The river seemed deserted: no horsemen spurred Along the bridle path on the shore; the boats were few and far between, and held only servants or Indians or very old men. It was as Rolfe had said, and the free and able-bodied of the plantations had put out, posthaste, for matrimony. Chaplain's Choice appeared unpeopled; Piersey's Hundred slept in the sunshine, its wharf deserted, and but few, slow-moving figures in the tobacco fields; even the Indian villages looked scant of all but squaws and children, for the braves were gone to see the palefaces buy their wives. Below Paspahegh a cockleshell of a boat carrying a great white sail overtook me, and I was hailed by young Hamor. “The maids are come!” he cried. “Hurrah!” and stood up to wave his hat. “Humph!” I said. “I guess thy destination by thy hose. Are they not 'those that were thy peach-colored ones'?” “Oons! yes!” he answered, looking down with complacency upon his tarnished finery. “Wedding garments, Captain Percy, wedding garments!” I laughed. “Thou art a tardy bridegroom. I thought that the bachelors of this quarter of the globe slept last night in Jamestown.” His face fell. “I know it,” he said ruefully; “but my doublet had more rents than slashes in it, and Martin Tailor kept it until cockcrow. That fellow rolls in tobacco; he hath grown rich off our impoverished wardrobes since the ship down yonder passed the capes. After all,” he brightened, “the bargaining takes not place until toward midday, after solemn service and thanksgiving. There's time enough!” He waved me a farewell, as his great sail and narrow craft carried him past me.