Budd Boyd's Triumph

It was a raw, cold, day in the month of March. Since early morning the clouds had been gathering, and they now hung dark and heavy over both land and sea. The wind, too, which had for hours been steadily increasing in violence, now blew little short of a gale. It evidently was going to be a terrible night, and that night was near at hand.

No one realized this more than the young lad, who, with a small bundle in one hand and a stout staff in the other, was walking rapidly along the highway that runs near the west shore of Narragansett Bay. He was a lad that would have attracted attention anywhere. Tall for his age, which could not have been far from sixteen years, he was also of good proportions, and walked with an ease and stride which suggested reserved strength and muscular development.

But it was the lad's face that was the most noticeable. Frank, open, of singular beauty in feature and outline, there were also upon it unmistakable evidences of intelligence, resoluteness, and honesty of purpose. A close observer might also have detected traces of suffering or of sorrow on it--possibly of some great burden hard to bear.

The lad was none too warmly clad for the chilly air and piercing wind, and now and then drew his light overcoat about him as though even his rapid walking did not make him entirely comfortable. He also looked eagerly ahead, like one who was watching for some signs of his destination. He drew a sigh of relief as he reached the foot of a steep hill, and said aloud:

"I must be near the place, now. They said it was at the top of the first long hill I came to, and this must be the hill."

As he spoke he quickened his pace to a run, and soon reached the summit, quite out of breath, but with a genial warmth in his body that he had not experienced for some hours.

Pausing now a moment to catch his breath, he looked about him. Dim as was the light of the fast-falling evening, he could not help giving an exclamation of delight at the vision he beheld. To the north and west of him he saw the twinkling lights of several villages through which he had already passed. To the east of him was the bay, its tossing waves capped with white, its islands like so many dark gems on the bosom of the angry waters. To the south there was first a stretch of land, and then the broad expanse of the well-nigh boundless ocean.

"It must be a beautiful place to live, and I hope to find a home here," he remarked, as he resumed his journey.

A few rods farther on he came to a farm-house, and turned up to its nearest door. As he was about to knock, a man came from the barn-yard, a little distance away, and accosted him:

"Good-evening!"

"Good-evening!" responded the lad.

Then he asked:

"Is this Mr. Benton?"

"No; I'm Mr. Wright," answered the man, pleasantly. "Benton lives on the next farm. You will have to turn into the next gateway and go down the lane, as his house stands some distance from the road."

"I was told," explained the lad, "that he wished to hire help, and I hoped to get work there. Could you tell me what the prospect is?"

The man had now reached the boy's side, and was looking him over with evident curiosity.

"Well," he replied, slowly, "I think he wants to get a young fellow for the coming season, and hadn't hired anyone the last I knew. But I guess you must be a stranger in these parts."

"Yes," the lad answered, briefly; and then thanking the man for his information he turned away.

"I thought so," the man called after him, "else you wouldn't want to go there to work."

The boy scarcely gave heed to the remark then; but it was not long before he knew by hard experience the meaning of it.

A quarter of a mile farther on he reached a gate, and passing through it, he hastened down the narrow lane till he came to a long, low, dilapidated house; but in the darkness, which had by this time fallen, he was not able to form any definite idea of his surroundings.

A feeble light came forth from a back window, and guided by this, he found the rear door of the building. To his knock there was a chorus of responses. Dogs barked, children screamed, and above the din a gruff voice shouted:

"Come in!"

A little disconcerted by the unusual sounds, the lad, instead of obeying the invitation, knocked again. Then there was a heavy step across the floor, the door swung open with a jerk, and a tall, raw-boned man, shaggy-bearded and shock-haired, stood on the threshold.

Eying the lad for a moment in surprise, he asked, somewhat surlily:

"What do you want, youngster?"

"Are you Mr. Benton?" the lad asked.

"Yes; what of it?" the man answered, sharply.

"I was told you wanted help, and I have called to see about it," explained the boy.

"Come in, then," said the man, and his tones were wonderfully modified.

