“Nathan Reed. Beloved son of Uriah and Sophronia. Born April 14, 1757. Drowned off Eastern Head. June 9, 1768.”

Then the third, another chapter in a mournful tale:

“Alden Reed. Beloved son of Uriah and Sophronia. Born Oct. 12, 1754. Died at sea in an engagement with the British off South Carolina. May 16, 1777.”

And finally, the one before which the gifts and petitions from schoonermen and fishermen and every other kind of mariner lay at their thickest, the tablet leaning forward as if it were bowed by the losses suffered by the woman whose grave it marked:

“Sophronia Reed. Devoted wife of Uriah. Beloved mother of Alden, Nathan, Abigail, and Susan. Born Devon, England, 1731. Died Isle Au Haut, Maine. February 11, 1833. ‘Death is a debt to Nature due / Which I have paid & so must you.’ ”

“Jiminy. A hundred and two!” said Eliot. “Didn’t think anybody but Methuselah lived that long.”

The stones and the story they told with such stark brevity induced silence in Nathaniel. He felt something like awe, a sense that here in this lonely place resided a mystery as beyond sounding as the deepest part of the sea that had robbed this woman of husband and sons.

“Well, I sure don’t get why everybody comes to her for good luck,” Drew remarked, scratching the side of his head. He motioned at the other tombstones. “Sure didn’t do her own kin much good, did she?”

It was like hearing a blasphemy uttered in a church, and Nathaniel turned on him angrily.

“Shut up! Don’t you get it?”

He stood for a moment, reflecting, and then lay Double Eagle’s offering atop the others and said:

“Okay. It’s done. Let’s go.”

As Double Eagle sailed out of the cove, each of the carpenters raised an arm high and waved a stately farewell. Nathaniel waved back, but the men did not return to work; they continued to watch the schooner’s departure, as if to take their eyes off her before she was out of sight would be to violate some code or protocol; and all the while, they swung their arms to and fro with a slow, grave motion that signaled more than mere goodbye but brotherhood, as well. Maybe, thought Nathaniel, they went as ship’s carpenters on long voyages when there were no jobs for them ashore, and were saluting fellow seamen.

The schooner cleared the headland at the mouth of the cove, and immediately heeled in the gathering norther. Spinning the helm down, Nathaniel called to ease sheets, lined up his wake with Isle Au Haut light, and put the beacon on Saddleback Ledge off his starboard bow. Double Eagle bore off south by west. Will lashed the Bliss patent log near a corner of the stern rail, to keep the log line clear of the tender davit, then flung the finned torpedo astern, the line coming taut and the torpedo diving into the wake, where it sent back a trail of bubbles like pale green smoke.