Copyright Story. The Night of Flying Candles.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue XXIII, 4 June 1904, Page 56

Copyright Story. The Night of Flying Candles.

By

It was Carnival time, and it seemed to me that every soul in gay little Mentone was bubbling over with the joy of life—except myself. lij the beginning 1 had been happy too. When 1 cams out about Christinas time to spend the rest of the season on the Riviera, to paint pictures and amuse myself, 1 thought that on the whole I v.ns a lucky mortal. I was young and strong, wit It no pressing responsibilities; and since last year's Academy, people had begun to say to each other, “That chap Cyril Havelock seems to be doing good work. I had meant to make a few sketches round about Mentone, and then move farther on; but after I had been stopping for a day or two at a quiet hotel, my name was seen in The local papers, and somehow I was drawn half-reluclantly into society. I went to a dance one night, met Virginia Arnold, and—that was the beginning of the end. Before our first waltz was over, I knew what was bound to happen to me. Knowing this, I should have had strength of mind to leave Mentone, or at all events to keep out of her way. and never see the girl again, for it “works like madness in the brain” to worship a woman without hope that she may be won. I had heard of Miss Arnold last summer in London, where she had been presented, and made a great sensation, not only because she was the American heiress of the hour, but because of her great beauty, and charming, simple ways. Fate would have it. however, that I was to travel to the Riviera to meet her, and to be miserable. I had always felt rather a contempt for men who made fools of themselves about girls they could never hope to marry, when nil that was needed in Ihe beginning was a little resolution; but now I had to ■find out that “he jests at scars who never felt a wound.” I did not go away; I did not keep out of the way. On the contrary I eagerly availed myself of every opportunity of seeing Virginia Arnold, though I was grimly aware of the misery 1 was storing up for myself in a future empty of her. I joined the Tennis Club because she was a member; J went on excursions up into the mountains, walking beside the red-saddled donkey, on which she merrily rode. I had never cared much for dancing, but now I never missed a ball, and they’ were frequent. By the arrival of Carnival week, I was the most unhappy man alive; for even if I could have got the girl to care for me, more than for hundreds of more eligible men, who were ready to give ten years of their lives for a chance. I felt that it would be a. caddish act for a poor young artist —not even famous yet—to dare offer pelf as a husband to the heiress of twenty millions. Virginia’s father, who had brought, her to the Riviera (the mother had died years ago), was a hard-hearted business man, passionately proud of his daughter, under the cool, quiet manner characteristic of him, and holding ambitious views for her future. What these views were, it was not difficult to guess; for Lady Grantonville was also staying at the Riviera Palace, chaperoning Miss Arnold, and her son. Lord Grant (who would be the Marquis of Grantonville some day), had given up his beloved hunting to join his mother in Mentone. Virginia and Lord Grant were constantly together. lie was not bad looking, but was an irritatingly slow young man, who had a dormouse air of being only half awake. Even in my most furiously jealous moments—and they ware too many for my peace by day or rest by night—l could scarcely believe that

MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON.

(Author of the “Bain Stormers,” etc.)

