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 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 thus 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 hands 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, 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 arm-chair, and there 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 so 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 watchman 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 while 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 waist-band 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 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 wave! 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 was 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 prison 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 so 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 month?

but as they yelled at him and hallooed, 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 raised 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 to 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 the 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 their 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; it 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 rocks they were all at their wits’ 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.