Part 3

_November 19th._ Comes calm and as pretty as a picture. Found us anchored in a snug little harbor and surrounded by busy oystermen. Fried oysters for breakfast, and we took our time, so that it was 11 o’clock before we tripped our hook and started for Norfolk only 18 miles away. There’s where we just missed it for the wind hauled E. S. E. and gave it to us right in the eye with a mean, short, little hubble-bubble that old Mascot found it particularly hard to negotiate. A miserable little sloop-rigged dugout manned by three niggers gave me the beating of my life. She was about 30 ft. long and slid through that chop as if greased. I still held to my reef and with launch in tow made slow but mighty comfortable going. Worked the shore down to Old Point Comfort but taking a strong ebb tide there we had to get whole sail on her and seriously work our passage up Hampton Roads where “Lay the Cumberland Sloop of war.” The wind failed as the sun went down and night found us seeking some little quiet corner in the big, busy harbor of Norfolk which was crowded with barges and schooners waiting cargoes. I counted seven five-masters and one six-master. Henry towed awhile, but we got aground and then a little night air springing up we slowly worked her up past the wharves to a quiet little berth among some other small craft. We are 35 days from Potomska and count up just 21 sailing days. We must stop here and fix up for a day or two sure.

_November 20th to November 26th._ At anchor Norfolk. Most of the time put in while running back and forth to our meals ashore. We did finally complete the cover to the launch and get a new quarter cleat bolted down. We were a trifle fine in spots, and I made H. spend a day by himself which did him good. We passed a day inspecting terminus of Virginia R. R. and one afternoon we actually loafed an hour or two on board. We met two young fellows who were bound to New Orleans in a 26 ft. launch and writing up a story of their trip for publication in the Motor World. Their boat was the most complete mess I ever saw. Their photo outfit took up most all available space, and what was left held a typewriter in a big box. Four gallons of water in two little stone jugs was all the wet goods carried. When they arrived they brought the remains of a canopy top which had blown off one day in the Bay. They seemed happy enough, however, and spent an evening on board and took a picture of “Scotty.” The Mascot with all the room pleased them much.

[Sidenote: Map C.]

_November 26th._ I turned out at 5, but that crew of mine has no ambition, and it took half an hour to get him out of his blankets. The morning was bitter cold and it was mufflers and mitties once more. We breakfasted and after filling water tanks at wharf we tucked the launch under stern and were away up the south branch of Elizabeth River. Past the docks, ferry boats, tugs, barges and stuff. Then the big navy yard and through railroad bridges and at last the river and the pines. How good it all looked. We were mighty tired of that old harbor with its shrieking whistles and uneasy waters. The river wound and twisted along until it fetched us up near noon at the entrance and first and only lock of the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal. Here we were mulct $7.50 for getting dropped about 2 ft., but somehow that little drop seemed to separate us entirely from the north and launch us into Dixie waters. The sun was out bright and warm. The air a misty blue from smoke drifting over from big fires in Dismal Swamp. The canal stretched straight away a bright blue line framed in the greens and browns of the bank. Oh! it was all so beautiful, so calmly peaceful and still. We tied to a grape vine and muzzled all four feet right into a great oyster stew and then away on our long road of color. The swamp lonesome, dreary, fascinating, stretched on either side as far as we could see. Dore might have come here to sketch some of his great, gaunt, tree trunks. What can people be made of to talk of these canals as tiresome bits of the southern journey, to be endured and gotten over as quickly as possible. This half day paid for the effort gone before. And as the day wore on it grew always wilder, more beautiful. The dark green of holly, the blue green of the great, long leaved pine, and the browns and yellows of leaf and grasses growing full to the water’s edge. It was a sacrilege to break such stillness with a motor, but we committed it. Three big, bald headed eagles and a few hawks were the only live things we saw. The afternoon wore on. All the wind died and the shadows crept across the stream, while the sun, a big red fire ball dropped behind the pines and it was night quick, quick. The little chain rattled and we were soon swinging quietly at anchor. I had to give Scotty a talking to. No sooner was anchor down than she wanted to go ashore and see the wild cats, but I took her on my knee and said “Non, mon pauvre petit mimi, tu ne peut pas aller chez les chats sauvages. Sois sage et reste tranquille avec nous.” This calmed her at once. I was a bit scared because she had a fit yesterday and honestly I never saw a little cabin so full of one cat before. If she has another, we leave the ship even here in Dismal Swamp. So with cheese fondue and lots of toast for supper, thus ends a mighty fine day and we turned in to the sound of the hoot of an old owl. We turned out again mighty quick, however, to the hail of “What in hell is that?”, to find a river steamer close aboard. No sooner was he safely past than down stream came a tug and the whoppingest, biggest barge. As they swung round the bend the barge just missed us, and the captain from seemingly the top of a mountain shouted “Youse all better move away or some of us all will be running over youse.” We moved all right and promptly.