so bright and starry a girl as Virginia could really enjoy his society. Prompted by his energetic parent, however, Lord Grant was continually evolving plans to please Miss Arnold, and then drowsily proceeding to carry them out. He owned a magnificent motor car, and hired a small steam launch, so that he was always prepared for expeditions by land or "sea, whichever the whim of a spoiled girl might suggest. He had also brought out several fine saddle horses from England, and Virginia was allowed to ride with him, chaperoned only by a discreet groom. When this programme began, the dear, idyllic donkey excursions were given up; but once I was able to score over my fortunate rival, and to score heavily. This was when my friend, Manuel Cortez, appeared on the scone with his marvellous electric airship, which was still the talk of the hour. The invention of Cortez had not onlv made a better record than any other airship yet invented, but it triumphed in combined lightness and the superior size of the car attached, which was able to carry two persons. It was easy to steer and practically noiseless. I had known Cortez intimately when I was painting in Spain last year, and we had corresponded intermittentlv ever since He said that his visit to Mentone was paid on my account, and that we would ‘’do some good things together with the machine.” We did the good things, which excited the surprise of everybody, and the (literally) soaring ambition of Virginia Arnold. I heard that she was “dying”for a flight ’. n ,. ai , r , 'Y ith Signor Cortez, and he was delighted to grant the favour for me. Her father, after some persuasion, sanctioned the adventure, which lasted for an hour, described by Virginia as “the time of her life.” After that, I flattered myself that mere motor cars and common steam launches would seem tame to one who had sailed in ether. But this triumph of mine was now a thing of the past, and Cortez was attracting crowds of journalists to Monte Carlo, when the Mentone Carnival week began. Lord Grant had taken A irginia and a dozen others on his launch to A illefranche for the naval battle of flowers (a party in which I was not included); we had all been to buce one day for the Corso Carnivalclue; had had a wild afternoon of con-fetti-throwing in the Mentone streets, hidden under masks and dominoes; and at last came the evening of “Moccoletti” —the night of flying candles. Lady Grantonville had not wanted Virginia to venture out for this, as the Moccoletti (an entertainment of early Italian origin, consisting of running about with- lighted candles, trying to keep yours alight; and doing your best io blow out those of others) sometimes draws a rather rough crowd into the streets. But the girl had pleaded for the fun, which was entirely new to her, as she had never before been on the I> iviera; and at last her chaperone consented. slyly making ‘it a condition that Lord Grant should never leave her side. A irginia had on t he same domino she had worn in the afternoon, which was a little imprudent if she did not wish to be known, ns she had taken off her mask for tea at Ruinpelmeyer’s, and had afterwards driven home in an open carriage without it. The domino was of white satin with n bunch of violets on the hood and another at the throat, so that, oven when the little black lace mask hid her beauty, she was a conspicuous figure among others less charming. Knowing that she was to be in Lord Grant’s care, and that I was not wanted, I decided that I would not go

out for the Moccoletti; but I wandered up and down the corridor at my hotel like a lost spirit, and finally threw my resolution to the winds. The thought of Virginia drew me like a magnet; and presently I, too, was in the crowded streets which over-flowed with merrymakers in quaint costumes, 'as a stream of sparkling water overflows its banks. Festoons of scarlet and yellow lanterns swayed above the heads of the crowds, like tulips shaken by the wind; red and purple fire shone into black eyes and lit up laughing, unmasked faces, while everywhere the candles flitted, small yellow sparks in the blue, illuminated dusk, uncertain in their movements as fire-flies. In the long main street my eyes, quickened by love and jealously, soon separated Virginia Arnold in her white domino and Ix>rd Grant in his crimson one from the irrelevant crowd. They were in the far distance, but I saw them, and knew that here could be no mistake.

The girl had thoroughly entered into the fantastic spirit of the night. Her slim white figure flew back and forth, threading the crowd like a delicate ivory shuttle weaving through a skein of bright coloured wool. She held her lighted candle nigh above her head, and so quick and skilful was she, springing an tiptoe or clipping unexpectedly down, that while she blew out a dozen candles, no one could succeed in quenching the light of hers. Lord Grant was much slower in his movements, and followed his charge at a listance, clumsily but conscientiously. I noticed that a tall man in the dress of a Brown Carmelite had singled her out, and was making a determined attack upon her candle. She caught sight of him also, realised iiis intention, and was evidently bent on defeating it. She darted away like a swallow, skimming up the street towards the towering, huddled mass of the old town, the Brown Carmelite close upon her heels, Grant—who should have aided and abetted her—hopelessly left behind, swamped among the contending eddies of the throng. Unmasked as I was, and without the candle which was the insignia of the night, I could no longer resist the temptation to usurp the privilege of guardian, which Grant did not seem able to maintain. I ruthlessly elbowed the good-nfttured crowd as I pursued, always keeping the white domino in

sight, when suddenly a girl, pushed rouglrfy by a young peasant, who shrove to blow oilt her candle, stumMed and fell in front of me. I should have been a brute if I had not restrained my impatience far enough to snateh her up, and set her safely on her feet again. ‘‘Why, it is you, ’Phrauie I” I exebuancd, finding close to mine the handsome, dark face of the young woman who had served as my chief model since I came to Mentone. “ I hope vou are not hurt !”

“ No, no, monsieur, not at all, thank you. I was in too great a hurry,” she replied in the mongrel Italian-French patois which I had come now to understand. But there was uo smile on her red lips, and her eyes were strained and eager. Without waiting for further words, she dashed away up the street which led on, round a slight bend, to the old town. . I followed, not for Phrasie Voglio, but for Virginia Arnold.

