Four Months in a Sneak-Box | Page 6

railroads, it is more economical for the amateur
to purchase a first-class boat at Barnegat, Manahawken, or West Creek, in Ocean County,
New Jersey, along the Tuckerton Railroad, than to have a workman elsewhere, and one

unacquainted with this peculiar model, experiment upon its construction at the
purchaser's cost, and perhaps loss.
One bright morning, in the early part of the fall of 1875, I trudged on foot down one of
the level roads which lead from the village of Manahawken through the swamps to the
edge of the extensive salt marshes that fringe the shores of the bay. This road bore the
euphonious name of Eel Street,--so named by the boys of the town. When about half-way
from its end, I turned off to the right, and followed a wooded lane to the house of an
honest surf-man, Captain George Bogart, who had recently left his old home on the beach,
beside the restless waves of the Atlantic, and had resumed his avocation as a sneak-box
builder.
The house and its small fields of low, arable land were environed on three sides by dense
cedar and whortleberry swamps, but on the eastern boundary of the farm the broad salt
marshes opened to the view, and beyond their limit were the salt waters of the bay, which
were shut in from the ocean by a long, narrow, sandy island, known to the fishermen and
wreckers as Long Beach,--the low, white sand-dunes of which were lifted above the
horizon, and seemed suspended in the air as by a mirage. Across the wide, savanna-like
plains came in gentle breezes the tonic breath of the sea, while hundreds, aye, thousands
of mosquitoes settled quietly upon me, and quickly presented their bills.
In this sequestered nook, far from the bustle of the town, I found "Honest George," so
much occupied in the construction of a sneak-box, under the shade of spreading willows,
as to be wholly unconscious of the presence of the myriads of phlebotomists which
covered every available inch of his person exposed to their attacks. The appropriate
surroundings of a surf-man's house were here, scattered on every side in delightful
confusion. There were piles of old rigging, iron bolts and rings, tarred parcelling, and
cabin-doors,--in fact, all the spoils that a treacherous sea had thrown upon the beach; a
sea so disastrous to many, but so friendly to the Barnegat wrecker,--who, by the way, is
not so black a character as Mistress Rumor paints him. A tar-like odor everywhere
prevailed, and I wondered, while breathing this wholesome air, why this surf-man of
daring and renown had left his proper place upon the beach near the life-saving station,
where his valuable experience, brave heart, and strong, brawny arms were needed to
rescue from the ocean's grasp the poor victims of misfortune whose dead bodies are
washed upon the hard strand of the Jersey shores every year from the wrecks of the many
vessels which pound out their existence upon the dreaded coast of Barnegat? A question
easily answered,--political preferment. His place had been filled by a man who had never
pulled an oar in the surf, but had followed the occupation of a tradesman.
Thus Honest George, rejected by "the service," had left the beach, and crossing the wide
bays to the main land, had taken up his abode under the willows by the marshes, but not
too far from his natural element, for he could even now, while he hammered away on his
sneak-boxes, hear the ceaseless moaning of the sea.
A verbal contract was soon made, and George agreed to build me for twenty-five dollars
the best boat that had ever left his shop; he to do all the work upon the hull and spars,
while the future owner was to supply all the materials at his own cost. The oars and sail
were not included in the contract, but were made by other parties. In November, when I
settled all the bills of construction, cost of materials, oar- locks, oars, spars, sail, anchor,
&c., the sum-total did not exceed seventy-five dollars; and when the accounts of more
than twenty boats and canoes built for me had been looked over, I concluded that the

little craft, constructed by the surf-man, was, for the amount it cost and the advantages it
gave me, the best investment I had ever made in things that float upon the water. Without
a name painted upon her hull, and, like the "Maria Theresa" paper canoe, without a flag
to decorate her, but with spars, sail, oars, rudder, anchor, cushions, blankets, cooking-kit,
and double-barrelled gun, with ammunition securely locked under the hatch, the
Centennial Republic, my future travelling companion, was ready by the middle of
November for the descent of the western rivers to the Gulf of Mexico.
Captain