_November 27th._ Warm cabin all night. Snug and comfy. I turned out 5:30 and found everything white with frost. Kicked H. out after much labor. Fear me he will never have any ambition. His circulation is like that of the Boston Common. Heavy mist over all. The sun up a silver ball and everything bright and sparkling like a Christmas Tree. Fine breakfast with a new feature called Bologna a la Mascot. Here it is. Beat eggs and add little English mustard. Dip thin slices of Bologna and roll in cracker crumbs. Fry in drip fat. Serve on toast with sauce made by adding cream to beaten egg. Try it. I invented it when tending fire at 2 a.m. From companionway we can watch a great bald head eagle on top of an old dead tree. He is a buster and his white head glistens in the sun. Off by nine with the night mists rising from the marshes and the dark pine coming into sight. Past Pungo Ferry, a good name for a lonely spot. Then on into North Landing River. The sun soon brightly warm and we were comfortable in shirt-sleeves. A mighty sudden and pleasant change from early morning. The whole scene was so charmingly beautiful that it was hard to leave deck and go to cooking. Creamed oysters on toast paid, however, for the trouble.

While H. was eating lunch, we came out into the upper reaches of Currituck Sound. Through the glasses I made out some queer looking white spots on the perfectly calm water and by gum! they turned out to be a flock of more than one hundred swan. America’s biggest game bird and the first we had ever seen. Sort of made my insides creep just as it does to see a noted snow mountain for the first time. We began to see ducks now, thousands of them, but all pretty shy. Henry bagged a blue-nosed pig at the fourth shot with Helen. No law on pigs. We triced him to the rigging and crew returned to ordinary ship’s duties. Across head of Currituck and into a little canal cut right through the piney woods. Afternoon was getting on. The reflections of the pines reached from either bank and down the middle lay a pathway of silver for our little boat. I hope my two photos may bring the scene back to mind. I could think only of that picture “The Isle of the Blessed” with its cypress trees. So on and on until night threatened and we slowly felt our way into a little creek near mouth of North River, and while H. was busy with the launch, I tackled the dinner of roast pork, baked white and sweet potatoes and applesauce. Thus ends another perfect cruising day. Barometer tended up and we turned in with cloudy sky and variable northerly airs. Didn’t like the looks much and if bound round Cape Cod would have stayed at Vineyard Haven.

_November 28th._ Thanksgiving. Started prompt on time with smartish breeze true N. E. Turned out at 3:30 and gave her more chain and saw all right. Barometer on the roller coaster. By 5 things were doing and by 6 it was blowing 60 miles and snowing hard. We were perfectly protected up our little creek and luckily swung in enough water to float us although the bank was precious close. H. a bit nervous about drifting ashore at first, but soon got accustomed to the sing of things. He thinks yachting with father is great, but doesn’t care for the snow. Stove drew so hard it nearly took Scotty right through the grate and we had to wrap the Gloucester head with canvas to save the coal. Flapjacks for breakfast and coffee strong enough to carry out the big anchor. Everything covered with snow. The trunks of the pines at edge of forest all snow-white like birches. H. thinks the warm cabin pretty good, but when I suggested it was a fair wind and we might as well tie her down and get along, he said he would take his chance in the launch and go live with the Piney Woods people first. Afraid he has no heart for the game. Got out my fiddle and H. his flute, and we had it back and forth to the tune of “Eight Hands Around and Ladies Change.”