Here the path was clearer ; the crowd merely overflowed a little, in a thin trickle of indiviluals, beyond the spot at which I had been stoppel. Passing the bend, I could see a long way, ahead, but Virginia had vanished. Lord Grant was close in front of me now, and, turning as if he felt my presence, he spoke my name. “ Hullo, Havelock,” he said. “ It’s confoundedly provoking ; but I’ve lost Miss Arnold, who was in my charge. Suddenly she disappeared, just as if she’d put on an invisible cloak. Queer, thing, isn’t it ?” I felt furious with the slow, blundering fellow, but I said that Miss Arnold must have run up one of the narrow cross-streets, and if lie liked. I would help him find her. He was glad enough of my assistance, and I tried to assure myself that in a minute we should ba upon Virginia's track ; that I should then have won the right to remain by her side. But we searched everywhere vainly. From mere annoyance our trouble grew to alarm, then to sickening fear. We questioned everyone we met, but though several had seen the slendei- figure in the white domino with the violets, no one knew which way it had eventually gone. For hours our search lasted. Her father had to be told, and rated Lord Grant soundly with certain strong American words. Then the police were informed, and all Mentone was ransacked

-anavailingly for tire missing girl. Next morning, telegram* were sent summoning detectives from Paris. The place burred with gossip, wtiieh was maddening tv me. Home thought that the heiress bad eloped with a lover disapproved by her people ; others whispered of mnrder and horrors not to be spoken aloud ; thus days passed, and nothing was heard of Virginia Arnold. I was almost out of my senses. I eould not sleep or think, much less paint. Most of my time I spent in wandering about the neighbourhood, trying to learn something, for my belief was that my darling, as a famous American heiress, had been kidnapped for a ransom. Again and again Euphrasie Voglio came in vain io the studio I had taken in the old town, —so I heard from the shopkeeper on tike ground floor, —but at last she left a note. 1 had supposed that she merely wanted an appointment to pose for my half fiujfd»ed picture of “ l.a Mentonaise,” but it seemed tliere was something more. “ I beg that monsieur will see me,” she liad scrawled in ill-spelled French. “Itis to me a matter of life and death, and maybe to him also of some importance. I will call once more at three o’clock to-dav.”

I returned to the studio at that hour, expecting to be asked for my advice on some silly love affair, as ’Phrasie was a local beauty with more than one admirer; and she pretended to set great value on my opinion. Her first words, however, startled me out of my indifference. “ Monsieur ’AveJock is interested about the young lady who has disappeared ?” “ Yes,” I said, brusquely.

The girl gave a glanee at the studio door which was closed, tip toed to it, and peeped out on the dark landing, then re-

turned to me with pale face, and great black. dilated eyes. “ Monsieur will swear, before 1 begin, that whatever happens he will keep what I may tell him secret ?” “ How can I swear without knowingl” ■“ You must if I am to speak. Oh, do not fear, Monsieur, it’s not necessary to repeat the thing I speak of.” “ Yon may trust me then,” I said. She came very close to me. “ I think you care for Mademoiselle Virginie Arnold F’ The girl's manner was almost positively sincere, and the impulse was upon me to answer her with equal sincerity. “ I care for her more than for all the rest of the worldl ” I exclaimed. “ I thought so 1 I have thought it sinee the night of moccoletti. I can tell you where she is, if by all you hold sacred you vow' to me that you will keep tlie secret, while you try to save her. If you do not make that vow, I shall be silent. Nothing can make me sjieak. They might, put me in prison, and 1 would say that I knew no more than a babe unborn.” “ I swear to be silent,” I said. “ It is Francois Rimaldi who planned everything, and stole her,” whispered ’Phrasie. ” 1 know, because we are lovers —or we have been. He had to ask my help, for the place where he wished to take Mademoiselle first, belonged to my stepfather, and I could get the key without rousing suspicion at home. Anything is possible on moccoletti night ! Francois is a socialist, and has been disappointed in his ambition; he knew how rich Mademoiselle’s father is, and that he would pay anything to buy his daughter’s safety. Francois meant to keep Mademoiselle Arnold hidden for a few days, and then treat for ransom in such a way that the father would not dare let the police interfere, on

