The night came calm and still, and the big moon rose on the peace of the world which so very many never see.
April 22nd. Colder than blazes all night and woke to a heavy land fog enshrouding everything. Regular chills and fever stuff and think better be moseying along to more open waters. Mighty shivery to us who have but just left summer’s warmth. Yesterday we picked ripe, wild strawberries, so I have a notion there are warmer times in store. Think this country hereaway should certainly be looked over for its shooting and hunting. As at Stumpy Point the “bars ketch up all the hoags” and there are deer, possum, coon, fox and wildcat. Above all there is vast country in which to roam. I would bring a double-walled tent, set it up near some village and keep my own quarters getting some local hunter to pilot me.
We were soon off and in light airs stretched down to Neuse River and across to little town of Oriental, where sent a telegram and bought a fine shad just landed from the traps. Then away in freshening southeast breeze. Kept launch humming at it until the short, quick seas began breaking over her stern, for we had pretty long 40 mile road to travel before reaching Wysocking Bay on west shore. This Pamlico Sound may be inside waters but mark me it is a pernickety piece of thin-spread moisture. The shores low, we soon ran out of sight and bowled along as if in mid-ocean until a cast of the lead gave us but 15 feet of water. The Mascot is in no ways fitted for the work here and a right smart breeze would put her at once out of business. The local boats are, as usual, about the ticket. Rather narrow for length, slack bilge and easily driven with small sail. The sea picks up and beats at you as if it were a succession of stony walls and Mascot beamy, short and heavily sparred simply flounders helplessly about. We had rather uncomfortable work making Wysocking Bay just at nightfall. We overran our log and, getting mixed on the bearing of the lighthouse, found ourselves driving along in six feet of water with combing seas precious near in cockpit. Finally got straightened out and ran in under the land to an anchorage, but it was 8:30 before we sat down to fried shad and potatoes and H. most too tired to pick out the bones. Guess must rest up my crew a little in Manteo.
April 23rd. Comes fair with wind hauled to southwest a-breezing right on. Had visit from local old codger who said he did a lot of shooting. Deer in summer, geese in winter. He allowed he didn’t want nothing to do with “bar.” Just naturally didn’t fancy ’em. He hunted his deer by turning on a dog and butchering the critter when it took to the water. Said he would be glad to put us up for a hunting trip any time. Could easily accommodate four of us because he had a good house with only himself, wife and daughter, and had four beds. Me for my own tent or boat in this country. Like the good people of Stumpy, he had never seen a woolen muffler or sweater and couldn’t keep his hands off of them. To his mind they seemed the very essence of comfort and warmth. Think a little trading voyage along here in fall of the year might pay expenses. We tucked single reef in and then it was
Up sail, off and away,
Balance partners, all chassé.
We stormed it along all day with short, sharp following sea which made us give launch a painter long enough to reach into next county. On that she towed like a bird. We passed Stumpy without going in, for a second visit would but spoil first impressions. Everywhere were the fish traps and had to keep constant watch not to get inside the outside trap which is often three or four miles from shore. These traps add a distinct danger to navigation in these waters. If overblown you cannot seek shelter and smooth water under a weather shore, but must stay outside and bang away at it. To get mixed up in a set of stakes and net is a very pernickety proposition. We had to guess the laneway between nets some 3 miles away from the creek which forms the fisherman’s harbor of Roanoke Marshes. We hit it right and dropped hook to quiet anchorage in midst of a busy settlement of tiny fish shanties. We were at once boarded by the population which made itself thoroughly at home and roosted about watching us cook and eat our supper. We tried to get a little information as to harbors at Roanoke Is. just across the sound, and sailing directions for any port are given something like this. “It’s this a-way. Youse all keep in the middle between the two pints close to the south pint. When youse all gets up in a little, youse will see a fish house to the northard and a little island. Go either side of the island, but there ain’t no water on the south side since a year gone by last Thanksgiving. No, I reckon it was Christmas when we had the big tide that wrecked Simmon’s wharf. When by the island just steer for the big tree and look out for the shoal ground off the fish house. Say, how much water might youse all be drawing?”
“Three and one-half feet.”
“Well, I swan, you can’t get in thar noways for there ain’t more’n 2 feet water anywhar.”