the slope with Tomasso while Desotto and I go ahead?”
“Not at all. I once lead a train of mules in the Khyber — ”
“Very well,” I said as I turned to make my descent. “Best to wake Johnny so he doesn’t become a ripe coconut.”
When Desotto and I arrived in the pasture we could take in the sight.
Ahead about two hundred longsteps, against the woods on the opposite side of the meadow, was a mountain house, typical of this part of San Sebastian, steep-roofed for thick snows, brick, stone, timber, plaster, and tile, all used in their various ways. To the left of the house was a three-walled loose timber barn, which opened toward the house. Inside appeared to be a smithworks and all manner of metal beams and smaller parts as well as reams of thick fabrics.
A few dozen longsteps to the right of the house was a contraption the likes of which I could not have conceived of until it came before me, thought it was not entirely foreign. For more than a few moments Desotto and I simply stood there, staring at it. It was a balloon of sorts, but larger than any I’d seen, and much longer. A taut, upbent, oblong-shaped sac, not the typical dropping bag. This was surrounded by a sparse superstructure of thin wooden girders, attached with bright brass brackets. These timbers were attached to the top of a metal frame in the middle of which was a rigid vertical cylinder about three feet across and half that in height, which connected the regular-balloon-like part to a quite large metal gondola-cum-cabin mounted to the bottom of the interstitial metal frame.
The gondola appeared to be comprised of two decks, with a wood balcony jutting out between them complete with wire railings and an open superstructure connecting it to the gondola. I could make out at least two doors from the balcony to the upper deck on the side facing us. Along the upper deck were good sized portholes ringed with brass frames and fittings. On one end of the upper deck, I could see the start of larger windows which I took to be for the view of the pilot of the apparatus.
The lower deck only had a couple smaller portholes on the sides, but the end of it closest to us had been opened up with the inside of it forming a ramp to the ground, which, extraordinarily, was about three feet below the gondola, for the whole craft was suspended in air!
It seemed impossible that such a large structure could float. Four thick ropes moored the airship to piles of sandbags on the ground. As I looked closer, I could see that a tall, open structure, built with the most basic of carpentry, linked the gondola’s upper-deck to the ground via a gangplank, a long deck running back toward the house, and a set of steep stairs to the ground.
I’d read of the new airships of Count von Zeppelin, but had never seen anything close to such a thing in my life. I was nonplussed for quite some time, as was Desotto.
Tomasso, Gus, and Johnny arrived next to us, the mules keeping their distance behind.
“I must be dreamin’ this,” said a rumpled and bleary looking Johnny.
“I must say, my travels have never offered me a sight such as this,” Gus said.
Tomasso stood a feet feet behind them, gaping in silence.
The whole of the gondola was painted a flat, faintly bluish gray to match the air bag and to blend into the sky. The brass fittings remained gleaming even with the sun now behind the mountains. The unpainted metal connecting frame and the dark timbers of the superstructure and balcony gave the craft a solid and imposing appearance, which was both impressive and a bit unsettling when juxtaposed against its apparent weightlessness.
“See, didn’t I tell you?” said Desotto, slapping me on the back.
I laughed. “No, Desotto, you did not tell me of this thing!”
“Do you see that? That wire?” We looked back at Tomasso, who was pointing up to the tall mountains to the north.
I had not seen it before, so transfixed was I by the cloud car. A thick cable ran out from behind the fantastical craft. I could not tell if it was rope or wire. It ran near the trees along the meadow for hundreds of longsteps curving slightly upward the whole while until, as it approached the northern end of the meadow, it began to climb skyward toward the mountains. Despite squinting, I lost sight of the wire as it retreated into the mountain mists, hundreds of feet in the air. This was quite a thing indeed.
“Come,” said Desotto, “let’s go in. I am hopeful was can depart before dark.”
Continued…
