THE ELIZABETH RIVER. -- THE CANAL. -- NORTH LANDING RIVER.
-- CURRITUCK SOUND. -- ROANOKE ISLAND. -- VISIT TO BODY
ISLAND LIGHT-HOUSE. -- A ROMANCE OF HISTORY. -- PAMPLICO
SOUND. -- THE PAPER CANOE ARRIVES AT CAPE HATTERAS.
On Saturday morning, December 5, I left the
pier of the Old Dominion Steamship
Company, at Norfolk, Virginia, and, rowing across the
water towards Portsmouth, commenced
ascending Elizabeth River, which is here wide and
affected by tidal change. The old navy yard,
with its dismantled hulks lying at anchor in the
stream, occupies both banks of the river. About
six miles from Norfolk the entrance to the
Dismal Swamp Canal is reached, on the left bank
of the river. This old canal runs through the
Great Dismal Swamp, and affords passage for
steamers and light-draught vessels to Elizabeth
City, on the Pasquotank River, which empties
into Albemarle Sound to the southward. The
great cypress and juniper timber is penetrated by
this canal, and schooners are towed into the
swamp to landings where their cargoes are
delivered.
In the interior of the Dismal Swamp is
Drummond's Lake, named after its discoverer. It is
seven miles long by five miles wide, and is the
feeder of the canal. A branch canal connects it
with the main canal; and small vessels may
traverse the lake in search of timber and shingles.
Voyagers tell me that during heavy gales of
wind a terrible sea is set in motion upon this
shoal sheet of water, making it dangerous to
navigate. Bears are found in the fastnesses of
the swamp. The Dismal Swamp Canal was dug
in the old days of the wheelbarrow and spade.
The Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal, the
entrance to which is sixteen miles from Norfolk,
on the right or east bank of the Elizabeth River,
and generally known as the "new canal," was
commenced about the year 1856, and finished in
1859. It is eight miles and a half in length,
and connects the Elizabeth and North Landing
rivers. This canal was dug by dredging-machines.
It is kept in a much better state for
navigation, so far as the depth of water is
concerned, than the old canal, which from
inattention is gradually shoaling in places; consequently
the regular steam-packets which ply between
Elizabeth City and Norfolk, as well as steamers
whose destinations are further north, have given
up the use of the Dismal Swamp Canal, and
now go round through Albemarle Sound up the
North River, thence by a six-mile cut into
Currituck Sound, up North Landing River, and
through the new canal to the Elizabeth River
and into Chesapeake Bay. The shores of the
Elizabeth are low and are fringed by sedgy
marshes, while forests of second-growth pine
present a green background to the eye. A few
miles above Norfolk the cultivation of land
ceases, and the canoeist traverses a wilderness.
About noon I arrived at the locks of the
Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal. The telegraph
operator greeted me with the news that the
company's agent in Norfolk had telegraphed to the
lock-master to pass the paper canoe through with
the freedom of the canal -- the first honor of the
kind that had fallen to my lot. The tide rises
and falls at the locks in the river about three feet
and a half. When I passed through, the
difference in the level between the ends of the locks
did not reach two feet. The old lock-master
urged me to give up the journey at once, as I
never could "get through the Sounds with that
little boat." When I told him I was on my
second thousand miles of canoe navigation since
leaving Quebec, he drew a long breath and
gave a low groan.
When once through the canal-gates, you are
in a heavy cypress swamp. The dredgings
thrown upon the banks have raised the edge of
the swamp to seven feet above the water. Little
pines grow along these shores, and among them
the small birds, now on their southern migrations,
sported and sang. Whenever a steamer or
tugboat passed me, it crowded the canoe close to
the bank; but these vessels travel along the
canal at so slow a rate, that no trouble is
experienced by the canoeist from the disturbance
caused by their revolving screws. Freedmen,
poling flats loaded with shingles or frame stuff,
roared out their merry songs as they passed.
The canal entered the North Landing River
without any lockage; just beyond was North
Landing, from which the river takes its name.
A store and evidences of a settlement meet the
eye at a little distance. The river is tortuous,
and soon leaves the swamp behind. The pine
forest is succeeded by marshes on both sides of
the slow-flowing current.
Three miles from North Landing a single
miniature house is seen; then for nearly five
miles along the river not a trace of the presence
of man is to be met, until Pungo Ferry and
Landing loom up out of the low marshes on the east
side of the river. This ferry, with a store
three-quarters of a mile from the landing, and a farm
of nearly two hundred acres, is the property of
Mr. Charles N. Dudley, a southern gentleman,
who offers every inducement in his power to
northern men to settle in his vicinity. Many of
the property-holders in the uplands are willing
to sell portions of their estates to induce
northern men to come among them.
