FROM NORFOLK TO CAPE HATTERAS.
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.
[Illustration: From Norfolk, Virginia, to Bogue Inlet, North Carolina.
Route of Paper Canoe MARIA THERESA From Norfolk, Va. to
Bogue Inlet, N.C. Followed by N. H. Bishop in 1874
_Copyright, 1878 by Lee & Shepard_]
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 the 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
_yerba-mate_, 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 kind-hearted, 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 row-lock 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 wind-mill 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 Light House 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, wherever the Light-house 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 light-keepers.
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
light-keepers 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 light-keeper, 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 of
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; while 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 those 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 spoils, 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 channel-way 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 Chicamicomico 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 Chicamicomico
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 fire 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.
[Illustration: BODY ISLAND LIGHT-HOUSE.]