84 
FOREST AND STREAM 
February, 1918 
ON THE SNIPE BARS AT UNCLE JAKEY’S 
MANY VARIETIES OF SNIPE, PLENTIFUL FIFTY YEARS AGO, ARE NOW EXTERMINATED 
AND SUMMER COTTAGES NOW STAND WHERE STOOD THE “BOUGH HOUSE” BLINDS 
By WIDGEON 
F IFTY years ago on “Squan Beach” on 
the site of the present town of Man- 
toloking, stood a weather beaten, slop¬ 
ing roofed house, with a broad porch on 
the south and west sides; a dilapidated barn 
and other out buildings were near, while a 
few paces to the west, was a small wharf 
or landing place. Lapped by the limpid 
waters of the beautiful Barnegat, in a 
small garden south of the house, a stunted 
cedar tree vras standing.* A tall flag 
pole stood by the road side, while on 
wooden racks some fish nets were drying. 
This was the modest hostelry of Uncle 
Jakey Herbert, or “Harbor,” as the bay 
men called him. This remote spot was an¬ 
nually visited by those who were “wise” 
for there was a reason. A short distance 
south of the house, were two broad 
“draws,” about a quarter of a mile apart, 
where during some great storm, the sea 
had broken through the sand hills, carrying 
thousands of tons of sand into the bay, 
forming broad “bars,” on which, during 
the southern migration in late August, 
if you struck weather conditions right, 
could be enjoyed the best snipe shooting 
to be had on the Jersey coast. 
At the close of a hot day, in the last 
week in August, 1869, coming down the 
beach from the head of the bay, were 
a beautiful mis-matched span of horses, 
a milk white and jet black pair, drawifig 
a solidly build “buggy” wagon. In the 
buggy were seated a very tall man about 
sixty years of age, with a grizzled fringe 
of whiskers a Roman nose, and keen 
gray eyes; beside him sat a tall “sapling” 
of a boy, about seventeen years old. 
This pair had driven some forty miles 
since early morning, and were the writer 
of this sketch, and his Uncle William.- 
Uncle had been sick for a long time 
with “fever and ague.” He was trying 
this trip to break it, and had persuaded 
my father to let me accompany him, much 
to my delight. As we neared our journey’s 
end, Uncle said, “Neil, I believe we are 
going to have good shooting. I think the 
wind is coming in south, or southwest; if 
it does, it will bring on a flight.” 
The sun had set behind the distant pines, 
and the shades of the summer night were 
falling, when we drew up before the house. 
“Uncle Jakey” came forth, and was duly 
introduced to me by Uncle William. I can 
see him yet. A slightly built, stoop-shoul¬ 
dered man, with a watery eye, thin dark 
hair, slightly grey and curling at the ends, 
with a fringe of grey whiskers, and gold 
rings in his ears. He was modest and re¬ 
tiring, with a hesitating manner, anxious 
to please, and always going to perform 
some important duty in the near future. 
He lived to be over ninety years old. 
The beautiful span of horses were well 
rubbed dowm, fed and prepared for the 
night, after W'hich we repaired to the 
house, where I was introduced to Uncle 
* This tree can still be seen on the lawn 
of one of Mantoloking’s cottages. 
Jakey’s wife, “Aunt Debby,” her two 
daughters, Mary and Emily, and two sons, 
Demorest and Abner. Aunt Debby, I had 
been told, had the reputation of being a 
good cook, and the delicious supper we sat 
down to that evening fully, sustained it. 
