Budd Boyd's Triumph; or, The Boy-Firm of Fox Island

by William P. Chipman

The wind evidently carried his words back to his companions with sufficient distinctness to be comprehended, for they at once returned to the pound, beyond which they had already passed in pursuing the fleeing yawl, and Budd was left to continue his wild ride unattended.

To state the exact truth, the lad was immensely enjoying the peculiar situation in which he found himself. As long as the porpoise kept at the surface of the water he knew he was safe, and he watched its movements sharply, so as to cut the bow-line the moment he dived.

But no such movement was to be detected. As though stricken with panic, and bent on suicide, the cetacean fled onward until opposite the huge cliff on the west shore of the bay known as Thurston's Rocks, and then it turned and ran directly inshore.

"It is sure death to go in there," muttered Budd at this movement of his steed, "and I don't propose to go on to that cliff with you."

With knife raised he waited until the porpoise was within a few rods of the shore; then with a quick stroke he severed the rope, and dropping the knife, seized his oars. By a vigorous use of these he staid the impetus of the yawl and turned its bow into the wind. Before he had accomplished this, however, the cetacean had dashed headlong upon the cliff, and now tossed helplessly upon the surface of the water.

For a few minutes Budd held the yawl in check, and watched his huge victim. He did not dare go nearer to the cliff, for he knew the waves were dashing upon it with a force that would crush the boat as though but a cockle-shell, and yet he longed to secure his prey.

He ran his eyes along the rocks. Just beyond the place where the porpoise lay was a shelving ledge, upon which he knew he could get if once on shore, and from the ledge he believed he could reach the rope that was fastened to the cetacean. But where could he land?

Above him, a dozen rods or so, was the old tumbled-down wharf of the long-disused "North Ferry." Rowing slowly up toward this, he was able to bring in the yawl against the north, and hence the sheltered, side.

Securing the boat against any possible escape, he ran quickly down the shore. Once opposite the shelving rock, he with difficulty descended to the water's edge, and regardless of wet feet and wet arms soon caught hold of the rope which the dashing waves brought within his reach. He found also, to his delight, that the rope was long enough to be carried around the trunk of a red cedar that grew out of a crevice in the cliff just above high-water mark.

Having securely fastened the line, Budd stood on the ledge a few minutes, watching the motionless porpoise. The rising tide lifted it upon the ledge quite near him, and the rope slackened somewhat as it was relieved of the cetacean's weight.