The road ran to the bank of the River Pocomoke, where a ferry was still
maintained to the opposite shore and the Virginia land of Accomac, and
the cold tide, without a sail, went winding to an oystery estuary of the
bay, where the mud at the bottom was so soft that vessels aground in it
could still continue sailing, as on the muggy globe that Noah came to
shore in.
Close by were oyster-shells high as a natural bluff, made by the Indian
gourmands before John Smith's voyage of navigation.
Vesta was set out at the great, ruined Episcopal church that, like a
castle of brick, made the gateway of Rehoboth; while William Tilghman
and Rhoda strolled into the open door of the brick Presbyterian church
farther on, and Milburn put up the horses at the tavern.
"William," Rhoda asked, "was this the first Presbyterian church ever
made yer?"
"The first in America, Rhoda. This was Rev. Francis Makemie's church. He
lived in Virginia, not far from here, where no other worship was
permitted but ours, so he came over the Pocomoke and reared a church of
logs at this point, and this is the third or fourth church-building upon
the spot. Rehoboth then came to be such a point for worship that the
Established Church put up yonder noble old edifice, as if to overawe
this Calvinistic one, in 1735."
"It's a quare old house," said Rhoda. "The little doors that opens from
the vestiblulete into the side galleries sent a draught right down the
preacher's back at the fur end, and when he give out the hymn, 'Blow ye
the trumpet, blow,' he always blowed his nose twice.
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