Timothy was taking the full blows of the storm, sheltering me with his body.
I said, "Timothy," but he did not answer me. His hand was cold and stiff like mine. Old Timothy, of Charlotte Amalie, was dead.
I went back to sleep, and this time when I awakened, I heard a meow. Then I cried for a long time, holding Stew Cat tight. Aside from him, I was blind and alone on a forgotten cay.
Here! Down Here!
Timothy they've come!
I said "Hello." There was no answer from the man. I supposed he was just staring at me.
My lord, it's a naked boy. And a cat!
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