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Virginia: The Old Dominion

Chapter 6 IN THE OLD CHURCHYARD

Word Count: 2358    |    Released on: 06/12/2017

irit. All the charms usually associated with such a life are blotted out by the lowering clouds, washed away by the falling water. And how the houseboat shrinks when it gets so wet! With d

od for the mind on the book-shelves above and plenty for the body in the lockers below. Lady Fairweather found a diversion of her own. She sat for a good part

ain. As we were about to start, the sailor rushed into the forward cabi

of breakfast food. Nautica, suddenly remembering one of the best things for extinguishing burning gasoline, was making everything fly as she frantically sought to reach a stowed-away bag of flour. The bag and the Commodore appeared about the same time

. Distracted Lady Fairweather suddenly rushed to her cabin and back again, and she too wildly cast a shower of something white into the blaze. Then she stood pale and speechless, all unconscious of the dainty, empty pink box clasped in both hands, and of her own hero

ur off. It was hard to tell what was the matter with the Commodore, or to take his troubles seriously. He had slightly scorched hands of course. But t

it came to go out. When fairly presentable again, we went

no sooner got to the island than we fell in with the custom. It was not a good custom. Even with the fire out we were in trouble; for Gadabout hadn't a piece of bread

ed to the starving new colonists. But Nautica held that such an appeal should be made in person; that the Com

with his basket, soon set off along the island road. Upon rea

t came off in a way that told that t

you tell me which way to

t's done been burn down? Well, dat was de big house, yas, suh. But it ain' no good to stop dere

ds having a border of trees skirting the water's edge. At last the "little big" house was reached. All the members of the family were awa

he island unless something were done at once. The gloomy picture did not seem to impress the young woman very painfully, for her reply was a laughing one; but a sack of flour went into the basket and a big loaf of bread besides. Upon its coming out in the

xclaimed Lady Fairweather. And by that n

mes River side, we entered in among the shadows that enwrap the ruined church and the crumbling tombs of the village dead. The graveyard, or what remains of it, is coextensive with the grove. When most

prevented from seeing satisfactorily some of the tombs, as they were boxed over to protect

ost who lie here, the last record has crumbled away. Proud knight, proud lady, gentlemen, gentlewomen, an

en brought over, a slender sapling, from England. But a few parts of words remain on the broken stone, and the date is gone. Though after the death of her husban

clearly defined. They show a draped figure and some smaller designs that have been taken as indications of knighthood, and have led to the conjecture that this is the tomb of Sir George Yeardley, governor of the Colony of Virgi

humble but hopeful wrong-doer who lies under the chiselled

that terrible harvest that Death reaped in the ruined village! But perhaps they tell it all as hosts of tombs could not do. One reads between the stones, then far out beyond them wher

re the remains of a Confederate fort. But, modern as they are, they have done what they could to put themselves in harmony with the ancientness all about. The slopes are grass-grown and even tree-grown. Within the walls is the caretaker's cottage

ed yet another time down where the marsh reeds lined the way. Grasping handfuls of the coarse grass, the Commodore started to illustrate how the colonists bound thatch, doubtless from that very marsh, to make roofs for their flimsy cabins. But the marsh furnished s

have felt with their short visit, we could only pity them. Yet such a visit, of a few hours at most, is all that is possible here except for one who brings his home with him, f

t of our long lying in the marshes; and one day she deserted the ship and sailed away on a bigger one. We thought she was

e neighbours. Fortunately, the mosquitoes did not feel that hospitality required them to call upon the strangers or to show them any attention except in the evening. Even then they were more or less d

e, brackish water. To-day, two artesian wells are flowing on the island. As we got our supply from them, we often thought of how those first settlers suffered and died for want of pure water, when all the while this inexhaustible supply lay imprison

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