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Updated: June 20, 2025
The point from which you see the Monster is not near the Fort or the houses at all, and is much the wildest part of Wecanicut. When you're standing on the very end you might think you really were on a deserted island, because you can look straight out to sea.
We looked down and saw that the water was behaving differently. Instead of being smooth and rolling, there was a skitter of sharp ripples all over it, and the waves went slap and frothed white when they hit the rock. The sky had changed, too. It was not so blue, and there were switchy mares' tails across it, and the wind was blowing from Wecanicut, instead of toward it.
So, after setting the policeman and every one else to search town, Father and Captain Moss went to Wecanicut on the chance. They reached the point at a quarter after nine, which was when we saw the lights, and they never for a moment thought of the Sea Monster, because no one had missed the old dinghy from the ferry-slip and they didn't imagine that we could get there.
"He was Baroo, the Madagascar cabin-boy," Jerry said, gnawing the loaf, and I thought it seemed years ago that we had trekked across Wecanicut. "I see," said our man, in his nice, kind, reliable way, and then he said to Greg, "I didn't hurt you much, did I, old fellow?" And Greg shook his head, and said: "Thank you for coming."
From there we could see the Headland, very far away and blue, and Wecanicut behind us, safe and green and friendly-looking, but a long way off; and nothing else but a smeary line of smoke from a steamer at sea. "We named this place well," I said; "it is a Monster." "Brrrr, hear it roar!" Jerry said. "The waves must be bigger, or something. There weren't any when we came out."
Jerry and Greg kept telling me things to write, till the page was quite full and went something like this: "We be Three Poore Mariners, cast away upon the lone and desolate shore of Wecanicut, an island in the Atlantic Ocean, lat. and long. unknown.
The Sea Monster is a bare black rock-island off the end of Wecanicut. We called it that because it looks like one, and it hasn't any other name that we know of.
The second day was the perfectly gorgeous kind that makes you want to go off to seek your fortune or dance on top of a high hill or do anything rather than stay at home, however nice your own garden may be. We agreed about this at breakfast, and I said: "Let's go to Wecanicut." We'd never gone to Wecanicut alone, but I couldn't see any reason why we shouldn't.
We'd all gone over to Wecanicut on the ferry, Mother and Aunt Ailsa and Jerry and Greg and I, and we were picnicking beside the big fallen-over slab that looks just like the entrance to a pirate cave. We had a fire, of course, and a lot of things to eat, including the olives, which were a fancy addition bought by Aunt Ailsa as we were running for the ferry.
Wecanicut was turning the dry, russetty color that it does late in the summer, and the harbor seemed bluer every day. Captain Moss took us out in the Jolly Nancy one afternoon just for kindness we didn't hire her at all. She is a sixteen-footer and quite fast, in spite of being rather broad in the beam.
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