Lunched lightly in preparation of Thanksgiving feast to come. Barometer turned up, thermometer turned down and wind hauled by west with breaking cloud and a fearful scream of wind and flurry of snow. I knew this storm would come, and I have been driving south hard in consequence. Here it matters little for the cold doesn’t last many days in succession and we are all ready for it. I am anxious about our two boy friends in the little launch, for it was a tricky day yesterday and might well have caught any man with a lee shore aboard this morning. It was touch and go whether I crept in here or anchored in the open.

Made a mince pie. It looked all right. Put on macaroni to boil and then muffled all up in oilers and mitties and went up the little creek in the launch for a breath of air and to get a picture of the piney woods with tree trunks white with snow. Found a little gill net across the stream and in it a hell-diver all but strangled. Cut him loose and let him go. When we got back to Mascot we found a nice pickerel in the bottom of the boat. Must have jumped in upstream. Macaroni all but boiled out. Just saved it. Fixed it up with cracker crumbs and cheese. Roasted a fine, big chicken. Baked sweet and white potatoes. Had delicious raw oysters in cocktail sauce and while night shut in still, cold and clear, we muzzled into it all and didn’t forget absent friends, although I did forget a pint of “champagne wasser” which I had meant to get at Norfolk. Everything iced down on deck as we turned in. Wouldn’t be much surprised to find ourselves pinched by the morning. Hopes not.

_Friday, November 29th._ Comes clear as a bell and mighty cold. Henry showed mighty little enthusiasm about bailing launch. Boat pretty well iced up, and 100 yds. up creek was my good old enemy, new ice. Away by nine with dead calm and launch tucked astern. The sun got up and such a change. Off mitties and mufflers, coats and even jackets. With eyes shut you might picture yourself on a hillside back of Mentone. Out of the North River and out into Albemarle Sound so dazzling bright in that southern sun. Swans, swans, lots of them, and to see them made my stomach crinkly again. Very few ducks, and Helen Keller could add nothing to the larder. Don’t need anything. Never saw so many things to eat on a little boat before. For lunch there was cold roast chicken and pork, oyster cocktails, applesauce flicked up with raisins, mince pie and cranberry sauce. Can you beat it? Something must be done or we won’t have any hardships to boast of. They may come. There’s lots of time. I looked at Henry’s log yesterday and found the following: “Heavy north east gale with driving snow and awful cold. Father crazy and playing the fiddle.” Now what do you make of that after all I’ve done for him? Across Albemarle Sound with power helped out by sail and light westerly airs. Just before reaching the water to westward of Roanoke Is. we spied a familiar-looking little launch astern and it turned out to be our old friends, husband and wife, still pegging away on the hunt to Florida. Then the breeze drew right out south and chopped up water so that we had to put launch in tow. While beating slowly along we sighted another little launch and were soon passed by _Querida II_ and two boy friends from Norfolk. All this meeting and passing of boats bound on same quest adds much to the interest. Not such good fun today to see the little wretches work up to harbor 6 miles away right in the wind’s eye and leave us slip-slopping about. Sun was nearly set when wind and sea dropped and we again started launch and headed for the harbor, too. This harbor, Roanoke Marshes, is a little creek in back of Roanoke Light and the creek makes into the marshes. Night fell quickly and we were soon cruising along a low, black shore line without sign of light to guide us. No more use than nothing, so after running into numerous fish traps we over yank and called it enough. Our gasoline is running mighty low for we have had no wind since leaving Norfolk. More than 100 miles from here to Beaufort and few if any places to get any. Gosh! but it is an awful long ways to anywhere in these parts. The water is as muddy as pea soup, and looks like it. When the lead gives you 12 ft. you know you are in the channel.

