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Long Land Water

“Long Land Water” of the Indians becomes the New Jersey of the British

We shall probably never know the name of the first European to sight the New Jersey shore line and Long Beach. Most historians today credit Henry Hudson with the distinction of having been the first to land.

As will be remembered, he was an Englishman employed by the Dutch East Indies Company. On April 4, 1609, he sailed in search of a Northwest Passage to India. His single ship, the “Half Moon,” was a two-masted vessel of about eighty tons, manned by a crew of twenty.

Henry Hudson's ship the Half Moon

Henry Hudson’s ship the Half Moon

Hudson sighted Newfoundland, then coasted down the shore, landing near the present Portland, Maine. He then rounded Cape Cod and sailed southward as far as the Virginia Capes. There he turned about and entered the Delaware Bay on August 28, 1609. Unable to locate deep water to his liking, and fearing the shoals, he again put to sea and sailed up the New Jersey coast.

It is said he anchored off Barnegat Inlet for the night of September 2, 1609. The next day he dropped anchor at Sandy Hook in four and one-half fathoms of water and twelve hundred feet from the beach.

A landing was made on Friday, September 4, 1609. Accounts of this event differ. Some claim that Hudson first sent a small boat manned by a few of his crew to ascertain whether the Indians were friendly. Others contend that Hudson led the landing party and was the first European to step ashore on the soil of New Jersey.

Hudson remained at sandy Hook for eight days during which the first hostile act on the part of the Indians occurred. On Sunday, September 6, 1609, one of the sailors, John Coleman or Colman, a member of a small boat crew, was shot through the neck by an arrow and died. Two other members of the boat party were wounded.

Again accounts differ. Some contend that the small boat was close to shore and that the attacking Indians were hidden in the foliage. Others hold that Hudson was in charge and that his boat was pursued by several canoes carrying a war party of Indians.

In any event John Coleman was killed and buried at the foot of one of the gnarled cedar trees that lined the shores of Sandy Hook for so many years. This was most probably the first encounter between Europeans and American Indians within the limits of the present State of New Jersey.

But many Europeans must have sighted the New Jersey coast line and Long Beach before Henry Hudson. And it is even possible that some of these mariners were shipwrecked on the treacherous shoals.

John Cabot, a Venetian, with his son Sebastian, sailed from Bristol, England in 1497 in the service of Henry VII. From Newfoundland the Cabots sailed down the eastern coast of North America as far as cape Hatteras and possibly as far as Florida. This fact seems to have been ignored by most historians. The Cabots must have sailed along and sighted the New Jersey Coast and Long Beach.

A Florentine, Giovanni Verranzo, commanding a squadron of three vessels for King Francis I of France, sailed along the Atlantic coast of North America. It is known that he sailed into New York Bay in 1523. In the same year a Portuguese, Estevan Gomez, sailing for Emperor Charles V of Portugal, is believed to have done some exploring along the shores of both the Delaware and Hudson Rivers.

It is not only possible but quite probable that the intrepid Norse navigators sailed along this coast as early as 1000 A. D. These men may have landed on the New Jersey shores. Some day we will probably know whether these seamen were the first to discover New Jersey, some hundreds of years before the present accepted dates.

Nova Caesarea – New Jersey

What is now the State of New Jersey had many names in the past. The Indians called it “Skaabee” or “Scheyichbi,” generally translated as “Long Land Water.” The Swedes knew it as “Nye Svierge” or “New Sweden, along with their settlements on the west banks of the Delaware. The Dutch called it “Nova Belgia,” and when included with New York it became “New Netherlands.”

The flags of three monarchic governments flew over what is now New Jersey. That of the Sweden until 1654, when the Dutch took control for ten years. The British then conquered the Dutch and held sway for more than a century.

The British, under Colonel Richard Nicolls, seized “New Netherlands” from the Dutch on August 27, 1664 (O.S.) in the name of the Duke of York. Colonel Nicolls called the land west of the Hudson River, including New Jersey, ‘Albania.”

On June 23 and 24, 1664 (O. S.), James, Duke of York, had granted the land between the Hudson and Delaware Rivers to two royal favorites: John, Lord Berkeley, privy councilor and Baron of Stratton: and Sir George Carteret, who had been treasurer of the Royal Navy.

The land was to be known as “Nova Caesarea” or “New Jersey,” as a compliment to Carteret who had successfully defended the Isle of Jersey in the Puritan Civil War of 1643.

After the land division was agreed upon, Carteret became proprietor of East New Jersey and Lord Berkeley became proprietor of West New Jersey.

Colonel Nicolls, while administering the affairs of New York, had granted licenses to several settlers from the New Haven Colony, in Connecticut, to purchase large tracts of land in northern New Jersey from the Indians.

The settlers from New England came down, took up their lands and proceeded to make their own laws to govern themselves. Finally, in a letter dated November 25, l672, the Duke of York annulled these grants in order to solidify the Colony. However, many North New Jersey settlers who held their lands under grants from colonel Nicolls refused to pay quit-rents to the Proprietors.

After many conflicts with the settlers, the proprietors, in 1702, surrendered the governing powers back to the crown and New Jersey became a Royal colony under the administration of Lord Cornbury, Royal Governor of New York.

The Colony of New Jersey continued to be governed by the Royal Governor of New York until 1738, when, in order to appease a rising resentment, particularly among the farmers, New Jersey was given its own governor.

Lord Berkeley disposed of his portion of New Jersey in 1675. After much discussion, George Keith, Surveyor-General of East Jersey, in 1687, was ordered by the Proprietors to run a dividing line between East and West New Jersey.

The Gateway to Long Beach – 3

The Third Port of Entry

Tuckerton has the distinction of having been the third Port of Entry in the United States. After the formation of this Nation, Philadelphia, the then largest city, became the first Port of Entry. This was followed by New York and then by Tuckerton. The commission is dated March 21 1791, and is signed by George Washington as President and Thomas Jefferson as Secretary of State.

Ebenezer Tucker was the first Collector of the Port of Tuckerton and since his time the Collector’s Office has always been in the home of the man holding the appointment. Collectors following Tucker were Charles Bartlett, John T. Burtan, Samuel Bartlett, George W. Mathis, George Crammer, James E. Otis and William Allen, Jr. Several of these men held office when more than a hundred schooners registered Tuck­erton as their home port.

Tuckerton Schooners and Ebenezer Tucker

Great forests of fine hardwood trees which once surrounded Tuckerton made it an important ship building center, thriving under the enterprise of early Quaker settlers. Tuckerton built schooners were well thought of by salt water sailors and many were engaged in a substantial coastal trade.

Bartlett’s Coaling Dock was located on the west bank of Tuckerton Creek about midway to the Bay, and a century ago was a place of considerable importance. Here teams brought their loads of cord wood and large wagons brought their bushels of charcoal. Two masted schooners carried this fuel to Philadelphia and Boston to heat homes. All that now remains of this once busy dock are a few rotting timbers and short piling stumps in the water.

According to the records of the Post Office Department a post office was established at Tuckerton on August 18, 1797. The early post­masters and their dates of appointment were: Reuben Tucker, August 18, 1797; William Watson, February 25, 1801; David Stoute, July 1, 1805; and Ebenezer Tucker, December 28, 1805. He served until May 8, 1840.

