Nick Babas Last Drink and Other Sketches | Page 5

the lettering
will perish and the stone will crumble. Parasitic plants will fasten upon
them; beneath their destroying grasp names and dates will disappear,
and generations yet to come will be unable to tell whether they look
upon the grave of a prince or upon that of a peddler--the narrow house
of him who retired to the straw pallet of poverty, will not then be
known from that of him who reclined upon the silken couch of
affluence--
"Death levels all ranks, And lays the shepherd's crook beside the
sceptre."
[Illustration: ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, 1878.]
"On it, time his mark has hung; On it, hostile bells have rung; On it,
green old moss has clung; On it, winds their dirge have sung; Let us
still adore thy walls, Sacred temple, Old St. Paul's."
Our party assemble, and we find the little steamer Cygnet at her wharf,
looking as neat and trim as the graceful bird after which she is named.
Newly painted, she was about to start on the first trip of the season.
Half-past six was the hour of departure, but a heavy wet fog hung over
this city by the sea, and we were obliged to await its disappearance. At
length the sun struggled through the clouds, and the mist cleared
rapidly away. We hauled out and steamed slowly up the Elizabeth
River, then past the Navy Yard, with its tall smoking chimneys, its long
rows of yellow buildings, its leaning derricks, its neat and trim little

square, domineered over by a lordly flag-staff, whose base is guarded
by cannon captured from the enemies of the Republic, and its
dismantled ships--relics of past naval architecture. As we pass, the
shrill cry of the boat-swain's whistle is heard on ship-board, piping all
hands to breakfast, mingled with the music of the busy clinking
hammers forging chains and anchors. A few miles above this naval
station human habitations cease, scarcely a living thing greets the
eye--we are in almost entire solitude.
The eagle is seen grandly floating on the air, or poised ready to strike a
defenceless animal or crippled bird. The buzzard, of loathsome aspect,
perched upon a blasted tree, waits for his gorged appetite to sharpen,
that he may descend and fatten upon some putrid carcase. The river,
narrow and tortuous, rolls its black waters between low and marshy
banks, flat, and running back to thin growths of stunted pines and other
badly nourished trees. As we go on, the senses are now and then
refreshed by the sight of a clump of pines, which have persisted in
growing tall and straight, with tufts of bright green foliage waving
gracefully in the wind. For many miles this is about the description of
country we pass through.
At Great Bridge we enter the locks of the Chesapeake and Albemarle
Canal. A battle was fought here in 1775 and the British defeated. Here
are the Company's houses, well constructed and neatly painted--a credit
to the corporation as well as to the guiding spirit. The substantial locks
and well kept dwellings and offices, like the gilded signs over the doors
of the haunts of vice, are pleasant to look upon, but they do not tell of
that which is within. If the passage up the river is dismal, what shall we
say of the journey through this canal. It is a dreary sameness cut right
through a great swamp, merely wide enough to admit the passage of
two vessels, with only a dull damp settlement here and there--a country
store and the inevitable porch, with its squad of frowsy, unkempt idlers.
[Illustration: COUNTRY STORE.]
The country store and post-office is the same everywhere: it belongs to
every clime and nationality--it is a human device and speaks an
universal language. It is generally overflowing with all sorts of

commodities, from a hand-saw to a toothpick--is well stocked with
calico and molasses, rum and candles, straw hats and sugar, bacon and
coal oil, and gun-powder and beeswax. It is the rallying point for all the
mischief-making gossips to collect, for the settlement of the affairs of
the nation, and, failing in that, to set the neighbors by the ears.
Leaving the canal, we go out into another river: a bright spot breaks
upon us--a lumber station with new, fresh-looking piles of sawed
lumber. The banks of this stream are just as low, marshy and
uninteresting as the one we have passed through, and more crooked.
There are perhaps a few more trees--some oaks, and we observed a tree
with its crimson and yellow autumn foliage, backed by a clump of
pines, looking beautiful against the dark green, like sunlight illumining
a gloomy spot.
After winding through the channel for a few hours, we enter Currituck
Sound. This shallow sea takes its name from a tribe