268 
FOREST AND STREAM 
June, 1919 
THE GREAT STORM AT ORTLEY’S 
A TALE OF OLD DAYS ON BARNEGAT BAY WHEN AUTUMN STORMS BROUGHT HIGH 
TIDES OVER THE MARSHES AND HIGH HOPES IN THE^HEARTS OF^TRUE SPORTSMEN 
By WIDGEON 
M y little grandson and namesake, 
five years old, had been our guest 
of honor at dinner, on Grandma’s 
invitation. Seated between us at the 
table, he had proved himself a valiant 
“Trencherman,” and as smiling Victoria 
brought on the various courses, had con- 
ducted himself like a gentleman, from 
“soup to nuts.” 
After dinner, as I sat in my easy 
chair, the handsome little fellow, of 
whom I am exceedingly proud, climbed 
up in my lap, and snuggling up to me 
said; “Grandad! tell me a story. . .. 
What about? Why duck shooting.” So 
putting my arm around him I drew 
him closer, as I had often held his father 
and uncle in years gone by. That dear- 
ly loved uncle and chum, who had 
joined the colors to fight the “Hun” at 
his country’s first call to arms, and in 
whose honor the little fellow had in- 
sisted on having an officer’s uniform 
made, “Just like Uncle Cecil’s,” which 
he wore with pride and soldierly bearing 
on all state occasions. 
So breathing a silent prayer for my 
brave boy so far away, I cuddled my 
little namesake still closer, and told him 
the story of the “Great Storm ” that 
occurred so many years ago. 
I T was in the year 1885. It had been 
a very mild autumn, and was near- 
ing Thanksgiving Day, and as yet 
there had been no cold weather, nor 
heavy storms. The Clan had held many 
consultations, and were awaiting a 
break in the weather, before making 
their annual trip to Ortley’s. 
A dry northeaster had been blowing 
for days, the moon was full, and for 
several nights had been encircled by a 
halo of remarkable size and brilliancy, 
which the weather wise ones claimed 
portended a storm of great severity. A 
council of the Clan 
was held on Sun- 
day afternoon, and 
Andy, the Squire 
and I voted to start 
on Monday morn- 
ing very early. 
Jake insisted 
there would be no 
storm; that it was 
simply an easterly 
blow, and would 
amount to nothing, 
but the three of us 
decided to go. We 
telegraphed 
to Dave in the city, 
to join us, and 
made our prepara- 
tions. On Monday 
morning the wind 
was blowing hard 
from the same old 
quarter, and it 
looked very stormy. 
A valiant “Trencherman,” fit grandson 
of a worthy sportsman 
This was the Squire’s first duck shoot- 
ing trip, and he was on hand early, in 
great good spirits, and eager to be off. 
On reaching Hazlet we found Andy 
there, but Jake did not put in an ap- 
pearance, and when the mail train from 
the city stopped at the station, Dave 
failed to appear also, so we boarded 
the train, and away, feeling rather blue 
over the desertion of our friends. As 
the day advanced the wind increased in 
strength, and when we reached Point 
Pleasant, was blowing a gale. Here we 
changed cars, and were presently off 
down towards Squan Beach. 
Soon after leaving Bay Head the train 
slowed down and we found that the 
previous high tide had washed the road 
bed badly in places, so we were forced 
to go very slowly and arrived at Ort- 
ley’s much behind time. As we descended 
Ortley’s as it stands today, the scene of many a gathering 
from the train the wind was blowing 
a hurricane, and the ocean was an awe 
inspiring, and astounding spectacle. 
The tide was coming in again, and 
the waves ran mountain high, while the 
dark storm clouds hung low and menac- 
ing. The giant combers would come 
rushing in, and as they curled to break 
with thundering crash upon the beach, 
the furious gusts of wind would snatch 
their crests, and blow them far inland, 
to fall like showers. Great columns of 
water would shoot up in the air fifty 
feet or more like geysers; the roar of 
the surf was deafening, and still no 
rain had fallen. Peter Johnson met us 
at the station, with the old team of 
mules (that he averred were in the Ark 
with Noah). 
Soon our luggage was loaded in the 
wagon, and in a short time we were at 
the old Ortley house, and had paid our 
respects to Mrs. Johnson. In short or- 
der we changed to shooting togs, then 
accompanied by Peter, made our way 
to the boat house, to get out our boats. 
On the way we questioned him as to the 
shooting prospects. He said there were 
not many large ducks, but that he had 
never seen so many dippers (Buffle 
Heads) in all his life, the bay was full 
of them. 
With Peter’s help the boats were soon 
in the water, the decoy racks on, then 
the decoys were quickly looked over, 
placed in the racks and we were ready. 
As usually happens at the beginning 
of a northeaster, the tide was low but 
rising, and on Peter’s advice, we de- 
cided to try the Crab Pond for the eve- 
ning shooting, so we started in that di- 
rection, and just then a large flock of 
dippers, fully a hundred of them, came 
across the meadow from Muskrat Creek, 
and dropped in the cove, just out from 
the little landing; here they sat for a 
few moments, then 
they were away, up 
the creek for the 
Crab Pond, and we 
followed after. 
of the Clan 
W E were row- 
ing almost 
directly to 
windward, and in 
that gale it was 
hard pulling even 
for Andy and me, 
but the Squire, after 
a long struggle, 
gave up in despair 
and drifted back to 
the landing, where 
Peter took pity on 
him and offered aid. 
Taking the oars, 
from the Squire 
who then s- ated 
himself in the stem 
of the “Box,” by 
