After Entering The South-Side Swash, The
Wind Struck Me On The Back, And Seas Came
Tumbling Over And Around The Boat, Fairly Forcing Me
On To The Beach.
As we flew along, the
tumultuous waters made my head swim; so, to
prevent mental confusion, I kept my eyes only upon
the oars, which, strange to say, never betrayed
me into a false stroke.
As a heavy blast beat down the raging sea for
a moment, I looked over my shoulder and
beheld the low, sandy dunes of the southern shore
of the inlet close at hand, and with a severe jolt
the canoe grounded high on the strand. I
leaped out and drew my precious craft away
from the tide, breathing a prayer of thankfulness
for my escape from danger, and mentally vowing
that the canoe should cross all other treacherous
inlets in a fisherman's sloop. I went into camp
in a hollow of the beach, where the sand-hills
protected me from the piercing wind. All that
afternoon I watched from my burrow in the
ground the raging of the elements, and towards
evening was pleased to note a general subsidence
of wind and sea.
The canoe was again put into the water and
the thoroughfare followed southward for a mile
or two, when the short day ended, leaving me
beside a marshy island, which was fringed with
an oyster-bed of sharp-beaked bivalves.
Stepping overboard in the mud and water, the oars
and paddle were laid upon the shell reef to
protect the canoe, which was dragged on to the
marsh. It grew colder as the wind died out.
The marsh was wet, and no fire-wood could be
found. The canvas cover was removed, the cargo
was piled up on a platform of oars and shells to
secure it from the next tide, and then I slowly
and laboriously packed myself away in the narrow
shell for the night. The canvas deck-cover
was buttoned in its place, a rubber blanket
covered the cockpit, and I tried to sleep and dream
that I was not a sardine, nor securely confined in
some inhospitable vault. It was impossible to
turn over without unbuttoning one side of the
deck-cover and going through contortions that
would have done credit to a first-class acrobat.
For the first time in my life I found it necessary
to get out of bed in order to turn over in it.
At midnight, mallards (Anas boschas) came
close to the marsh. The soft whagh of the
drake, which is not in this species blessed with
the loud quack of the female bird, sufficiently
established the identity of the duck. Then
muskrats, and the oyster-eating coon, came
round, no doubt scenting my provisions. Brisk
raps from my knuckles on the inside shell of the
canoe astonished these animals and aroused their
curiosity, for they annoyed me until daybreak.
When I emerged from my narrow bed, the
frosty air struck my cheeks, and the cold, wet
marsh chilled my feet. It was the delay at
Watchapreague Inlet that had lodged me on this
inhospitable marsh; so, trying to exercise my
poor stock of patience, I completed my toilet,
shaking in my wet shoes. The icy water, into
which I stepped ankle-deep in order to launch
my canoe, reminded me that this wintry morning
was in fact the first day of December, and that
stormy Hatteras, south of which was to be found
a milder climate, was still a long way off.
The brisk row along Paramore's Island (called
Palmer's by the natives) to the wide, bay-like
entrance of Little Machipongo Inlet, restored
warmth to my benumbed limbs. This wide
doorway of the ocean permitted me to cross its
west portal in peace, for the day was calm.
From Little to Great Machipongo Inlet the
beach is called Hog Island. The inside
thoroughfare is bounded on the west by Rogue's
Island, out of the flats of which rose a solitary
house. At the southern end of Hog Island
there is a small store on a creek, and near the
beach a light-house, while a little inland is
located, within a forest of pines, a small
settlement.
At noon, Great Machipongo Inlet was crossed
without danger, and Cobb's Island was skirted
several miles to Sand Shoal Inlet, near which
the hotel of the three Cobb brothers rose
cheerfully out of the dreary waste of sands and
marshes. The father of the present proprietors
came to this island more than thirty years ago,
and took possession of this domain, which had
been thrown up by the action of the ocean's
waves. He refused an offer of one hundred
thousand dollars for the island. The locality is
one of the best on this coast for wild-fowl
shooting. Sand Shoal Inlet, at the southern end of
Cobb's Island, has a depth of twelve feet of
water on its bar at low tide.
In company with the regular row-boat ferry I
crossed, the next day, the broad bay to the
mainland eight miles distant, where the canoe was
put upon a cart and taken across the peninsula
five miles to Cherrystone, the only point near
Cape Charles at which a Norfolk steamer stopped
for passengers. It was fully forty miles across
Chesapeake Bay from Cherrystone Landing to
Norfolk, and it was imperative to make the
portage from this place instead of from Cape Charles,
which, though more than fifteen miles further
south, and nearer to my starting-point on the
other side, did not possess facilities for
transportation. The slow one-horse conveyance arrived
at Cherrystone half an hour after the steamer
N. P. Banks had left the landing, though I
heard that the kind-hearted captain, being told
I was coming, waited and whistled for me till
his patience was exhausted.
The only house at the head of the pier was
owned by Mr. J. P. Powers, and fortunately
offered hotel accommodations.
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