AARON TROW


By Anthony Trollope


I would wish to declare at the beginning of this story, that I shall never 
regard that cluster of islets which we call Bermuda as the Fortunate 
Islands of the Ancients. Do not let professional geographers take me up, 
and say that no one has so accounted them, and that the ancients have never 
been supposed to have gotten themselves so far westwards. What I mean to 
assert is this - that, had any ancient been carried thither by enterprise 
or stress of weather, he would not have given those islands so good a name. 
That the Neapolitan sailors of King Alonzo should have been wrecked here, I 
consider to be more likely. The vexed Bermoothes is a good name for them. 
There is no getting in or out of them without the greatest difficulty, and 
a patient, slow navigation, which is very heart-rending. That Caliban 
should have lived here I can imagine; that Ariel would have been sick of 
the place is certain; and that Governor Prospero should have been willing 
to abandon his governorship, I conceive to have been only natural. When one 
regards the present state of the place, one is tempted to doubt whether any 
of the governors have been conjurors since his days.
Bermuda, as all the world knows, is a British colony at which we maintain a 
convict establishment. Most of our outlying convict establishments have 
been sent back upon our hands from our colonies, but here one is still 
maintained. There is also in the islands a strong military fortress, though 
not a fortress looking magnificent to the eyes of civilians as do Malta and 
Gibraltar. There are also here some six thousand white people and some six 
thousand black people, eating, drinking, sleeping, and dying.
The convict establishment is the most notable feature of Bermuda to a 
stranger, but it does not seem to attract much attention from the regular 
inhabitants of the place. There is no intercourse between the prisoners and 
the Bermudians. The convicts are rarely visited. As to the prisoners 
themselves, of course it is not open to them - or should not be open to 
them - to have intercourse with any but the prison authorities.
There have, however, been instances in which convicts have escaped from 
their confinement, and made their way out among the islands. Poor wretches! 
As a rule, there is but little chance for any that can so escape. The whole 
length of the cluster is but twenty miles, and the breadth is under four. 
The prisoners are, of course, white men, and the lower orders of Bermuda, 
among whom alone could a runaway have any chance of hiding himself, are all 
negroes; so that such a one would be known at once. Their clothes are all 
marked. Their only chance of a permanent escape would be in the hold of an 
American ship; but what captain of an American or other ship would 
willingly encumber himself with an escaped convict? But, nevertheless, men 
have escaped; and in one instance, I believe, a convict got away, so that 
of him no further tidings were ever heard.
For the truth of the following tale I will not by any means vouch. If one 
were to inquire on the spot one might probably find that the ladies all 
believe it, and the old men; that all the young men know exactly how much 
of it is false and how much true; and that the steady, middle-aged, well-to-
do islanders are quite convinced that it is romance from beginning to end. 
My readers may range themselves with the ladies, the young men, or the 
steady, well-to-do, middle-aged islanders, as they please.
Some years ago, soon after the prison was first established on its present 
footing, three men did escape from it, and among them a certain notorious 
prisoner named Aaron Trow. Trow's antecedents in England had not been so 
villanously bad as those of many of his fellow-convicts, though the one 
offence for which he was punished had been of a deep dye: he had shed man's 
blood. At a period of great distress in a manufacturing town he had led men 
on to riot, and with his own hands had slain the first constable who had 
endeavoured to do his duty against him. There had been courage in the doing 
of the deed, and probably no malice; but the deed, let its moral blackness 
have been what it might, had sent him to Bermuda, with a sentence against 
him of penal servitude for life. Had he been then amenable to prison 
discipline - even then, with such a sentence against him as that - he might 
have won his way back, after the lapse of years, to the children, and 
perhaps, to the wife, that he had left behind him; but he was amenable to 
no rules - to no discipline. His heart was sore to death with an idea of 
injury, and he lashed himself against the bars of his cage with a feeling 
that it would be well if he could so lash himself till he might perish in 
his fury.
And then a day came in which an attempt was made by a large body of 
convicts, under his leadership, to get the better of the officers of the 
prison. It is hardly necessary to say that the attempt failed. Such 
attempts always fail. It failed on this occasion signally, and Trow, with 
two other men, were condemned to be scourged terribly, and then kept in 
solitary confinement for some lengthened term of months. Before, however, 
the day of scourging came, Trow and his two associates had escaped.
I have not the space to tell how this was effected, nor the power to 
describe the manner. They did escape from the establishment into the 
islands, and though two of them were taken after a single day's run at 
liberty, Aaron Trow had not been yet retaken even when a week was over. 
When a month was over he had not been retaken, and the officers of the 
prison began to say that he had got away from them in a vessel to the 
States. It was impossible, they said, that he should have remained in the 
islands and not been discovered. It was not impossible that he might have 
destroyed himself, leaving his body where it had not yet been found. But he 
could not have lived on in Bermuda during that month's search. So, at 
least, said the officers of the prison. There was, however, a report 
through the islands that he had been seen from time to time; that he had 
gotten bread from the negroes at night, threatening them with death if they 
told of his whereabouts; and that all the clothes of the mate of a vessel 
had been stolen while the man was bathing, including a suit of dark blue 
cloth, in which suit of clothes, or in one of such a nature, a stranger had 
been seen skulking about the rocks near St George. All this the governor of 
the prison affected to disbelieve, but the opinion was becoming rife in the 
islands that Aaron Trow was still there.
A vigilant search, however, is a task of great labour, and cannot be kept 
up for ever. By degrees it was relaxed. The warders and gaolers ceased to 
patrol the island roads by night, and it was agreed that Aaron Trow was 
gone, or that he would be starved to death, or that he would in time be 
driven to leave such traces of his whereabouts as must lead to his 
discovery; and this at last did turn out to be the fact.
There is a sort of prettiness about these islands which, though it never 
rises to the loveliness of romantic scenery, is nevertheless attractive in 
its way. The land breaks itself into little knolls, and the sea runs up, 
hither and thither, in a thousand creeks and inlets; and then, too, when 
the oleanders are in bloom, they give a wonderfully bright colour to the 
landscape. Oleanders seem to be the roses of Bermuda, and are cultivated 
round all the villages of the better class through the islands. There are 
two towns, St George and Hamilton, and one main high road, which connects 
them; but even this high road is broken by a ferry, over which every 
vehicle going from St George to Hamilton must be conveyed. Most of the 
locomotion in these parts is done by boats, and the residents look to the 
sea with its narrow creeks, as their best highway from their farms to their 
best market. In those days - and those days were not very long since - the 
building of small ships was their chief trade, and they valued their land 
mostly for the small scrubby cedar-trees with which this trade was carried 
on.
