Wake of the Perdido Star by Gene Hackman Page A

stealing a look at the second mate, dismissed the whole episode.
    Jack stood firm. His parents watched him, waiting for an explanation of why he seemed so angry. Finally he turned to them.
    â€œLast night I jumped from the bow of the ship and hiked along the islet. I saw the end of the battle. There is a ship sunk in the inlet. We can’t get out that way. This idiot of a captain will soon see that.”
    â€œYou should not have left the ship.” Ethan shook his head and patted Jack on the shoulder. “Regardless, you must remember the captain is in charge and responsible for the welfare of all on board. I’m sure he’ll find a way out.”
    Jack ignored his father, eyes riveted toward the pines hiding the
entrance to the inlet. As the Star began her turn to port to make the exit from Drum inlet, a lookout on the bowsprit shouted, “Wreck ahead off the bow!” All hands moved to the rails to see the masts rising out of the water. “Hard a starboard. All hands stand by to tack!” The boat began her slow turn. Jack leaned back on the port rail against his elbows. Legs crossed, head cocked, he looked at the captain standing next to the helm, and finally caught his eye. Even a ship’s length away, Jack felt his wrath.
    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?
    â€œMan 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.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œThis 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.
    â€œWhat’s your name, lad?”
    The sailor’s mouth moved but nothing came out. He tried again: “Paul.”
    â€œWould it be Paul the Apostle, then?”
    â€œIf it pleases, sir.”
    Young Paul fell back, unconscious.

3
    PAUL
    M ARTIN’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