Chapter 3 --AGAINST WIND AND TIDE.

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.

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.