As one goes from St George to Hamilton the road runs between two seas; that 
to the right is the ocean; that on the left is an inland creek, which runs 
up through a large portion of the islands, so that the land on the other 
side of it is near to the traveller. For a considerable portion of the way 
there are no houses lying near the road, and there is one residence, some 
way from the road, so secluded that no other house lies within a mile of it 
by land. By water it might probably be reached within half a mile. This 
place was called Crump Island, and here lived, and had lived for many 
years, an old gentleman, a native of Bermuda, whose business it had been to 
buy up cedar wood and sell it to the ship-builders at Hamilton. In our 
story we shall not have very much to do with old Mr Bergen, but it will be 
necessary to say a word or two about his house.
It stood on what would have been an island in the creek, had not a narrow 
causeway, barely broad enough for a road, joined it to that large island on 
which stands the town of St George. As the main road approaches the ferry 
it runs through some rough, hilly open ground, which on the right side 
towards the ocean has never been cultivated. The distance from the ocean 
here may, perhaps, be a quarter of a mile, and the ground is for the most 
part covered with low furze. On the left of the road the land is cultivated 
in patches, and here, some half mile or more from the ferry, a path turns 
away to Crump Island. The house cannot be seen from the road, and, indeed, 
can hardly be seen at all, except from the sea. It lies, perhaps, three 
furlongs from the high road, and the path to it is but little used, as the 
passage to and from it is chiefly made by water.
Here, at the time of our story, lived Mr Bergen, and here lived Mr Bergen's 
daughter. Miss Bergen was well known at St George as a steady, good girl, 
who spent her time in looking after her father's household matters, in 
managing his two black maidservants and the black gardener, and who did her 
duty in that sphere of life to which she had been called. She was a comely, 
well-shaped young woman, with a sweet countenance, rather large in size, 
and very quiet in demeanour. In her earlier years, when young girls usually 
first bud forth into womanly beauty, the neighbours had not thought much of 
Anastasia Bergen, nor had the young men of St George been wont to stay 
their boats under the window of Crump Cottage in order that they might 
listen to her voice or feel the light of her eye; but slowly as years went 
by, Anastasia Bergen became a woman that a man might well love; and a man 
learned to love her who was well worthy of a woman's heart. This was Caleb 
Morton, the Presbyterian minister of St George; and Caleb Morton had been 
engaged to marry Miss Bergen for the last two years past, at the period of 
Aaron Trow's escape from prison.
Caleb Morton was not a native of Bermuda, but had been sent thither by the 
synod of his church from Nova Scotia. He was a tall, handsome man, at this 
time of some thirty years of age, of a presence which might almost have 
been called commanding. He was very strong, but of a temperament which did 
not often give him opportunity to put forth his strength; and his life had 
been such that neither he nor others knew of what nature might be his 
courage. The greater part of his life was spent in preaching to some few of 
the white people around him, and in teaching as many of the blacks as he 
could get to hear him. His days were very quiet, and had been altogether 
without excitement until he had met with Anastasia Bergen. It will suffice 
for us to say that he did meet her, and that now, for two years past, they 
had been engaged as man and wife.
Old Mr Bergen, when he heard of the engagement, was not well pleased at the 
information. In the first place, his daughter was very necessary to him, 
and the idea of her marrying and going away had hardly as yet occurred to 
him; and then he was by no means inclined to part with any of his money. It 
must not be presumed that he had amassed a fortune by his trade in cedar 
wood. Few tradesmen in Bermuda do, as I imagine, amass fortunes. Of some 
few hundred pounds he was possessed, and these, in the course of nature, 
would go to his daughter when he died; but he had no inclination to hand 
any portion of them over to his daughter before they did go to her in the 
course of nature. Now, the income which Caleb Morton earned as a 
Presbyterian clergyman was not large, and, therefore, no day had been fixed 
as yet for his marriage with Anastasia.
But, though the old man had been from the first averse to the match, his 
hostility had not been active. He had not forbidden Mr Morton his house, or 
affected to be in any degree angry because his daughter had a lover. He had 
merely grumbled forth an intimation that those who marry in haste repent at 
leisure - that love kept nobody warm if the pot did not boil; and that, as 
for him, it was as much as he could do to keep his own pot boiling at Crump 
Cottage. In answer to this Anastasia said nothing. She asked him for no 
money, but still kept his accounts, managed his household, and looked 
patiently forward for better days.
Old Mr Bergen himself spent much of his time at Hamilton, where he had a 
woodyard with a couple of rooms attached to it. It was his custom to remain 
here three nights of the week, during which Anastasia was left alone at the 
cottage; and it happened by no means seldom that she was altogether alone, 
for the negro whom they called the gardener would go to her father's place 
at Hamilton, and the two black girls would crawl away up to the road, tired 
with the monotony of the sea at the cottage. Caleb had more than once told 
her that she was too much alone, but she had laughed at him, saying that 
solitude in Bermuda was not dangerous. Nor, indeed, was it; for the people 
are quiet and well-mannered, lacking much energy, but being, in the same 
degree, free from any propensity to violence.
'So you are going,' she said to her lover, one evening, as he rose from the 
chair on which he had been swinging himself at the door of the cottage 
which looks down over the creek of the sea. He had sat there for an hour 
talking to her as she worked, or watching her as she moved about the place. 
It was a beautiful evening, and the sun had been falling to rest with 
almost tropical glory before his feet. The bright oleanders were red with 
their blossoms all around him, and he had thoroughly enjoyed his hour of 
easy rest. 'So you are going,' she said to him, not putting her work out of 
her hand as he rose to depart.
'Yes; and it is time for me to go. I have still work to do before I can get 
to bed. Ah, well; I suppose the day will come at last when I need not leave 
you as soon as my hour of rest is over.'
'Come; of course it will come. That is, if your reverence should choose to 
wait for it another ten years or so.'
'I believe you would not mind waiting twenty years.'
'Not if a certain friend of mine would come down and see me of evenings 
when I'm alone after the day. It seems to me that I shouldn't mind waiting 
as long as I had that to look for.'
'You are right not to be impatient,' he said to her, after a pause, as he 
held her hand before he went. 'Quite right. I only wish I could school 
myself to be as easy about it.'
'I did not say I was easy,' said Anastasia. 'People are seldom easy in this 
world, I take it. I said I could be patient. Do not look in that way, as 
though you pretended that you were dissatisfied with me. You know that I am 
true to you, and you ought to be very proud of me.'
'I am proud of you, Anastasia - ' on hearing which she got up and curtseyed 
to him. 'I am proud of you; so proud of you that I feel you should not be 
left here all alone, with no one to help you if you were in trouble.'