After supper Uncle Jakey and I, with a 
lantern, climbed into the wagon house loft, 
and brought down the barrel of snipe de¬ 
coys, that LTncle William left here from 
year to year. These we quickly over¬ 
hauled, and made ready for the morrow, 
then to bed, to dream of long lines of 
whistling snipe cpming to the decoys. I 
was up at the break of day the following 
morning, but Uncle William had passed a 
bad night, and did not feel well enough 
for shooting, so placing half of the decoys 
in a basket, with a hatchet and my powder 
and shot flasks, with my ten bore muzzle 
loader in my hand, I departed for the 
lower bar, which I reached before sun 
A good specimen of its kind 
rise. There was the remains of an old 
blind of the year before on the bar, with 
a good seat still standing. With my 
hatchet, I hastily cut some bayberry bushes, 
and in a short time had my “Bough 
House,” as they were called, ready for 
business. The decoys were then hurriedly 
placed at the water’s edge, in front of the 
“Bough House.” Stepping inside the blind, 
I picked up my gun, and placing caps on 
the nipples, snapped them to see if the 
tubes were clear, then carefully loading 
with four drams of powder, and one and a 
quarter ounces of number eight shot, I was 
ready for whatever fortune might send me. 
I N those days, there was no draining of 
the meadows in mosquito extermination, 
and the number of them was astonishing. 
You could not move through the grass or 
bushes without their rising in clouds and 
at the house, if the win'd were west, 
“smudges” must be lighted every evening 
to give the guests protection; but on the 
bars after you had killed off those that had 
followed you, one could sit in comfort all 
day without suffering any annoyance. 
As the sun rose above the ocean horizon 
like a polished ball of brass, the bank 
swallows began to fly in countless thou¬ 
sands; it was always interesting to watch 
their evolutions. Great numbers of terns 
and summer gulls were whirling over the 
bars, their discordant voices mingling with 
the twittering of the swallows, when sud¬ 
denly to my ears came the shrill whistle 
of a summer yellow leg, or “yelper.” It 
took me some time to locate him among 
the multitudes of swallows, but answering 
my call he decoyed beautifully, and as he 
poised in the air before alighting, made an 
easy mark and came tumbling down at the 
report of the gun. Again a whistle but of 
a deeper note, and looking north, I saw 
two large birds coming; one of them came 
over the decoys, the other and larger of 
the two kept off. Taking the nearest one, 
I killed it with the first- barrel and then 
swung quickly on the other. At the report 
it opened wide its long bill and with a 
shrill scream, came whirling down with a 
broken wing and went bouncing oyer the 
bar with me in swift pursuit-. When the 
wounded bird was finally • captured it 
proved to be a very large. “Sickle Bill 
Curlew,” the other a curlew of one of 
the smaller varieties. ,\'.J. ! 
Shortly after this at “whisp” of do- 
witchers came over the decoys, leaving 
five of their number behind, and then I 
saw a basket hoisted to the top of the 
flag pole, which was the signal for break¬ 
fast to all the roving shooters. 
At the breakfast table I made the ac¬ 
quaintance of a dozen or more boarders, 
mostly from Philadelphia, who became 
much interested in our shooting and who 
later enjoyed the fruits of it, served in' 
Aunt Debby’s famous style. After break¬ 
fast I returned to the blind, leaving Uncle 
William in an easy chair on the porch, 
where he could watch the snipe bars. 
In those days there were countless 
numbers of small snipe, sand pipers, etc. 
They would alight on the bars, sometimes 
fifty or more in a flock. It was very in¬ 
teresting to watch them feeding, they 
seemed so serious about it. They were 
very nimble and fleet of foot and darting 
here and there, would soon cover every 
foot of feeding ground on the bar, then 
take wing for “fields and pastures new.” 
Shortly after my return to the blind, I 
had a shot at some of the smaller snipe, 
and then while .my gun was empty, with 
a great chorus of whistling, down the 
“draw” from the sea behind me came the 
largest flock of willett I ever saw come to 
the decoys, over a hundred of them. The 
air was filled with them. They lit among 
my decoys, and all over the bar, some 
within ten feet of where I sat with an 
empty gun. They immediately began run¬ 
ning and feeding, excepting those close by 
me, who eyed me curiously, while I sat 
like a statue. I did not know what to do. 
After waiting a few moments, I began 
very slowly to load my gun. I got the 
powder in all right, but at the “squeak” 
of the first wad going down, those near the 
