About two hours after they had disappeared in the woods, a solitary pedestrian might have been seen slowly wending his way along the road that leads to Tracadie. He was rather elderly, and walked slowly. His hat was sadly battered, his hair was grizzled, and his face was of that complexion which usually denotes the man of African descent.
As this wanderer approached the place where the schooner was anchored, his pace quickened, and he walked onward quite rapidly until he reached the old house. Towards this he walked, but only to discover that it was ruined and deserted. Upon this the aged wanderer heaved a sigh, and seating himself in the doorway, gazed intently at the schooner.
As he gazed he suddenly seemed struck by some very exciting thought. He raised his head, still sitting, and stared for a moment most intently at the schooner. At that moment, the flag, which had been drooping, suddenly shook itself out, and unfolded to his astonished gaze the escutcheon of the B. O. W. C. .
At this the aged wanderer bounded up to his feet, and rushed down to the shore. There he stood in silence for a time, staring at the schooner, until at length his recognition of her was complete. Whereupon he slapped both hands on his thighs, jumped up in the air, came down on his right foot, went up again, came down on his left, wheeled about, turned about, and, in fact, indulged in a regular breakdown.
After this he stopped, and burst forth into long, loud, vehement, and uproarious peals of laughter.
After which he resumed the breakdown.
And then, once more, the laughter.
Finally, he began to bawl to the schooner.
“Ship, ahoy! Hi yah! Hollo dar! What you bout? Hi-i-i-i ya-a-a-a-a-ah! Mas’r Bruce! Mas’r Atta! Mas’r Tom! Yep. Ye-e-e-e-e-e-p!”
But as he called, no answer came, and no matter how loud his voice was, or how eager his cry, still no response whatever was elicited.