The lad now obeyed, and found himself in a large room, evidently the kitchen and living-room all in one. There was no carpet on the floor, and a stove, a table and a half-dozen chairs constituted its furniture.

Two large dogs lay before the fire, growling sullenly. A woman and four small children were seated at the table. An empty chair and an unemptied plate showed that Mr. Benton had been eating when he was called to the door.

There was food enough upon the table, but its disorderly arrangement, and the hap-hazard way in which each child was helping itself, caused the lad to give an involuntary shudder as his host invited him to sit down "an' take a bite while they talked over business together."

Mr. Benton evidently meant to give his caller a most flattering impression of his hospitality, for he heaped the lad's plate with cold pork, brown bread, and vegetables, and even called on his wife to get some of that "apple sass" for the young stranger.

The boy was hungry, and the food was, after all, wholesome, and he stowed away a quantity that surprised himself, if not his host. When supper was eaten, Mr. Benton pushed back his chair and abruptly asked his guest:

"Who are ye?"

"Budd Boyd," promptly answered the lad.

"That's a kinder cur'us name, now ain't it?" questioned Mr. Benton. "I dunno any Boyds round here. Where be ye from?"

"I came from Massachusetts," replied Budd, with the air of one who had studied his answer; but it seemed for some reason to be very satisfactory to his questioner.

"Any parents?" next inquired Mr. Benton.

"My mother is dead, and my father is not keeping house now. I'm to look out for myself," said the lad, somewhat hesitatingly.

"I guess ye ain't used to farm work, be ye?" now inquired Mr. Benton, doubtingly, and looking at Budd's hands, which were as white and soft as a lady's.

"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," said the lad.

"Of course ye can't expect much in the way of wages," remarked Mr. Benton, cautiously.

"No, not until I can do my full share of work," said Budd, indifferently.

A light gleamed for a moment in Mr. Benton's eyes.

"I might give ye ten dollars a month an' board, beginnin' the fust of the month, ye to work round for yer board till then," he ventured.

"Very well," responded the lad; and immediately after he added:

"I've walked a good ways to-day, and if you don't mind, I'll go to my room."

"Purhaps we'd better draw up a paper of agreement, an' both of us sign it," suggested Mr. Benton, rubbing his hands vigorously together, as though well pleased with himself and everybody else.

"All right, if that is your custom," said Budd. "Draw up the paper, and I'll sign it."

After considerable effort, Mr. Benton produced the following document:

On this 20 day of March Budd Boyd, a miner of Mass., agres to work for me, John Benton. He's to begin work April fust, an' work 6 munths, at 10 dollers an' bord. He's to work til the fust for his bord. If he quits work before his time is up he's to have no pay. To this I agree.

JOHN BENTON, on his part.

Budd read the paper, and could scarcely suppress a smile as he signed his name under Mr. Benton's, and in imitation of him, added the words "on his part" after the signature. He knew, however much importance Mr. Benton might attach to it, that as a legal document it had no special force. He simply set the whole act down as one of the whims of his employer, and gave no more thought to the matter. But it was destined to serve that gentleman's purpose, nevertheless, until taken forcibly from him.

Mr. Benton now showed Budd up to a back room on the second floor, and telling him that he would call him early in the morning, bade him good-night.

The room the lad had entered was bare and cold. A single chair, a narrow bedstead, a rude rack on the wall to hang his garments upon, were all it contained. Yet it was evidently with some satisfaction that the lad opened his bundle, hung up the few clothes it held, and prepared for bed. As he drew the quilts over himself he murmured:

"I don't think I ever had more uncomfortable quarters in my life, and the outlook for the next six months, at least, is far from encouraging. Still, I would not go back to what I have left behind for anything."

He was tired. The rain that was now falling heavily upon the roof just over his head acted as a sedative and lulled him to sleep. But his was not an unbroken rest, for at times he tossed to and fro, and muttered strange sentences. One was, "Father never did it; how could they treat him so?" Another, "I can never face them again; no, never!" Still another, "Thank Heaven, mother never lived to know the worst!" After that the troubled sleeper must have had pleasanter dreams, for he murmured the words, "Mother; father; a home at last!" From these, however, he was rudely awakened by a gruff call:

"Budd! Budd! get up and come out to the barn."