pain at death for his daughter. When a hundred thousand francs had been paid, then Mademioselle was to be smuggled home; Francois and 1 were to marry and be rich for the rest of our lives. J believed all my lover said —indeed I think still be was honest towards me in the beginning. He disguised himself as a monk, and followed the young American lady through the street as if to blow out her candle. She ran on and on, out of sight of her friends, never thinking of danger. Monsieur, you know my stepfather's little wood-carving shop in the old town here; the room on the sea level — or rather- a little below, for you go down two steps when you have ojiened the low, green door. The shop was closed at thnt hour, but I had got the key for Francois, and nobody knew. He had the door standing already ajar, gave Alademoiselle a push as she passed, which sent her stumbling against it. She fell down the steps. dazed, and he held a sponge wet with chloroform to her faee till she was unconscious. Then when he trad locked the door, he wrapped a big, cheap, black domino over her white one, and carried her up the stairs behind the shop, which takes one to a door in the upper street at the back, on a level with the next storey. There a covered cart was waiting, with the brother of Francois as driver. After that, all was simple. They drove up the road towards the mountain village of Sospel, but they did not go nearly so far as that. Remember, it was now- late at night. The mountain roads were deserted, and they were safe to do what they would. The plan they had thought of was a elever one. You know the hermit’s eave near the opening of the Gourg del’ Ora ?” “Do you mean that hole high up in the faee of the mountain, where they say a hermit lived two or three hun-

dred years ago, the front of which is artificially walled iu, with a square window near the top!—the place which the peasants tell you is impossible to reach now, though it looks as if it might be easy enough to find some steep, winding |>ath along the mountains.” "Yes, Monsieur, that is what 1 mean. There is a way to the cave, of course, though it is known to very few, ami is difficult for even those who have once found it to find again. Well, it was there that Francois and his two brothers took Mademoiselle. They left the earl, and carried her slowly, carefully, up the path which they knew so well that they eould see it by the light of the rising moon. But they did not. need to go all the way up to the eave. A long distance below there is another hole. which cannot be seen by strangers because of creepers and buslies. Inside rough steps are cut, and at last yon come out into the eave itself. Mademoiselle is hidden in the cave still, far, far up on the mountain side, miles away from any house or village. She might scream all day for help, and no one would hear, or if they did they would not know where to look, or what tlie cry meaut. Francois has a sister of fifteen or sixteen, who is not quite mad, yet she is not like other girls; but she is devoted to her brothers. She will do whatever they tell her, if it were to steal or kill; and it is she who lives in the cave with Mademoiselle —just those two alone; but Francois’ two brothers are always outside, on guard and armed, and at night Francois is there also, watching. 1 do not know how to reach the cave by the path, so I can not tell you how to go. As for the lower entrance by the rock passage, it would be useless to look fox it on the great face

of the nioiinlain for there are countless holes into which one might go by mistake, and never come out —places which would lead to nothing but death, liven if you could discover the way to the ' Hermit’s eave and surprise the brothers, before you could get in—you and those you might take with you.— they would either have killed Mademoiselle,'or spirited her off by the other entrance. They would die themselves, now they have gone so far. rather than give her up alive without the ransom they are aiming for.” “Yet she must be saved!” 1 exclaimed. '“Surely, you have not been telling this story with the object of torturing mo for no end?” “No, above all things I want you to find a way of saving her. for my sake even more than yours, for Francois is playing me false, and I am half mad with rage because I can do nothing. He had to confide his plans to me. or I would not have trusted or consented to help him in the beginning, and lie counted on my love and loyalty. But. when he had the young American lady safely imprisoned in the cave, he said to himself—oh, I know it well! —how beautiful she was, and how much better it would be to have her for his wife and all her millions of English pounds beside, .than a few beggarly million francs of ransom. If this were not so, I would have cut out my tongue sooner than betray him; and even now I have made you swear secrecy, so that, in spite of all, no harm can touch Francois. He has not confessed his treachery to me, but I see what is in his mind by the way his eyes refuse to meet mine, and his confusion when I question him. If he had not resolved to play some new game, he would have begun by this lime to negotiate with Mademoiselle’s father for the ransom; but he has not made a move to do that. Besides, the eldest brother, who is a priest, (but not a good priest), is expected from Toulon, I know. When this news was dropped by Francois' mol her, I quickly put two and two together. Somehow they will force Mademoiselle to marry him. and once she is Francois’ wife, the father must make the best of it for his daughter’s sake. At worst, Francois Itinialdi is one of the handsomest men you have ever seen, handsome enough to win even a great lady’s admiration. Monsieur • Arnold might buy a title for him if he eliQ.se, and take him over io America a nobleman. It is this, perhaps, on which Francois counts; but ho counts without me. Oh, I cannot bear the misery he has put in my heart. Something must be done. Help me, Monsieur, because you wish to help yourself. Think—think how' you can rescue the lady you love; but do not dream of attacking Francois, for if you do, she will not live to thank you; I warn you of that, and I know it is the truth.”