Ebenezer Tucker performed many services for his community, state and nation. He served in the Continental Army during the Revolution and was elected to Congress in 1825-1829, serving in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Congresses. He was appointed a judge of the Common Pleas Court and Orphan’s Court and was a justice of the court of Quarter Sessions.

Around 1800 he built and established “Union Inn” at Tuckerton, a portion of which is incorporated in the present “Carlton House.” He owned several schooners, some of which were engaged in the West Indies trade, loading lumber at Tuckerton and returning with sugar and molasses. In addition to this he was one of the original directors of “The Burlington County Bank,” organized in 1837 at Medford, Burling­ton County.

Ebenezer Tucker died September 5, 1845, and is buried in the Meth­odist Cemetery at Tuckerton, his grave being marked by the dominat­ing obelisk of the burying ground.

Edward Andrews and Willow Landing

The buildings at Main and Water Streets, Tuckerton, are supported by portions of the foundations of the original Edward Andrews glist mill. Tuckerton is like that – the new is built upon the old and looks to the old for support and finds it.

Edward Andrews, the reputed founder of what is now Tuckerton, was born on the 16th of the First Month, 1677. When he grew up he acquired some ftve hundred acres on the east side of Tuckerton Lake. He married Sarah Ong, a daughter of Sarah Ong, Sr., believed to have been a widow at the time of her daughter’s marriage. The wedding took place at the home of Thomas Revell in Burlington on February 8, 1694.

Edward Andrews tired of taking his grain to Burlington to have it ground and in about 1704 erected a grist mill at the beaver dam, where today’s shore road curyes around the south end of Tuckerton Lake. This was the first grist mill in the area.

In 1708 Edward Andrews conveyed two acres of land on the east side of the Lake, well back from the road, to the Trustees of the local Quaker Meeting. A one story meeting house was immediately built on this land, John Crammer being the head carpenter. This original meeting house remained in constant use until 1865 when it was torn down and the present meeting house erected. Meetings are still held here at 11a.m. on First Days during the summer months.

The window frames of the first meeting house were brought from England, the srnall diamond shaped panes of glass being set in lead. These leaden window frames were taken down and hidden during the Revolution so that they would not be seized and melted down for shot

Tuckerton, like most mainland towns near salt water, had its salt works during the Revolution. These were located on the Bay Shore so that a wind-mill could pump salt water into the boiler and ulti­mately into the salt pans. British restrictions and taxes had made the importation of salt prohibitive, so the colonists manufactured their own salt by the simple process of evaporating sea water. Many New Jersey bog iron furnaces cast large shallow salt pans for the ffnal evap­oration. Old maps of Tuckerton show the road leading to the salt works as Salt Works Lane. It has now been renamed Marine Street. The largest salt works in Tuckerton were operated by a substantial com­pany and produced some eight hundred pounds of salt a year.

Boats still tic up at willow Landing, the grand old name for the town dock about a block down Tuckerton creek frorn where Andrews’ Mill once stood. Tuckcrton creek was known to the Indians as “Pohat­cong” aftcr the lake on the upper side of the beaver darn. Later it had rnany names, being generally known by the name of the then mill owner. On variors maps it is shown as Andrews’ Mill Creek, Jacob Andrews. Mill Creek, Shourd’s Mill Creek, Shord’s Mill Branch and plain Mill Creek.

The hugc willow trees that once shaded Willow Landing, and gave the place its name, are all gone the last twisted trunk blew down in June of 1950. The Landing once extended for some distance arong the creek bank. It was a scene of great activity with business being done in large timbcr, lumber, cord-wood, split shingles, charcoal, salt, flax and molasscs.

Boarding Captain Smith’s boat at Willow Landing and going down Tuckerton creek to the Bay was an interesting and rewarding experience. As we came out of the Creek, to the left, beyond some cottages, we saw Gaunnt’s Point, named for Hananiah Gaunnt, husband of Ann Ridgway Gaunnt, Tuckerton’s distinguished female Quaker preacher. Down the channel a couple of miles, on the left, was a large island, once easily recognized by a big brick chimney of the abandoned moss-bunker fertilizer plant on Storey’s Island. This landmark crashed to the ground early in April, 1954.

Across the channel from the fertilizer plant site was a broad salt meadow. This meadow has been called Fox Burrow since before the Revolution. Many years ago the drifting ice fields piled the meadow sod up at this point in such a manner that it was above high water and even above storm tides. Foxes made their dens or burrows in this higher meadow land. The place is sometimes referred to as Foxborough.

Not very far from Fox Burrow is another location where a Revolu­tionary War name still applies to a winding back channel. This is “Soldier’s Hole” and it may be found on present day charts. The Con­tinental Army established a sentry post on the back of this narow channel to observe ships entering Little Egg Harbor Inlet. The loca­tion was ideal for this purpose since the view was unobstructed. The observation point was comparatively safe because it was impossible to reach Soldiert Hole except in a small boat and then only by one familiar with the shoals of the winding channel.

The Gateway to Long Beach – 2

continued from long-beach-island-history-and-tales

The Clamtown Sailcar

Baymen – oystermen and clammers – continued to use the Edge Cove dock. Here they cleaned, sorted, counted and packed their oysters, clams and fish. They had been quick to grasp the opportunity afforded by the railroad in making it possible for them to ship their seafood to profitable city markets. They were no longer dependent on coastal schooners. But when the spur to Edge Cove was abandoned they were confronted by the problem of how to convey their sacks, boxes and barrels each day from the dock to the mainline of the railroad.

The problem was solved in true bayman fashion. The old flat car was converted into a land-going ship! It was fully rigged with a mast and sails. The old spur line tracks offered a smooth and reefless channel. So expert were these baymen in sailing this fat car that few trips were missed no matter from which direction the winds blew. The sight of a fat car – under full sail-and loaded with boxes and barrels – speeding across the meadow bafled visitors.

The Clamtown sailcar, as it was called, was unique and served the baymen for several years. Had there not been an accident it would probably have run indefinitely. In those days Tuckerton made much of celebrating Halloween. On such a night some of the older boys decided upon a ride on the sailcar. They were probably too eager for speed and the sailcar jumped the track at a curve and went into a ditch. There some of its rusting parts may still be seen.

A Quaker Meeting House and a Wireless Station

“Meeting House Pond” is two miles south of Tuckerton on the Wireless Road. This pond was first to freeze in winter and was used by children for skating. It was so named because there was once a meeting house in the nearby woods. The pond is part of Caldwell’s Run.

It may seem incongruous to speak of an ancient Quaker meeting house and Wireless Road in the same sentence but Tuckerton did have the highest wireless tower in the world. It was the second highest man-made structure of its time, only surpassed by the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

The Tuckerton Wireless Tower, known throughout the world, was on Hickory Island. Construction was started in 1912 and completed in 1914. It was built by a German company and at the time was the highest landmark along the Atlantic coast. The huge triangular open tower originally extended eight hundred and fifty feet above the meadow. Some years later, while the tower was still in use, seventy-five feet were removed from its top to increase its power. It was a wonderful beacon and landmark with its flashing red blinker light. In clear weather, either by day or night, the structure and installation could be seen for miles.