Dazed, bewildered, he arose, and groped about in the darkness for his clothing. By the time he was dressed a full consciousness of his situation had come back to him, and with a stout heart he went out, to begin what was to him equally new duties and a new life.

It was still dark, and the rain fell in torrents as Budd opened the kitchen door and ran hastily out to the barn, where Mrs. Benton, who was making preparations for breakfast, had told him he would find her husband. He noticed the kitchen time-piece as he passed through the room, and knew it was not yet four o'clock. Early rising was evidently one of the things to be expected in his new home.

Reaching the barn quite drenched, Budd found Mr. Benton engaged in feeding a dozen or more gaunt and ill-kept cows, who seized the musty hay thrown down to them with an avidity that suggested, on their part, a scarcity of rations. The same untidiness that marked the house was to be seen about the barn also, which, if anything, was in a more dilapidated condition than the former.

"Good-morning, Mr. Benton. What can I do to assist you?" asked Budd, pleasantly, as soon as he entered the barn.

"Hum! I don't suppose ye can milk?" was the rather ungracious response.

"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," replied Budd, good-naturedly.

"Well, I'll see 'bout that after awhile. I suppose ye might as well begin now as any time. But fust git up on that mow an' throw down more hay. These pesky critters eat more'n their necks are wuth," said Mr. Benton, kicking savagely at a cow that was reaching out for the wad of hay he was carrying by her.

Budd obeyed with alacrity; and when that job was finished it was followed by others, including the milking, wherein the lad proved an apt scholar, until nearly six o'clock, when Mrs. Benton's shrill voice summoned them to breakfast. That meal, possibly on account of Budd's want of the good appetite he had had the night before, seemed to him greatly inferior to his supper. The coffee was bitter and sweetened with molasses, the johnny-cakes were burnt, and the meat and vegetables were cold. He did his best to eat heartily of the unsavory food, however--partly that he might not seem to his employer over-fastidious in taste, and partly because the morning's work had taught him that he should need all the strength he could obtain ere his day's task was over. Stormy though it was, he felt sure Mr. Benton would find enough for him to do.

In fact, long before the first of April came, Budd realized fully the force of the words Mr. Wright had shouted after him the night he stopped there to inquire the way to Mr. Benton's. Had he really known his employer and family, he certainly would not have been over-anxious to have hired out to him for the season; for the dilapidated condition of the buildings and the untidiness and disorder that marked everything about the place were not, after all, the worst features with which Budd had to deal. He soon found that his employer was a hard, cruel, grasping tyrant, while his wife was a complete termagant, scolding and fault-finding incessantly from morning until night. There was not an animal on the place that escaped the abuse of the master, and not even the master himself escaped the tirades of the mistress.

Budd, by faithfully performing every task assigned him, and thus frequently doing twice over what a lad of his age should have been expected to do, tried to win the approval of both Mr. Benton and his wife. He soon found this impossible, and so contented himself with doing what he felt to be right, and cheerfully bore the scoldings that soon became an hourly occurrence.

It was indeed astonishing with what good nature the lad bore both the work and the abuse put upon him. Mr. Benton attributed it to the paper he had asked the boy to sign, and chuckled to himself at the thought that Budd's fear of losing his wages kept him so industrious and docile. He confidentially admitted to his wife, one day, that the lad was worth twice what he had agreed to pay him; "only I ain't paid him nothin' as yit," he added, with a knowing look, which his wife seemed to understand, for she replied:

"Now ye are up to another of yer capers, John Benton. There never was a man on the earth meaner than ye are!"

But Mr. Wright, who knew his neighbors well, could in no way account for the lad's willingness to endure what he knew he must be enduring, and finally his curiosity got the better of him; for, meeting Budd one day as he was returning from the nearest village, he drew up his horses and said:

"Budd, do you know you are the profoundest example of human patience I ever saw?"

"No; is that so?" replied Budd, with a laugh. "What makes you think so?"

