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Updated: May 5, 2025
I was therefore now travelling upon local knowledge, which proves usually a very uncertain guide. In a cold rain the canoe reached the little village of Swansboro, where the chief personage of the place of two hundred inhabitants, Mr. McLain, removed me from my temporary camping-place in an old house near the turpentine distilleries into his own comfortable quarters.
Swansboro, N. C., is a good place." "Yes," remarked Mrs. Maroney, "but it is so dull!" "What do you say to Jackson, Mississippi? It is a beautiful place." "No, we don't want to go South now, it is altogether too warm. Were you ever in Chicago, Madam Imbert?" "No; but it is a good place to summer in, I understand." "Well, let's go there; will you?"
There are twenty mullet fisheries within ten miles of Swansboro, which employ from fifteen to eighteen men each. The pickled and dried roe of this fish is shipped to Wilmington and to Cincinnati. Wild-fowls abound, and the shooting is excellent. The fishermen say flocks of ducks seven miles in length have been seen on the waters of Bogue Sound.
Captain H. D. Heady, of Swansboro, informed me that the ducks and geese he killed in one winter supplied him with one hundred pounds of selected feathers. Captain Heady's description of Bogue Inlet was not encouraging for the future prosperity of this coast, and the same may be said of all the inlets between it and Cape Fear.
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