It was almost dark when I reached the
storehouse at Pungo Ferry; and as Sunday is a sacred
day with me, I determined to camp there until
Monday. A deformed negro held a lease of the
ferry, and pulled a flat back and forth across
the river by means of a chain and windlass. He
was very civil, and placed his quarters at my
disposal until I should be ready to start southward
to Currituck Sound. We lifted the canoe and
pushed it through an open window into the little
store-room, where it rested upon an unoccupied
counter. The negro went up to the loft above,
and threw down two large bundles of flags for a
bed, upon which I spread my blankets. An old
stove in a corner was soon aglow with burning
light wood. While I was cooking my supper,
the little propeller Cygnet, which runs between
Norfolk and Van Slyck's Landing, at Currituck
Narrows, touched at Pungo Ferry, and put off
an old woman who had been on a two years'
visit to her relatives. She kindly accosted the
dwarfed black with, "Charles, have you got a
match for my pipe?"
"Yes, missus," civilly responded the negro,
handing her a light.
"Well, this is good!" soliloquized the ancient
dame, as she seated herself on a box and puffed
away at the short-stemmed pipe. Ah, good
indeed to get away from city folks, with their
stuck-up manners and queer ways, a-fault-finding
when you stick your knife in your mouth in
place of your fork, and a-feeding you on China
tea in place of dear old yaupon. Charles, you
can't reckon how I longs to get a cup of good
yaupon."
As the reader is about entering a country
where the laboring classes draw largely upon
nature for their supply of "the cup that cheers
but not inebriates," I will describe he shrub
which produces it.
This substitute for the tea of China is a holly
(ilex), and is called by the natives "yaupon"
(I. cassine, Linn.). It is a handsome shrub,
growing a few feet in height, with alternate,
perennial, shining leaves, and bearing small scarlet
berries. It is found in the vicinity of salt water,
in the light soils of Virginia and the Carolinas.
The leaves and twigs are dried by the women,
and when ready for market are sold at one dollar
per bushel. It is not to be compared in
excellence with the tea of China, nor does it approach
in taste or good qualities the well-known
yerbamate, another species of holly, which is found
in Paraguay, and is the common drink of the
people of South America.
The old woman having gone on her way, and
we being again alone in the rude little shanty,
the good-natured freedman told me his history,
ending with, -
"O that was a glorious day for me,
When Massa Lincoln set me free."
He had too much ambition, he said, deformed as
he was, to be supported as a pauper by the
public. "I can make just about twelve dollars a
month by dis here ferry," he exclaimed. "I
don't want for nuffin'; I'se got no wife -- no
woman will hab me. I want to support myself
and live an honest man."
About seven o'clock he left me to waddle up
the road nearly a mile to a little house.
"I an' another cullo'd man live in
partnership," he said. He could not account for the
fact that I had no fear of sleeping alone in the
shanty on the marshes. He went home for the
company of his partner, as he "didn't like to
sleep alone noways."
Though the cold wind entered through broken
window-lights and under the rudely constructed
door, I slept comfortably until morning. Before
Charles had returned, my breakfast was cooked
and eaten.
With the sunshine of the morning came a
new visitor. I had made the acquaintance of
the late slave; now I received a call from the
late master. My visitor was a pleasant,
gentlemanly personage, the owner of the surrounding
acres. His large white house could be seen
from the landing, a quarter of a mile up the
road.
"I learned that a stranger from the north was
camped here, and was expecting that he would
come up and take breakfast with me," was his
kindly way of introducing himself.
I told him I was comfortably established in
dry quarters, and did not feel justified in
forcing myself upon his hospitality while I had so
many good things of this life in my
provision-basket.
Mr. Dudley would take no excuse, but
conducted me to his house, where I remained that
day, attending the religious services in a little
church in the vicinity. My kind host introduced
me to his neighbors, several of whom returned
with us to dinner. I found the people about
Pungo Ferry, like those I had met along the
sounds of the eastern shore of Maryland and
Virginia, very piously inclined, -- the same
kindhearted, hospitable people.
My host entertained me the next day, which
was rainy, with his life in the Confederate army,
in which he served as a lieutenant. He was a
prisoner at Johnson's Island for twenty-two
months. He bore no malice towards northern
men who came south to join with the natives in
working for the true interests of the country.
The people of the south had become weary of
political sufferings inflicted by a floating
population from the north; they needed actual settlers,
not politicians. This sentiment I found
everywhere expressed. On Tuesday I bade farewell
to my new friends, and rowed down the North
Landing River towards Currituck Sound.
