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98 THE NORTH CAROLINA BOOKLET. KILL DEVIL HILL

And none of them have a better foundation upon which to

build. KILL DEVIL HILL

In the language of the poet-priest of the South:

“Give me the land that is blessed by the dust,

And bright with the deeds of the down-trodden just. 3 s 4 tee gg ‘ ;
Yes, give me the land where the battle’s red blast At sunrise it floats in the mist like the diaphanous pink

Has flashed to the future the fame of the past; ghost of a hill. ‘To stand upon it in the blinding glare of
Yes, give me the land that hath legends and lays

That tell of the memories of long vanished days;
Yes, give me the land that hath story and song! your feet seeming more unreal than the remote edges cutting

Enshrine the strife of the right with the wrong! sharp against the deep blue sky. Even on stillest days upon
Yes, give me the land with a grave in each spot,

And names in the graves that shall not be forgot.”

BY JAQUES BUSBEE

noon it is vastly more illusive—the luminous sands under

the beach, the sand on the summit is ever blowing, blurring
the edges with a film like heat radiations—piling up the hill
in a great crescent with horns outstretched to leeward from
the prevailing northeast winds.

And this vast pile of sand, hard on the windward, soft on
the leeward side, is ever moving towards the southwest at the
rate of two or three feet a year.

From the summit the view thrills with its far-stretched
beauty. Three quarters of a mile to the east, across the
coarse beach grass, is the boundless Atlantic; north, on the
trembling distance is another great sand hill fifteen miles
away—Paul Gamel’s Hill; south, the view is splendid with
the gleaming expanse of the fresh pond (a scant mile from

the surf) hemmed in on its western shore by the dark mys-
terious Nagshead woods and the Nagshead sand hills be-

yond. But to the west unfolds the view of views.

The north end of Roanoke Island, on which stands Fort
Raleigh, stretches across the southwest. Roanoke Sound is
divided from Kitty Hawk Bay by Collington Island (named
for Lord Colleton, one of the Lords Proprietors), and
far to the northwest on the dim horizon is Powell’s Point.
Between Powell’s Point and Kitty Hawk is the entrance to
Currituck Sound.

Three hundred and twenty odd years ago this same view

 
100 THE NORTH CAROLINA BOOKLET

burst upon the astonished sight of Amidas and Barlowe.
For after anchoring in the inlet, which was Kitty Hawk
Bay extended through the banks to the ocean, afterwards
closed by the great storm of 1696, named Trinity Harbor by
these first English to set foot in North Carolina, they ran to
the top of the nearest sand hill on the south of the inlet to
view the country. They beheld the sea on both sides ‘‘finding

” They shot off their harquebus

no end any of both ways.
shots “and such a flock of cranes for the most part white”
arose under them “‘with such a ery redoubled by many echoes,
as if an army of men had shouted all together.”

Standing on the top of Kill Devil Hill today, the same
view unfolds itself; the green-blue Atlantic to the east; the
violet-blue sounds to the west; the brilliant marsh grasses,
the golden sand hills, the dark dense woods, and flocks of
herons “for the most part white”; the whole vast panorama
blue—vivid blue from sky and sea and the reflections of
myriad pools upon the beach.

Just where Amidas and Barlowe landed is an always dis-
puted point. Barlowe’s narrative, with its quaint old Eng-
lish wording, leaves the inquirer in greater doubt than if
he took the word of any one of the many historians each of
whom chose for himself the inlet which suited him best. But
language, says Talleyrand, is a gloriously uncertain vehicle,
invented to conceal thought.

So turn to John White’s map, or rather, bird’s eye view of
this “coming of the English.” Now a picture can mean only
one thing. This picture shows a boat with eight men in it,

sailing towards Roanoke Island from the northeast. The dis-

tance from the inlet where the two vessels were anchored
to Roanoke was recorded by them as seven leagues. Al-
though the distance by water from Kitty Hawk Bay to
Roanoke is not as much as seven leagues, old Currituck in-
let is much too far north and old Roanoke inlet is not far

KILL DEVIL HILL 101

enough north—for who can believe those early explorers
were very accurate measures of distance? An inlet through
the banks at Kitty Hawk Bay comes much nearer fitting
both the account and picture than any other inlet indicated.

