But when dinner was over and they gathered in the music room, Nathaniel got in only one dance with her. He had been to dancing class—Mother insisted on it—but he, who was nimble on the football field and quick on his feet in the ring and on the tennis court, never quite got the hang of the two-step or the waltz. He moved around woodenly and was in a way relieved when Herb Wheeler cut in. Tony Burton was next, and Nathaniel watched him twirling her around to “Hello Central, Give Me Heaven,” then that other new song, “In the Good Old Summertime.” Soon, all the disks had been played and everyone got tired of turning the Victrola crank to keep the music from sounding like it was being played underwater. Constance asked Van Slyck if he would sing that jolly Dartmouth song. He agreed and sat at the piano, the crowd gathering around him.

VAN SLYCK:        Oh, Eleazar Wheelock was a very pious man,

He went into the wilderness to teach the In-dye-an.

With a Gradus ad Parnassum, a Bible and a drum …

ALL:                 And five hundred gallons of New England rum!

VAN SLYCK:       Eleazar and the big chief harangued and gesticulated,

They founded Dartmouth College,

And the big chief matriculated.

Eleazar was the faculty and the whole curriculum …

ALL:               Was five hundred gallons of New England rum!

Part Two

SOUTHERN CROSS

8

LOG: 16 June. At anchor, North Haven. Comes foggy in the a.m., clearing by noon. SW 15 kts. 30.02 steady. 72 degree F. Took morning ferry to Camden with Will, Will to pick up money wired by his father for train ticket or steamer passage to Boston. Dirigo, square-rigger built in Bath in ’94, moored in Camden harbor, taking on lumber for Galveston, rebuilding after big hurricane last year. Chief mate allowed us aboard to look her over. A fine ship. Will and I climbed to top of mainmast. A bully view! Returned to Double Eagle, resolved to sail to Key West. Will to be our navigator. Shaped our course. After some argument with crew, we agreed to shove off with tomorrow’s tide.

Those are the bare bones, written by Nathaniel, in thin brown ink, and this the flesh his descendant has stretched over them:

“ ‘… I CANNOT REST from travel; I will drink / Life to the lees.…’ ”

Poised shoeless on the footrope of steel-hulled Dirigo’s highest yardarm, his chest against the spar and one hand clutching a gasket of the furled royal, Nathaniel imagined himself a soaring gull that, blessed with human voice, uttered not screeches or squeals but Tennyson’s verses from aloft.

“ ‘… All times I have enjoyed / Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those / That loved me, and alone; on shore and when / Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades / Vexed the dim sea. I am become a name.…’ ”