The Bright Moonlight Roused Me At Five O'clock
In The Morning, And I Pushed Off Again In Shoal
Water On An Ebb-Tide, Experiencing Much
Difficulty In Dragging The Canoe Over Shallow Places
Until Deep Water Was Entered, When The Row To
Ocracoke Became An Agreeable One.
The
landing-place at Ocracoke, not far from the
lighthouse, was reached at noon, and the people
gathered to see the paper boat, having been
notified of my proximity by fishermen.
The women here can pull a pretty good stroke,
and frequently assist their husbands in the
fisheries. These old dames ridiculed the idea of
having a boat so small and light as the canoe.
One old lady laid aside her pipe and
snuff-paddle (snuff-rubbing is a time-honored
institution in the south), and roughly grasping the
bow of the craft, lifted it high in the air, then,
glancing at the fine model, she lowered it slowly
to the ground, exclaiming, "I reckon I wouldn't
risk my life acrossing a creek in her."
These people told me that the yacht Julia had
stopped there to make inquiries for me, and had
departed for Newbern.
It was more than a mile from the landing to
Ocracoke Inlet, and a mile and three quarters
across it to the beach. A straight course from
the landing to the village of Portsmouth, on the
lower side of the inlet, was a distance of five
miles, and not one of the hardy watermen, who
thumped the sides of my boat with their hard
fists to ascertain its strength, believed that I
could cross the sound to the other village
without rolling over.
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