'Women don't get into trouble as men do, and do not want any one to help 
them. If you were alone in the house you would have to go to bed without 
your supper, because you could not make a basin of boiled milk ready for 
your own meal. Now, when your reverence has gone, I shall go to work and 
have my tea comfortably.' And then he did go, bidding God bless her as he 
left her. Three hours after that he was disturbed in his own lodgings by 
one of the negro girls from the cottage rushing to his door, and begging 
him in Heaven's name to come down to the assistance of her mistress.
When Morton left her, Anastasia did not proceed to do as she had said, and 
seemed to have forgotten her evening meal. She had been working sedulously 
with her needle during all that last conversation; but when her lover was 
gone, she allowed the work to fall from her hands, and sat motionless for 
awhile, gazing at the last streak of colour left by the setting sun; but 
there was no longer a sign of its glory to be traced in the heavens around 
her. The twilight in Bermuda is not long and enduring as it is with us, 
though the daylight does not depart suddenly, leaving the darkness of night 
behind it without any intermediate time of warning, as is the case farther 
south, down among the islands of the tropics. But the soft, sweet light of 
the evening had waned and gone, and night had absolutely come upon her, 
while Anastasia was still seated before the cottage with her eyes fixed 
upon the white streak of motionless sea which was still visible through the 
gloom. She was thinking of him, of his ways of life, of his happiness, and 
of her duty towards him. She had told him, with her pretty feminine 
falseness, that she could wait without impatience; but now she said to 
herself that it would not be good for him to wait longer. He lived alone 
and without comfort, working very hard for his poor pittance, and she could 
see and feel and understand that a companion in his life was to him almost 
a necessity. She would tell her father that all this must be brought to an 
end. She would not ask him for money, but she would make him understand 
that her services must, at any rate in part, be transferred. Why should not 
she and Morton still live at the cottage when they were married? And so 
thinking, and at last resolving, she sat there till the dark night fell 
upon her.
She was at last disturbed by feeling a man's hand upon her shoulder. She 
jumped from her chair and faced him - not screaming, for it was especially 
within her power to control herself, and to make no utterance except with 
forethought. Perhaps it might have been better for her had she screamed, 
and sent a shrill shriek down the shore of that inland sea. She was silent, 
however, and with awe-struck face and outstretched hands gazed into the 
face of him who still held her by the shoulder. The night was dark; but her 
eyes were now accustomed to the darkness, and she could see indistinctly 
something of his features. He was a low-sized man, dressed in a suit of 
sailor's blue clothing, with a rough cap of hair on his head, and a beard 
that had not been clipped for many weeks. His eyes were large, and hollow, 
and frightfully bright, so that she seemed to see nothing else of him; but 
she felt the strength of his fingers as he grasped her tighter and more 
tightly by the arm.
'Who are you?' she said, after a moment's pause.
'Do you know me?' he asked.
'Know you! No.' But the words were hardly out of her mouth before it struck 
her that the man was Aaron Trow, of whom every one in Bermuda had been 
talking.
'Come into the house,' he said, 'and give me food.' And he still held her 
with his hand as though he would compel her to follow him.
She stood for a moment thinking what she would say to him; for even then, 
with that terrible man standing close to her in the darkness, her presence 
of mind did not desert her, 'Surely,' she said, 'I will give you food if 
you are hungry. But take your hand from me. No man would lay his hands on a 
woman.'
'A woman!' said the stranger. 'What does the starved wolf care for that? A 
woman's blood is as sweet to him as that of a man. Come into the house, I 
tell you. ' And then she preceded him through the open door into the narrow 
passage, and thence to the kitchen. There she saw that the back door, 
leading out on to the other side of the house, was open, and she knew that 
he had come down from the road and entered on that side. She threw her eyes 
round, looking for the negro girls; but they were away, and she remembered 
that there was no human being within sound of her voice but this man who 
had told her that he was as a wolf thirsty after her blood!
'Give me food at once,' he said.
'And will you go if I give it you?' she asked.
'I will knock out your brains if you do not,' he replied, lifting from the 
grate a short, thick poker which lay there. 'Do as I bid you at once. You 
also would be like a tiger if you had fasted for two days, as I have done.'
She could see, as she moved across the kitchen, that he had already 
searched there for something that he might eat, but that he had searched in 
vain. With the close economy common among his class in the islands, all 
comestibles were kept under close lock and key in the house of Mr Bergen. 
Their daily allowance was given day by day to the negro servants, and even 
the fragments were then gathered up and locked away in safety. She moved 
across the kitchen to the accustomed cupboard, taking the keys from her 
pocket, and he followed close upon her. There was a small oil lamp hanging 
from the low ceiling which just gave them light to see each other. She 
lifted her hand to this to take it from its hook, but he prevented her. 
'No, by Heaven!' he said, 'you don't touch that till I've done with it. 
There's light enough for you to drag out your scraps.'
She did drag out her scraps and a bowl of milk, which might hold perhaps a 
quart. There was a fragment of bread, a morsel of cold potato-cake, and the 
bone of a leg of kid. 'And is that all?' said he. But as he spoke he 
fleshed his teeth against the bone as a dog would have done.
'It is the best I have,' she said; 'I wish it were better, and you should 
have had it without violence, as you have suffered so long from hunger.'
'Bah! Better; yes! You would give the best no doubt, and set the hell 
hounds on my track the moment I am gone. I know how much I might expect 
from your charity.'
'I would have fed you for pity's sake,' she answered.
'Pity! Who are you, that you should dare to pity me! By - my young woman, 
it is I that pity you. I must cut your throat unless you give me money. Do 
you know that?'
'Money! I have got no money.'
'I'll make you have some before I go. Come; don't move till I have done.' 
And as he spoke to her he went on tugging at the bone, and swallowing the 
lumps of stale bread. He had already finished the bowl of milk. 'And, now,' 
said he, 'tell me who I am.'
'I suppose you are Aaron Trow,' she answered very slowly.
He said nothing on hearing this, but continued his meal, standing close to 
her so that she might not possibly escape from him out into the darkness. 
