He was older now. He'd like to say he was wiser, and perhaps he was. He'd been wise enough to leave Pitcairn when he had the chance. Being in charge wasn't worth much if you were in charge of a bunch of maniacs descended from mutineers. He got off the ship in San Francisco. Everyone was whispering about gold. Fools, most of them.
Last he'd heard, one brother was living in Charlotte Amalie. He sent him a telegram, and the reply was quick: another brother had a plantation in Louisiana. He booked his steamer passage. The plan just might work.