Part 4

_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.

[Illustration: in Pamlico]

_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.

Scotty was on sick list yesterday and had sort of kind of fits so fast one after the other that she lost count. Pretty near threw her little heart up. Looked kind of meechin this morning so gave her a dose of sweet oil. This afternoon she seems better and has eaten a chicken and held onto it. As I write this we are entering Neuse River at lower end of Pamlico 3:45 p.m. We had gone about 35 knots, all under power, since 7 this morning. Without it we couldn’t have moved a mile. Intend running on some 14 miles farther to mouth of creek which leads to canal cutting through to Beaufort. The motor has just given 3 spasmodic gasps and died. Oh, dear! Found gasoline all gone and now, with new, she is off again merrily. She pushes us in calm water 4½ knots an hour and gives us 6 knots to 1 gal. gas. Pretty good work we think.

Night shut down with easterly air so cold I was all of a shiver, the change is so great from heat of the day. Quickly the wind changed warm to the south and the air was like ours in August. We picked up our lights all right, and poked her quietly into the black woods where should have been a river, and sure enough, there was. The accuracy of these charts is a continual surprise. By 7:30 we were at quiet anchorage stuffing ourselves with fried oysters.

[Illustration]

_December 5th._ Comes cloudy. A sort of dog-day affair. Pleasant to our eyes after the glare, and our little river framed in the green of long-leaf pine looks very attractive. Along we go, getting glimpses of dark swamps, up creeks, in deep, solemn shadow. Then came the cut through the neck of land to a river at headwaters of Beaufort Harbor. Along the banks were palms, real palms. Not great big snoosing busters with cocoanuts, but little wee-wees, but palms all the same. From the boat I shot a plover and we had the deuce of a time landing and getting him. Scotty promptly grabbed him and with head and tail up, marched off below to eat him. Not much, Scotty. Then out of the cut into broad reaches where oyster bars poked up their heads from a few inches of water. A fog shut down hiding all the ranges and we were soon all to the bad. Out of the mist ahead we made out a little launch aground and it turned out to be our friends, husband and wife, still plugging at it. Close to them was a big motor boat from Conn., also high and dry. They had both tried to go wrong side of a red buoy. We waved and motored on, but in less than a quarter mile hit bottom ourselves, and with meek and lowly spirits, took up our burden and went below to dinner. Tide being well out, it was only two hours before we were afloat again. The launch balked a little for almost the first time since leaving home, and while H. was doctoring it along came a fellow to offer a tow down to Beaufort. Told him we could get along alone but gave him a segar and soon had him so chummy that he hitched alongside and pulled us down to a good anchorage off Beaufort wharves for nothing. Nothing like a little practice in insurance business and a cup of coffee and segar at right moment.

Beaufort is great. Like the Old Howard, something doing along its water front from daylight till dark and long after. Lots of fishing vessels all anchored in a line only 50 yds. from the little wharves. Thousands of motor boats and only one muffler. The wharves and fish houses extend a mile and there is lots of color, and across it all blows the damp sea wind with its smell of the old beach. Mighty good to my nose after weeks of inland smells. I keep recollecting little things about Stumpy Point such as they couldn’t keep hogs “Cause the bars ketched em all up” and one man who trapped alive a big bald head eagle complained that he got no returns because “the _human sociation_ done gone ketched him up and let him go.” He was a good eagle and the man couldn’t understand the why of it.

_December 6th._ Comes with threatening skies and drifting fog, southerly. The fishermen with big crews got away, only to anchor under the hook of the land just outside. As I write, at noon, they are streaming in again and picking up their anchorages like horses running into their stalls. The air is damp, warm and depressing. H. and I could hardly crawl about on shore and were mighty glad to get aboard again.

[Illustration: Beaufort N.C.]

We visited an oyster-opening plant. Mighty interesting and on the whole, cleanly. Hundreds of men, women and little children at work opening 1500 bu. a day. The little white children looked peaked enough and the dirt, steam and smell of the opening shed were kind of fierce. In the midst of the mess was a baby in its wagon, the mother at work. Too big a problem for my addled brain. Roses in the gardens and everything mighty summerish.