_November 30th._ Last night came cold, and that boy Henry shut the cabin up tight and I woke about midnight gasping. Morning came and found us 200 yds. from mouth of creek, but it was a blind little hole even by daylight. Everywhere around us were fish traps. A forest of poles and nets. Don’t see how we missed getting bungled up. H. ran into the creek in search of gasoline and kerosene, but returned with word that everybody was shorter than we were and envied us our sail power. Old Mascot seems like a great unwieldy ship in these thin waters and light airs. Off by 9 and picked our way among the fish traps to Stumpy Point Bay about 10 miles where it was reported there was gasoline. We are at anchor there now as I write. We touched the high spots all right coming in, but why not with 3 ft. of water. The beautiful warm sun is flooding the cabin and did it not happen each day we couldn’t believe that we would shiver with cold by 6 p.m. Stumpy Point Village looks interesting and consists of a few shanties lining the desolate shore of a little bay about a mile wide. What for the village? I don’t know. We will find out and I think loaf out the day after eating boiled striped bass fresh from a net this morning. Anchor hardly over in 4 ft. of water when we were boarded by W. A. Best, typical southerner of the coast. He wanted magazines and we were sorry to find ourselves without a one. Pitiful, this cry for reading. We are 60 miles from nearest railroad. Hospitable no name for it. Wouldn’t we go ashore and stay at his house? He would see that everything that Stumpy Point had was ours and the more he talked, the greater the attractions seemed. Ducks and geese everywhere. Deer and bear in the woods. We must go after grey squirrels in the afternoon with him. This we did and never saw a squirrel, but we did see virgin forest of cypress, gum and maple, a magnificent sight soon to be seen hereaway no more. Best took us to his house, a little shanty like the rest of those in Stumpy Point. He showed us into the parlor and there on the floor, with an old quilt under her, lay his wife. She never moved as we entered and at first I thought she was a deader. Best explained casually that she had a fever and cold and headache and had been _ailing_ for several days. Three little boys were playing in the room and an air-tight stove was making merry. For true misery you couldn’t beat it much. All Stumpy Point knows we are here and this evening it was hard to get away from the grocery store where the village had collected to see and hear us. We were most cordially invited to attend divine services to-morrow, and I think we will do it. The whole little village depends upon about 3 months’ shad fishing in the spring and for the rest of the year just exists. Mail comes and goes twice a week by steamer when the steamer comes. The water in the sound, for we are now in Pamlico, goes in and out according to the direction of wind and just now it seems to be going out, for to-night we are aground and we may be here several days to come. We like Stumpy Point and are quite happy, but how to refuse the hospitality offered and not offend, that’s the difficulty. The dish of cold, fat pork and potatoes that we had to sit down to at Best’s this afternoon makes me shudder now. Night comes with glass jumping to 30.4 and an ugly looking mist hanging to the southward. Symptoms like those before the gale of a few days since. Hopes not.

_December 1st._ Comes cloudy light airs N. E. Put in the morning at letter writing and entertaining callers. The good people come on board and just set and set. After lunch we poseyed all up and went on shore to Sunday school. Mrs. Best had a 6 months’ baby last night and was not receiving to-day. I guess the Sunday school was a Baptist affair. It was all right anyway, and the whole village turned out for it. The community is mighty interesting. No niggers allowed, no rum drunk and not a cuss word heard. The men and boys a fine, clean looking set, but the women tired and worn. No sooner back to the boat when more visitors. A man with 200 lb. wife with one eye and two children. Then another man. The 200 lbs. came below and “nussed” the baby while I cooked supper and they all stayed while we ate it, watching our every move. They are bound not to let us go, and I fear will put a seine round us if we don’t get away to-morrow.

Scotty stole carcass of duck right off the table while we were at supper. Would have made a get-a-way had I not caught her by the tail. Never a smile from a single visitor. The strain is too awful. We must flee and hope to do it before we make some dreadful social bull, for pride and sensitiveness are what these people live on besides ducks.