Twice or thrice in those few minutes she made up her mind to make such an 
attempt, feeling that it would be better to leave him in possession of the 
house, and make sure, if possible, of her own life. There was no money 
there; not a dollar! What money her father kept in his possession was 
locked up in his safe at Hamilton. And might he not keep to his threat, and 
murder her, when he found that she could give him nothing? She did not 
tremble outwardly, as she stood there watching him as he ate, but she 
thought how probable it might be that her last moments were very near. And 
yet she could scrutinise his features, form, and garments, so as to carry 
away in her mind a perfect picture of them. Aaron Trow - for of course it 
was the escaped convict - was not a man of frightful, hideous aspect. Had 
the world used him well, giving him when he was young ample wages and 
separating him from turbulent spirits, he also might have used the world 
well; and then women would have praised the brightness of his eye and the 
manly vigour of his brow. But things had not gone well with him. He had 
been separated from the wife he had loved, and the children who had been 
raised at his knee - separated by his own violence; and now, as he had said 
of himself, he was a wolf rather than a man. As he stood there satisfying 
the craving of his appetite, breaking up the large morsels of food, he was 
an object very sad to be seen. Hunger had made him gaunt and yellow, he was 
squalid with the dirt of his hidden lair, and he had the look of a beast - 
that look to which men fall when they live like the brutes of prey, as 
outcasts from their brethren. But still there was that about his brow which 
might have redeemed him - which might have turned her horror into pity, had 
he been willing that it should be so.
'And now give me some brandy,' he said.
There was brandy in the house - in the sitting-room which was close at 
their hand, and the key of the little press which held it was in her 
pocket. It was useless, she thought, to refuse him; and so she told him 
that there was a bottle partly full, but that she must go to the next room 
to fetch it him.
'We'll go together, my darling,' he said. 'There's nothing like good 
company.' And he again put his hand upon her arm as they passed into the 
family sitting-room.
'I must take the light,' she said. But he unhooked it himself, and carried 
it in his own hand.
Again she went to work without trembling. She found the key of the side 
cupboard, and unlocking the door, handed him a bottle which might contain 
about half-a-pint of spirits. 'And is that all?' he said.
'There is a full bottle here,' she answered, handing him another; 'but if 
you drink it, you will be drunk, and they will catch you.
'By Heavens, yes; and you would be the first to help them; would you not?'
'Look here,' she answered. 'If you will go now, I will not say a word to 
any one of your coming, nor set them on your track to follow you. There, 
take the full bottle with you. If you will go, you shall be safe from me.'
'What, and go without money!'
'I have none to give you. You may believe me when I say so. I have not a 
dollar in the house.'
Before he spoke again he raised the half empty bottle to his mouth, and 
drank as long as there was a drop to drink. 'There,' said he, putting the 
bottle down, 'I am better after that. As to the other you are right, and I 
will take it with me. And now, young woman, about the money?'
'I tell you that I have not a dollar.'
'Look here,' said he, and he spoke now in a softer voice, as though he 
would be on friendly terms with her. 'Give me ten sovereigns, and I will 
go, I know you have it, and with ten sovereigns it is possible that I may 
save my life. You are good, and would not wish that a man should die so 
horrid a death. I know you are good. Come, give me the money.' And he put 
his hands up, beseeching her, and looked into her face with imploring eyes.
'On the word of a Christian woman I have not got money to give you,' she 
replied.
'Nonsense!' And as he spoke he took her by the arm and shook her. He shook 
her violently so that he hurt her, and her breath for a moment was all but 
gone from her. 'I tell you you must make dollars before I leave you, or I 
will so handle you that it would have been better for you to coin your very 
blood.'
'May God help me at my need,' she said, 'as I have not above a few penny 
pieces in the house.'
'And you expect me to believe that! Look here! I will shake the teeth out 
of your head, but I will have it from you.' And he did shake her again, 
using both his hands and striking her against the wall.
'Would you - murder me?' she said, hardly able now to utter the words.
'Murder you, yes; why not? I cannot be worse than I am, were I to murder 
you ten times over. But with money I may possibly be better.'
'I have it not.'
'Then I will do worse than murder you. I will make you such an object that 
all the world shall loathe to look on you.' And so saying he took her by 
the arm and dragged her forth from the wall against which she had stood.
Then there came from her a shriek that was heard far down the shore of that 
silent sea, and away across to the solitary houses of those living on the 
other side - a shriek very sad, sharp, and prolonged - which told plainly 
to those who heard it of woman's woe when in her extremest peril. That 
sound was spoken of in Bermuda for many a day after that, as something 
which had been terrible to hear. But then, at that moment, as it came 
wailing through the dark, it sounded as though it were not human. Of those 
who heard it, not one guessed from whence it came, nor was the hand of any 
brother put forward to help that woman at her need.
'Did you hear that?' said the young wife to her husband, from the far side 
of the arm of the sea.
'Hear it! Oh Heaven, yes! Whence did it come?' The young wife could not say 
from whence it came, but clung close to her husband's breast, comforting 
herself with the knowledge that that terrible sorrow was not hers.
But aid did come at last, or rather that which seemed as aid. Long and 
terrible was the fight between that human beast of prey and the poor victim 
which had fallen into his talons. Anastasia Bergen was a strong, well-built 
woman, and now that the time had come to her when a struggle was necessary, 
a struggle for life, for honour, for the happiness of him who was more to 
her than herself, she fought like a tigress attacked in her own lair. At 
such a moment as this she also could become wild and savage as the beast of 
the forest. When he pinioned her arms with one of his, as he pressed her 
down upon the floor, she caught the first joint of the forefinger of his 
other hand between her teeth till he yelled in agony, and another sound was 
heard across the silent water. And then, when one hand was loosed in the 
struggle, she twisted it through his long hair, and dragged back his head 
till his eyes were nearly starting from their sockets. Anastasia Bergen had 
hitherto been a sheer woman, all feminine in her nature. But now the foam 
came to her mouth, and fire sprang from her eyes, and the muscles of her 
body worked as though she had been trained to deeds of violence. Of 
violence, Aaron Trow had known much in his rough life, but never had he 
combated with harder antagonist than her whom he now held beneath his 
breast.
'By - I will put an end to you,' he exclaimed, in his wrath, as he struck 
her violently across the face with his elbow. His hand was occupied, and he 
could not use it for a blow, but nevertheless, the violence was so great 
that the blood gushed from her nostrils, while the back of her head was 
driven with violence against the floor. But yet she did not lose her hold 
of him. Her hand was still twined closely through his thick hair, and in 
every move he made she clung to him with all her might. 'Leave go my hair,' 
he shouted at her, but she still kept her hold, though he again dashed her 
head against the floor.