"Well," remarked Mr. Wright, leaning on his wagon-seat and looking down into the smiling countenance before him, "I have lived here beside John Benton and his wife ten years, and know them well enough to be sure that an angel direct from Heaven couldn't long stand their abuse; and yet you have actually been there four weeks, and are still as cheerful as a lark on one of these beautiful spring mornings. Will you just explain to me how you manage to stand it?"

While he was speaking a far-away look had come into the lad's eyes, and a shudder shook his robust frame as though he saw something very disagreeable to himself; but he answered, quietly enough:

"Mr. Wright, there are some things in this world harder to bear than either work or abuse, and I prefer even to live with John Benton's family than to go back to the life I have left behind me."

With these words Budd started up his oxen and went on, leaving Mr. Wright to resume his journey more mystified than ever.

On the first day of May Budd asked Mr. Benton for the previous month's pay.

They were at work putting in corn, and the lad's request took his employer so by surprise that his hoe-handle dropped from his grasp.

"Me pay ye now!" he exclaimed. "What are ye thinkin' of?"

Then, as though another idea had come to his mind, he said, persuasively:

"Ye don't need no money, an' 'twill be better to have yer pay all in a bunch. Jes' think how much 'twill be--sixty dollers, an' all yer own."

"But I have a special use for the money," persisted Budd; "and as I have earned it, I should think you might give it to me."

He spoke all the more emphatically because he knew that Mr. Benton had quite a sum of money by him, and that he could easily pay him if he chose to do so.

For reply, Mr. Benton put his hand into his pocket, and taking out his wallet, opened it. From it he then took the paper of agreement that Budd and he had signed. This he slowly spelled out, and when he had finished, asked:

"Does this here paper say anythin' 'bout my payin' ye every munth?"

"No, sir," Budd reluctantly admitted.

"But it does say, if ye quit yer work 'fore yer time is up ye are to have no pay, doesn't it?" inquired the man, significantly.

"Yes, sir," the lad replied, now realizing how mean and contemptible his employer was, and what had been his real object in drawing up that paper.

"Well, how can I know ye are goin' to stay with me yer whole time till it's up?" he asked, with a show of triumph in his tones.

"Do you mean to say you don't intend to pay me anything until October?" asked Budd, indignantly.

"That's the agreement," replied Mr. Benton, coolly, returning the paper to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. "If ye'll keep yer part, I'll keep mine."

He now picked up his hoe and resumed his work.

For the first time since he came to the farm Budd felt an impulse to leave his employer. It was with great difficulty indeed that he refrained from throwing down his hoe, going to the house after his few effects, and quitting the place forever. But he did, and went resolutely on with his work. Fortunate for him was it, though he did not know it then, that he did so. Later on, he could see that the ruling of his spirit that day won for him, if not a city, certainly the happiest results, though severe trials stood between him and their consummation.

That night, at as early an hour as possible, Budd sought his little room. Closing the door carefully after him, he walked over to the rude rack on the wall and took down his light overcoat. From an inside pocket he took a long wallet, and from the wallet a postal card. Addressing it with a pencil to "N. B. Johnson, Esq., No. 127 Sumner Street, Boston, Mass.," he wrote rapidly and in tiniest characters, on the reverse side, without giving place or date, the following words:

DEAR SIR:--I promised you last March to send you some money each month until the total amount remaining due to you was paid. I have secured work at a small compensation, but find, through a misunderstanding with my employer, that I am not to have my pay until the six months for which I have hired out are ended. At that time you may expect a remittance from me. I am very sorry to make this change in my original plans, but cannot help it, and trust you will be satisfied with this arrangement. Truly yours,

BUDD BOYD.

It was several days later, however, before Budd had an opportunity to go up to the neighboring village. When he did go, he took care not to drop the postal into the post-office, but handed it directly to a mail agent upon a passing train. His reason for this act could not be easily misunderstood. Evidently he did not care that the Mr. Johnson to whom he had written should know his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was unnecessary, for before the summer months had fairly come he was to see Mr. Johnson under circumstances most trying to himself.

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.