The North Carolina line is only a few miles
south of the ferry. The river enters the head
of the sound six or eight miles below Pungo
Ferry. A stiff northerly breeze was blowing,
and as the river widened, on reaching the head
of the sound, to a mile or more, and bays were
to be crossed from point to point, it required
the exercise of considerable patience and
muscular exertion to keep the sea from boarding
the little craft amidship. As I was endeavoring
to weather a point, the swivel of one of the
outriggers parted at its junction with the row-lock,
and it became necessary to get under the south
point of the marshes for shelter.
The lee side offered a smooth bay. It was
but a few minutes' work to unload and haul the
canoe into the tall rushes, which afforded ample
protection against the cold wind. It was three
hours before the wind went down, when the
canoe was launched, and, propelled by the double
paddle, (always kept in reserve against accidents
to oars and row-locks,) I continued over the
waters of Currituck Sound.
Swans could now be seen in flocks of twenties
and fifties. They were exceedingly wary, not
permitting the canoe to approach within rifle
range. Clouds of ducks, and some Canada
geese, as well as brant, kept up a continuous
flutter as they rose from the surface of the water.
Away to the southeast extended the glimmering
bosom of the sound, with a few islands relieving
its monotony. The three or four houses and two
small storehouses at the landing of Currituck
Court House, which, with the brick court-house,
comprise the whole village, are situated on the
west bank; and opposite, eight miles to the
eastward, is the narrow beach island that serves as
a barrier to the ingress of the ocean.
At sunset I started the last flock of white
swans, and grounded in the shoal waters at the
landing. There is no regular hotel here, but a
kind lady, Mrs. Simmons, accommodates the
necessities of the occasional traveller. The
canoe was soon locked up in the landing-house.
Fortunately a blacksmith was found outside the
village, who promised to repair the broken
rowlock early upon the following morning. Before
a pleasant wood fire giving out its heat from a
grand old fireplace, with an agreeable visitor,
-- the physician of the place, the tediousness of
the three-hours' camp on the marshes was soon
forgotten, while the country and its resources
were fully discussed until a late hour.
Dr. Baxter had experimented in grape culture,
and gave me many interesting details in regard
to the native wine. In 1714, Lawson described
six varieties of native grapes found in North
Carolina. Our three finest varieties of native
grapes were taken from North Carolina. They
are the Scuppernong, the Catawba, and the
Isabella. The Scuppernong was found upon the
banks of the stream bearing that name, the
mouth of which is near the eastern end
of Albemarle Sound. The Catawba was originally
obtained on the Catawba River, near its head-waters
in Buncombe County. The Long Island stock
of the Isabella grape was brought to New York
by Mrs. Isabella Gibbs: hence the derivation of
the name.
Of the six varieties of North Carolina grapes,
five were found in Tyrrel County by Amadas
and Barlow. Tradition relates that these
travellers carried one small vine to Roanoke Island,
which still lives and covers an immense area of
ground. There are five varieties of the grape
growing wild on the shores of Albemarle Sound,
all of which are called Scuppernong, -- the
legitimate Scuppernong being a white grape, sweet
and large, and producing a wine said to resemble
somewhat in its luscious flavor the Malmsey
made on Mount Ida, in Candia.
The repairing of the outrigger detained me
until nearly noon of the next day, when the
canoe was got under way; but upon rowing off
the mouth of Coanjock Bay, only four miles from
Currituck Court House, a strong tempest arose
from the south, and observing an old
gentleman standing upon Bell Island Point, near his
cottage, beckoning me to come ashore, I obeyed,
and took refuge with my new acquaintance,
Captain Peter L. Tatum, proprietor of Bell Island.
"The war has left us without servants," said
the captain, as he presented me to his wife, "so
we make the best of it, and if you will accept
our hospitality we will make you comfortable."
Captain Tatum drew my attention to the flocks
of swans which dotted the waters in the offing,
and said: "It is hard work to get hold of a swan,
though they are a large bird, and abundant in
Currituck Sound. You must use a good rifle
to bring one down. After a strong norther has
been blowing, and the birds have worked well
into the bight of the bay, near Goose Castle Point,
if the wind shifts to the south suddenly, gunners
approach from the outside, and the birds
becoming cramped in the cove are shot as they rise
against the wind."
More than forty years ago old Currituck Inlet
closed, and the oysters on the natural beds, which
extended up North Landing River to Green
Point, were killed by the freshening of the
water. Now winds influence the tides which
enter at Oregon Inlet, about fifty-five miles
south of the Court House. The difference
between the highest and lowest tide at Currituck
Court House is three feet. The sound is filled
with sandy shoals, with here and there spots of
mud. The shells of the defunct oysters are
everywhere found mixed with the debris of the
bottom of the sound. This is a favorite locality
with northern sportsmen. The best "gunning
points," as is the case in Chesapeake Bay, are
owned by private parties, and cannot be used
by the public.
