As Major Sinclair had promised, we were in Little Rock by noon. Our printed handbills fell into the neat furrows of her streets like seeds at springtime. A small crowd cheered us when we moored in a small park on the outskirts, took aboard the money we had come for, refuelled our tank and were quickly on our way again to Tuscaloosa. The illness which had seized me in Carthage seemed to disappear not long after we left Little Rock. As we sailed above the unremarkable rooftops of Tuscaloosa I was completely free of it. I began to think I had suffered food poisoning, for pork has never much agreed with me. With the wind behind us and clear skies ahead we set course for Atlanta, Emperor City of the South, core of a world once thought crushed and defeated but now growing into a golden, avenging phoenix. Atlanta, burned to the ground by ruthless enemies, raped and robbed and left for dead, rapidly gathered back her strength. Her great silver towers were rising from the wasteland. White, curving roads would sweep through her skies. I saw her in the distance and she was impressive. At her heart was a massive crown of gold. Major Sinclair was in excellent form now that the weather was clearer. Below the countryside steadily became more varied and pleasant. The city, seen above a line of dark green pines, had a clean, modern appearance which I had not expected. Before we reached the golden dome we turned north of Stone Mountain, heading for the extensive grounds of Klankrest mansion, seat of the Imperial Wizard, hub of the Invisible Empire.
We sailed in towards evening, flying over the brow of a hill towards a wide lawn surrounding an ornamental lake in which a fountain gushed. Orderly paths ran through the lawns. Above them was a great house so beautiful it would have been the envy of the Tsar himself. It was the epitome of fine Southern taste, with marble columns and lintels, a neo-Graecian mansion, solid and serene in the warmth of the late February sun. One could imagine some Georgian cavalier strolling in these grounds in the golden days before the Civil War. As Major Sinclair brought The Knight Hawk to a gentle halt over the lake, negro servants impeccable in red, white and blue uniforms of the Colonial style came running from the house to catch hold of our lines, securing us to a pair of special posts erected near the house, evidently for this very purpose. Next we were gradually winched to the ground and the ship was firmly anchored, enabling us to step easily from our cockpits to the grass. Major Sinclair, with his usual pleasant good manners, thanked the negroes and instructed them to take our luggage into the house. Looking up at the blue-veined marble and polished stone, the tall windows of Klankrest, I decided the Imperial Wizard’s chief residence already rivalled the White House which I had seen in Washington and found disappointing.
We began to walk round the extensive marble veranda towards the front of the building. Just before we turned Mr Clarke himself appeared. For me, it was more thrilling seeing this unassuming, intelligent looking man, than if I had actually come face to face with Mr Harding himself. In his lightweight grey suit he approached us with easy grace. He and his family might always have inhabited the mansion. Retaining the mild, academic manner I had noted before, he confirmed my opinion: he was a natural gentleman, bearing himself with quiet dignity as he warmly shook hands with us, enquiring how the journey had been, saying how pleased he was I had decided to join the service of the Klan.
With some amusement, Major Sinclair told of our enforced stay in Carthage. ‘I’m not sure Colonel Peterson was too happy about the accommodations.’ He chuckled. ‘All niggers and poor white trash. Wasn’t that so, colonel?’
‘It’s a side of the South nobody’s greatly proud of, sir,’ said Mr Clarke soberly. ‘Not so bad, I suppose, as New York slums, but a living reminder of carpetbagging days. It will change in time, especially when the alien exploiters are finally driven out.’ He began to lead us towards the front entrance. ‘In those days, sir, as you may know, the Klan dealt harshly with thugs who took advantage of Reconstruction. More harshly than they do today.’
Birth of a Nation had shown me this graphically. I nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
‘It was an economic war, whatever Yankees pretended to the contrary. They were no more interested in the lot of the slaves than Simon Legree. The welfare of the negro was treated as a duty and an enduring responsibility in the South. When we were mined, those poor wretches were amongst the first to suffer. If we had been left in peace to found our Confederacy, this part of the world would be a paradise now, a model to the rest of America, to the whole world.’
We paused outside the glass and rococo-iron doors. Major Sinclair seemed singularly happy as he surveyed the tall hedges, the neatly raked gravel drive. ‘We’re too big and varied a country to be administered as a single nation. Each State knows where her best interests lie. It’s the Federal Government which always causes the trouble.’
We entered a spacious hall, also predominantly of marble, hung with old canvases, its alcoves containing alabaster urns trimmed in gold. ‘You’ll reduce the influence of government locally as well as nationally, I understand?’ I wished to impress him with my sophisticated grasp of U.S. politics. I rested my hand lightly on the polished wood of a full-size grand piano and raised my eyes to the sweeping staircase with its huge Klan banner, the Grand Klensign.
‘The rights of the individual are of paramount concern to the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.’ Mr Clarke was about to expand on this when a tall, handsome raven-haired woman appeared on the stairs and began slowly to descend. ‘My dear! Colonel Peterson, this is my colleague, Mrs Mawgan. She has done as much as I to make this organisation the force it is today.’ Mrs Mawgan wore a formal black frock. Her jewellery was jet and silver. With her broad forehead and heavy jaw she had a manner more immediately striking than Mr Clarke’s own. I guessed at once she must be his mistress, even, to some degree, the power behind the throne. They were a splendidly well-matched couple. As she reached the bottom of the steps she extended her gloved hand, smiling pleasantly. ‘You’re the foreign gentleman who’ll help us drive our aliens back to where they came from.’
‘Now, Bessy, that’s not exactly right,’ began Mr Clarke chidingly, but I laughed heartily. She was a woman of considerable irony and I appreciated her wit.
‘Mrs Mawgan,’ I said with a bow, kissing her hand, ‘if I can stop America making the mistakes of Europe before I, myself, am driven out, I shall be more than satisfied.’
‘Oh, Colonel Peterson, you’re far too well-bred to overstay your welcome I’m sure. I appreciate your ideals. And it’s a good salary, too, I gather.’ With this she treated me to a ladylike wink to put me at my ease. In some ways she reminded me of my baroness. ‘You two boys must be tired out. What d’you want first? A drink? Or would you rather clean up?’