Part 1

Produced by Annie R. McGuire

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 25, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 878. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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AT THE TURN OF THE TIDE.

BY W. G. VAN TASSEL SUTPHEN.

Jack Howard looked with some perplexity at the letter which he had just received from his chum Fred March. The latter had been spending a month of the long vacation at his uncle's, on the northern sea-coast, and that good-natured relative had been kind enough to suggest that the house was quite large enough to entertain Jack also. Hence the letter embodying the invitation, together with an earnest request that Jack should come by the earliest train on Monday morning. That was plain enough, besides being entirely satisfactory; but there was something else, a postscript, and this was the puzzle over which Jack was knitting his brows:

"I'm not to bring my bicycle, since the country roads are too sandy for good riding; but I must send on at once the three bicycle wheels stored in the loft of the machine-shop, together with half a dozen heavy coil springs, as per the enclosed specifications of the foreman of the shop. Well, what on earth--for it can't be a flying-machine--is Fred up to now?"

But the letter vouchsafed no further information upon the mystery, and Jack's duty was clearly to obey and ask no questions. Evidently Fred had some new idea, and that meant fun ahead--possibly an adventure. And so the commission was executed upon the spot, and Jack saw that the box was shipped early on Friday morning by the fast freight. It should be delivered to Fred at Agawam Beach by Monday, and Jack would be there himself that evening.

"It's a rattling good place for sailing and blue-fishing, and all that sort of thing," said Fred, on that Monday night, as the two boys left the house for a stroll down to the beach. "Uncle Win has let me knock about the bay in his little sloop--there she is at the pier, the white one, with the red at her water-line--and he says that I've picked it up as though I had been christened with salt-water. Sailing is nailing good fun. But look there!"

The ten-mile stretch of Agawam Beach lay before their eyes, just around the point that jutted out to form Half-Moon Bay. It was dead low tide, and the beach sloped so gradually that the receding water had left a wide floor of hard glistening sand, smooth and firm as a macadam road.

"I should think you could wheel along that easily enough," said Jack.

"So you can, and people often drive up to Cape Fear, ten miles off; they even have trotting matches when the county fair is on. I don't believe there's another beach like it in the world. But my idea will beat bicycling and sulky driving out of sight if it works, and I think it will. We'll go on now and take a look at the 'Jolly Sandboy'."

"The what?" began Jack; but Fred only laughed, and led the way to the boat-house.

It was a mysterious-looking creation that occupied the centre of the floor. The body of the machine was a skeleton frame-work of hard-wood strongly braced and bolted together, with a shallow-floored box at the acute angle. The centre timber bisected this acute angle and the base, and projected a few feet beyond. The bicycle wheels were attached to and supported the frame-work at the three corners, the one at the apex being pivoted so that it could be turned by a tiller in any direction. Just forward of the base-line, or what corresponds to the runner-plank in an ice-yacht, was a chock that was evidently intended for the reception of a mast, the end of the centre timber serving as a bowsprit, steadied by wire guys that ran to either extremity of the runner-plank. It was certainly original in design and appearance, and Jack Howard examined it with respectful curiosity.

"And what do you call it?" he inquired again.

"A 'beach-comber,'" said Fred. "The principle of an ice-yacht, you know, but with wheels instead of runners, for use on the hard sand at low tide. There was just one thing that bothered me in the way of practical detail, and that was how to provide for the heeling over in a strong breeze or a sudden flaw. You know that when the sails fill, as an ordinary boat, she lies over, and it is her keel or centreboard that keeps her from drifting to leeward. In an ice-yacht the sharp runners keep her up, but there must be some sideways yielding to the force of the wind, and so an ice-boat rears--that is, one runner lifts free of the ice, and thereby takes off the strain. Otherwise you must either luff or be capsized. But with beach-sailing this rearing would probably throw too much weight on the leeward wheel, causing it to sink into the sand, and perhaps stop her way altogether. The sand is fairly hard when wet, but it can't be so unyielding as ice. I was just about to give it up, when I happened to recollect a wrinkle that the Dutchmen use in their ice-yachts on the Zuyder Zee. In their boats the mast is pivoted in the chocks, and consequently the sail and all lie over under the strain. When a squall strikes a fleet of Dutch ice-yachts it looks exactly as though you had winged a whole covey of partridges. It must be safer than our American plan, but of course you lose in speed. The difficulty in my mind was to understand how the mast would come up again to its proper position; but that's always the way with the people who write books--they never tell you clearly the one little thing that is absolutely necessary for a fellow to know to understand what they are describing. So I had to work it out for myself."

