Not a great distance north of the farm of Mr. Benton, and stretching
some distance along the shore of the bay, there is a singular formation
of sand and rocks known as "The Hummocks." A small cove lies south and
west of the formation, while the main bay stretches out to its widest
extent from the east. The only point, then, where "The Hummocks" touch
the main-land is at the north; and even this point of contact is so
narrow as to simply furnish a roadway down onto "The Hummocks"
themselves.
Of these hummocks, for there are but two, the northern one is much the
smaller, embracing perhaps an acre of rough soil, covered with a stunted
grass, and dotted here and there with red cedars. The southern one, on
the other hand, covered like its smaller mate with a scanty vegetation
and scattered trees, broadens out so as to nearly land-lock the cove
behind it, and causes its waters to rush in or out, according to the
tide, through an exceedingly contracted passage-way at its extreme
southern end, popularly called "the narrows." The point of contact of
the southern with the northern hummock, like the northern hummock with
the main-land, is also very narrow; and to its narrowness is added
another feature: it is so low, or in more technical language it is so
nearly on a level with the high-water mark, that when there happens to
be a strong wind from either the northeast or the southeast, the waters
of the bay, on the incoming tide, will rush with great force over the
slight barrier and mingle with the waters of the cove, making an island,
for the time, of the larger and more southern hummock.
Perhaps half or three-quarters of a mile off shore, and a little to the
northeast of these hummocks, there is an island of an irregular shape,
and a few acres in extent, that bears the name of Fox Island. The name
has belonged to it since Colonial days, but the reason therefor is
unknown, unless at some remote period some solitary animal of that
specific genus which gives the island its title may have there made its
home.
This island had in later years, however, a more illustrious if not less
solitary inhabitant. A gentleman of some means, tired of society, or
for some reason at enmity with it, crossed over from the main-land,
erected a small house, dug a well, set out trees, planted a garden, and
built a wharf--in fact set up thereon a complete habitation. Not long,
however, did he endure his self-imposed solitude. Scarcely were his
arrangements completed when an unfortunate accident caused his death,
and the island and its improvements were left to be the home of the
sea-fowls or the temporary abode of some passing fisherman.
This extended description has been given here because it is essential
that the reader should form some definite idea of the island and its
relation to "The Hummocks," for on and about them no small portion of
our young hero's summer was destined to be spent.
Mr. Benton owned what is termed "a shore privilege" on the lower half of
the southern hummock, and the peculiar situation of that rocky formation
to the bay made it a valuable one, for heavy winds from any eastern or
southern quarter brought onto the beach there immense quantities of
sea-weed, so highly prized by the farmer as a fertilizer.
During the fall and winter months previous to Budd's coming to the farm,
owing to the repeated storms there had been landed on "The Hummocks" so
large and unusual an amount of this weed that Mr. Benton had contented
himself with simply gathering it into a huge pile on the summit thereof,
above high-water mark, intending to remove it to the farm in the spring.
So it fell to Budd's lot to cart from the heap to the farm as the weed
was needed, and one day near the middle of May found him engaged in this
work.
It was a cloudy, threatening day. The wind was from the southeast, and
blew with a freshness that promised a severe storm before the day was
over. Perhaps it was on this account that Mr. Benton had directed the
lad to engage in this particular work. He was himself obliged to be off
on business, and this was a job at which Budd could work alone, and the
weather was hardly propitious for any other undertaking. So immediately
after breakfast Budd yoked the oxen to the cart and started for his
first load.
"There ain't over four loads more down there, an' if ye work spry ye can
git it all up by nite," Mr. Benton shouted after him as he drove off.
The distance to "The Hummocks" from the farm was such that with the
slow-walking oxen one load for each half-day had been regarded as a
sufficient task. But Budd knew he had an early start, and he determined
to do his best to bring all the weed home that day. He therefore
quickened the pace of the oxen, and before nine o'clock had made his
first return to the farm. Unloading with haste, he immediately started
back for his second load. When he crossed from the north to the south
hummock he noticed the incoming tide was nearly across the roadway, but
thought little of it.
