In solitude
What happiness, who can enjoy alone,
Or all enjoying, what contentment find?
John Milton
A shallow, muddy bottom near the mouth of the Yeopim River at Drummonds Point on the upper waters of Albemarle Sound is all that remains of the island home of the first permanent white settler in North Carolina. Nathaniel Batts, an intrepid hunter and trapper from Virginia, acquired the island that bears his name on September 24, 1660. When Batts put down his roots here, he meant to stay. And stay he did, for it is said that the ghost of the first permanent Tar Heel can still be seen swooping down over what was once Batts Island.
Among the Chowanoke Indians who resided in this part of the Albemarle when Batts arrived, the uninhabited island was known as Kalola—a reference to the flocks of seagulls that flew above the spit of sand. In 1696, a deed recorded in the Chowan precinct documented the sale of the twenty-seven-acre island, which by that time was called Batts Grave. On the Moseley map of 1733 and the Collett map of 1770, the island was shown by the same name. Around the middle of the eighteenth century, it was said to have been as large as forty acres. But over the succeeding two centuries, river and sound erosion significantly reduced the size of the island. In the early part of the twentieth century, fishermen used the remaining portion as a camp. By the 1930s, only one acre remained above water. A hurricane that ventured into Perquimans County in the 1950s covered all that remained. Nonetheless, the spirit of Nathaniel Batts still lingers here.
Batts was a living legend among the settlers who followed him from Virginia into the Albemarle. His fearless nature and his local influence led those admirers to honor him with an unofficial title: Captain Nathaniel Batts, governor of Roanoke.
Batts, however, did not take any particular pleasure in the company of his fellow white settlers. Perhaps that was why he had fled Virginia. At any rate, he chose to associate with, and adopt many of the customs of, the Chowanoke Indians, who inhabited mainland Perquimans County. The Chowanokes admired Batts for his athletic physique and his outdoorsmanship. They invited him to accompany them on their hunting parties. Over time, he traded his European dress for that of the Chowanokes. And even though Batts Island was by then a veritable Eden of bountiful gardens and orchards, Nathaniel chose to live with his Indian friends in their mainland villages.
There was one Indian who attracted his special attention. Her name was Kickowanna, and she was the breathtakingly beautiful daughter of Chief Kilcocanen. She fell in love with Batts at first sight. But there was a rival for her affection. Chief Pamunky of the Chasamonpeaks in tidewater Virginia longed to have Kickowanna in marriage. When the lovely, young maiden with raven-black hair spurned his offer and openly pronounced her love for Batts, the jilted chieftain put his braves on the warpath. In the ensuing conflict between the Chowanokes and the Chasamonpeaks, Chief Kilcocanen had no better warrior than Nathaniel Batts. Conspicuous in combat because of his valor and battlefield prowess, Batts won enduring fame when he engaged Chief Pamunky in a hand-to-hand showdown. Pamunky went down after being sliced by Batts’s claymore. Had the chief not begged for his life, the “governor of Roanoke” would have pummeled him to death with his club.
As a reward for his heroics, Batts was adopted as a member of the Chowanoke tribe and was given the name of Secotan, or “Great White Eagle.” Thereafter, no tribal council, harvest celebration, or war dance took place without him. When the calumet—the pipe of peace—was smoked, the largest pipe was always given to Secotan.
As for the lovers, Kickowanna and Secotan married and settled down to a life of wedded bliss. The two often shared their hopes and dreams by the campfire that illuminated the dark Albemarle skies. On one such occasion, Kickowanna confided a great secret: when her father, Chief Kilcocanen, breathed no more, Secotan would be his successor. In preparation for that day, the Indian princess lavished ornaments and a fancy headdress on her husband.
Nathaniel Batts never lost his fondness for his little island paradise. From time to time, he would retire to his cabin there. On one such occasion, Kickowanna, lonely for the companionship of her husband, set out in her canoe to join him. As she paddled across Albemarle Sound, the bright afternoon sun was suddenly covered by dark, ugly, forbidding clouds. A torrential rain began to fall; thunder cracked; lightning streaked the sky; a savage wind blew; large waves gathered in the sound. Finally, a swell capsized the canoe, and the pretty Kickowanna drowned. When her husband learned of the calamity, he was heartbroken. His life, his hopes, and his dreams were shattered. Nathaniel Batts never again left his island. When he died, he was buried there.
Although Batts Island now lies just under the surface of Albemarle Sound, seagulls still hover above and offer their lonely cries. On stormy afternoons, they are joined by the ghost of Nathaniel Batts, which sweeps up and down in its relentless search for the lost love of his life. Fishermen who ply these waters have heard a voice—a whisper in the wind—calling out, “Kickowanna, Kickowanna, Kickowanna.” Indeed, the spirit of North Carolina’s first permanent resident abides with us yet.