Thursday, the 10th of December, was cold,
and proved as tempestuous as the previous day;
but the wind had changed to the north, and I
embarked amid a swashy beam-sea, with the
hope of reaching Van Slyck's Landing at
Currituck Narrows. The norther, however, proved
too much for my safety. My course would be
easterly until I had passed the mouth of
Coanjock Bay and Goose Castle Point, then following
the trend of the west shore southerly down the
sound; but the wind raised such a rough sea
that I was obliged to turn southward into
Coanjock Bay, ascend it five miles, and seek for a
crossing-place overland to the sound again,
which I found near the entrance of the
lockless canal that is used by steamers to pass from
North Landing River to North River and
Albemarle Sound.
A fire was soon built, upon which I placed
long, light poles taken from the drift-wood, and
burning them in pieces of the required lengths,
(no axe being at hand,) I was prepared to make
the portage. Laying these pieces of wood on
the ground, I drew my canoe over them to the
shore of Currituck Sound; then, by making up
back-loads of the cargo, transported everything
to the point of embarkation, which was just
inside the mouth of a little creek.
The row to Currituck Narrows was not
difficult, as the north wind was a fair one. Along
the west shore of the sound there were many
little houses upon the high banks, and a
windmill supplied the place of a water-power for
grinding corn. The improvements made by Mr.
Van Slyck, of New York, were in cheering
contrast to what had been seen since leaving
Norfolk. Here a comfortable hotel welcomes the
northern sportsmen, few of whom, for lack of
accommodations and travelling conveniences, go
much south of this locality, in this state, to shoot
wild-fowl. Currituck Sound has an average
width of four miles. Its length is about
thirty-five miles. At the Narrows, a group of marshy
islands divides it into two sections, the northern
one being the longest.
The keen, cold air of the next day made
rowing a pleasant exercise. After passing through
the tortuous channel, I should have crossed to the
beach and followed it; but this part of the bay
is very shallow, and deeper water was found on
the west side. It was an enjoyable morning,
for gunners were passed, secreted behind their
"blinds," or pens, of pine brush, which looked like
little groves of conifera growing out of the shoal
water. Geese were honking and ducks were
quacking, while the deep booming of guns was
heard every few minutes. Decoy-birds were
anchored in many places near the marshes.
Every sportsman gave me a cheering word as
the canoe glided over the smooth water, while
here and there the violet-backed swallow
darted about over the marshes as though it were
summer.
When opposite Dew's Quarter Island, several
men hailed me from a newly constructed shanty.
When the oldest man in the company, who had
never seen a shell like the paper canoe, had
examined it, he shook his head ominously; and
when I told him Nag's Head must be reached
that day, he grew excited, exclaiming, "Then be
off now! now! Git across the bay under Bald
Beach as soon as ye can, and hug the shore, hug
it well clean down to Collington's, and git across
the sound afore the wind rises. Sich a boat as
that aren't fit for these here waters."
Taking this kindly meant advice, I pulled to
the east side, where there was now a good depth
of water for the canoe. On this high beach the
hills were well covered with yellow pines, many
of which were noble old trees. On a narrow
point of the shore was the comfortable house of
Hodges Gallup, the Baptist minister, a generous
old gentleman, who seemed to be loved by all
the watermen along the sound. He was
described as being "full of fun and hospitality."
His domain extended for several miles along
the beach, and, with deer quietly browsing in his
grand old woods, formed a pretty picture.
The beach shore now became more thickly
settled, while out in the water, a few rods from
each little house, arose the duck-blind, with the
gunner and his boat inside, anxiously watching
for birds, while their decoys floated quietly on
the surface of the water. A few miles below
Mr. Gallup's estate the canoe entered upon the
broad waters of Albemarle Sound, and at dusk I
approached Roanoke Island. The large
buildings of the hotels of Nag's Head on the beach
rose up as boldly to the eye as a fortification.
The little sound between Roanoke Island and
the beach was traversed at dusk as far as the first
long pier of Nag's head, upon which with great
difficulty I landed, and was soon joined by the
keeper of the now deserted summer watering
place, Mr. C. D. Rutter, who helped me to carry
my property into a room of the old hotel.
Nag's Head Beach is a most desolate locality,
with its high sand-hills, composed of fine sand,
the forms of which are constantly changing with
the action of the dry, hard, varying winds. A
new and very large hotel was located south of
the first one, and was inhabited by the family of
Captain Jasper Toler, who furnished me with
lodgings. A few fishermen have their homes on
this dreary beach, but the village, with its one
store, is a forlorn place.
