atching the last glimpses of the white sea-wall of Jamestown Island.

We now were on our way to pick up other bits of the river story, and
especially those concerning the peculiar colonial home life on the
James. When tobacco culture, with its ceaseless demand for virgin soil,
led many of the colonists to abandon James Towne and to build up great
individual estates, each estate had to have its water front; and old
Powhatan became lined on both sides with vast plantations. Later, the
lands along other rivers were similarly occupied. So pronounced was the
development of plantation life that it affected, even controlled, the
character of the colony and determined the type of civilization in
Virginia.

The great estates became so many independent, self-sufficient
communities--almost kingdoms. Each had its own permanent population
including, besides slaves and common labourers, many mechanics,
carpenters, coopers, and artisans of various kinds. An unbroken water
highway stretched from each plantation wharf to the wharves of London.
Directly from his own pier, each planter shipped his tobacco to
England; and in return there was unloaded upon his own pier the
commodities needed for his plantation community.

Thus was established the peculiar type of Virginia society, the
aristocracy of planters, that dotted the Old Dominion with lordly
manor-houses and filled them with gay, ample life--a life almost feudal
in its pride and power. In this day of our nation's tardy awakening to
an appreciation of its colonial homes, a particular interest attaches
to these old Virginia mansions, once the centres of those proud little
principalities in the wilderness.

And the particular interest of Gadabout's people, as Jamestown Island
faded from sight, attached to a few of the earliest and most typical of
those colonial homes that we knew yet stood on the banks of the "King's
River." From kindly responses to our notes of inquiry, we also knew
that long-suffering Virginia courtesy was not yet quite exhausted, and
that it still swung wide the doors of those old manor-houses to even
the passing stranger. Our next harbour was to be Chippoak Creek, which
empties into the river about twelve miles above Jamestown Island. There
we should be near two or three colonial homes including the well-known
Brandon.

It seemed good to be under way again. There was music in the chug of
our engines and in the purl of the water about our homely bows. The
touc