Now, coasting along the end of the island, we had designs on the “Lone Cypress” for a sort of novel sensation.  We approached the hoary old sentinel carefully, for it would be a sin to even bark its shaggy sides; and, dropping a rope over a projecting broken “knee,” we enjoyed a striking object lesson on the effects of erosion.  In several feet of water, and nearly three hundred feet from land, our houseboat was tied to a tree; tied to a tree that a hundred years before stood on the shore—­a tree that likely, in the early days of the colony (for who knows the age of the “Lone Cypress"?), stood hundreds of yards back on the island.  But it may never be farther from shore than we found it; for there, glistening in the sunshine, stood the sea-wall holding the hungry river at bay.

Carefully slipping our rope from the tree, we let the tide carry us out a little way before starting an engine.  Then, bidding goodbye to the old cypress, we moved on along the shore.  We were aware from our map of ancient holdings that we were ruthlessly cutting across lots over the colonial acres of one Captain Edward Ross; but, seeing neither dogs nor trespass signs, we sailed right on.  The Captain would not have to resort to irrigation on his lands to-day.

While dawdling about this submerged portion of old James Towne, we thought we would make a stop at the spot where those first settlers landed.  After consulting the map, we manoeuvred the houseboat so as to enable us to do some rough sort of triangulation with the compass, and finally dropped anchor, satisfied that we were at the historic spot, even though it was too wet to get out and look for the footprints.  And there, well out on the yellow waters of the James, Gadabout lay lazily in the sunshine where Sarah Constant was once tied to the bank; where those first settlers stepped ashore; where America began.

After following the island a little farther down stream, we cast anchor in a hollow of the shore-line near the steamboat pier.  It was not much of a hollow after all and really formed no harbour.  When the west wind came howling down the James, picking up the water for miles and hurling it at Gadabout, our only consolation lay in knowing that it could not have done that if we had only got there two or three centuries earlier.  At that time, the point, or headland, upon which the colonists landed reached out and protected this shallow bay below.  Doubtless, throughout James Towne days, the smaller vessels found fair harbour where Gadabout one night rolled many of her possessions into fragments, and her proud commander into something very weak and wan and unhappy.

In the last few years, there has been an awakening of interest in long-forgotten James Towne.  To Mrs. Edward E. Barney for her generous gift of the southwest corner of the island to the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, and to that Society for its work in staying the course of decay and the hand of vandalism, our country is indebted.