The bright flashes of Body Island Light, ten
miles distant, on the north side of Oregon Inlet,
showed me my next abiding-place.
The beach from Nag's Head to Oregon Inlet
is destitute of trees, and the wind sweeps across
it, from the ocean to the sound, with great
violence, forcing the shallow waters to retire, and
leaving the bottom dry as far out as three miles.
The next day was very windy, and the long,
finger-like, sandy shoals, which extended one or
two miles out into the sound, were covered with
only from three to eight inches of water. I could
not hug the beach for protection, but was forced
to keep far out in the sound. Frequently it
became necessary to get overboard and wade,
pushing my boat before me. Then a deep channel
between the shoals would be crossed; so, by
walking and rowing in Roanoke Sound, with
the wind blowing the water over the canoe and
drenching its captain, the roundabout twelve
miles' passage to Oregon Inlet was at last
accomplished, and a most trying one it was.
Body Island Lighthouse was erected in 1872,
on the north side of Oregon Inlet, to take the
place of the old tower on the south shore. It is
in latitude 35 deg 48', and longitude 75 deg 33'.
Captain William F. Hatzel, a loyal North Carolinian,
is the principal keeper, and a most efficient one
he is.
The temperature was falling rapidly when I
crawled into the high rushes of the wet marsh
near the light-house to seek shelter from the
strong wind that was blowing. As this treeless
beach was destitute of fire-wood, or natural
shelter of any kind, necessity compelled me to have
recourse to other means for procuring them. I
carried in my pocket a talisman which must
open any light-keeper's door; from Maine to the
Rio Grande, from Southern California to Alaska,
even to the vicinity of the Arctic Circle, the
Lighthouse Establishment of the United States has
planted a tower or erected a light. While
shivering in wet clothes on this desolate beach, most
thankfully did I remember that kind and thoughtful
friend, who through his potent influence had
supplied me with this open sesame to
lightkeepers.
There resides in Washington, when not
engaged elsewhere in the important duties of the
Commission of Fisheries, a genial gentleman, an
ardent naturalist, a great scientist. To him the
young naturalists of America turn for information
and advice, and to the humblest applicant
Professor Spencer F. Baird never turns a deaf ear.
How this distinguished author can attend to so
many and such varied duties with his laborious
investigations, and can so successfully keep up a
large correspondence with perhaps one thousand
scientific associations of nearly every nation of
the universe, is a difficult thing to imagine; but
the popular and much beloved Assistant
Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, seemingly
ubiquitous in his busy life, does all this and much
more. America may well feel proud of this man
of noble nature, shedding light and truth
wheresoever he moves, encouraging alike old and
young with his kindly sympathy; -- now taking
his precious moments to answer with his own
busy hand the question in the letter of some boy
naturalist about beasts, birds, reptiles, or fishes,
with which epistles his desk is always covered;
now stimulating to further effort the old man of
science as he struggles with the cares of this
world, striving, sometimes vainly, save for this
ever ready aid, to work out patiently theories
which are soon to blaze forth as substantial facts.
The young generation of naturalists, which is
soon to fill the place of their predecessors, have
in this man the type of all they need ever strive
to attain. How many, alas, will fall far short
of it!
Since boyhood the counsels of this friend had
guided me on many a journey of exploration.
He had not deserted me even in this experiment,
which my friends called "your wildest and most
foolish undertaking." He had obtained from the
Light House Board a general letter to the
lightkeepers of the United States, signed by the
naval secretary, Mr. Walker, in which the
keepers were authorized to grant me shelter, &c.,
when necessary. I did not have occasion to use
this letter more than twice during my journey.
Having secreted my canoe in the coarse grass
of the lowland, I trudged, with my letter in hand,
over the sands to the house of the light-keeper,
Captain Hatzel, who received me cordially; and
after recording in his log-book the circumstances
and date of my arrival, conducted me into a
comfortable room, which was warmed by a
cheerful fire, and lighted up by the smiles of his
most orderly wife. Everything showed
discipline and neatness, both in the house and the
light-tower. The whitest of cloths was spread
upon the table, and covered with a well-cooked
meal; then the father, mother, and two sons,
with the stranger within their gates, thanked the
Giver of good gifts for his mercies.
