e is still owned by descendants of Joseph Harwood, the family of
the late Mr. Fielding Lewis Douthat.

[Illustration: LOWER WEYANOKE.]

In our search for this land of sassafras, a short row up the creek took
us to the opening into the bayou. Here, there was a break in the wire
fence along the creek guarded by a queer water-gate that hung across
the entrance to the side stream. Holding the water-gate open and
pushing our boats through, with what skill might be expected from
persons who had never seen a water-gate before, we started up the tiny,
winding channel.

On either hand the reeds were so tall that we were quite shut in by
them; but reeds are never so beautiful as when outlined against the
sky. Here and there, a stump or a cypress tree stood out in the water
almost barring the way. Ducks were swimming about or absurdly standing
on their heads in the shallows, and at our coming went paddling off
into the sedges quacking their disapproval. Before the water quite gave
out, we reached the little landing. Now our way led up from the lowland
between hazy autumn fields where crows were busily gleaning and insects
shrilled in shock and stubble.

The road ended in front of the house at Lower Weyanoke. The building is
a large frame one and very old. It has had its full share of
distinction, being for so many generations the home of the colonial
family of Harwoods and of their descendants, the Lewises and the
Douthats. Some years ago the plantation passed to strangers. From the
riverward portico, we saw traces of an old garden whose memory is kept
green by the straggling box that long ago bordered the fragrant
flower-beds. On beyond was a glint of the sun-lit river. A group of
towering cottonwood trees, standing in the dooryard, is so conspicuous
a feature of the landscape that it serves as a guide for the pilots on
the river boats.

Leaving the sailor here to do some foraging in the neighbourhood, we
went on to Upper Weyanoke. We followed a road that skirted corn fields
and pasture lands, busy plantation life on every hand. One could but
think of the very different scene that was here in the days of the
Civil War. Few places suffered at that time more than did Weyanoke.
Here, part of Grant's army crossed the James in the march upon
Petersburg. While bridges were building, the Federal forces were
scattered over the plantation; and when at last they crossed the river,
they left devastation behind.

As we came upon the