On examining the heap of weed, he became convinced that by loading
heavily he could carry what remained at two loads. He therefore pitched
away until in his judgment half of the heap was upon his cart. It made
a tremendous load; but the oxen were stout, and bending their necks to
the yoke, they at Budd's command started slowly off.
As he approached the narrow passage-way he noticed the tide had gained
rapidly, and was now sweeping over it with considerable force and depth.
Jumping upon the tongue of the cart, he urged his oxen through the
tossing waves. To his consternation the water came well up around the
oxen's backs, and had he not quickly scrambled to the top of his load he
would have got thoroughly drenched.
The cattle, however, raised their noses as high as possible and plunged
bravely through the flood, and soon emerged on the other side with their
load unharmed. The rest of the journey home was made without
difficulty, and Budd at dinner-time had the satisfaction of knowing that
two-thirds of his appointed work was already accomplished.
Mr. Benton had not yet arrived home, and hurrying through dinner, the
lad hastened off for his third and last load, hoping to get back to the
farm with it before his employer came. Hardly had he started, however,
when it began to rain, and as he passed down onto the first hummock the
wind was blowing with a velocity that made it almost impossible for the
oxen to stand before it.
Slowly, however, the passage across the first hummock was made, and Budd
approached the narrow roadway leading to the other; then he stopped the
oxen in sheer amazement. In front of him was a strip of surging and
tossing water of uncertain depth, and he instinctively felt that there
was a grave risk in attempting to push through to the other side. But
he was anxious to secure his load. He had passed through safely enough
before, and he resolved to attempt the crossing now, counting on nothing
worse than a severe drenching.
This was a grave mistake, and Budd would have realized it had he only
stopped to think that there was quite a difference between his situation
now and when he had made his successful crossing before dinner. Then he
had a loaded cart, the wind and tide were both in his favor, and the
water had not reached either its present depth or expanse. Now his cart
was empty, a significant and important fact; the wind was blowing with
greater force and directly against him; while the tide, as he would have
seen had he watched it closely, had now turned, and was rushing back
from the cove and out into the open bay with a strength almost
irresistible.
But unmindful of these things, Budd bade his oxen go on; and though they
at first shrunk from entering the angry waters, he plied the stinging
blows of the lash until they began the passage. For a rod they went
steadily on, though the waves dashed over their backs and rushed into
the cart, wetting Budd to the knees. Then there came suddenly a huge
billow, rolling outward, that lifted the cart and oxen from the road-bed
and swept them out into the bay.
[Illustration: Budd plied the stinging blows of the lash until suddenly
a huge billow lifted the cart and oxen from the road-bed and swept them
into the bay.]
The moment Budd realized that the cart was afloat and the oxen were
swimming for their lives, his impulse was not to save himself, but the
unfortunate beasts that through his rashness had been brought into
danger. Springing, therefore, between them, he caught hold of the yoke
with one hand, and with the other wrenched out the iron pin that
fastened it to the tongue, and thus freed them from the cart. In the
effort, however, he lost his hold upon the yoke, and the next minute
found himself left alone, struggling with the angry billows.
He was now forced to look out for himself, and could not watch the fate
of the oxen, even had he had an inclination to do so. Indeed, with his
water-soaked clothing, which greatly impeded his efforts, there was
already a serious question whether he would be able to reach the shore,
good swimmer though he was. With a strength born from the very sense of
the danger that overwhelmed him he turned his face toward the fast
receding shore and swam manfully for it. For a time he seemed to be
gaining, but both wind and tide were against him, and his strength was
soon exhausted. Slowly he felt himself sinking. Already the waves were
dashing over his head. He made one spasmodic effort to regain the
surface; then he had a faint consciousness of being caught by a huge
billow and hurled against some hard object, and all was blank.