One thing, however, is certain and that is, an inlet once
pierced the banks nearly opposite the pressure of Albemarle
Sound waters. Along the shores of Kitty Hawk and the
opposite shores of Collington Islands are undeniable evi-
dences that the present fresh waters of the bay were once
salt. Great mounds of oyster shells or “Indian Kitchens”
line the shores. Indian relics are scattered here and there
and are often “blowing out.” Within the memory of living
men the ocean beach curved in at a point opposite the bay
to such an extent that small vessels could find in it a partial
haven.

The fresh pond, a mile to the southward, was once con-
nected with this inlet; for old men remember their fathers’
statements that boats could be taken from the bay into this
land-locked harbor.

Kill Devil Hill stands a natural monument to mark this
old inlet of Trinity Harbor. Its sands have moved and
shifted and wasted away, but other sands have blown and
made up in their stead. Is it too much to hazard the belief
that the first English feet to climb its yielding slope were
the sailors’ from Sir Walter Raleigh’s two little vessels an-
chored in the offing, and that upon its summit Amidas and
Barlowe unfurled the English flag ?

Kill Devil Hill claims a present interest for two reasons ;
first, that from its crown (125 feet high) the Wright broth-
ers learned to fly; and second on account of the legend of
its name.

Hidden from the world at Kill Devil Hill the Wright
brothers labored secretly at the most wonderful success that
man has yet achieved. Over at Kitty Hawk, Mrs. W. J.

 
 

 

102 THE NORTH CAROLINA BOOKLET

Tate shows with pride her sewing machine on which she
stitched up the sails for this biplane, and at the foot of Kill
Devil Hill stands the ‘flying shed” which sheltered that mys-
terious bird. How Nagshead and Kitty Hawk woods
swarmed with reporters and kodaks when the Wrights’ ex-
periments had reached the point of success, is all too recent
in the newspapers to need repetition.

But the legend of the name ‘Kill Devil” is too character-
istic of the banks, as they were long ago, to be lost; and
apocryphal though it may be, it deserves preservation. ‘‘In
days of yore and in times long gone before” there dwelt
upon the banks in the thick tangled woods of Nagshead and
to the northward, a rude and primitive race of wreckers
and beach combers whose living came largely from the sea.

When God in His bounty was slow to drive vessels upon
the treacherous quicksands of the coast, the natives, in prom-
ising, stormy weather would hobble a bank pony, tie a lan-
tern about his neck and turn him out upon the beach.
The light bobbing up and down as the nag grazed, closely
simulated the lights on a vessel at sea. Long before
the days of light houses or life saving stations, when ves-
sels cleared some port never to be heard from again, the
bankers along this coast could have given information in
many instances had they chosen. The mystery of Theodosia
Burr Alston and the portrait of an aristocratic lady which
hung for many years in a Nagshead shanty, and which was
but recently identified, held a tragedy of the banks which
many writers have essayed.

But that is not the story of Kill Devil. Like most stories
of the banks, it begins with a wreck. A coastwise merchant-
man, laden with a valuable cargo, was driven upon the
reef and wrecked. ‘The crew succeeded in reaching the
beach alive, and next day, the storm having much abated.

KILL DEVIL HILL 103

most of the cargo was gotten through the surf and piled
upon the sand with a guard to watch it.

Towards midnight the guard sprang forward in wide
awake terror, to find the bale of goods upon which he was
sleeping detach itself from the pile and amble away across
the beach, to disappear in the woods beyond the big sand hill.
In a moment all hands were awake and regarding with
stupified horror the spot where a moment before the bale
had rested. No power but the Devil was capable of such a
thing, they all declared, and they cursed the fate which had
cast them upon such a coast. Two men were ordered to
watch for the remainder of the night.

