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“Got to go,” and disappeared down the hatch.
    Exhausted, Henry, staying low to the deck, returned to his cabin and flopped onto the bottom bunk. Images of Ben filled his mind. Ben making faces, his bright hazel eyes, his wavy, uncontrollable locks. The rocking of the ship lulled him, and as he began to doze, a song came into his head. Softly he sang,
    Rock’d in the cradle of the deep
    I lay me down in peace to sleep
    Secure I rest upon the wave .
    And fell into deep slumber.

2
    While he slept, someone closed his door, so when Henry bolted up in terror from a horrible dream, shivering with the cold, he was in total dark and had no idea where he was. A wave slapped the side of the boat. What was that? Is this a dream? Oh Lord, am I in a dream? Another wave splashed, and the creaking of the cargo and the gentle pitching of the ship and the cold and the darkness began to make sense and Henry remembered that he was aboard Dahlia . He wiped his eyes and shook out his head, relieved to be out of the dream. He focused on the sliver of dim yellow glowing under the door, which didn’t illuminate even a bit of the floor. His cabin was so pitch black the only way he could see his hand was to hold it between his eyes and the sliver of light. The details of the nightmare slapped like a wave against his gut, disturbing him deeply. In the dream, he was back in the Sewells’ dining room in Scituate. With Edmund and Ellen Sewell, Reverend and Mrs. Sewell, his brother John and Aunt Pru. “Could that really be the way it happened? How could I have forgotten that, and for all this time?” Henry fumbled for the door, found the latch and pulled open the cabin door. The dream fled.
    Across the lighted hall, Susan sat with a bucket between her legs, vomiting. Henry heaved. No, he thought, I won’t get sick again. I’ve paid Neptune his due. He asked Susan if she needed anything; she waved him away. Realizing he needed to relieve himself, he went up on deck.
    The deck was in shadow. The eastern sky was darkening, but it was a clear darkness, not like the black cloak of Puritanism hanging over Concord. And there was Ben leaning against the starboard gunwale. “Hey,” said Henry. “Where do I pee?”
    “Right here’s where we go. I just went.”
    Henry, flustered, stood beside Ben. Other sailors passed behind them.
    “Don’t be shy,” said Ben. “But let me get upwind, so you don’t get me wet.”
    “Good thought,” said Henry, laughing. But then, “I can’t. Not with you watching.”
    “I used to be like that,” said Ben, moving behind Henry. “Not anymore.”
    Henry undid his trousers and pissed over the side. And pissed and pissed. And then Ben was beside him again, watching and smiling, but there was no stopping Henry.
    “You did have to go, didn’t you?” said Ben.
    “I did,” said Henry, buttoning up.
    “That’s a nice prick you’ve got.”
    “I’m sorry, what?”
    “You heard me.”
    I’m afraid everyone else did too, thought Henry. But then he found himself saying, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    “It is,” said Ben. “Least from what I saw.”
    Henry flushed. “Not that. The colors.” The sliver of sun disappeared into the sea.
    “Quick, watch there,” said Ben, putting one hand on Henry’s shoulder and with the other pointing to where the sun had just sunk. “It doesn’t always happen, but—” and suddenly a lime green band glowed on the horizon just over where the sun had set. “There, did you see that?”
    “It turned green! How did that happen?”
    “I don’t know, but isn’t that great?”
    Feeling uncomfortable that Ben’s hand remained on his shoulder, Henry turned so it dropped, then, in awe, said, “We’re in the Atlantic Ocean.”
    The sea glowed with magentas and purples and splotches of rose, and after a few breathless moments of not being able to speak, Henry said, “It doesn’t get better than this, does it?”
    “You wait,” said Ben. “It will.”
    Henry was