t in width, and has at high tide a depth in places of from ten to
fifteen feet of water. The opening of this new thoroughfare so
diminished the flow of water through the Little Assawaman Inlet to the
sea, that it became closed. The water was almost fresh here, as the
nearest inlet which admits salt water at high tide is at Chincoteague
Island, some fifty miles distant.

Passing to the west of the light-house through this passage, I thought
of what a woman could do, and almost expected to hear from the rippling
waters the "Song of the Shirt," which would have been in this case a
much more cheerful one than Hood's. I now entered Great Assawaman Bay,
the waters of which lay like a mirror before me; and nearly five miles
away, to the southwestern end, the tall forests of the Isle of Wight
loomed up against the setting sun. Ducks rose in flocks from the quiet
waters as my canoe glided into their close vicinity. If I could have
taken less cargo, I should have carried a light gun; but this being
impossible, a pocket revolver was my only fire-arm: so the ducks and
other wild-fowl along my route had reason to hold the paper canoe in
grateful remembrance.

Upon reaching the shores of the Isle of Wight I entered the mouth of St.
Martin's River, which is, at its confluence with Isle of Wight Bay, more
than two miles wide. I did not then possess the fine Coast Chart No. 28,
or the General Chart of the Coast, No. 4, with the topography of the
land clearly delineated, and showing every man's farm-buildings, fields,
landings, &c., so plainly located as to make it easy for even a novice
to navigate these bays. Now, being chartless so far as these waters were
concerned, I peered about in the deepening twilight for my friend's
plantation buildings, which I knew were not far off; but the gloomy
forests of pine upon the upland opened not the desired vista I so
longed to find.

Crossing the wide river, I came upon a long point of salt-marsh, which I
hoped might be Keyser's Point, for I knew that to the west of this point
I should find Turval's Creek. While rowing along the marsh I came upon
two duck-shooters in their punt, but so enveloped were they in the mist
that it was impossible to do more than define their forms. I, however,
ventured a question as to my locality, when, to my utter astonishment,
there came back to me in clear accents my own name. Never before had it
sounded so sweet to my ears. It was the voice of my friend, who with