On deck Nathaniel and Eliot watched long white beaches pass to starboard. Through the binoculars, they made out swarms of bathers and umbrellas on the shoreline—this summer was almost as hot as last year’s, and that had been the hottest anyone could remember. When they were off Sandy Hook, their gazes were seized by a full-rigged ship, making ready to cast off her towline. She had a black hull trimmed in white, and ornate ivy decorated her stern, and under the ivy were her name and home port—SLEIBRECHT—BREMEN. Officers were shouting guttural commands, the strains of some Teutonic halyard chant drifted over the water as her sails tumbled from the yards in cascades of patched canvas dyed the color of burned butter by the early sunlight. The tow cable was dropped, the tug saluted the moment with a whistle blast, and the ship gathered way and ran to eastward, drawing a silver wake on the sea’s slate.

“Ain’t that the grandest sight there is?” said Nathaniel, a little sadly, because somewhere ahead in this new century, it would be a sight existing only in the memories of aging sailors.

They plunged on, bearing south by east, hoping to cross the line of their original course at a point off Delaware Bay. Because Nathaniel could not get his fingers around the wheel, Eliot steered the whole watch. He talked about the brawl, how astonished he had been to see Drew pick up the nightstick and crack that ruffian’s skull. Goes to show you, he said, that one of their father’s favorite aphorisms was true: Adversity does not create character, it reveals it. These praises began to pluck on Nathaniel’s nerves; he wasn’t entirely sure that Drew had been brave, a doubt he now expressed aloud.

“I can’t believe you said that”—Eliot, pursing his brows.

“I’m not saying he wasn’t …” Nathaniel started, and began again. “Well, to be brave, you’ve got to be scared first. That’s what bravery is. Overcoming fear. But I believed Drew when he said that he wasn’t scared, that it was just like reflex. Don’t you think it’s kinda strange for a thirteen-year-old kid, in a situation like that, not to be scared?”

“You don’t want to give him credit. On account of you can’t admit that he did ten times, oh hell, a hundred times more for you than you ever did for him, and you know what I mean.”