remained in his cottage till dark. He then—this
was his subsequent statement—went quietly
forth, and, climbing a large calabash-tree,
sat watching among its branches, a notion
having entered his brain that Tucker haunted
the spot. For some hours all was perfectly
still, the mocking-bird had long ceased his
imitative song, and the waning moon had just
risen, when, by her uncertain light, the watcher
discerned the figure of a man emerging from a
thicket at a short distance. He carried a
bundle in one hand, and making his way in a
southerly direction, passed close to the calabash-
tree. Had there been no light at all, the intensity
of the mulatto's gaze would have sufficed
to distinguish, in the person who approached,
the man he was looking for. It was no other
than Joel Tucker. The idea of his true place
of concealment then flashed upon Forbes. On
the south side of the "main," to seaward of a
long spit of land where the breakers terminated,
extended a broad reach of sweeping sand, which,
constantly encroaching, had added to the ruin
of a small village originally half destroyed by
fire and abandoned by its inhabitants.
Singularly enough, the name of the place was
Tucker's-town, but only a few blackened walls
remained, sufficient, however, to afford shelter
for any one desirous of concealment, with an
ulterior purpose in view. Forbes guessed at
this purpose, and what subsequently happened
confirmed his opinion. Noiselessly leaving the
tree, and treading like Caliban, so that the
blind mole could not hear his foot fall, he
followed whither Tucker was evidently bound.
He tracked him to the deserted village, and
saw him enter the ruins. Here, then, he housed
himself; but it was not enough for Forbes to
know this. There was something else he wanted
to ascertain, and he waited till daybreak for the
purpose. When the first gleams of the morning
light appeared, he moved from the underwood
of sage-bush in which he had been lying,
and climbed a hill that commanded the whole
line of coast. His keen eyes eagerly swept the
horizon, but not a single sail was visible, and he
felt satisfied that no vessel could appear in sight
for several hours at least. From the height
where he stood the ruined village was plainly
visible, and looking towards it, he saw Joel
Tucker steal out a few paces and stand with
his back to the shore, one hand shading his eyes,
as if he were on the look-out for some passing
vessel.

He had evidently selected this spot as affording
him the best chance of making his escape
from the islands. After gazing for about ten
minutes, the murderer slowly returned to his
hiding-place, and, having learnt all he wished to
know, Forbes hurried to Walsingham, got into
his boat and made the best of his way to St.
George's, to communicate the certain intelligence
he possessed of the whereabout of Joel
Tucker. The matter was now in the hands of
the local magistrate, who, employing the civil
force only, manned a larger boat than the fisherman's,
and sent Forbes back in it to guide the
party. Three or four hours had gone by since
the mulatto left Tucker's-town, and in the
interim the restless murderer had taken his
resolution. It appeared, from the subsequent
depositions, that, on the night the murder was
committed, Tucker took possession of a small
boat which he found on the shore, belonging to
the proprietor of an arrowroot plantation about
a mile from St. George's, and rowed across to
the "main," avoiding the ferry. This
accounted for the fact of his not having been
seen there. The stolen boat, which was not
missed, as it was very rarely used, Tucker
concealed in a mangrove creek on the inner side of
the spit of land already mentioned, and managed
to subsist by means of nocturnal depredations.
This mode of living was fraught, however, with
so much peril, and his personal anxiety to
escape was so great, that he came at last to the
resolve of putting out to sea in the hope of
being picked up, when he should be able to tell
his own story, and accomplish his deliverance;
and, but for the discovery made by the
mulatto, such a result might not have been
improbable.

Full of the expectation of making an
immediate capture, the officers of justice landed close
to the mangrove creek, and, led by Forbes,
crossed over the spit of land to Tucker's-town,
and, having surrounded the ruins, closed in
upon them, to take the hare in its form. Amongst
the broken walls, over which the prickly cactus
was fast spreading, there stood the larger part
of a cottage, roofless, but affording something
like accommodation, the fireplace and chimney
still remaining. Here, then, the fugitive was
doubtless hidden. The party crept round the
cottage and made a rush inside. There was
nobody there—but evidence of recent occupation
was plainly apparent. The embers of a fire of
cedar-branches were still warm, and some
fragments of food—peelings of the sweet potato,
the vegetable on which Tucker had chiefly lived
—were strewn on the ground, but the man
himself was gone. As quickly as he entered the
hut the mulatto rushed out again, and presently
the others heard him utter a quick cry. They
ran to where he stood gesticulating and shouting,
and looking to seaward, saw at the distance
of full a mile from the shore a man pulling
away from it with all his might, and handling
his oars like one well accustomed to their
use.

"By golly, him gone!" exclaimed Forbes;
"but we catch him yet!"

It was no time for standing idle if they meant
to do so; and without more delay the party
ran back to the mangrove creek, got into
their boat, and bending to their work, rowed
round the spit. Half mad with excitement, the
mulatto, who feared alike the loss of the reward
and the escape of his persecutor, stood up in
the bows the better to direct the pursuit. Half
an hour had been gained by the fugitive, who
had increased his distance from the shore by
nearly a couple of miles. It was a hard task
for the pursuers to overtake an experienced