_December 8th._ Beaufort. Air better and wind more to westward, but think gale northwest needed to blow this fog to sea. Borrowed a box compass and spent the morning turning and twisting Mascot at end of wharf until I noted my compass variations. The result surprised me, for while I knew there was trouble I did not expect to find fault of one whole point. It was there, however, and undoubtedly due to my iron ballast. Think have got it noted all right, but it was a long, vexatious job, and when we went to hotel for dinner we were late and got only cold pickings but at usual price. The afternoon in walking and loafing. Beaufort is very good. Besides the picturesque fishing fleet there is the usual busy main street of a southern town, lined with all kinds of buildings from shanties to modern store affairs. Bales of cotton are standing about. Blacksmith welding a shaft in the street. The high two-wheeled country carts drawn aimlessly along by one ox. Everybody takes his time, and talks about it in slow southern drawl.

There are tonight seven or eight launches and big power boats here besides ourselves. It is great fun to see them come in because the channel brings them within speaking distance. On shore the natives stuff them with fearful tales of the dangers to be faced on the trip outside. This is all with the purpose of getting pilotage fees. I have heard tides reported as running 50 miles an hour and that is some tide. H. and I have made friends with an old darkie who was a slave here in Beaufort. He was in Union army at capture of the Beaufort forts and served with Col. Stone, Capt. Fuller and wanted to serve with Col. William Forbes because he was good to his men and looked so fine in uniform with his head always so high.

_December 9th._ Turned in last night with sharply falling glass, and turned out this morning at 3:30 to the tune of rattling halliards and creaking dock lines. Wind a waspish breeze northwest with flurries of snow. Got out extra lines and while shivering at the job, out of the black came little _Querida II_ seeking a bit of quiet as she was touching the bottom where she lay at anchor. We helped the boys tie up all snug, and scuttled back to warm blankets for a good snooze. Turned out about 8:30 to find clearing skies, strong breeze and falling temperature. New England can give this coast no points on weather changes. Yesterday about 65 degrees, to-day 30 degrees. The change gave me a little crinkleums in my back. Wish we were off and away. Could bruise an awful lot of water by night. Will be to-morrow I hope. Breakfast on coal fire again. How good and cheery the warmth. Coffee? Well I guess. All we want three times a day.

Seems as if some few things had contributed very largely to success of this cruise besides the general outfitting which proved good. These few suggestions are the coal stove, cotton sheets sewed up into bags, and the fish cleaning board. Put in the day provisioning up and filling tanks. For supper went to little one-horse restaurant and ate our last Beaufort oyster stew. We have had one or two a day since being here and they are delicious. Made without milk in the oyster liquor. These little soft oysters are wonderfully sweet and tasty, but so delicate and small that they wouldn’t bear or pay to ship.

_December 10th._ Comes clear and pretty cold. Frost on deck. H. reported streets hard and ice in gutters. Little Scotty had a dreadful time of it. She was peacefully sleeping when a gas engine started ashore and school bell began to ring. The cabin was at once full of cat. Simply wild with fright, she darted about and finally sought refuge in her retreat under the cockpit. “Pauvre petit mimi.” It is now noon, but no coaxing can get her out. Hoisted sail to a very thin northerly air and with launch at the stern, waved our good-byes to friends on shore and stood to sea at 9 o’clock. The Beaufort channel is a twisting little gutter running between nasty shoals. The harbor is full of range beacons which don’t help strangers much. There is no need for anybody to run ashore, however, for the water is clear and the sea breaks on most of the shoals. Outside we turned her W ¼ S along shore for Bogue Inlet. The westerly airs soon petered out and left us chugging along on a sea like a mill pond with bright warm sun to cheer us. Set 2 hour watches as I shall keep along, weather remaining fit. There are many inlets to run to in fair weather for a boat of 4 ft. draft, but I fancy it usually happens that a man stays outside until the sea picks up, and makes running inlet bars dangerous. The bars off the mouths of the inlets they tell me, trend to southward and the gutter runs behind them up the beach as it does in our country. The open beach is fairly bold and if I was put to it, I think I would crowd on the rags, tie myself in the cockpit and send her up into the meadow. Make no mistake about that, a good, bold, sandy beach is much better to walk home on than 10 ft. of tide-swept water inside a sunken sand spit.