THE UNDERTOW

Go with me to the ocean shore early in October 1842. The surf was high, the water cold. I swam out some 30 rods. There was a bend in the shore; at each outer end the high waves broke, and their momentum carried the incoming waves toward the center. The waters gathered there must recede, and returning underneath the incoming wave, flowed seaward, and rose to the surface past a point where its volume overcame it.

That was the undertow. Woe to the swimmer who unwittingly strives to overcome it. If he soon finds out his danger and turns at right angles out of it, well. If he persists in the contest with the current, he is doomed. Unconsciously, I had persisted, near to the point of exhaustion. The chilled waters almost froze the life blood. The shore receded. The horrors of death got hold of me. I remember revolving the question, Can I float until help is brought from Apaquogue and Georgica or Jericho to launch a boat and pick me up?

Just [then] appeared a mighty rolling incoming wave, and with the rapidity of light it flashed upon me: That vast body of water will overcome the undertow. On its swift crest, I put forth all my power, and gained. Another like mighty wave, and another desperate struggle for life, and yet another still, flung me on the beach and hurled me back as the wind whirls the feather, and still another wave threw me further up, and with desperation, hands and feet buried in the sand, I crawled on the shore. Panting, gasping, freezing, unable to stand, a victim barely rescued from the undertow. Great God! What a deliverance!

Excerpted from Judge Henry P. Hedges's 250th Anniversary address, August 1898.