The Wireless Tower at Tuckerton is gone. On December 28, 1955, wreckers cut several supporting cables and the structure crashed to the earth. There seem to be plans to develop the hundreds of acres surrounding the tower site into a resort. If this is done some of the houses will be no larger than the huge concrete anchors that held the supporting cables of the tower.

Speaking of anchors recalls Anchor, or Anchoring, Island often mentioned in the log books of coasting vessels and shown on old maps. The Island, some fifteen acres in area, was located in the Bay opposite Great Egg Harbor Inlet, an inlet which has been closed for years and now has new channels on either side of the old location.

Anchoring Island was washed away many years ago and some twenty feet of salt water today rush across the old site. The Island’s name was very appropriate since vessels anchored in its lee to wait out a blow or for a change in tides. It was a natural haven for sailing ships in bad weather.

Decoys and Boats

The Tuckerton area was justly famous as a center of the art of making decoys for hunting. Skilled artisans made decoys of wood, tin or iron to represent snipe, ducks or geese. Harry Shourds had a national reputation for making various types of decoys and shipped them all over North America. John Bartlett and Ernest Smith were also outstanding decoy makers. Specimens of their skill are now collectors’ items.

What are now called motor boats were known as launches prior to World War I. Like the early automobiles, the engines coughed, smoked, balked and sometimes failed completely. Jason Fenimore, of Harvey Cedars and Manahawkin, had a most appropriate name for his launch- “No Go”-which was boldly painted on the bow. It was an event when it returned to its dock under its own power and a pushing pole was part of the regular equipment.

Sailboats were very important in the pre-motorboat era, and sailing them called for great skill. Captain Samuel J. Smith, of Tuckerton, ferried all of the lumber needed for the construction of the Baldwin Hotel Annex across the Bay in his cat yacht “Broadbill.” Captain Will Smith carried the mail across the Bay from Tuckerton to the south end of Long Beach. He usually sailed the mail across in his boat. But in winter, when the Bay was frozen over, he pushed his way across in a sneak box fitted with brass runners. One winter, when the Bay ice was eighteen inches thick for several weeks, he walked the several miles back and forth with the mail.

Long Beach Island; History and Tales

This post begins a series that will reproduce select writings from the past that feature history, stories and tales of Long Beach Island. We begin with a few pages from Under Barnegat’s Beam.


We begin our story with a New Jersey town of many names. Were you to consult Scott’s Atlas, published in 1799, you would find it designated “Clamtown.” On a modern map it would be Tuckerton. These are only two of the numerous names by which it has been known through more than two and one-half centuries and each name is interwoven in its history.

Old LBI mapThomas F. Gordon, in his “History of New Jersey,” published in 1834, refers to Tuckerton in this manner: “post town and port of entry for Little Egg Harbour district, about 35 miles S.E. of Mount Holly, 65 from Trenton, and 189 N.E. from W.C. (Washington, D.C.), situate on a narrow tongue of land, projecting into the marsh of Little Egg Harbour Bay, Little Egg Harbour town-ship, Burlington Co., contains between 30 and 40 dwellings, 4 taverns, 5 stores, 2 Methodist churches, a Quaker meeting house. It lies upon a navigable stream, called Shord’s Mill Branch, 6 miles from the Bay, whence wood scows and flats ascend to the town. There is a large business done here in timber and cord-wood; and salt is, or was manufactured in the vicinity. The town is frequented during the summer by many persons for the benefit of sea-bathing, &c. A stage plies regularly between it and Philadelphia.”

Tuckerton was more than a hundred and twenty-five years old when Gordon described it since it had been settled by the Friends in the 1690’s and a Quaker Meeting had been established by 1702. The locality took its name from this meeting house-“Little Egg Harbour.” Later it was known as “Middle of the Shore,” both of these being regional rather than place names. The town itself was referred to as “Quakertown.” A few old maps show the village as “Fishtown.”

The present name, Tuckerton, was decided upon at a township feast in 1798. Ebenezer Tucker, a remarkable man, invited the entire community to a great dinner of boiled beef and pork, boiled turnips and potatoes, beans and rye bread. The dinner was given by this entrepreneur for the express purpose of having the thriving town named for himself.

Clamtown Becomes Tuckerton

After 1800 the name appears on maps as Tuckertown, Tuckinton and Tuckerton, evidently depending upon the whim of the map maker. The enterprise and ingenuity of Ebenezer Tucker seemed  to inspire the town people and long survived him.

An increasing number of persons frequented the town during the summer season for the benefit of sea-bathing. Long Beach, the island across the Bay, attracted more and more summer visitors. The stage spoken of by Gordon gave way to the railroad. Many of these visitors came to Tuckerton by rail and were ferried across the Bay in boats. Tuckerton became the gateway to Long Beach.

This traffic steadily increased. ln 1872 the railroad built a short spur from its mainline at Tuckerton to a spot on the mainland bay shore called Edge Cove. This was before the railroad bridge was built across Manahawkin Bay connecting Long Beach with the mainland. Railroad transportation for passengers, baggage and freight bound for Long Beach then ended at Edge Cove. The steamboats ‘Barclay” and “Pohatcong” carried passengers and freight across to Beach Haven. After arrival at Beach Haven passengers for boarding houses at other locations on the island were sailed up the Bay to their destinations. All in all, it made the trip a full day’s journey.

When direct rail service to Long Beach was established in June, 1886, the year in which the railroad bridge across the Bay was completed, the Edge Cove spur was abandoned. However, only the switch connecting the spur to the mainline was removed. The rails remained across the meadow as did one flat car.


Cranberry picking in New Jersey is one of the busiest times of the year for folks in the Pine Barrens. Harvesting season can run from Labor Day through October. The cranberry industry has been around for a long time in New Jersey, dating back to the 1840’s. This date is established by a state agricultural record showing that a man by the name of John Webb had established a cranberry bog in Ocean County.

Technology and cultivation practices have changed cranberry production a lot over the years. Cranberries used to be picked by hand but are now either flood harvested or collected using mechanical pickers.

This picture shows a scene from the cranberry harvest in September of 1910. The little girl is ten year old Rose Biodo. She is carrying two pecks of berries, likely heading for a truck that is parked as close as it can get to the cranberry pickers. This scene was captured by Lewis Hine and is part of a National Archives gallery exhibit called Picturing the Century.

There are plenty of kids think they have it hard today if their parents don’t provide them with a cell phone and rides to where ever they want, whenever they want. Times sure have changed.

New Jersey and Badges for the Beach

What can we dig up about ocean beach Beach Badges in New Jersey?

Towns without Beach Fees

Lets start with the towns that have none. They are far and few in between so this is a relatively short list.

  • North Wildwood
  • Wildwood
  • Wildwood Crest
  • Upper Township in Cape May County
  • Atlantic City

One of the things about these places not having a pay to play beach is they can brag about this fact. It is very unusual for a beach in New Jersey and Wildwood does in fact does play this up in their promotional ads.

Who started it?

I’m not sure. Seaside Heights and Lavallete had a beach badge system in place as early as the 1940’s. Surf City began their beach badge program in 1967 and Long Beach Township in 1976. You can read more (a lot more) about beach badges on Long Beach Island here http://lbibeachrentals.com/Beach%20Badges.html

ocean-city-2000An interesting aspect of the passing of borough by borough beach badge ordinances is the regularity of the same kind of process unfolding in many different places. First the town officials come up with a plan to sell beach badges and this idea in turn has to be “sold” to the residents. Town managers clearly realize the added revenue from beach badges can be a big boon to the local budget. Residents on the other hand are reluctant to begin to pay for something that they had been getting for free. Once an ordinance is passed and begins to take effect there is a period where some people that use the beach are angry and, in some cases, take their case to court. The defendant argues for unencoumbered beach access and the cases are always decided in favor of the municipality.