There was still light in the room, for when he first grasped her with both 
his hands, he had put the lamp down on a small table. Now they were rolling 
on the floor together, and twice he had essayed to kneel on her that he 
might crush the breath from her body, and deprive her altogether of her 
strength; but she had been too active for him, moving herself along the 
ground, though in doing so she dragged him with her. But by degrees he got 
one hand at liberty, and with that he pulled a clasp knife out of his 
pocket and opened it. 'I will cut your head off, if you do not let go my 
hair,' he said. But still she held fast by him. He then stabbed at her arm, 
using his left hand and making short ineffectual blows. Her dress partly 
saved her, and partly also the continual movement of all her limbs; but, 
nevertheless, the knife wounded her. It wounded her in several places about 
the arm, covering them both with blood - but still she hung on. So close 
was her grasp in her agony, that, as she afterwards found, she cut the skin 
of her own hand with her own nails. Had the man's hair been less thick or 
strong, or her own tenacity less steadfast, he would have murdered her 
before any interruption could have saved her.
And yet he had not purposed to murder her, or even, in the first instance, 
to inflict on her any bodily harm. But he had been determined to get money. 
With such a sum of money as he had named, it might, he thought, be possible 
for him to win his way across to America. He might bribe men to hide him in 
the hold of a ship, and thus there might be for him, at any rate, a 
possibility of escape. That there must be money in the house, he had still 
thought when first he laid hands on the poor woman; and then, when the 
struggle had once begun, when he had felt her muscles contending with his, 
the passion of the beast was aroused within him, and he strove against her 
as he would have striven against a dog. But yet, when the knife was in his 
hand, he had not driven it against her heart.
Then suddenly, while they were yet rolling on the floor, there was a sound 
of footsteps in the passage. Aaron Trow instantly leaped to his feet, 
leaving his victim on the ground, with huge lumps of his thick clotted hair 
in her hand. Thus, and thus only, could he have liberated himself from her 
grasp. He rushed at the door with the open knife still in his hand, and 
there he came against the two negro servant-girls who had returned down to 
their kitchen from the road on which they had been straying. Trow, as he 
half saw them in the dark, not knowing how many there might be, or whether 
there was a man among them, rushed through them, upsetting one scared girl 
in his passage. With the instinct and with the timidity of a beast, his 
impulse now was to escape, and he hurried away back to the road and to his 
lair, leaving the three women together in the cottage. Poor wretch! As he 
crossed the road, not skulking in his impotent haste, but running at his 
best, another pair of eyes saw him, and when the search became hot after 
him, it was known that his hiding-place was not distant.
It was some time before any of the women were able to act, and when some 
step was taken, Anastasia was the first to take it. She had not absolutely 
swooned, but the reaction, after the violence of her efforts, was so great, 
that for some minutes she had been unable to speak. She had risen from the 
floor when Trow left her, and had even followed him to the door; but since 
that she had fallen back into her father's old armchair, and there she sat 
gasping not only for words, but for breath also. At last she bade one of 
the girls to run into St George, and beg Mr Morton to come to her aid. The 
girl would not stir without her companion; and even then, Anastasia, 
covered as she was with blood, with dishevelled hair and her clothes half 
torn from her body, accompanied them as far as the road. There they found a 
negro lad still hanging about the place, and he told them that he had seen 
the man cross the road, and run down over the open ground towards the rocks 
of the sea-coast. 'He must be there,' said the lad, pointing in the 
direction of a corner of the rocks; 'unless he swim across the mouth of the 
ferry.' But the mouth of that ferry is an arm of the sea, and it was not 
probable that a man would do that when he might have taken the narrow water 
by keeping on the other side of the road.
At about one that night Caleb Morton reached the cottage breathless with 
running, and before a word was spoken between them, Anastasia had fallen on 
his shoulder and had fainted. As soon as she was in the arms of her lover, 
all her power had gone from her. The spirit and passion of the tiger had 
gone, and she was again a weak woman shuddering at the thought of what she 
had suffered. She remembered that she had had the man's hand between her 
teeth, and by degrees she found his hair still clinging to her fingers; but 
even then she could hardly call to mind the nature of the struggle she had 
undergone. His hot breath close to her own cheek she did remember, and his 
glaring eyes, and even the roughness of his beard as he pressed his face 
against her own; but she could not say whence had come the blood, nor till 
her arm became stiff and motionless did she know that she had been wounded.
It was all joy with her now, as she sat motionless without speaking, while 
he administered to her wants and spoke words of love into her ears. She 
remembered the man's horrid threat, and knew that by God's mercy she had 
been saved. And he was there caressing her, loving her, comforting her! As 
she thought of the fate that had threatened her, of the evil that had been 
so imminent, she fell forward on her knees, and with incoherent sobs 
uttered her thanksgivings, while her head was still supported on his arms.
It was almost morning before she could induce herself to leave him and lie 
down. With him she seemed to be perfectly safe; but the moment he was away 
she could see Aaron Trow's eyes gleaming at her across the room. At last, 
however, she slept; and when he saw that she was at rest, he told himself 
that his work must then begin. Hitherto Caleb Morton had lived in all 
respects the life of a man of peace; but now, asking himself no questions 
as to the propriety of what he would do, using no inward arguments as to 
this or that line of conduct, he girded the sword on his loins, and 
prepared himself for war. The wretch who had thus treated the woman whom he 
loved should be hunted down like a wild beast, as long as he had arms and 
legs with which to carry on the hunt. He would pursue the miscreant with 
any weapons that might come to his hands; and might Heaven help him at his 
need, as he dealt forth punishment to that man, if he caught him within his 
grasp. Those who had hitherto known Morton in the island, could not 
recognise the man as he came forth on that day, thirsty after blood, and 
desirous to thrust himself into personal conflict with the wild ruffian who 
had injured him. The meek Presbyterian minister had been a preacher, 
preaching ways of peace, and living in accordance with his own doctrines. 
The world had been very quiet for him, and he had walked quietly in his 
appointed path. But now the world was quiet no longer, nor was there any 
preaching of peace. His cry was for blood; for the blood of the untamed 
savage brute who had come upon his young doe in her solitude, and striven 
with such brutal violence to tear her heart from her bosom.
He got to his assistance early in the morning some of the constables from 
St George, and before the day was over, he was joined by two or three of 
the warders from the convict establishment. There was with him also a 
friend or two, and thus a party was formed, numbering together ten or 
twelve persons. They were of course all armed, and therefore it might be 
thought that there would be but small chance for the wretched man if they 
should come upon his track. At first they all searched together, thinking, 
from the tidings which had reached them, that he must be near to them; but 
gradually they spread themselves along the rocks between St George and the 
ferry, keeping watchmen on the road, so that he should not escape unnoticed 
into the island.
Ten times during the day did Anastasia send from the cottage up to Morton, 
begging him to leave the search to others, and come down to her. But not 
for a moment would he lose the scent of his prey. What! should it be said 
that she had been so treated, and that others had avenged her? He sent back 
to say that her father was with her now, and that he would come when his 
work was over. And in that job of work the life-blood of Aaron Trow was 
counted up.