It was just before dawn. Both men saw it with wide
open eyes. A large bale of goods broke loose from the pile
and went bounding over the sand, to disappear in the direc-
tion of the big sand hill. This was no night “head notion.”
Daylight, however, restored quiet and these superstitious
sailors held a council. Of course it was the Devil. That
went without argument. But then, who could circumvent,
capture, or kill, the Devil? Men were not inclined to watch
or even sleep near such a diabolical spot. At length one old
grizzly seadog offered to watch—alone if none had nerve
enough to watch with him. ‘He feared not man, God, nor
Devil; and if it was the Devil, he swore he’d kill him.

Until midnight this fearless one patrolled the beach alone,

keeping a close eye on the bales of goods so mysteriously)

diminished the night before. Finally he sat down for a
moment just to rest his legs. With a shock to consciousness,
he was startled to see a large bale of goods break loose from
the pile and start across the beach towards the big hill. In
an instant his gun was levelled on it, but what was there to
shoot ? So he ran after it as hard as he could, but it bounded
along just ahead with increasing speed. ‘Then with a des-
perate effort he dashed forward between the fleeing bale and
3

 
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—

104 THE NORTH CAROLINA BOOKLET

the sand hill, when he tripped and fell over a taut rope.
In an instant he was on his feet, and, taking aim along the
rope, he fired. The bale of goods stood still. Running along
by the rope, he saw, dimly silhouetted against the faintly
gleaming sand, a large black object with what he took to be
two horns and a tail.

While he was reloading his gun this devilish thing began
again to move. He pulled the trigger. Immediately the
night was filled with a fearful noise, as the black object sank
to the ground and began to kick up the sand. Rushing up
to the foot of the hill, there he saw lying—the Devil, welter-
ing in blood ?—an old beach pony with a rope tied to his
harness—the other end hooked to the bale of goods. But he
had in truth killed the Devil, for the pile of goods remained
untouched upon the beach till finally boated away. And so
that grandiose sand hill standing near the site of the old inlet
was ever after known as “Kill the Devil Hill.”

Now as Shahrazad, perceiving the dawn of day, would
remark, “Whether this be true or only legend is past find-
ing out, but Allah is all-knowing.”

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GENERAL JAMES HOGUN. 105

CAREER OF GENERAL JAMES HOGUN, ONE
OF NORTH CAROLINA’S REVOLU-
TIONARY OFFICERS.

BY CHIEF JUSTICE WALTER CLARK.

North Carolina in the Revolution furnished ten regiments
to the regular service—the Continental line. Five of the
Colonels of these became general officers, the only Generals
North Carolina had in the regular service. They were Gen-
eral Robert Howe, who rose to be Major-General—our sole
Major-General—and four Brigadiers—General James
Moore, who died early in the war; General Francis Nash,
killed at Germantown and buried near the field of battle—
a brother of Governor Abner Nash; General Jethro Sum-
ner, and General James Hogun.

The lives and careers of the first three named are well
known. For some reason the data as to the last two have
been neglected. The Hon. Kemp P. Battle, by diligent
search in many quarters, was able to restore to us much in-
formation as to General Jethro Sumner, of Warren County,
and, indeed, to rehabilitate his memory. As to General
James Hogun, of Halifax County, the task was more diffi-
cult. Little has been known beyond the fact that he was
probably from Halifax County, and that he was a Brigadier-
General. The late Colonel William L. Saunders requested

the writer to investigate and preserve to posterity whatever

could now be rediscovered as to this brave officer.

It may be noted that North Carolina has not named a
county, or township, or village, in honor of either of the
four generals—Howe, Moore, Sumner, or Hogun. Moore
County was named in honor of Judge Alfred Moore, of the
United States Supreme Court. General Nash was the only

 
.

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