I was inclined to believe ’Phrasie's story, and to believe also that her caution was not misplaced. A man who would do what Francois Rimaldi had already done, if driven to bay, would be capable of anything. Promising ’Phrasie that I would keep the secret, and that for my sake I would, not be slow in forming some plan, I sent the girl away. Then, alone once more in my studio I thought till my brain ached.

If I went to Francois Rima Idi and tried threats or bribery, he would know at once that ’Pbrasie had betrayed him, and he would surely take swift revenge. If 1 broke my word to the girl, and gave the alarm to the police, there was little doubt that Virginia would be hidden elsewhere, or murdered before the cave could be entered. The same danger was to be feared if a private rescue-party set out in secret, for the watchers would not be caught asleep. Suddenly, when I had built tip plan after plan, only to see them tumble down again one after another, as if reared on sand, a new and extraordinary idea flashed into my mind. I hardly gave myself time to develop it before rushing down the live flights of stone stairs between my studio and the street, and wiring to Manuel Cortez, at Monte Carlo. I sent a telegram in cipher, which must have surprised him somewhat, though he was not easy to surprise ami an hour later it was answered by the one word—‘’Yes.” Satisfied so far, I went to my hotel, and towards evening one of my fellow guests brought exciting news into the big hall where I and a number of others were sitting. ‘•That chap Cortez has come back with his electric flying machine. Half the town is out watching it. He’s landed on that big open space near Cap Martin. I’d been told the best feature of this machine was that it could be steered as easily as a motor ear, and that once master of the mechanism you could do as you liked with it. But I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn't seen the man manoeuvring with my own eyes. And the thing is noiseless, except for a sound like the wind among trees.” Sea and sky had melted together in a violet dusk when Cortez and I met at an hotel on the sea front, as arranged in my telegram to him. “'You are a friend worth having!” I exclaimed. ‘'You must be wondering if I have gone out of my senses. But I’ll explain everything, and ” ‘‘Do that while we dine,” he broke in, ‘‘if you think I’ve earned my dinner.” 1 did think so, and was forced to humour him, though I could eat nothing. Besides, we wanted darkness and night for the work I hoped to do. When Cortez understood the strange circumstances he agreed with me in thinking it best not to take the girl’s father into the sebret. Such suspense would be hard for him to bear; and then, he might be imprudent, not realising all that ’Phrasie’s warning meant. Though it would be next to impossible to find the hermit’s cave by means of a hidden path, especially at night, the hole in the face o" the rock, walled in with masonry, was in itself a conspicuous object enough even at a distance. The scheme which Cortez and I now elaborated together was this. He would take his electric airship (with me as his companion) in the direction of the cave, and as far as possible on a level with it, until, by the clear light of the stars, we should have made sure of the position. Then he would mount higher, bringing the machine to rest above the cave; am} leaving jt, we would make fast to the rocks a curious rope ladder which he always carried on his aerial exuoditions in case of emergencies. On this ladder we would descend to the