Towards evening they were all congregated on the road near to the spot at 
which the path turns off towards the cottage, when a voice was heard 
hallooing to them from the summit of a little hill which lies between the 
road and the sea on the side towards the ferry, and presently a boy came 
running down to them full of news. 'Danny Lund has seen him,' said the boy, 
'he has seen him plainly in among the rocks.' And then came Danny Lund 
himself, a small negro lad about fourteen years of age, who was known in 
those parts as the idlest, most dishonest, and most useless of his race. On 
this occasion, however, Danny Lund became important, and every one listened 
to him. He had seen, he said, a pair of eyes moving down in a cave of the 
rocks which he well knew. He had been in the cave often, he said, and could 
get there again. But not now; not whilst that pair of eyes was moving at 
the bottom of it. And so they all went up over the hill, Morton leading the 
way with hot haste. In his waistband he held a pistol, and his hand grasped 
a short iron bar with which he had armed himself. They ascended the top of 
the hill, and when there, the open sea was before them on two sides, and on 
the third was the narrow creek over which the ferry passed. Immediately 
beneath their feet were the broken rocks; for on that side, towards the 
sea, the earth and grass of the hill descended but a little way towards the 
water. Down among the rocks they all went, silently, Caleb Morton leading 
the way, and Danny Lund directing him from behind.
'Mr Morton,' said an elderly man from St George, 'had you not better let 
the warders of the gaol go first; he is a desperate man, and they will best 
understand his ways?'
In answer to this Morton said nothing, but he would let no one put a foot 
before him. He still pressed forward among the rocks, and at last came to a 
spot from whence he might have sprung at one leap into the ocean. It was a 
broken cranny on the sea-shore into which the sea beat, and surrounded on 
every side but the one by huge broken fragments of stone, which at first 
sight seemed as though they would have admitted of a path down among them 
to the water's edge; but which, when scanned more closely, were seen to be 
so large in size, that no man could climb from one to another. It was a 
singularly romantic spot, but now well known to them all there, for they 
had visited it over and over again that morning.
'In there,' said Danny Lund, keeping well behind Morton's body, and 
pointing at the same time to a cavern high up among the rocks, but quite on 
the opposite side of the little inlet of the sea. The mouth of the cavern 
was not twenty yards from them where they stood, but at the first sight it 
seemed as though it must be impossible to reach it. The precipice on the 
brink of which they all now stood, ran down sheer into the sea, and the 
fall from the mouth of the cavern on the other side was as steep. But Danny 
solved the mystery by pointing upwards and showing them how he had been 
used to climb to a projecting rock over their heads, and from thence creep 
round by certain vantages of the stone till he was able to let himself down 
into the aperture. But now, at the present moment, he was unwilling to make 
essay of his prowess as a cragsman. He had, he said, been up on that 
projecting rock thrice, and there had seen the eyes moving in the cavern. 
He was quite sure of that fact of the pair of eyes, and declined to ascend 
the rock again.
Traces soon became visible to them by which they knew that some one had 
passed in and out of the cavern recently. The stone, when examined, bore 
those marks of friction which passage and repassage over it will always 
give. At the spot from whence the climber left the platform and commenced 
his ascent, the side of the stone had been rubbed by the close friction of 
a man's body. A light boy like Danny Lund might find his way in and out 
without leaving such marks behind him, but no heavy man could do so. Thus 
before long they all were satisfied that Aaron Trow was in the cavern 
before them.
Then there was a long consultation as to what they would do to carry on the 
hunt, and how they would drive the tiger from his lair. That he should not 
again come out, except to fall into their hands, was to all of them a 
matter of course. They would keep watch and ward there, though it might be 
for days and nights. But that was a process which did not satisfy Morton, 
and did not indeed well satisfy any of them. It was not only that they 
desired to inflict punishment on the miscreant in accordance with the law, 
but also that they did not desire that the miserable man should die in a 
hole like a starved dog, and that then they should go after him to take out 
his wretched skeleton. There was something in that idea so horrid in every 
way, that all agreed that active steps must be taken. The warders of the 
prison felt that they would all be disgraced if they could not take their 
prisoner alive. Yet who would get round that perilous ledge in the face of 
such an adversary? A touch to any man while climbing there would send him 
headlong down among the waves! And then his fancy told to each what might 
be the nature of an embrace with such an animal as that, driven to despair, 
hopeless of life, armed, as they knew, at any rate, with a knife! If the 
first adventurous spirit should succeed in crawling round that ledge, what 
would be the reception which he might expect in the terrible depth of that 
cavern?
They called to their prisoner, bidding him come out, and telling him that 
they would fire in upon him if he did not show himself; but not a sound was 
heard. It was indeed possible that they should send their bullets to, 
perhaps, every corner of the cavern; and if so, in that way they might 
slaughter him; but even of this they were not sure. Who could tell that 
there might not be some protected nook in which he could lay secure? And 
who could tell when the man was struck, or whether he were wounded?
'I will get to him,' said Morton, speaking with a low dogged voice, and so 
saying he clambered up to the rock to which Danny Lund had pointed. Many 
voices at once attempted to restrain him, and one or two put their hands 
upon him to keep him back, but he was too quick for them, and now stood 
upon the ledge of rock. 'Can you see him?' they asked below.
'I can see nothing within the cavern,' said Morton.
'Look down very hard, Massa,' said Danny, 'very hard indeed down in deep 
dark hole, and then see him big eyes moving!'
Morton now crept along the ledge, or rather he was beginning to do so, 
having put forward his shoulders and arms to make a first step in advance 
from the spot on which he was resting, when a hand was put forth from one 
corner of the cavern's mouth - a hand armed with a pistol; - and a shot was 
fired. There could be no doubt now but that Danny Lund was right, and no 
doubt now as to the whereabouts of Aaron Trow.