Is it Justified?

New Jersey law states there is a Public Trust Doctorine that the public has a right to swim in coastal waters and walk along the shoreline.  In 1955 towns were given the right to charge for access to their beaches to help pay for beach related services. Both of these concepts had to be further defined and clarified in court cases that challenged how municipalities used the monies they raised through selling beach badges and how they went about allowing access to the beach.

Charging high prices for daily badges, increasing parking fees, removing beach facilities heavily used by day visitors and restricting the times when non-residents could buy badges were all used by some towns to limit who could or would visit their beach. Deal, for example, had part of its beach reserved for residents and beach badges were lower for residents than for nonresidents. Many of these issues were resolved through state court cases in the 1980’s.

Yet there are still some contemporary cases where these same issues have come up again. It seems with lax oversight and the passage of time a few communities had slowly been working at effectively limiting access again.

Proposed Change

Over the years there have been many attacks against and changes proposed for beach badge administration in New Jersey. A state law to abolish beach fees altogether has been floated as an idea on a number of occasions. There have also been a few times when it was felt a more expansive system would be better. Allowing badges to cover more than a single town beach would be nice for visitors but few towns are ever willing to give up their tight control over their own well developed beach badge systems.

Another interesting twist to allowing more beach access has come with the replenishment of beaches along some less publicly used beaches.  It has been argued that the state and federal government paying to restore beaches means that the municipalities that benefit should provide some standard public access beach facilities: access from a public thoroughfare, reasonable parking arrangements for at least some visitors and restrooms. This forced some of the more exclusive New Jersey beach communities, that have historically had no real public use of their beaches, to open up their beaches to more people. Many of the same people that clamored for public help to save their beachfront homes, threatened by beach erosion, wanted nothing to do with the public once their beachfront was made wider and more secure.

Looking Back

Here is a 1996 look at some beach badge prices:

BAY HEAD $5 daily $55 season

BELMAR (1989 $8 daily!) $5 daily, a 50-cent increase over last year. $40 season

CAPE MAY $3 daily, $9 weekly, $15 season

DEAL $4 weekday, $5 daily weekend, $55 season

LAVALLETTE $4 daily $25 season

SPRING LAKE $5 daily, a 50-cent increase over last year (and also once had an $8 per day fee)

History of the Barnegat Light Yacht Club

This history was part of the Barnegat Light Yacht Club website. While the website has since disappeared the history as presented on that site is as follows……

By Robert W. Kent

In the 1920s, the beaches at Harvey Cedars stretched hundreds of yards from the dunes to the sea. The sands met the bay at the waters’ edge because bulkheads had not yet been built to encase the lands of their owners into a manageable plot. The fire company still consisted of a two wheel cart carrying a hose which had to be pulled by hand or by car to the site of a conflagration with the hope that a hydrant was nearby. Electricity had just been installed. Not only had the Boulevard been newly paved, but many of the side streets reaching from the Ocean to the Bay had been improved to accommodate the growing number of residents. Public water had just been installed and the mosquitoes were absolutely terrible – a curse that had been brought by nature in the dark distant past and would stay until the 1950s.

Barnegat Light Yacht ClubDr. E. Howell Smith, professor at the University of Pennsylvania School of Dentistry, and a resident of Harvev Cedars in the house at 78th Street and the Bay which still stands today with its balconies and gingerbread, called together some of his friends who also lived on the cove. The first meeting was held at his home in 1928 and then the group which numbered up to 24 would meet from time to time in the homes of the others interested in forming the High Point Yacht Club. The names of A. Ernest D’Ambley, J.C. Van Horn, Ralph Nash, J.B. Kinsey, Fred P. Small, Victor J. Stephens and Earl Hortter appear among the early records of the Club. Also among the original members were William Sloane, Ralph Charlton, Merritt Bigelow, Arthur Munn, Harvey Jones and Louis Wild.

The club began as a meeting in a local home in 1928. The High Point Yacht Club was formed at this original meeting and within a few years the members has purchased the current club property for $2000. A building was commissioned and built, which is the structure that is still found there today. The name was changed to Barnegat Light Yacht Club in 1932. While it may seem odd to name the club after the more northerly town, Barnegat Light was actually named Barnegat City during that time (the town name was changed in the 1950’s).

Two years later the group purchased a piece of ground from William Sloane who owned all of the land from the ocean to the bay between 76th and 75th Streets. They paid $2,000 for the lots that now hold the Club House and authorized John Gustafson to build the structure which stands today. He charged the members who, according to their By- Laws had to be male and 21, $6,000 to build, wire and finish the structure. The price did not include a bulkhead and for the first seasons the members placed their boats in the water in the traditional method of sliding them into the sea. It would be fifteen years until the first davit and hoist were constructed.

The Club was built for projected expansion of members to a capacity of 40 families. The barroom was to come later and dues were set at $25 with the obligation of new members who could afford this kind of financial commitment in the depression years. An enterprising member of the Club, who was also in the finance business, helped to organize a system that enabled qualified members to pay $5 down and the balance in easy monthly payments for the remainder of the year.

In 1932, Munn returned with the design for a flag and insignia incorporating these ideas and the Barnegat Light Yacht Club was born. It has remained so even through a brief legal contest when the borough at the Northern end of the Island changed its name from Barnegat City to Barnegat Light in the 1950s and felt it inappropriate for a club bearing its name to be located in Harvey Cedars.

The early Annual Meetings of the Club were held in January at the Walt Whitman Hotel in Camden. Here the officers for the coming year were elected and the men and women would have a mid-Winter get together. From these sessions came such decisions as the hiring of “John” the first Club Steward. In 1932 he was paid $5 a week. The next year at the same meeting the position was abolished. Two years later the idea was reinstated with the addition of a janitor; two years later they were dropped. And so it went.

In the middle-30s there was a feeling that the Club had to expand and a “taproom” added. Sayre Ramsdell was the Commodore and was told by the members that if that was what he really wanted, then he would have to raise the money himself. Not to be intimidated, and with the full facilities of the Philco Corporation and their entertainment accessories available to him, he staged a major social and show-business “bash” at the Germantown Cricket Club in Philadelphia. It raised more than the funds needed to construct the barroom that now occupies the northeast corner of the Club House. The addition was important because the Bamegat Light Yacht Club in the 30s predominantly was a social club. There was a handicap race every Saturday for the people with boats. There was never enough of one type of craft to run a class race until much later.

Saturday night was “party night” from July 4th until Labor Day. A band was hired for the big evenings at each end of the season. The women took turns preparing the dinners each Saturday night. There were thirty members involved. During most of the weekends Frank Smith would play the piano and there would be singalongs. For the more adventurous there were three slot machines whose proceeds helped pay off the mortgage on the building and the loan on the dock. The machines were sold in 1937 but may still be found in the homes of some of today’s members. Dinners cost $2 for adults and half that for children – when they were invited. Alcoholic refreshments were limited to three bottles of whiskey, three bottles of gin and a jug each of Manhattans and Martinis per week. The only “mix” was water and when the Club’s offerings were finished, members would fall back on their lockers in the barroom for supplementary libations – a practice that existed until the end of the 1960s. Then lockers became less popular, club offerings became more plentiful, and mixers were accepted.