Joining the night-watch of the chief
lightkeeper, I also joined in the good man's
enthusiasm for his wonderful "fixed white light," the
bright beams of which poured out upon the
surrounding waters a flood if brilliancy, gladdening
hearts far out at sea, even though twenty miles
away, and plainly saying, "This is Body Island
Beach: keep off!" How grand it was to walk
out on this gallery in the sky! Looking
eastward, a limitless expanse of ocean; gazing
westward, the waters of the great sound, the shores
of which were low marshes miles away. Below
me could be heard the soft cackle of the
snow-goose (Anser hyperboreus), which had left its
nesting-place on the barren grounds of arctic
America, and was now feeding contentedly in its
winter home in the shallow salt-ponds; which the
gentle shur-r-r- of the waves softly broke on
the strand. Above, the star-lit heavens, whose
tender beauty seemed almost within my grasp.
Perched thus upon a single shaft, on a narrow
strip of sand far out in the great water, the many
thoughts born of solitude crowded my mind,
when my reverie was abruptly broken by an
exclamation from Captain Hatzel, who threw
open the door, and exclaimed, with beaming
eyes peering into the darkness as he spoke, "I
see it! Yes, it is! Hatteras Light, thirty-five
miles away. This night, December 13th, is the
first time I have caught its flash. Tell it to the
Hatteras keeper when you visit the cape."
From Captain Hatzel I gleaned some facts of
deep interest in regard to the inhabitants of the
sound. Some of them, he told me, had Indian
blood in their veins; and to prove the truth of his
assertion he handed me a well-worn copy of the
"History of North Carolina," by Dr. Francis L.
Hawks, D. D. From this I obtained facts which
might serve for the intricate mazes of a romance.
It had been a pet scheme with Sir Walter
Raleigh to colonize the coast of North Carolina,
then known as Virginia, and though several
expeditions had been sent out for that object, each
had failed of successful issue. One of these
expeditions sent by Sir Walter to Roanoke
Island consisted of one hundred and twenty-one
persons, of whom seventeen were women and
six children. Of all these souls only two men
returned to the old country, the fate of the
remainder being unknown, and shrouded in the
gloom which always attends mystery. England
did not, however, leave her children to perish on
a barren shore in the new land without at least an
effort to succor them.
On March 20, in the year 1590, there sailed
from Plymouth three ships, the Hopewell, John
Evangelist, and Little John, taking in tow two
shallops which were afterwards lost at sea. In
these days the largest vessels of a fleet did not
exceed one hundred to one hundred and forty
tons burden. This expedition was under the
charge of Admiral John White, governor of the
colony of Sir Walter Raleigh on Roanoke Island,
and who had left the feeble band on the island
in 1587. In thirty-six days and eight hours these
small vessels arrived off "Hatorask" -- Hatteras
Beach. The fleet dropped anchor three leagues
off the beach, and sent a well-manned boat
through an inlet to Pamplico Sound.
There existed in those days passages from the
ocean through the beaches into the sounds,
which have since been filled up by the action
of the sea. Old Roanoke Inlet, now closed,
which was about four miles north of the
modern Oregon Inlet, is supposed to be the one used
by Sir Walter Raleigh's expeditions. It is only
four miles from the site of this closed inlet to
Shallowbag Bay, on Roanoke Island. At the
southern entrance of the bay, near Ballast Point,
some vessel evidently grounded and threw
overboard her stone ballast; hence the name of the
point. Captain Hatzel has examined this stone,
and gives his opinion, as an old pilot, that it is
foreign in character. He never met with similar
stones, and believes that this ballast was
deposited at Shallowbag Bay by some of the vessels
of Sir Walter's expeditions.
As the boat's crew above mentioned rowed
northward to Roanoke Island -- made famous
two hundred and seventy-two years later by
the National and Confederate struggles -- they
sounded their trumpets and sang familiar songs,
which they hoped might be borne to their
countrymen on the shore; but the marshes and
upland wilderness returned no answering voice.
At daybreak the explorers landed upon
Roanoke Island, which is twelve miles long by two
and a half wide, and found the spot where
Admiral White had left the colony in 1587.
Eagerly searching for any tokens of the lost ones, they
soon traced in the light soil of the island the
imprint of the moccasin of the savage, but
looked in vain for any footprint of civilized
man. What had become of their countrymen?
At last some one spied a conspicuous tree,
far up on a sandy bank, blazed and carved.
There were but three letters cut upon it, C.R.O.,
but these simple symbols possessed a world of
meaning. Three years before, when the sad
farewells were being spoken, and the ships were
ready to set sail for England, this feeble band, left
to struggle in the wilds of the new land with sad
forebodings of their possible fate, had agreed
upon a signal, and had promised Admiral White
that if driven to starvation upon the island, they
would plant their colony fifty miles inland, near
a tribe of friendly Indians. Indeed, before the
ships sailed for England, they were making
preparations for this move. Admiral White requested
them to carve upon a tree the name of the
locality to which they should remove, and if distress
had overtaken them they were to add a cross
over the lettering. Anxiously gathering round
this interesting relic of the lost Englishmen, the
rude chirography was eagerly scanned, but no
vestige of a cross was found.