square window in the old masonry which shut in the front of the cave. We would noiselessly let ourselves down inside, and draw #ur revolvers on the Rinaldis before they knew that they had been attacked. It was ten o’clock when we started, hnd the night was dark save for the stars. Mentone goes early to bed, except when there is a dance or some ether entertainment on, and the little town, so gay by daylight, was already as silent as if it day under a spell. Even the excitement of the flying machine’s arrival had died down, and no one was near it save Cortez’ own mail, who travelled with him usually, unless lie wished for another companion in his The spot chosen as a resting-plaee for the big stealthy "winged dragon” (as Virginia had once named it) was lonely, and we got off unobserved. Never shall I forget that flight through the night, seeming to swim among the stars. We flew swiftly, and the hills lay like dark, tumbled waves beneath us. Once, we missed our way, but found it again, and when the shadowed Gourg del' Ora opened we saw a pale glimmering spot on the mountain face, which meant the front of the hermit’s cave. We rose above it, and alighted as if on a bird’s buck on a long, level space like a shelf overhanging the cave. Five minutes later our >ope ladder was securely fastened and dangling— ; we had reason to hope from the bearings we had taken—directly in front of the hermit’s window. I went down first, Cortez following closely. The night was still, save for the sighing of a light wind which had fortunately covered the whirr of our winged machine, yet had not been strong enough to alter its course. The ladder was only just long enough. Had there been three feet less of it, the venture must have been vain; but we had calculated rightly. As I descended to the limit of the rope, the black square of the roughly formed window was almost in front of my face. Stealthily I set my foot on the ledge of ancient masonry. Not a stone, not a particle of plaster fell.- Clinging to the window-frame, I began letting myself noiselessly down into the cave, and as I did so, Cortez reached the window, to go through the same manoeuvre just successfully accomplished by me. Hanging on to the window ledge by one hand, I drew from my pocket a small electric lantern which. I had bought earlier itr the day for this very purpose. Suddenly the cave was lit up with a strong white light and in a flash I saw the interior, which was divided into two rooms, the rough open doorway of the further one hung with a curtain of some new, red material. A couple of men sprang up, dazed with sleep, almost under my feet. Before they knew 1 what had happened I had dropped on top of them and Cortez after me.

In letting rayself down, I left the lantern hanging from the window ledge by a hook, so that we could see what we were doing. We had revolvers, so had the enemy, but they were confused by the unexpectedness of the attack, and we had all the' advantage. We sprang on the two, and had disarmed them with scarcely a struggle when we

heard a cry from the behind the red curtain. It was pushed aside and Virginia Arnold ran out, crying, “ Save me! The girl has a knife; She'll kill me for her brother’s sake! ”

I sprang to her, knocking down one of the men, and catching my love in my arms, an she would have fallen. Cortez bad his man down also, when suddenly the one I had flung on the floor rolled, towards the wall, and, to my amazement, disappeared* For a second or two Cortez must have loosened his hold upon the other, for, before we could have counted three, they had both vanished in the same mysterious way. Cortez, his Spanish blood up, would have followed, but Virginia, clinging to me, exclaimed “Let them go. It is a trap. The underground path is there, and Francois, one of the brothel's, is below. Take me away, before he comes, for he is terrible.” •She was right, for, once she was saved my promise to ’Phrasie would prevent niy taking revenge upon the Rimaldi.s. Cortez sprang at the high window-ledge, and in a moment sat astride of it. I handed Virginia up to him, then turned to defend myself from the half-witted girl, who would have crept up from behind and stabbed me in the back. With an eerie shriek of rage, as I wrested her knife away, she darted towards the underground passage, and I made no move to stop her. By this time Virginia was crying out that she could not. could not go up the rope ladder. But somehow she did go, when Cortez had mounted to the top, and while I kept guard in the window. When I was half way up. I heard a yell from below, and sent back a laugh of defiance. I have often wondered since whether the brothers believed themselves baffled by magic, and whether, watching at their cave door, they saw the winged dragon flit by. Cortez and Virginia made the flight alone. There was no room for a third passenger, and I waited till dawn on the plateau when, by scrambling, I eventually found my way down. Of the Rimaldis I saw nothing. For ’Phrasie’s sake they were to go free; and I fancy, they think to this day that some supernatural power intervened to snatch away their triumph. Now, with more telling, you will, see how Lord Grant lost the heiress, and her father forgot ambition in giving her to me. Mr. Arnold, Cortez, Virginia and I kept the real truth of. her adventure to ourselves. The story of an ordinary kidnapping for ransom and a high payment was allowed to be whispered round. It was considered natural that the Arnolds did not like to discuss the unpleasant affair; and a new sensation was given to Mentone by our marriage a week later. lam not sure that some people did not believe me the kidnapper, who had returned Virginia to her parent’s arms on condition that I should marry her. But that is a detail. Cortez was my best man. and he has been commissioned to make an air ship for Virginia.