The Ladies Auxiiliary, which had raised a few thousand dollars and helped furnish the Club House, was abandoned in 1936 the same year the Annual Meeting of members was shifted from January to September. Dues were dropped. $5 that year to $20 and the first tensions started to appear between factions in the membership. Income and expenses on an annual basis showed a break-even point of $1,000. The income in 1936 of $1,300 would stand as a high point for another eight years. The factionalism continued to build; resignations were rife. Then came December 7, 1941.

The years during World War II were not easy. Most of the men were away. The dues were waived and voluntary contributions were accepted. Enough money was received to maintain the club and pay the mortgage, which was held by three of the members (at an annual rate of 4 percent). Lloyd Good, who held more than fifty percent of the notes, waived the interest during those hard times and in return the Club granted him a lifetime membership with no payment of dues. The records showed income in those years of $235 (1942), $304 (1943), $80 (1944) and $240 (1945). There was a $350 operating deficit for the four years. Even though there were no activities, flag officers were elected each year.

The dues were reinstated in 1946 as Victor Stephens took over as Commodore, and the spirit of harmony was restored to the membership. A second generation of members started to appear with the entrance into activity of Jim DeCeasare, Jr. and “Beau” Freeman. The youth of the Club in the new spirit of freedom following the War were included in the innovative Saturday dinners which cost each member $2.00 and still included liquor until the bottle of gin, the bottle of rye, and the pitchers of martinis and manhattans ran dry. The concept of the Summer Member was created so that the established members could have the opportunity to meet and know their prospective colleagues more familiarly. There was still a limit of thirty on the number of members, this having been set when the original by-laws were adopted. Through the end of the 1940s, the Club had between 20 and 25 who paid dues of $9 while their wives were taken on as Associates at another $9 and almost everybody rented a locker for another $7.

Some of the names of that era which appear in the various records of the Club and the memories of its members still are familiar to residents of the area. Early in the decade the Club paid Howard Baum $8 a night to act as bartender. Carl Sjostrom first joined the club in 1940. Reynolds Thomas and his predecessor as Mayor of Harvey Cedars, Joseph Yearly, were both members of the Club after the War. Charlie Anderson and then Harry Haines took a stint as caretaker for the Club House when Frank Smith wasn’t around as chairman of the House Committee. Frank E. LeNoir and his orchestra came down from Philadelphia for the sum of $28 to play for the Saturday night dinners with dancing, and the Club retained its position as “the other Yacht Club” on the Island sharing the honors with Little Egg Yacht Club in Beach Haven.

The Surf City Yacht Club made its appearance in the late 1940s and soon competition on the Bay developed between the newcomers and Barnegat Light. Comets and Moths would race flat out down the Bay and then back again. The club Comets ventured to the Little Egg Club in 1950 and many years later with Lightnings for the Down Bay Regatta.

Life in America in the 1950s was quiet and comfortable with Harry Truman and Dwight Eisenhower serving as rocks of stability with the pattern of equilibrium reflected on Long Beach Island. Life at the Yacht Club did not differ as Victor Stephens went out during the Summer to raise the American Flag at the Club each morning and returned in the evening to take it down. The members of the Club continued to meet every Saturday night for dinner with the price increasing by the end to $ 3 and drinks were included as long as the three bottles contained something to pour.

The Commodore was the hub of all of this activity. He sat at an octagonal table outside the taproom. From this vantagepoint each week he and his guests could survey all that occurred. After the dinners they would listen to The Jesters who came from Philadelphia to play; or, they could sing along with Frank Smith at the piano; and of course they could see when everybody left. The Commodore and his wife cleaned up at the end of every Saturday night; in time, the Hostess for the evening and her husband assumed this task sometimes with the voluntary help of Members’ children. At the end of the decade Grace Miller came upon the scene where she has remained as a pleasant addition through today.

Real estate taxes were still $200 in the 1950s. Liability insurance with limits of $50,000 per incident and $500,000 for more than one person were thought sufficient by most of the members, although one resigned because he felt that the limits should be higher. This spirit of conservation spread to the adoption of a resolution that rescinded two Honorary Life Memberships of widows of past commodores because of the general feeling that only men could be members. Membership grew to 30 by 1959.

It was a decade that saw Dr. J. Arthur Steitz admitted to membership in 1953 and Dr. Harrison Berry welcomed two years later. Both men were to serve as Commodores later in the decade bringing further growth and stability before they retired. In 1957 the original mortgage was finally paid off but the Club went right back into debt with members lending $3,500 for repairs and renovations with an interest rate of 4 percent. With the injection of new money a flagpole was purchased, a new davit was installed and a hoist purchased, the current T-pier was installed, and, a new roof placed in 1959.
The sailing program was still a hodge-podge during the fifties. During the decade members raced a large variety of boats and anywhere from ten to eighteen craft would gather near the Clubhouse pier on a Saturday afternoon for the handicap race. Stephens was the only one who understood the system and he was never questioned about the running or the results. The starter’s cannon would sound and the Dusters, Cats, Stars, Comets and Moths would take off on a course that usually took them around Sandy Island with the blinker near the Bible Conference as one mark and buoy 82 as the other. Not only were there problems with the air but there was also the hazard of Races would last as long as three hours with weekly prizes awaiting the winners. These would include such esoteric items as a crab net or a paddle or an anchor for the boat eventually adjudged the first place finisher. Mary Thompson in her “Half Dollar” was the reliable crashboat captain.

One of the reasons for the high number of participants with a relatively small number of members was the standing invitation to non-members to enter. It was part of the Club’s involvement with the Community which spread to the usage of the premises for a fundraiser for the Island Library, a forerunner of events two decades later on behalf of the Southern Ocean County Hospital. Developing at this time, too, was competition among the teenagers and planned races for them began in 1956. As local interest spread and a desire for participation in interclub races resurfaced an Intermediate Membership category was established to permit our “members” to travel and let people know that Barnegat Light Yacht Club was committed to sailing.

By the end of the 1950s the new By-Laws of 1954 had taken hold and would govern the Club’s operations for a decade and a half. At this time, too, the concept of the Member’s Dinner, which started as a surprise going-away party for George Van Houghton upon the completion of his term as Commodore in 1950; took root. . It would blossom into the most warm and meaningful social gathering of the members and their spouses during the year.

Many of the movements that had their beginnings in the 1950s began to take shape in the early 1960s and assumed the form, which had been refined over the last two decades. Starting with the year that Art Steitz was Commodore the sailing program began to assume important status in the Club’s reason for existence. As a control and a very important source of revenue, charges were initiated for the storage of boats on the bay property. The members started to moan about the late starting time of the races and the three dozen members decided to open up the sailing to non-members and the membership to whatever limits necessary.