A hand was put forth, a pistol fired, and Caleb Morton still clinging to a 
corner of the rock with both his arms, was seen to falter. 'He is wounded,' 
said one of the voices from below; and then they all expected to see him 
fall into the sea. But he did not fall, and after a moment or two, he 
proceeded carefully to pick his steps along the ledge. The ball had touched 
him, grazing his cheek and cutting through the light whiskers that he wore; 
but he had not felt it, though the blow had nearly knocked him from his 
perch. And then four or five shots were fired from the rocks into the mouth 
of the cavern. The man's arm had been seen, and indeed one or two declared 
that they had traced the dim outline of his figure. But no sound was heard 
to come from the cavern, except the sharp crack of the bullets against the 
rock, and the echo of the gunpowder. There had been no groan as of a man 
wounded, no sound of a body falling, no voice wailing in despair. For a few 
seconds all was dark with the smoke of the gunpowder, and then the empty 
mouth of the cave was again yawning before their eyes. Morton was now near 
it, still cautiously creeping. The first danger to which he was exposed was 
this; that his enemy within the recess might push him down from the rocks 
with a touch. But on the other hand, there were three or four men ready to 
fire, the moment that a hand should be put forth; and then Morton could 
swim - was known to be a strong swimmer - whereas of Aaron Trow it was 
already declared by the gaolers that he could not swim. Two of the warders 
had now followed Morton on the rocks, so that in the event of his making 
good his entrance into the cavern, and holding his enemy at bay for a 
minute, he would be joined by aid.
It was strange to see how those different men conducted themselves as they 
stood on the opposite platform watching the attack. The officers from the 
prison had no other thought but of their prisoner, and were intent on 
taking him alive or dead. To them it was little or nothing what became of 
Morton. It was their business to encounter peril, and they were ready to do 
so - feeling, however, by no means sorry to have such a man as Morton in 
advance of them. Very little was said by them. They had their wits about 
them, and remembered that every word spoken for the guidance of their ally 
would be heard also by the escaped convict. Their prey was sure, sooner or 
later, and had not Morton been so eager in his pursuit, they would have 
waited till some plan had been devised of trapping him without danger. But 
the townsmen from St George, of whom some dozen were now standing there, 
were quick and eager and loud in their counsels. 'Stay where you are, Mr 
Morton - stay awhile for the love of God - or he'll have you down.' 'Now's 
your time, Caleb; in on him now, and you'll have him.' 'Close with him, 
Morton, close with him at once; it's your only chance.' 'There's four of us 
here; we'll fire on him if he as much as shows a limb.' All of which words 
as they were heard by that poor wretch within, must have sounded to him as 
the barking of a pack of hounds thirsting for his blood. For him at any 
rate there was no longer any hope in this world.
My reader, when chance has taken you into the hunting-field, has it ever 
been your lot to sit by on horseback, and watch the digging out of a fox? 
The operation is not an uncommon one, and in some countries it is held to 
be in accordance with the rules of fair sport. For myself, I think that 
when the brute has so far saved himself, he should be entitled to the 
benefit of his cunning; but I will not now discuss the propriety or 
impropriety of that practice in venery. I can never, however, watch the 
doing of that work without thinking much of the agonising struggles of the 
poor beast whose last refuge is being torn from over his head. There he 
lies within a few yards of his arch enemy, the huntsman. The thick breath 
of the hounds make hot the air within his hole. The sound of their voices 
is close upon his ears. His breast is nearly bursting with the violence of 
that effort which at last has brought him to his retreat. And then pickaxe 
and mattock are plied above his head, and nearer and more near to him press 
his foes - his double foes, human and canine - till at last a huge hand 
grasps him, and he is dragged forth among his enemies. Almost as soon as 
his eyes have seen the light the eager noses of a dozen hounds have 
moistened themselves in his entrails. Ah me! I know that he is vermin, the 
vermin after whom I have been risking my neck, with a bold ambition that I 
might ultimately witness his death-struggles; but, nevertheless, I would 
fain have saved him that last half hour of gradually diminished hope.
And Aaron Trow was now like a hunted fox, doomed to be dug out from his 
last refuge, with this addition to his misery, that these hounds when they 
caught their prey, would not put him at once out of his misery. When first 
he saw that throng of men coming down from the hill top and resting on the 
platform, he knew that his fate was come. When they called to him to 
surrender himself he was silent, but he knew that his silence was of no 
avail. To them who were eager to be his captors the matter seemed to be 
still one of considerable difficulty; but, to his thinking, there was no 
difficulty. There were there some score of men, fully armed, within twenty 
yards of him. If he but showed a trace of his limbs he would become a mark 
for their bullets. And then if he were wounded, and no one would come to 
him! If they allowed him to lie there without food till he perished! Would 
it not be well for him to yield himself? Then they called again and he was 
still silent. That idea of yielding is very terrible to the heart of a man. 
And when the worst had come to the worst, did not the ocean run deep 
beneath his cavern's mouth?
But as they yelled at him and halloa-ed, making their preparations for his 
death, his presence of mind deserted the poor wretch. He had stolen an old 
pistol on one of his marauding expeditions, of which one barrel had been 
loaded. That in his mad despair he had fired; and now, as he lay near the 
mouth of the cavern, under the cover of the projecting stone, he had no 
weapon with him but his hands. He had had a knife, but that had dropped 
from him during the struggle on the floor of the cottage. He had now 
nothing but his hands, and was considering how he might best use them in 
ridding himself of the first of his pursuers. The man was near him, armed 
with all the power and majesty of right on his side; whereas on his side, 
Aaron Trow had nothing - not a hope. He raised his head that he might look 
forth, and a dozen voices shouted as his face appeared above the aperture. 
A dozen weapons were levelled at him, and he could see the gleaming of the 
muzzles of the guns. And then the foot of his pursuer was already on the 
corner stone at the cavern's mouth. 'Now, Caleb, on him at once!' shouted a 
voice. Ah me! it was a moment in which to pity even such a man as Aaron 
Trow.
'Now, Caleb, at him at once!' shouted the voice. No, by heavens; not so, 
even yet! The sound of triumph in those words roused the last burst of 
energy in the breast of that wretched man; and he sprang forth, head 
foremost, from his prison house. Forth he came, manifest enough before the 
eyes of them all, and with head well down, and hands outstretched but with 
his wide glaring eyes still turned towards his pursuers as he fell, he 
plunged down into the waves beneath him. Two of those who stood by, almost 
unconscious of what they did, fired at his body as it made its rapid way to 
the water; but, as they afterwards found, neither of the bullets struck 
him. Morton, when his prey thus leaped forth, escaping him for awhile, was 
already on the verge of the cavern - had even then prepared his foot for 
that onward spring which should bring him to the throat of his foe. But he 
arrested himself, and for a moment stood there, watching the body as it 
struck the water, and hid itself at once beneath the ripple. He stood there 
for a moment watching the deed and its effect, and then, leaving his hold 
upon the rock, he once again followed his quarry. Down he went, head 
foremost, right on to the track in the waves which the other had made; and 
when the two rose to the surface together, each was struggling in the grasp 
of the other.