_December 2nd._ Comes kind of sort of chill southerly, squally looking sky and very thin airs with slowly falling glass. H. went on shore before breakfast and returned with gasoline and two live roosters. What do you think of that? I bought some oysters and last evening H. raked some with crab net from the boat so we feel again provisioned. If we stay another night H. must accept invitation to do society so it is up yank and away by 9.

Launch pulled us a mile or two when light airs S. W. chopped up the sea and we made sail. Wind dead ahead and it was mighty slow footing in the short swash. Awful good to be under sail once more and we had a harbor not far away. Out to Long Shoal Light and then with eased sheets and freshening breeze a good hour’s run to the mouth of Pain’s Bay which we entered and put hook down in 6 ft. water. We sailed about 16 miles but are only 8 miles nearer the palm trees. Chickens looked so miserable tied by the legs that we set them going tied by one leg to each other and as I write they are peacefully going to roost with many a contented cluck. Hope we don’t get fond of them and have to add them to the ship’s company. Half an hour after dropping anchor a heavy fog settled down, night shut in and it was pitch dark. Queer country and where strangers must keep weather eyes open. Gunners returning to Stumpy Point from Hatteras told us that the gale of Thanksgiving day blew all the water out of the sound and left a big 60 ft. motor yacht high and dry off the beach. Then when wind hauled N. W. all the water blew back with such a rush that she was afloat in 40 minutes but lost her nice power launch, anchor and 15 fath. chain, but was able to get shelter under power herself.

_December 3rd._ Begins about 3 a.m. with the darndest racket. Dead calm, pitch dark and all around us thousands of geese and duck. Might as well try to sleep in a hen coop. Honk, honk, quack, quack, a babel of sound. Along about 5 o’clock and just as we were beginning to hope that a glimmer of light would give us a shot, two men on a cruising launch turned out with a lantern and the roar of wings on water was as loud as a train of cars. Cuss those New York fools anyway. Day came with a shift of wind into N. E. and a wild, windy look to the sky. With a reef tucked in I could cover lots of miles southward, but there is again the question, “What will the water do?” Suppose we turn her loose down wind and it pricks on sharply. Will we find water all run out of the harbors and we left to wallow it out 2 or 3 miles off shore? It is certainly queer guessing. This morning we found there was much about live chickens to make them undesirable sea companions. Don’t think we are in danger of keeping them long. Barometer didn’t act like storm and by 11 o’clock I couldn’t stand it any longer, so put a single reef in and away we scuttled. It was mighty good sailing and I guessed the weather right for by 1 o’clock we were under full sail and a summer’s sun. Could have been a long ways if had got away early, but the chance was then too big. Hauled to westward and over hook to a nice anchorage in Wyesocking Bay at 3:15 p.m. Earlier in the day than we have stopped her since leaving home. Henry into the launch and up creek to see if he can’t nab some stray cattle. Chickens killed and picked and all the pleasures of a farming life are ours. While I write at 4 p.m., the sun is flooding down companionway so warm, so warm. The first fly is buzzing, too. H. returned with nix and reported mosquitos on shore. Things are progressing.

_December 4th._ Turned out at 5 to find all quiet, still and dark. So quiet that from the quarter I could hear the ticking of our little clock. So calm that each star was mirrored on the water. Away under power by 7. Out into a golden sunrise, the pride and beauty of the day. Here was a morning for sun worshippers to kneel. Sea and sky melted into one great glory in the east and behind us faded into soft pearly mists in which horizons were lost, and we seemed to be floating in air. So flat the bosom of the sea that the meanest stepmother in the land would have been proud to call it hers. The duck feathers floated on the surface as lightly as--well, I can’t think just how lightly now, but gosh-dinged lightly. We turned her on a 20 mile leg S. W. at 8 and sailed all morning on this wonderful sea. Why can’t somebody come here and tell people of the beauties to be found? We chased duck all about but failed to get meat, although we lost lots of time which is precious today.