There were weekly races for the Lightnings whose numbers increased to ten during the decade. The junior members raced El Toros for a while and then made the transition into Sailfish and eventually Sunfish. But there were still enough other kinds of boats to retain the handicap races until the end of the 1970s. The enthusiasm for sailing spread outside the dock area at the foot of 76th Street. The Club hosted the Central Atlantic Division Lightning Races one year in the waters off Barnegat on the Mainland. This spirit of cameraderie grew into the first interclub reception with Surf City Yacht Club in 1969 coordinated by Oliver Goldman, Andrew Krecicki and Peter Metz.

The youth of the Club, the members’ children, were also becoming a focal point of interest. After putting off an organized program for thirty years and letting the children come to Saturday night dinner for a dollar each, a series of youth races saw the door of opportunity opened a crack. A beach party was the next step. Finally, in the midst of the 60’s with the world in torment, a one-month formal youth program was established and thirty attended. It was able to sustain itself and soon there were swimming programs for the youths and by the end of the decade there were pre-teens and teenagers in classes for swimming and sailing instruction in Lightnings and Sunfish.

With growth in membership and the introduction of younger members with new ideas the Club became a mix of the traditional and the changing fashions. One could still see Sam Freeman and Alf Melander debating the fine points of the Greek and Roman poets – in their original tongue. The leadership decided that the mortgage on the Club had been carried long enough and retired the debt and did away with the shares that gave one the feeling of a proprietary interest. The number of dinners declined during the decade as new opportunities for entertainment appeared on the Island. Insurance liability coverage .vas increased to the $100,000 – $300,000 level to give comfort to those afraid of litigation. Also, dinners were starting to cost $3.00 each and the members were starting to grumble Dues would go to $50 by 1969.

F. Morse Archer and Dick Angell became members and intermediate members respectively in the early 1960s. During the decade they were followed by Bill Collier and Bob Bent (1962, George Forsman (1965), and Dor Haight (1966). The telephone was installed for “a two year trial”; a long-range planning committee was established to examine the feasability of enclosing the porch and extending the bulkhead; and Mayor Thomas said that a portion of the adjoining Borough ground could be used for sailfish storage One member resigned because he said, “I am now engaged in raising chrysanthemums on a large scale and it takes up most of my time.” It was a busy time for the Club, free of the turbulence that was racking the world around it.

The writer of the next history of the Barnegat Light Yacht Club will be able to place the Seventies into a better perspective with the benefit of hindsight. At this time a review of those years will show further refinements of the initiative of the Sixties and a building upon and continuation of the base of those programs.

The hoist and the flagpole that now stand by the bay were the products of the Seventies. The family of Victor Stephens, upon his death, created an endowment ensuring funds for the purchase of American and Club Flags, in his memory. The case for the Flags was built by Frank Smith and Vic’s picture sits on top as a memorial. A Club lightning was purchased. A Moth and a Penguin were received. A flood of sailboats, Lightnings and Sunfish overflowed the area available for storage and spread to the neighboring ground. Oliver Goldman introduced the name badges in 1973 as membership started to grow. The number of active members reached a high of 70 in 1979.

Memories of 2009

The summer of 2009 has ended, even those nice September weekends are gone. The beach house is closed up tight. It was a good year despite the cooler weather for the entire early summer.

One of the great things about being able to spend time at the Jersey shore is the memories we can have of nice times. The ocean, the sea air, giving your self permission to relax and being able to watch the kids have such fun are all such nice things. When these get rolled up into a weekend, a week or for those that are really fortunate – a summer – there are a lot of nice times that settle into our brains.

I have so many of these built up in my memory bank that just arriving at the beach puts me into instant relaxation mode. My soul exhales upon arriving.

I hope that many of you that have visited the Jersey shore this summer have some fond memories of your time there. Some thoughts to keep you warm, and bring a smile to your face, as we head into the cold of the “off” season.

Barnegat Lighthouse

Long Beach Island’s Barnegat Lighthouse was built over a hundred years ago and just in the past year has once again been shining its light. It sits on the southern edge of the Barnegat Inlet and although the light is no longer necessary it is nice to see it shining again.

The lighthouse you can see today is actually the second lighthouse structure on this shore of the inlet. The first was poorly built and unfortunately situated. Despite being built a ways back from the shoreline a number of storms made it so the lighthouse was at the edge of the water. It eventually fell over and into the water.

The current lighthouse was designed and built under the supervision of George Meade in the 1850’s. Meade would later go on to become a Civil War general and serve an important role at the battle of Gettysburg. His generalship skills were as good as his engineering skills and Meade built a much sounder structure than the original Barnegat Lighthouse designers. The fine work he did is what you will find today if you visit Barnegat Light State Park.

Along Our Jersey Shore Part 3

And now for the exciting conclusion of the travel tales (a continuation of part 2)….

The first advocate of the United States Life-saving Service was a Jersey-man, William A. Newell, who spoke in its favor before the Congress of 1848, of which he was a member, basing his argument on his own experience of shipwrecks along the shore; and in answer to the appeal an appropriation of ten thousand dollars was made, to which amount ten thousand dollars more were added the following year. As soon as the stations were built, their usefulness became apparent. In January, 1850, a terrible storm broke on the Jersey coast, strewing it with wrecks, and among the rescues made were two hundred and one persons from the stranded “Ayrshire” who were safely brought ashore in the life-car through a surf in which no boat could have lived. But the service was not thoroughly established until 1871, since which time it has been much extended and improved, now having one hundred and fifty-one stations in its system, each being supplied with life-boats, life- cars, and other apparatus for communicating with wrecks. It is divided into eleven districts, the first including the coasts of Maine and New Hampshire ; the second, Massachusetts; the third, Rhode Island and New York ; the fourth, New Jersey ; the fifth, Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia from Cape Henlopen to Cape Charles ; the sixth, Virginia and North Carolina from Cape Henry to Cape Hatteras ; the seventh, Florida ; the eighth, Lakes Ontario and Erie; the ninth, Lakes Huron and Superior; the tenth, Lake Michigan; and the eleventh, the Pacific. New Jersey has thirty-eight stations – a larger number than any other district. During the fiscal year ending June, 1876, one hundred and eight vessels were wrecked within the limits of the districts, imperiling about one and three quarter million dollars’ worth of property, of which eight hundred and forty-seven thousand dollars’ worth was saved. Seven hundred and twenty-nine lives were saved, and twenty-two lost. On the Jersey coast alone thirty-six vessels were wrecked; two hundred and forty-eight lives were saved, and six lost.

During the year ending June, 1877, the total number of vessels driven ashore was one hundred and thirty-four, having one thousand five hundred persons on board, thirty-nine, or about two and a half per cent of whom were lost. The total amount of property saved was over one million seven hundred thousand dollars, and the total amount of that lost, over one million five hundred thousand dollars. A brief summary of the operations of the service since Mr. S. J. Kirnball took charge of it in 1871 will better show its usefulness, however. Four hundred wrecks occurred, imperiling over eleven million one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of property; nearly seven million dollars’ worth of this was saved, and of four thousand seven hundred and thirty lives imperilled only eighty were lost. Two thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven days of shelter were afforded at the stations t0 nine hundred and fifty- nine persons. During 1871-72 the operations of the service were confined to the coasts of Long Island and New Jersey; in 1872-74 they were extended to Cape Cod and Rhode Island, and in the next year they were further extended to the limits of the present districts.