It was a foolish, nay, a mad deed to do. The poor wretch who had first 
fallen could not have escaped. He could not even swim, and had therefore 
flung himself to certain destruction when he took that leap from out of the 
cavern's mouth. It would have been sad to see him perish beneath the waves 
- to watch him as he rose gasping for breath, and then to see him sinking 
again, to rise again and then to go for ever. But his life had been fairly 
forfeit - and why should one so much more precious have been flung after 
it? It was surely with no view of saving that pitiful life that Caleb 
Morton had leaped after his enemy. But the hound, hot with the chase, will 
follow the stag over the precipice and dash himself to pieces against the 
rocks. The beast, thirsting for blood, will rush in even among the weapons 
of men. Morton in his fury had felt but one desire, burned with but one 
passion. If the Fates would but grant him to fix his clutches in the throat 
of the man who had ill-used his love - for the rest it might all go as it 
would!
In the earlier part of the morning, while they were all searching for their 
victim, they had brought a boat up into this very inlet among the rocks; 
and the same boat had been at hand during the whole day. Unluckily, before 
they had come hither, it had been taken round the headland to a place among 
the rocks, at which a government skiff is always moored. The sea was still 
so quiet that there was hardly a ripple on it, and the boat had been again 
sent for when first it was supposed that they had at last traced Aaron Trow 
to his hiding-place. Anxiously now were all eyes turned to the headland, 
but as yet no boat was there.
The two men rose to the surface, each struggling in the arms of the other. 
Trow, though he was in an element to which he was not used, though he had 
sprung thither as another suicide might spring to certain death beneath a 
railway engine, did not altogether lose his presence of mind. Prompted by a 
double instinct, he had clutched hold of Morton's body when he encountered 
it beneath the waters. He held on to it, as to his only protection, and he 
held on to him also as to his only enemy. If there was a chance for a life 
struggle, they would share that chance together; and if not, then together 
would they meet that other fate.
Caleb Morton was a very strong man, and though one of his arms was 
altogether encumbered by his antagonist, his other arm and his legs were 
free. With these he seemed to succeed in keeping his head above water, 
weighted as he was with the body of his foe. But Trow's efforts were also 
used with the view of keeping himself above the water. Though he had 
purposed to destroy himself in taking that leap, and now hoped for nothing 
better than that they might both perish together, he yet struggled to keep 
his head above the waves. Bodily power he had none left to him, except that 
of holding on to Morton's arm and plunging with his legs; but he did hold 
on, and thus both heads remained above the surface.
But this could not last long. It was easy to see that Trow's strength was 
nearly spent, and that when he went down Morton must go with him. If indeed 
they could be separated - if Morton could once make himself free from that 
embrace into which he had been so anxious to leap - then indeed there might 
be a hope. All round that little inlet the rock fell sheer down into the 
deep sea, so that there was no resting place for a foot; but round the 
headlands on either side, even within forty or fifty yards of that spot, 
Morton might rest on the rocks, till a boat should come to his assistance. 
To him that distance would have been nothing, if only his limbs had been at 
liberty.
Upon the platform of rock they were all at their wit's ends. Many were 
anxious to fire at Trow; but even if they hit him, would Morton's position 
have been better? Would not the wounded man have still clung to him who was 
not wounded? And then there could be no certainty that any one of them 
would hit the right man. The ripple of the waves, though it was very 
slight, nevertheless sufficed to keep the bodies in motion; and then, too, 
there was not among them any marksman peculiar for his skill.
Morton's efforts in the water were too severe to admit of his speaking, but 
he could hear and understand the words which were addressed to him. 'Shake 
him off, Caleb.' 'Strike him from you with your foot.' 'Swim to the right 
shore; swim for it, even if you take him with you.' Yes; he could hear them 
all; but hearing and obeying were very different. It was not easy to shake 
off that dying man; and as for swimming with him, that was clearly 
impossible. It was as much as he could do to keep his head above water, let 
alone any attempt to move in one settled direction.
For some four or five minutes they lay thus battling on the waves before 
the head of either of them went down. Trow had been twice below the 
surface, but it was before he had succeeded in supporting himself by 
Morton's arm. Now it seemed as though he must sink again - as though both 
must sink. His mouth was barely kept above the water, and as Morton shook 
him with his arm, the tide would pass over him. It was horrid to watch from 
the shore the glaring upturned eyes of the dying wretch, as his long 
streaming hair lay back upon the wave. 'Now, Caleb, hold him down. Hold him 
under,' was shouted in the voice of some eager friend. Rising up on the 
water, Morton made a last effort to do as he was bid. He did press the 
man's head down - well down below the surface - but still the hand clung to 
him, and as he struck out against the water, he was powerless against that 
grasp.
Then there came a loud shout along the shore, and all those on the 
platform, whose eyes had been fixed so closely on that terrible struggle 
beneath them, rushed towards the rocks on the other coast. The sound of 
oars was heard close to them - an eager pressing stroke, as of men who knew 
well that they were rowing for the salvation of a life. On they came, close 
under the rocks, obeying with every muscle of their bodies the behests of 
those who called to them from the shore. The boat came with such rapidity - 
was so recklessly urged - that it was driven somewhat beyond the inlet; but 
in passing, a blow was struck which made Caleb Morton once more the master 
of his own life. The two men had been carried out in their struggle towards 
the open sea; and as the boat curved in, so as to be as close as the rocks 
would allow, the bodies of the men were brought within the sweep of the 
oars. He in the bow - for there were four pulling in the boat - had raised 
his oar as he neared the rocks - had raised it high above the water; and 
now, as they passed close by the struggling men, he let it fall with all 
its force on the upturned face of the wretched convict. It was a terrible, 
frightful thing to do - thus striking one who was so stricken; but who 
shall say that the blow was not good and just? Methinks, however, that the 
eyes and face of that dying man will haunt for ever the dreams of him who 
carried that oar.
Trow never rose again to the surface. Three days afterwards his body was 
found at the ferry, and then they carried him to the convict island and 
buried him. Morton was picked up and taken into the boat. His life was 
saved; but it may be a question how the battle might have gone had not that 
friendly oar been raised in his behalf. As it was, he lay at the cottage 
for days before he was able to be moved, so as to receive the 
congratulations of those who had watched that terrible conflict from the 
shore. Nor did he feel that there had been anything in that day's work of 
which he could be proud - much rather of which it behoved him to be 
thoroughly ashamed. Some six months after that he obtained the hand of 
Anastasia Bergen, but they did not remain long in Bermuda. 'He went away, 
back to his own country,' my informant told me; 'because he could not 
endure to meet the ghost of Aaron Trow, at that point of the road which 
passes near the cottage.' That the ghost of Aaron Trow may be seen there 
and round the little rocky inlet of the sea, is part of the creed of every 
young woman in Bermuda.