Hunting Party Stuck in Swamp Lugs Bridges to Rescue Car, Jan. 10, 1924

Howell’s Party Halts U.S. Mail; Lugged Bridges to Rescue Car. . . Kyser and Bowman Were the Guests. The Three Got Stuck in Swamp, Found Lodging for the Night, and Next Morning Had to Struggle Hard to Free the Road

The Empire State will have to wait

And the Cannon Ball go hang.

So wrote Kipling in his poem about the wrecking crew on the New York Central. Had he been d own in the swamps of Tyrrell county, North Carolina, a day or so before New Year’s he would have found a like theme but a better one. For there the United States Mail was held up by Vernon Howell, his nephew Vernon Kyser, and F.O. Bowman, while they ripped bridges from across streams in order to get their automobile out of the mud.

Mr. Howell and his guests set out form Chapel Hill Christmas week to go duck-hunting on and around Durant’s Island. Most of the journey was made smoothly, but when they came to the marshy land of Tyrrell they got into real trouble.

Corduroy roads, roads made of logs laid crosswise of the right of way, are the only means of getting across the swamps. The three pharmaceutical experts were passing along one of these roads on a dark night when of a sudden they came to a place where the logs were missing. So the car sank down into the mud and stayed there. Getting it out in the dark was out of the question. The travelers walked a half mile, and found a lodging for the night with a farmer whom Mr. Howell happened to know. Early next day they fared forth to extract the car.

For all their skill and persistence, it would not come out of the mud. The rural mail carrier drew up behind—and had to stop because the road was only six feet wide and there was nothing but swamp on either side. Back of the mail carrier came other automobilists, and all, of course, were halted.

After much futile running of the engine, the Chapel Hillians took up two bridges from nearby streams, used them first as levers and then as a sort of side-track, and at last pried the car loose and cleared the road. The U.S. Mail was free and went ahead, followed by all who had been blocked behind. Mr. Howell and his friends stayed a while to replace the bridges, and then made their way successfully to the duck-hunting preserve.

They lived on an island covering about a quarter of an acre, contiguous to the larger Durants’s where the hunting club had its headquarters, in the Alligator river a little way from Albemarle Sound. At high tide the little island was pretty nearly whipped out, and water flowed under the fisherman’s shack where the huntsmen slept. They shot several ducks before they started back home on New Year’s morning.

Mr. Howell bought one island in the Alligator six or eight months ago, but its area of an acre is not big enough to suit him, and he is negotiating for another in its place.

From the front page of The Chapel Hill Weekly, Thursday, Jan. 10, 1924