The stations are nearly all alike – simple wooden houses, with steep gable roofs, the only projection about them being the lightning-rod, and the only ornament a coat of red-brown paint. From May until November they are unoccupied, though all the apparatus is ready for use; and the rest of the year each becomes the home of a keeper and six surf-men, who are paid forty dollars a month, and are chosen for their experience on the beach. Their duties are concisely stated in the instructions of the Treasury Department, to which branch of the government the Life-saving Service belongs. “During the winter months the beach will be patrolled by the surf-men every night. The patrol will consist of two men from each station, one following the beach toward the next station to the right, and the other proceeding toward the next station to the left, and each continuing his walk until the patrol from the adjacent station is met. Each patrolman will carry a beach lantern, also a red Coston hand-light; and when an inlet separates the stations, he will exchange signals with the patrolman on the opposite shore. On those parts of the coast where the two adjacent houses can not be seen from each other, the bench will be patrolled sufficiently to bring them in sight three times between sunrise and sunset. On the discovery of a wreck or a vessel in distress, the patrolman will immediately burn his red Costou hand-light, both to alarm the stations and give notice to the wreck that succor is near, then returning to the station and assisting in the preparation of the apparatus. Boats, etc., will be prepared for immediate service.” The discovery of a wreck is a matter worth a detailed description, however.

Suppose it is a December night; it is sure to be cold ; from the last of the equinoctials until the west ward- bound steamers from England begin to make good voyages again, there is no warmth to speak of along the Jersey shore. Let us suppose, too, that it is dark and blustering, so that we may feel with full poignancy what a surf-man’s experiences sometimes are. A big fire is blazing in the living-room of the station, and four of the men, with the keeper, are taking their ease around it, or lying in their bunks, while the two others are putting on their coats and mufflers, and looking longingly toward the hearth. The latter are going nut on patrol, and as they are human, they delay as much as possible, re-adjusting their dress, pressing their pilot caps over their heads, pulling their gloves farther on, and giving their neck-cloths a final twitch. The duty is inexorable, and with a last regretful glance at the fire, they shiveringly plunge into the outer night.

What a sharp transition it is! The wind is full of needle-points, and cuts them like a knife, and the darkness blinds them for a few moments, and extends in every direction, except around their feet, over which their lanterns cast a ring of white light, and in the window of the house, which glows with warmth. Above the moaning of the air is the loud heat of the sea, as the waves break on the shore and recede with sibilant sound ; and the spray is lifted and driven inshore by the wind in feathering streaks.

The two patrolmen say “good-night,” and separate ; one looks back to see the lantern of the other swinging to and fro on the sands, and decreasing in brilliancy until it is altogether lost behind a projecting bluff, and he then feels absolutely alone amid an unreal silence that would not be as awful were the waves and wind completely still. The stars are remote and merciless in their crystalline splendor, seeming to be fixed in that black firmament only to show how distant a thing heaven is ; and the sea – it is invisible; where the waves rush up the beach and leave a glazed surface on the sand, a few diamond points reflect the stars, and beyond these an impenetrable wall is built upward ; there is no sea at all; but, watching more closely, the patrolman discovers a vibrant cord of white, rhythmical in motion, like a taut string that is depressed near the middle and suddenly released, and that cord he knows to be, though he can not see, the frothing crest of the successive waves.

The walk would have many terrors for a nervous or superstitious man, or for almost any one of sensitive organization, and the patrolman is superstitions, but he is so familiar with the darkness, the loneliness, and the roar that he treads along the beach in a reverie – not a reverie on the deep secrets over which Nature is brooding, but on so prosaic a matter as the care of a small family who are now fast asleep on the main-land – until he fancies he discovers a light fastened to the black wall. He stands still and looks again; it has disappeared. Before him, as he looks seaward, is that blackness, which seems so solid that one would expect a pebble thrown at it to rebound, and he resumes his march, thinking that, his eyes have deceived him, or that the light has been a phosphorescent sparkle. But there it is again! And now the first light, which has stood at the masthead, is augmented by the flare of a rocket and the blue fire of a signal, which reveal a bark close inshore and in extreme peril.

According to his instructions, the patrolman instantly ignites his red light, which is done by striking the holder against his knee, that action exploding a percussion- rap, and he is surrounded for several seconds by a flood of crimson so vivid and so vigorous that no wind or rain is strong enough to extinguish it. When the light expires, he hastens back to the station with the news, and that quiet outpost is suddenly put into as tumultuous a state as the storm outside. The life-boat is placed on a carriage, the carriage having very broad tires to its wheels, so that they can not sink in the loose sand, and the life-car, with other apparatus, is placed in another vehicle, both being drawn to the point nearest the wreck, where efforts are made to obtain communications with it. There are three possible means of communication – by the life-boat, the life-car, and the life-raft. The first two are in use at all stations, and the last has been adopted at a few, but it is only under very favorable circumstances, or in extremities, that the boat is used. A line is thrown over the wreck either by a rocket or a mortar and shell, several efforts being made before success is attained, and the first line is attached to a stronger one that is secured to a mast of the vessel and to the shore. The life-car is suspended from the line and hauled on board the distressed ship; three or four persons are put inside it, and it is hauled back again, repeating the journey until all are safely landed. But the work is much easier in the description than in the performance. If the wind is blowing on shore, rocket after rocket flies on its meteor-like course through the tempest, falling miserably short, or being carried too far astern or ahead by the wind; sometimes the rocket fails altogether, and the boat or life-raft is the only resource left.

The life-car resembles a covered boat with a few air-holes in the top, the perforations having raised edges to prevent the water from entering, and a ring at each end, with a hawser attached, enables it to be drawn through the surf. The “boatswain’s chair” and the “breeches buoy” are similar, though older and less efficacious, devices. The former is a simple loop of rope hung from a taut stout hawser that extends from the stranded vessel to the beach, and in the loop a person sits and is pulled ashore. The latter consists of a common circular life-preserver, made of cork, with short canvas breeches attached, through which a man thrusts his legs, and, thus suspended, is drawn ashore, as in the chair. Both of these expose the passenger to the fury of the waves, and in the case of women and children, they are not suitable on this account, while the life-car lands its occupants without wetting or exhausting them, unless it capsizes, in which extremity it is liable to prove fatal.

Having seen the signal-man’s red light burning, the crew of the wrecked ship utter a glad cry of deliverance, and wait for the brilliant spurt of the rocket bearing the line to them – wait until the synonym of the word seems to be life-long agony. The ship lies heavily to the leeward, and grinds deeper into the sand as each sea strikes her and breaks over her decks, tearing away the houses and knocking the men off their feet. The sails hang loosely and in pitiable shreds from the yards, and the masts bend unwillingly in the fiercer blasts, and threaten to spring. The shore is invisible, but the thunder of the breakers tells the men that it is near; and presently a tire is lighted on the beach, which fitfully shows the dreary background of sand hills. A rocket is fired, and both those on shore and those on the ship watch it unfold its train of sparks; the wind sweeps it aside, and hopes go out like its own scintillations; another follows, and the breaths of all the watchers are held until it is seen to fall over the deck of the ship, when they are released in a cheer that the violent ill nature of the wind can not quell.