"This must be where the coil springs come in," said Jack, with sudden perception.

"Exactly. The mast is to be stayed by wire guys, each one ending in a coil spring attached to the extremities of the runner-plank. Of course we'll have to experiment to see just how many are needed on each side to give her the best results in the way of stiffness. We don't want her lying down at every little puff, or we would never go ahead at all. Neither must she stand up like a church, for something has got to give way when a squall hits her. We'll set up the mast and give the 'Jolly Sandboy' a trial trip the first thing to-morrow morning."

There is little to add to Fred's description, except to say that the wheels were rather different from the ordinary bicycle type. They had been built by Mr. March while he was experimenting on the "Happy Thought," and the two forward ones were twenty-four inches in diameter, while the rear wheel was but twenty inches. Moreover, the spokes were of hickory, and the tires were enormous--four inches in diameter, and of very heavy material. Even in soft sand they would cut in but little, and the spokes, being of hard-wood covered with water-proof varnish, would not be subject to rust and corrosion from the salt air and water. Of course the hubs were fitted with the usual ball-bearing. The sail plan of the "beach-comber" was that of a sloop, as being the easiest to handle, and the pivoted rear wheel acted as the rudder.

The boys, after a little experimenting with the coil springs of the standing rigging, were delighted to find that the "Jolly Sandboy" would really go. Of course there was no such thing as tacking; and, indeed, the "beach-comber's" best point of sailing was with the wind on the beam or on the quarter. As we all know from our physical geographies, the prevailing wind at the sea-shore is off the ocean during the daytime, and consequently favorable to the "Jolly Sandboy." Moreover, the gentle downward slope of the beach, as opposed to the direction of the wind, helped to keep her on an even keel. The speed was not very high, but it was nevertheless great sport to race along the edge of the breakers, and an occasional ducking from an extra big comber only gave the true salt flavor. It was hardly practicable to sail except when the tide was going out or on the half flood, and the best time was when it was dead low, as so much more of the level beach was then available. Fred generally occupied the cockpit and did the steering, while Jack stood on the weather runner-plank and held on to the shrouds, as is the custom in ice-yachting.

The "Jolly Sandboy" had been in commission for a week, and the boys had become fairly expert in her management. On this particular afternoon they had made the ten-mile run up to Cape Fear, and the conditions were so favorable for "beach-combing" that Jack proposed that they should go on past the cape for a mile or two before beginning the homeward journey. Now between Cape Fear and Cape Thunder, a mile further on, was a peculiar formation of the coast-line known as Shut-in Bay. It was surrounded on all sides by precipitous cliffs, unscalable from below, and at high water it was entirely cut off from the rest of the beach by the rocky projections of Capes Fear and Thunder. It was a dangerous trap in which to be caught by the tide, for at ordinary high water there were only two or three small ledges to which one might climb for safety, and even then the thoughtless adventurer would have to remain a prisoner until the ebb. At the time of the spring tides, twice in the month, even these precarious places of refuge were under water, and the only chance of a rescue was in being seen by a passing fishing-smack and taken off by boat. Fred was well acquainted with the dangerous character of the place, and he looked a trifle dubious when Jack proposed going on.

"But it's only a mile across to Cape Thunder, and it's not low water yet for an hour," insisted Jack. "I've got the table here in my pocket; I cut it out of last week's _Guardian_."

The table, compiled from the government observations, gave low water for four o'clock at Agawam, which would make it half past four at Cape Thunder. Fred looked at his watch and saw that it was just half past three. Certainly there was a plenty of time to run on for two or three miles, and then get back beyond the danger-point before the tide was fairly on the flood. Fred hauled in the sheet, and the "Jolly Sandboy" plunged forward.

Well, perhaps they had gone a little further than they intended, and the tide had certainly turned when they started homeward. But the wind was fresh, and Fred kept the "Jolly Sandboy" close to the water's edge, where the sand was the firmest. Every now and then a big wave would break ahead of them, and shoot a wide tongue of white crackling foam athwart the bows of the "beach-comber." But there was no time to make détours, and it was glorious fun, these short, sharp dashes through an acre of shallow water, with the wash filling the cockpit, and the salt spray flying over the head of the mainsail. Finally Cape Thunder loomed up ahead, and ten minutes later the "Jolly Sandboy" had swept around the point, and was ploughing across the treacherous Tom Tiddler's ground of Shut-in Bay.

