As I conducted Dr. Trefusis back to his shallop, he said to me, “I divine that Bono seems under the misapprehension that . . .” Dr. Trefusis could not continue, soured his visage, then made another attempt, this time more gentle in his tone. “Upon our meeting, Bono expressed his happy anticipation of seeing and speaking with your mother again,” said he.

I did not respond.

“How long?” asked Dr. Trefusis. “When wilt thou tell him?”

I could not speak. We had reached the quarterdeck.

“The portions of our history you have related to him are incomprehensible,” said Dr. Trefusis. “You have told him that we decamped and returned to Boston just as the siege began and we should have fled. He does not understand why, you assisting with His Majesty’s Army in Boston, you did not seek out your mother, if she was there as well. He believes that you left her behind.”

I said simply: “I did.”

He frowned. “Oh, my boy,” said he, in a lamenting tone. “Oh, my dear boy. Do not take that weight upon your shoulders, or you shall never rise from your knees.”