It would take several hours now to backtrack to the next inlet. Jack, still upset by the captain’s dismissal, was elated by the sweet revenge. He took up his usual watch position on the bow, feeling much like one of the crew. Indeed, he thought, he was older than some of the apprentices.
When the bells rang at two A.M. he started to go below, but was stopped by the sight of something in the water, fifty yards off the starboard bow. Bobbing in four-foot waves, it looked like a small boat. The waves obscured his view and he lost sight of it. Had he in fact seen anything but a whitecap?
“Man overboard, starboard side!” The shout came from a sailor on watch. Jack stared in awe as the crew came alive, launching a gig and dragging a body onto the Star’s deck. No, not one body. Two. Jack was both drawn and repelled by the sight. He knew he had to keep out of the crew’s way but couldn’t help crowding in with the rest of them.
Smithers, a tall raw-boned seaman, nudged the older of the two bodies with his toe. “This ’un’s about cooked, I’d say.” The ship’s doctor brushed him aside and examined the bodies.
“The older chap is dead without a doubt,” he said. “Most of him is burned.”
There was a slight stirring from the crew, but no one spoke.
While attention had been focused on the older man, Jack knelt to the side of the younger. He reached out and touched a wrist—and was stunned when the hand reflexively grabbed his own. The young man’s eyes briefly opened, stared blankly at Jack, and closed again. The others turned at the sight of the movement and pushed Jack aside.
“This next lad just seems exhausted.” The doctor grasped the young sailor’s jaw, shaking him gently. “Wake up, sailor, wake up.” The young man, pale and deathlike, blinked his eyes at the doctor.
“What’s your name, lad?”
The sailor’s mouth moved but nothing came out. He tried again: “Paul.”
“Would it be Paul the Apostle, then?”
“If it pleases, sir.”
Young Paul fell back, unconscious.
3
PAUL
MARTIN’S SCREAMS ECHOED in Paul’s head, though Martin was dead by now, he must be. Paul had seen the burns swell his face and hands, had heard his pleas for water even as they swam from the ship.
Paul remembered the sea, hands pulling him out, the eyes of a young man gazing at him with pity. He fell back again, losing consciousness, then became aware of a crowd around him; sounds, voices, undistinguishable words. He was drenched in sweat, his tears mixed with bodily fluids and seawater. He forced himself to think clearly. How did I get here? How did I…
The click of heels on the marble floor signaled to Paul Le Maire that his father’s wrath would be upon him. He had spent an hour alone in the sitting room waiting, watching the shadows on the polished floor grow long. The house was still. Drapes brushed against the sparkling windows. Particles of dust swirled, catching the last rays of sun. Paul knew his father had already heard of his dismissal from college. He relived the scene with anguish. Dean Nathaniel J. Clark had sent for him abruptly.
“Young man, The College of William and Mary has over one hundred years of tradition behind it. The architect of our Constitution was schooled here. By all that is holy…”
The dean alternately pushed his glasses closer to his eyes and dropped his head to see over them, all the while driving his hands deep into his pockets, exploring the dark interior of his pants. “What in God’s name has gotten into you, man?”
Au contraire, what has gotten into you, monsieur? thought Paul.
Dean Clark glowed with a fury frightening to behold. The students referred to him as the Scarecrow. Long, gangly, disjointed limbs. A misshapen, unhappy face, dominated by a huge, bloodblistered nose. “You are already on probation for your last little episode,” he proclaimed.
Paul could contain himself no longer. He began to laugh.
“How dare you laugh at me!” Standing righteously, the dean took a deep breath and expelled it loudly through his nose. “You, who stood in this very office and begged for another chance.”
Paul knew then it was all over.
“What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” The dean’s feet pounded the oaken floor. “You’ve acted the clown in class, ridiculed your professors, and generally disgraced not only this school but your father, who, as you well know, has given a generous endowment to this establishment. But don’t think for one minute that his generosity will in any way dissuade me from expelling you if I see fit.” He paused here, cocking his head, waiting for an answer.
“Sir, first of all, may I correct you on one thing? I did not try to ridicule Professor Dawes. He did that on his own,” replied Paul.
“How dare you use that attitude with me!” the dean shouted. “I’ve attempted to give you a chance to speak in your defense and you have the audacity to correct me?”
“No, sir, I didn’t mean it as a correction of you so much as a clarification of the facts as they may have been presented to you.”
The dean slammed his bony fist down on his desk. “I’m going to notify your father immediately! You have the unmitigated gall to stand there and tell me Professor Dawes lied to me about what happened?”
“No, sir. I doubt he would knowingly lie. It’s just that he may not understand the reality of what was said, and was embarrassed at being dead wrong…. ” Paul paused and with great effort contorted his face into a mask of innocence. “You see, sir, although the quotation Professor Dawes used was substantially correct, he not only used it in the wrong context, but misidentified the author. He mistakenly said it was Isaac Newton who first spoke the words, ‘If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.’ Of course, you and I both know the phrase was first quoted perhaps as early as 1126 by Bernard of Chartres, referring to the ancients. Indeed, some would say it was Lucan, barely after the time of Christ. It was not, as Professor Dawes ineptly put it, that the architects of our Constitution gained strength from each other. That may or may not have been the truth, but had absolutely nothing to do with the quotation. So, sir, you can readily see my predicament: I was caught between trying to save the professor’s reputation or engaging in a meaningful dialectic to stimulate both myself and the class.”
Dean Clark had listened to him quietly. Now his eyes flashed fire. “Are you quite finished, Master Le Maire?”
“Yes, sir. I would just like to say—”
“Please, not another word.” The dean sat quietly at his desk, avoiding Paul’s gaze. “You obviously enjoy the fact that you’re bright,” he said. “That seems to be undeniable. But let me tell you this, young man.” His voice rose with a tremolo befitting a tenor. “You are being expelled. You can count this as a job you were unable to finish. And I’ll leave you with a quote that may give your destiny a purpose: ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ That, sir, is a true lesson for life and one that strikes close to home, for it is attributed to our former chancellor, George Washington.”