Of course there was a tremendous excitement among the audience, but none of them recognized him, for they all believed him dead months ago. They, however, cheered the Chinaman who spoke English, and then waited for him to go on.
With the tears trickling down his painted cheeks, he stepped off the stage, and pointing to Tom Clare, who was in attendance upon the captain, cried, "Tom Clare, don't you know me? I'm Jerry Thompson!" and in an instant thrust his way through the crowd, and seizing his old friend, hugged him as a woman would her child.
The uproar which followed was deafening. Some shouted, while others laughed in a delirious sort of way; but at length when every one of the officers and crew had shaken him by the hand at least ten times, and all knew that the dead Jerry had come to life again, he requested the captain would order the boatswain to "pipe belay;" then stepping upon the stage and kow-towing in the orthodox Chinese style he proceeded to give his delighted audience a short account of his wonderful adventures, after which he took his seat between two of his old friends, until the performance was concluded.
The next day Thompson was formally re-entered upon the books of the Stinger, and as the captain did not rate two coxswains, he appointed Jerry captain of the forecastle, and within a week after his return, he fell into his old ways, and was as much at home on board the man-of-war as ever.
When he confided his story to Clare, who was greatly moved by his recital of A-tae's death, the latter asked him if he intended writing to Mary Ann. For a few moments he seemed buried in thought, but after a while he informed his friend that, under the circumstances, he thought he would wait until he got over the loss of A-tae before he renewed his correspondence with his former love, adding, "She'll keep until I gets home, and I don't feel like writing just now."
Evidently Jerry looked upon Mary Ann's love as a connoisseur does wine,—imagining it would improve as it grew older. A-tae had spoilt him for ordinary affection, and he could not so soon forget the "pale lily" lying beneath the snow, near the entrance of a ravine far away in the Che-keang district.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Very inappropriate at the death-bed of a Buddhist bonze.