The Settlers: A Tale of Virginia

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“But you said the same when we sailed up James River,” remarked Roger.

“And it is my belief that I once went up that also, with brave Sir Richard Grenville in his pinnace; but I was somewhat mazed about the matter, and when Nicholas Flowers, who had been with me in the Sally Rose, said he knew the place, I thought I must know it too; but now I come to see this coast, I find out that I was then wrong and am now right,” answered Ben.

“You hav’n’t got Nicholas by your elbow now to prompt you, so keep a sharp look-out, and be sure that you are right this time,” said Roger.

“Ay, that I will, sir,” answered Ben; “and every league we make good, the more sure I am that I am right.”

“I believe that honest Ben is not mistaken, and that we may have a better hope of success than ever before,” said Roger to Vaughan, when he joined him on the poop. The ship continued running on all day; but the wind was light, and her progress, consequently, slow. Towards evening she brought up in a deep bay, in which Ben declared the Sally Rose had come to an anchor on her downward passage. The next morning she continued her course, and had run on with a brisk breeze for some hours, when Ben shouted out—“That’s the bay, sir, where Dick Sponson and I, when we had Batten with us, found the Sally Rose, after he had escaped from the Indians; it is three days’ pull, in a heavy boat with the wind against us, to the northward of this, where we took Batten on board. I should know the place again almost as well as I know Dartmouth harbour. It was about six miles inland of that where our shipmates were killed. If we sail on at the rate we are now going, we shall reach it before noon to-morrow, always provided the wind don’t head us.”

This information was, at all events, satisfactory, and Ben was so positive that Roger could not but believe him. Ben added, that, to his belief, a short distance farther on there was a river, up which the long-boat might pull for many a league, and that he calculated it would take them into the very heart of the country where Batten, according to his account, had been. As they sailed on, Ben, every now and then, exclaimed—“I mind that point, for we were becalmed off it for the best part of a day.”—“Yes, that hill is just where I thought to find one.”—“We pulled up yonder stream to get a fresh store of water, and had to pull down it again pretty quickly, with only half our casks full, by reason of a party of Indians.”

Thus he ran on, recognising all the main features of the shore. The ship, however, did not reach the bay he had expected, and, accordingly, had to stand off the shore and bring up at night in a more open position than would have been chosen; but, as the weather was calm, that mattered not. Early the next morning, however, the bay he had indicated was reached, and some time before dark the ship came off the very spot where Batten had been taken on board. He knew it by the easy landing the shore afforded, and by two tall trees which leant over one towards the other as if affording mutual support. The spot for which Audley and Captain Layton and his son had been so eagerly looking was at length reached; as, however, it did not afford a secure anchorage, they determined to stand on in hopes of finding the mouth of the river into which they intended to run and bring up. It proved to be not more than a couple of leagues to the northward. Roger having gone ahead in the skiff to sound, piloted the ship to an anchorage just inside the mouth, where she could lie secure from any storms which might blow without, and at the same time too far from the shore to be assailed from thence by any hostile Indians; while her guns would enable her to defend herself against any attack which might be made in canoes, should the natives prove hostile. It being now nearly dark, nothing could be done on shore till the next morning. The night was perfectly calm; the stars glittering overhead were reflected on the mirrorlike surface of the water. The forest extending down to the shores of the deep bay in which the ship lay formed a dark wall round her, from which, ever and anon, came strange sounds; but no human voices were heard to denote that the country was inhabited. Still, a strict watch was wisely kept, for the silence which reigned was no proof that the savages were at a distance.

Meantime, preparations were made for the proposed expedition; the captain would willingly have led it, but Roger persuaded him to remain on board and look after the ship. “Half a dozen men, with you to command them, will be of more avail than a score without you,” he observed; “we may thus take twenty with us and leave enough in charge of the boat.”

To this the captain at length assented, knowing well that he could not move as fast, nor endure as much fatigue as his younger companions. At dawn the boat shoved off, each man carrying provisions for a week’s march, with a further supply in the boat, to be ready should they exhaust their stock before they could return to her. Twenty men, besides the two leaders and Oliver Dane, were to form the expedition. The rest were to remain in the boat. Quitting the river, Ben Tarbox piloted them to the very spot where he and his companion had received Batten on board their boat.

“That is the direction from whence we saw him coming,” he said, pointing to the north-west; “and by his account he had been making, as far as he could judge, pretty straight for the shore, as he had the sun, when it rose, directly in his eyes, and he thus knew that he was holding on to the eastward.”