William Dawes stared at it for a while, watching as it began to blur, as it faded to let the sky’s blue through more and more brightly until, in the end, there was only a sky so clear that he wondered if he had imagined it. He shook his head and came back to the industry around him, the last tweaks and tightenings of the frame for his roof, the last securing of his rounded timber walls. They seemed so sturdy, but the surgeon said ominously, ‘Just something for them to find ruined when they come looking for us and find our place abandoned like my namesake’s Roanoke.’ Shading his eyes now, Dawes held onto optimism. Yes, the Governor had said, his observatory would be built—and yes, it would be built on the point Dawes coveted, the point he had called, with the Governor’s permission, Point Maskelyne, in honour of the Astronomer Royal. The little promontory of land was changed beyond measure, bits hewn out and levelled, and the grasses and coverings pulled back to show more and more gashes in the soil.
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