AARON TROW.
And Aaron Trow was now like a fox, to be out from his last refuge, with this to his misery, that these when they their prey, would not put him at once out of his misery. When he saw that of men from the hill top and on the platform; he that his was come. When they called to him to himself he was silent, but he that his was of no avail. To them who were so to be his the to be still one of difficulty; but, to his thinking, there was no difficulty. There were there some score of men, armed, twenty yards of him. If he but a of his he would a mark for their bullets. And then if he were wounded, and no one would come to him! If they allowed him to there without food till he perished! Would it not be well for him to himself? Then they called again and he was still silent. That idea of is very terrible to the of a man. And when the had come to the worst, did not the his cavern’s month?
But as they at him and hallooed, making their for his death, his presence of mind the wretch. He had an old pistol on one of his expeditions, of which one had been loaded. That in his he had fired; and now, as he near the mouth of the cavern, under the of the stone, he had no with him but his hands. He had had a knife, but that had from him the on the of the cottage. He had now nothing but his hands, and was how he might best use them in himself of the of his pursuers. The man was near him, armed, with all the power and of right on his side; on his side, Aaron Trow had nothing,—not a hope. He his that he might look forth, and a dozen voices as his appeared above the aperture. A dozen were at him, and he see the of the of the guns. And then the of his was already on the at the cavern’s mouth. “Now, Caleb, on him at once!” a voice. Ah me! it was a moment in which to such a man as Aaron Trow.
“Now, Caleb, at him at once!” the voice. No, by heavens; not so, yet! The of in those the last of energy in the of that man; and he forth, foremost, from his prison house. Forth he came, the of them all, and with well down, and hands outstretched, but with his wide still his as he fell, he into the him. Two of those who by, almost of what they did, at his as it its way to the water; but, as they found, neither of the him. Morton, when his thus forth, him for awhile, was already on the of the cavern,—had then prepared his for that which should him to the of his foe. But he himself, and for a moment there the as it the water, and itself at once the ripple. He there for a moment the and its effect, and then his upon the rock, he once again his quarry. Down he went, foremost, right on to the in the which the other had made; and when the two rose to the surface together, each was in the of the other.
It was a foolish, nay, a to do. The who had not have escaped. He not swim, and had therefore himself to when he took that from out of the cavern’s mouth. It would have been sad to see him the waves,—to watch him as he rose, for breath, and then to see to him again, to again, and then to go for ever. But his life had been forfeit,—and why should one so much more have been after it? It was surely with no view of saving that life that Caleb Morton had after his enemy. But the hound, with the chase, will the over the and himself to pieces against the rocks. The for blood will in among the of men. Morton in his had but one desire, with but one passion. If the Fates would but him to his in the of the man who had ill-used his love; for the it might all go as it would.
In the part of the morning, while they were all for their victim, they had a up into this very among the rocks; and the same had been at hand the whole day. Unluckily, they had come hither, it had been taken the to a place among the at which a government is always moored. The sea was still so that there was a on it, and the had been again sent for when it was that they had at last Aaron Trow to his hiding-place. Anxiously now were all to the headland, but as yet no was there.
The two men rose to the surface, each in the arms of the other. Trow, though he was in an to which he was not used, though he had as another suicide might to death a railway engine, did not his presence of mind. Prompted by a instinct, he had of Morton’s when he it the waters. He on to it, as to his only protection, and he on to him also as to his only enemy. If there was a for a life struggle, they would that together; and if not, then together would they meet that other fate.
Caleb Morton was a very man, and though one of his arms was by his antagonist, his other arm and his were free. With these he to succeed in his above the water, as he was with the of his foe. But Trow’s were also used with the view of himself above the water. Though he had to himself in taking that leap, and now for nothing than that they might together, he yet to keep his above the waves. Bodily power he had none left to him, that of on to Morton’s arm and with his legs; but he did on, and thus their above the surface.
But this not last long. It was easy to see that Trow’s was nearly spent, and that when he Morton must go with him. If they be separated,—if Morton once make himself free from that into which he had been so to leap,—then there might be a hope. All that little the into the sea, so that there was no resting-place for a foot; it but the on either side, or fifty yards of that spot, Morton might on the rocks, till a should come to his assistance. To him that would have been nothing, if only his had been at liberty.
Upon the of they were all at their wits’ ends. Many were to fire at Trow; but if they him, would Morton’s position have been better? Would not the man have still to him who was not wounded? And then there be no that any one of them would the right man. The of the waves, though it was very slight, to keep the in motion; and then, too, there was not among them any for his skill.
Morton’s in the water were too to admit of his speaking, but he and the which were to him. “Shake him off, Caleb.” “Strike him from you with your foot.” “Swim to the right shore; swim for it, if you take him with you.” Yes; he them all; but and were very different. It was not easy to shake off that man; and as for with him, that was impossible. It was as much as he do to keep his above water, let alone any attempt to move in one settled direction.
For some four or five minutes they thus on the the of either of them down. Trow had been twice the surface, but it was he had succeeded in supporting himself by Morton’s arm. Now it as though he must again,—as though must sink. His mouth was above the water, and as Morton him with his arm, the would pass over him. It was to watch from the the of the wretch, as his long upon the wave. “Now, Caleb, him down. Hold him under,” was in the voice of some friend. Rising up on the water, Morton a last to do as he was bid. He did press the man’s down,—well the surface,—but still the hand to him, and as he out against the water, he was powerless against that grasp.
Then there came a loud along the shore, and all those on the platform, had been so closely on that terrible them, the on the other coast. The of was close to them,—an pressing stroke, as of men who well that they were for the of a life. On they came, close under the rocks, with every of their the of those who called to them from the shore. The came with such rapidity,—was so urged, that it was the inlet; but in passing, a was which Caleb Morton once more the master of his own life. The two men had been out in their the open sea; and as the in, so as to be as close as the would allow, the of the men were the of the oars. He in the bow—for there were four in the boat—had his as he the rocks,—had it high above the water; and now, as they passed close by the men, he let it with all its on the of the convict. It was a terrible, thing to do,—thus one who was so stricken; but who shall say that the was not good and just? Methinks, however, that the and of that man will for the of him who that oar!
Trow rose again to the surface. Three days his was at the ferry, and then they him to the and him. Morton was up and taken into the boat. His life was saved; but it may be a question how the might have gone had not that been in his behalf. As it was, he at the for days he was able to be moved, so as to the of those who had that terrible from the shore. Nor did he that there had been anything in that day’s work of which he be proud;—much of which it him to be ashamed. Some six months after that he the hand of Anastasia Bergen, but they did not long in Bermuda. “He away, to his own country,” my told me; “because he not to meet the of Aaron Trow, at that point of the road which near the cottage.” That the of Aaron Trow may be there and the little of the sea, is part of the of every woman in Bermuda.