Bill’s brother Aaron came to Beach Haven for us on Sunday morning, and we embarked in his yacht on a cruise up and down the coast. Parting with Bill, who was most affectionate, he gave us an account of an unlucky venture which he once made in prunes. A vessel from the Mediterranean was wrecked, and a large part of her cargo of fruit washed ashore. The sands were strewn with prunes, several cart-loads of which were gathered by Bill and peddled through the country in a carry-all with great success, until he was arrested for selling without a license, and condemned to forfeit his earnings. “The shark’s a derned greedy fish, likewise the octopus, and the ‘skeeter in August,” he commented, at the end of his story, “but they ain’t nothin’ aside of an Ocean County constable.”

We sailed down the bay, and out on to the ocean through the Little Egg Harbor Inlet, which separates Long Beach from Brigantine Beach. It was a white, windless day, and the sea was only disturbed by a silent, sleepy swell; even the water over the bar was unruffled; and white as the day was, the whiter beaches cast dazzling reflections in the lucid air. A fleet of small boats were fishing, and two or three larger vessels were at anchor over the wreck of the steamer Cassandra, which foundered some ten or twelve years ago, and from which they were still taking iron. Now and then a picturesque sloop drifted past, and the captain’s wife projected her head above the cabin entrance to look at us; or a comrade of Aaron’s went sailing into the bay with a load of blue-fish, one of which he held up for our admiration.

Few other parts of the coast are as populous with food fishes as New Jersey. Nineteen different species are caught in abundance, and not less than one million dollars’ worth is sold annually, the principal market being New York and Philadelphia. The tautog or black-fish, weighing from one and a half to four pounds, is taken with bait in large numbers both in summer and winter; the porgee, weighing from one-quarter to two pounds, is taken with bait in July and August; the sheep’s-head, weighing from two to twelve pounds, is taken by hand and net from June to October; the weak-fish, weighing from one-half to two pounds, is taken by hand and net ; and about fifty thousand mackerel a day are caught during June and July. The other varieties that are more or less common include the drum- fish, the Lafayette fish (so called from the fact that it first appeared on the coast during the revisit to America of the French marquis), the blue-fish, the sword-fish, the cod-fish, the haddock, the winter flounder, the oblong flounder, the salmon, the anchovy, the smelt, the fall shad, the herring, and the menhaden or moss-bunker.

We went southward to Atlantic City, the popular watering-place of Philadelphia, with whose homes it is connected by two steam railways, the distance being about fifty -four and a half miles. Seen from the ocean it is quite captivating, the striped tower of the Absecom Light rising to a stately height from a low belt of foliage, and only the handsome turrets of the leading hotels being visible. But, the beauty vanishes on closer acquaintance, and we find a hot noisy flat covered with buildings and devices for the entertainment and recreation of multitudinous excursionists. The streets are wide, straight, and well paved. A praiseworthy effort has been made to line them with trees, but the desert-like heat and aridity coat the leaves with yellow early in the season. The hotels, saloons, restaurants, and boarding cottages of all sizes are innumerable; and along the beach, which is semicircular, there are photograph galleries, peep-shows, marionette theatres, conjuring booths, circuses, machines for trying the weight, lungs, or muscles of the inquisitive, swings, merry-go-rounds, and all the various side shows which reap the penny harvest of holiday crowds. These extrinsic attractions, which are so familiar in the second-class watering- places of England, make Atlantic City much gayer than the popular seaside resort s of New York, such as Coney Island and Rockaway Beach ; and were it not for the enormous beer pavilions, inestimable flow of lager, the gilded signs of Gambrinus, and the Teutonic waiters, one might easily fancy himself to be on the other side. Admirable precautions are taken for the safety of bathers. Some men with life-saving apparatus at their control are stationed in a tower from which they can observe the movements of the people in the water, and boatmen, whose duty it is to avert cases of drowning, paddle watchfully along the outer line of surf. A plank-walk extends along the beach; and there are many other things that commend Atlantic City to us, and place it above the resorts of excursionists near the metropolis.

A fair wind carried our little yacht seven or eight miles north in an hour, and at sunset -we were gliding, with a faint ripple at the bow, through a narrow “thoroughfare” of the bay. The marshes were on each side of us: behind and ahead a motionless sea, varying from a most vivid emerald to a dusky cedar grey. A curtain of gray concealed the city, but a flash of gold suddenly emblazoned the western windows, and the light -house, whose tower rose in pathetic isolation against the horizon, set forth a pallid ray. A heron projected itself in silhouette against a sky of red, gold, and amber, in which the sun has left a sinuous trail of fire, and a flock of plovers whistled mournfully us they winded themselves home. The water was like a mirror, except where a school of small fish broke it into a thousand ripples, and our boat was inert, the sail hanging loosely from the must. As the sun fell closer to the blue line of the main-land woods from a heaven of unspeakable color, the evening star and a crescent moon were growing more radiant in the pale gray-blue east, and cast a reflection on the water while it still held the imprint of the more passionate orb. We were alone in the world at that moment, and the world was motionless. There was a wan, pitiful look on the meadows, which, lying in a death-like lull, gave the scene its salience, and despite the rosy ardor of the western sky, Nature desponded and fell into a sad sleep. Sunsets at second-hand are not satisfactory, but those that we saw night after night along the Jersey coast were so individualized in their contrasted splendor and melancholy under-tone that they really seemed to belong to its topography.

The wind fell altogether at dark, and as we drifted through the winding reaches of the thoroughfare, our ecstasies were overcome by a plague of mosquitoes and gnats, which attacked us so seriously that one member of our expedition was threatened with delirium. We had to propel the boat with poles. From time to time we grounded, and it was after midnight when we reached Bond’s – a summer hotel south of Beach Haven.

The next day was cloudy and gray, and a variable wind took us through the bay to Barnegat Inlet, off the Barnegat Shoals. It was sunset when we reached our boat, and great flocks of birds flew out of the reeds, uttering wild and melancholy cries. A schooner lay at anchor near the inlet, and the wreck of the steamer Mediator was visible. One wreck is no sooner out of sight than another happens, and in such terrible evidences the few inhabitants of the settlement at the inlet are constantly reminded of how inhospitable a coast theirs is. Barnegat Light is famous, and we stood under it as it was ignited. The shaft towers from a bed of sand, which has formed a ridge twenty or thirty feet high around the base, and out of which a few cedars grow. The great brilliancy of the lantern, which makes it visible to vessels some twenty miles away, is lost to people standing at the base, and the only indication of it is in the prismatic glass. The keeper’s house is near by and the children sleep while the father watches and works in that radiant crown on the tower.

Farther northward the wind was now in our favor and we ran up to Tom’s River past Waretown, where an old grave yard sadly overlooks the sea, and past Seaside Park, another of the fashionable places which have appeared within the last three or four years on the outer beach. Tom’s River is charming, and the village is one of the prettiest in America. Then we took the railway again and went to Seabright, where we spent a happy day with the fisherman. There is no settlement more picturesque or interesting than this along the shore, although summer boarding-houses and hotels are crowding the old huts away. Small boats, white, green, and red, line the beach, their bronze sails flapping idly in the wind. Here an old fisherman sits mending his nets; there a boat with a load of shining mackerel has just been beached, and a lot of tawny men bare-legged and bare-armed, are transferring her cargo to small hand-carts. The huts are built among the sand hills, and the peculiar, conical roofs of the ice-houses give the village a foreign look.

When we reached Pier No. 8, North River, where we ended our journey, we landed with faces as brown and weather-beaten as Bill Pharo’s.