get between the capes of the Chesapeake. The Sea Gull succeeded, but the Phœnix was ill built to work to windward, the wind being somewhat westerly, and she was driven back and had to bear off to sea to escape the dangerous coast which stretches far southward from Cape Henry. But now the wind had veered to a few points east of north and the Sea Gull was making fair headway. Soon her passengers could see every detail of the little village: the twenty-five or thirty log cabins thatched with reeds; the stockade inclosing the village; the dark, leafless forest behind; the bare spots on the river bank white with snow (for it was an unprecedentedly severe winter), and the throng of people on the bank eagerly awaiting the arrival of the ship with every demonstration of joy.
Arrived in front of the village, the sails were reefed and the anchor was dropped. The ship swung in almost against the bank, so much deeper was the water then than now, when the mud from the plowed fields has been washing in for nearly three centuries. So near she lay that with her boats and some planks a bridge was formed from the ship to the shore and lines were run out from stem and
