Late in the evening as he stood on the
rear deck watching the golden crosses of the Church of the Holy Saviour
in the light of the setting sun, he heard a well-known voice behind him
speak his name.
"Oh, it is you, Tommy Green!" said Willy looking around in a friendly
manner. "So there really is after all one old friend on board. Are
you still the second mate? Where are James and John and all the rest?"
"Well, Master Willy," said Tommy, "they are all gone, one to the 'South
Star,' and the others to 'The Water Rose.' I was on the point of
leaving"--then he added, looking around cautiously and lowering his
voice, "for the life on the 'St. George' is not what it was when your
father was alive. God rest his soul! Now instead of rice sacks and
bales of merchandise we carry human freight--slant-eyed, pig-tailed
Chinamen bound for the gold fields of Australia."
"I am so glad you are here, Tommy; there is one human being on board I
know," repeated Willy.
"Why Master Willy, do you not know your uncle, the Captain?"
"I did not know until today that I had an uncle.
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