Much relieved in mind, the little company
continued their investigations, when, farther on,
almost in their very pathway, there rose a noble
tree, pointing its top heavenward, as though to
remind them in whose care their lost ones had
been. Approaching this giant, who had stood
a silent sentinel through winter storms and
summer skies, they found he bore upon his body
a message for them. Stripped of its bark, five
feet upward from the ground there appeared
upon the bare surface in bold lettering the word
so full of hope -- Croatan; and now also, as in
the last case, without the graven cross. Cheered
by these signs, and believing that the lost
colonists had carried out their early intentions, and
were now located among the friendly tribe of
Croatans, wheresoever their country might be,
the boat's company decided to go at once to the
ships, and return the next day in search of the
lost colony.
One of the ships, in moving its position from
the unprotected anchorage-ground, parted its
cable and left an anchor on the bottom -- the
second that had been lost. The wind drove the
ships towards the beach, when a third anchor
was lowered; but it held the little fleet so
close in to the breakers, that the sailors were
forced to slip their cable and work into a
channel-way, where, in deeper water, they held their
ground.
In debating the propriety of holding on and
attempting to wear out the gale, the scarcity of
their provisions, and the possession of but one
cask of water, and only one anchor for the fleet
to ride at, decided them to go southward in quest
of some favorable landing, where water could be
found. The council held out the hope of
capturing Spanish vessels in the vicinity of the
West Indies; and it was agreed that, if
successful they should return, richly laden with spoil,
to seek their exiled countrymen. One of these
vessels returned to England, while the Admiral
laid his course for Trinidad; and this was the
last attempt made to find the colonists.
More than a century after Admiral White had
abandoned his colony, Lawson, in writing about
the Hatteras Indians, says: "They said that
several of their ancestors were white people, and
could talk in a book as we do; the truth of
which is confirmed by grey eyes being frequently
found among them, and no others. They value
themselves extremely for their affinity to the
English, and are ready to do them all friendly
offices. It is probable that the settlement
miscarried for want of supplies from England, or
through the treachery of the natives; for we
may reasonably suppose that the English were
forced to cohabit with them for relief and
conversation, and that in process of time they
conformed themselves to the manners of their
Indian relations."
Dr. Hawks thinks, "that, driven by starvation,
such as survived the famine were merged into
the tribes of friendly Indians at Croatan, and,
alas! lost ere long every vestige of Christianity
and civilization; and those who came to shed
light on the darkness of paganism, in the
mysterious providence of God ended by relapsing
themselves into the heathenism they came to
remove. It is a sad picture of poor human
nature."
It needed not the fierce gusts of wind that
howled about the tall tower, causing it to vibrate
until water would be spilled out of a pail resting
upon the floor of the lantern, blowing one day
from one quarter of the compass, and changing
the next to another, to warn me that I was near
the Cape of Storms.
Refusing to continue longer with my new
friends, the canoe was put into the water on the
16th, and Captain Hatzel's two sons proceeded
in advance with a strong boat to break a
channelway through the thin ice which had formed in
the quiet coves. We were soon out in the sound,
where the boys left me, and I rowed out of the
southern end of Roanoke and entered upon the
wide area of Pamplico Sound. To avoid shoals,
it being calm, I kept about three miles from the
beach in three feet of water, until beyond Duck
Island, when the trees on Roanoke Island slowly
sank below the horizon; then gradually drawing
in to the beach, the two clumps of trees of north
and south Chicamicomio came into view. A
life-saving station had recently been erected
north of the first grove, and there is another
fourteen miles further south. The two
Chicamicomio settlements of scattered houses are
each nearly a mile in length, and are separated
by a high, bald sand-beach of about the same
length, which was once heavily wooded; but the
wind has blown the sand into the forest and
destroyed it. A wind-mill in each village raised
its weird arms to the breeze.
