Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of AllCountries” edition , email
I would wish to declare, at thebeginning of this story, that I shall never regard that clusterof islets which we call Bermuda as the Fortunate Islands of theancients. Do not let professional geographers take me up,and say that no one has so accounted them, and that the ancientshave never been supposed to have gotten themselves so farwestwards. What I mean to assert is this—that, hadany ancient been carried thither by enterprise or stress ofweather, he would not have given those islands so good aname. That the Neapolitan sailors of King Alonzo shouldhave been wrecked here, I consider to be more likely. Thevexed Bermoothes is a good name for them. There is nogetting in or out of them without the greatest difficulty, and apatient, slow navigation, which is very heart-rending. ThatCaliban should have lived here I can imagine; that Ariel wouldhave been sick of the place is certain; and that GovernorProspero should have been willing to abandon his governorship, Iconceive to have been only natural. When one regards thepresent state of the place, one is tempted to doubt whether anyof the governors have been conjurors since his days.
Bermuda, as all the world knows, is a British colony at whichwe maintain a convict establishment. Most of our outlyingconvict establishments have been sent back upon our hands fromour colonies, but here one is still maintained. There isalso in the islands a strong military fortress, though not afortress looking magnificent to the eyes of civilians, as doMalta and Gibraltar. There are also here some six thousandwhite people and some six thousand black people, eating,drinking, sleeping, and dying.
The convict establishment is the most notable feature ofBermuda to a stranger, but it does not seem to attract muchattention from the regular inhabitants of the place. Thereis no intercourse between the prisoners and the Bermudians. The convicts are rarely seen by them, and the convict islands arerarely visited. As to the prisoners themselves, of courseit is not open to them—or should not be open tothem—to have intercourse with any but the prisonauthorities.
There have, however, been instances in which convicts haveescaped from their confinement, and made their way out among theislands. Poor wretches! As a rule, there is butlittle chance for any that can so escape. The whole lengthof the cluster is but twenty miles, and the breadth is underfour. The prisoners are, of course, white men, and thelower orders of Bermuda, among whom alone could a runagate haveany chance of hiding himself, are all negroes; so that such a onewould be known at once. Their clothes are all marked. Their only chance of a permanent escape would be in the hold ofan American ship; but what captain of an American or other shipwould willingly encumber himself with an escaped convict? But, nevertheless, men have escaped; and in one instance, Ibelieve, a convict got away, so that of him no farther tidingswere ever heard.
For the truth of the following tale I will not by any meansvouch. If one were to inquire on the spot one mightprobably find that the ladies all believe it, and the old men;that all the young men know exactly how much of it is false andhow much true; and that the steady, middle-aged, well-to-doislanders are quite convinced that it is romance from beginningto 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 onits present footing, three men did escape from it, and among thema certain notorious prisoner named Aaron Trow. Trow’santecedents in England had not been