Three miles further down is Kitty Midget's
Hammock, where a few red cedars and some
remains of live-oaks tell of the extensive forest
that once covered the beach. Here Captain
Abraham Hooper lives, and occupies himself in
fishing with nets in the ocean for blue-fish, which
are salted down and sent to the inland towns for
a market. I had drawn my boat into the sedge
to secure a night's shelter, when the old captain
on his rounds captured me. The change from a
bed in the damp sedge to the inside seat of the
largest fireplace I had ever beheld, was indeed
a pleasant one. Its inviting front covered almost
one side of the room. While the fire flashed up
the wide chimney, I sat inside the fireplace with
the three children of my host, and enjoyed the
genial glow which arose from the fragments of
the wreck of a vessel which had pounded
herself to death upon the strand near Kitty Midget's
Hammock. How curiously those white-haired
children watched the man who had come so far
in a paper boat! "Why did not the paper boat
soak to pieces?" they asked. Each explanation
seemed but to puzzle them the more; and I
found myself in much the same condition of
mind when trying to make some discoveries
concerning Kitty Midget. She must, however,
have lived somewhere on Clark's Beach long
before the present proprietor was born. We
spent the next day fishing with nets in the surf
for blue-fish, it being about the last day of
their stay in that vicinity. They go south as
far as Cape Hatteras, and then disappear in deep
water; while the great flocks of gulls, that
accompany them to gather the remnants of fish
they scatter in their savage meals, rise in the air
and fly rapidly away in search of other dainties.
On Thursday I set out for Cape Hatteras.
The old sailor's song, that -
"Hatteras has a blow in store
For those who pass her howling door,"
has far more truth than poetry in it. Before
proceeding far the wind blew a tempest, when a
young fisherman in his sailboat bore down upon
me, and begged me to come on board. We
attempted to tow the canoe astern, but she filled
with water, which obliged us to take her on
board. As we flew along before the wind,
dashing over the shoals with mad-cap temerity,
I discovered that my new acquaintance, Burnett,
was a most daring as well as reckless sailor.
He told me how he had capsized his father's
schooner by carrying sail too long. "This 'ere
slow way of doing things" he detested. His
recital was characteristic of the man.
"You see, sir, we was bound for Newbern
up the Neuse River, and as we were well into
the sound with all sail set, and travelling along
lively, daddy says, 'Lorenzo, I reckon a little
yaupon wouldn't hurt me, so I'll go below and
start a firs under the kittle.' Do as you likes,
daddy,' sez I. So down below he goes, and I
takes command of the schooner. A big black
squall soon come over Cape Hatteras from the
Gulf Stream, and it did look like a screecher.
Now, I thought, old woman, I'll make your sides
ache; so I pinted her at it, and afore I could luff
her up in the wind, the squall kreened her on to
her beam-ends. You'd a laughed to have split
yourself, mister, if you could have seen daddy
a-crawling out of the companion-way while the
water was a-running down stairs like a crick.
Says he, ruther hurriedly, 'Sonny, what's up?'
It isn't what's up, daddy; but what's down,'
sez I; it sort o' looks as if we had capsized.'
Sure 'nuff,' answered dad, as the ballast shifted
and the schooner rolled over keel uppermost.
We floundered about like porpoises, but managed
to get astride her backbone, when dad looked
kind of scornfully at me, and burst out with,
'Sonny, do you call yourself a keerful sailor?'
'Keerful enough, dad,' sez I, 'for a smart one.
It's more credit to a man to drive his vessel like
a sailor, than to be crawling and bobbing along
like a diamond-backed terrapin.' Now, stranger,
if you'll believe me, that keerful old father of
mine would never let me take the helum again,
so I sticks to my aunt at the cape."
I found that the boat in which we were sailing
was a dug-out, made from two immense cypress
logs. Larger boats than this are made of three
logs, and smaller ones are dug out of one.
Burnett told me that frame boats were so easily
pounded to pieces on the shoals, that dug-outs
were preferred -- being very durable. We soon
passed the hamlet of North Kinnakeet, then
Scarsborough with its low houses, then South
Kinnakeet with its two wind-mills, and after
these arose a sterile, bald beach with Hatteras
light-tower piercing the sky, and west of it
Hatteras woods and marshes. We approached the
low shore and ascended a little creek, where
we left our boats, and repaired to the cottage
of Burnett's aunt.
After the barren shores I had passed, this
little house, imbedded in living green, was like
a bright star in a dark night. It was hidden
away in a heavy thicket of live-oaks and cedars,
and surrounded by yaupons, the bright red
berries of which glistened against the light green
leaves. An old woman stood in the doorway
with a kindly greeting for her "wild boy,"
rejoicing the while that he had "got back to his
old aunty once more."
"Yes, aunty," said my friend Lorenzo, "I am
back again like a bad penny, but not
empty-handed; for as soon as our season's catch of
blue-fish is sold, old aunty will have sixty or
seventy dollars."
"He has a good heart, if he is so head-strong,"
whispered the motherly woman, as she wiped a
tear from her eyes, and gazed with pride upon
the manly-looking young fellow, and -- invited
us in to tea -- YAUPON.