It must have been a piece of broken bottle, but whatever the cause, the tire of the lee bearing-wheel had suddenly gone flat. It was impossible to proceed; but was there time to repair the damage and yet get around Cape Fear? Fred glanced at his watch. The tide looked as though it were coming in very fast; but the tide-table was authoritative, and the water would not be up to the cape until about half past five o'clock. It was now exactly five by Fred's watch, which would give a margin of at least twenty minutes. If they could repair the puncture in ten they could easily get clear. Otherwise they might be obliged to desert the "Jolly Sandboy," and save themselves by running. Fred shoved his watch back into his pocket, seized the repair kit, and went to work at the injured tire.

It was a good job and quickly done. Certainly not more than five minutes had elapsed when Jack took the pump to blow her up. But surely the water was rising faster than ever. And what was that? A sparkle of foam on the black rocks at the base of Cape Fear! It could not be more than ten minutes past the hour; they still had fifteen minutes to spare, and Fred pulled out his watch again.

_The hands still pointed to exactly five o'clock._

With one jump Fred was at Jack's side, and had snatched the pump from his slower hands. How many of the lost minutes had there been since his watch had stopped? Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, or was it but a question of seconds? They were midway between the capes, and it was half a mile to safety. An instant later and the tire was full again. But beyond a doubt there could be but little time to spare. Already the big racers were tossing their white manes against the dark background of the cruel black rocks that formed Cape Fear; and now, too late, Fred recollected that it was a spring tide that was coming to the flood, and one of the highest of the year. Faster and faster the "Jolly Sandboy" drove along, but now it was certainly a question of seconds. A hundred yards away and there was still a narrow strip uncovered at the base of the cape. If they could reach it just after a third wave had gone back they might squeeze through. There came the first breaker, and the "Jolly Sandboy" had gained another twenty yards. The second broke close under the reef, sending a fountain of spray over the rocks and high into the air. The third and largest was slow in coming, and the "Jolly Sandboy" was close to the gap. Fred had made a slight miscalculation in timing his speed, and it was now a question of whether to stop and wait for the backwater or to race the third wave for the one chance of going clear. There was no time to weigh the odds, and on tore the "Jolly Sandboy." For an instant it looked as though they would make it; and then with a sudden roar the long smooth green wall of water seemed to fall forward at double its former speed, and took the ground just this side of the cape. The "Jolly Sandboy," quivering at every rivet, came to a stop as the surge swept over her. The mainsail caught the full force of a ton of salt water, and the mast went over the side, snapping the weather ratlines as though they had been made of tow. It was a matter of hardly two seconds, and the "Jolly Sandboy" was a wreck.

It was a hard pull to get clear, but Fred and Jack finally managed to drag the "beach-comber" back to safer ground. Safer, but for how long? Already the strip of sand had entirely disappeared at the foot of Cape Fear, and a full fathom of salt water was boiling and eddying among the jagged rocks. It would take some ten or twelve minutes for the water to finally cover the beach of Shut-in Bay, and then what? The ledges to which they might climb could only save them at ordinary high water, and at this the highest of the spring tides they would be covered six feet deep. The overhanging cliff offered no way of escape, and not a boat was in sight. Like drowned rats in a trap. But no! the thought was too horrible. There must be some way. There was the mast! Could it not be set up again, and its broken guys spliced with the mainsheet? It was a stout stick, some eleven feet in length, and the rise of the water would be less than ten. The jaws of the gaff would afford a foothold--a precarious one, it is true, but still a chance to keep their heads above water.

With desperate eagerness the "Jolly Sandboy" was run up close to the cliff and the sail unbent. With the water already boiling about their knees the boys worked on. And then Fred did a peculiar thing. With a rapid cut of his knife he severed the stay which had just been spliced, and the mast fell over again. Seizing a hatchet, he knocked out the pin that pivoted the stick in the chocks, and let the mast drift away. Jack looked at him in speechless dismay.

"Too much dead weight," said Fred, coolly. "Don't you see that those big tires filled with air are really life-preservers, and with the wooden frame-work they make a very decent raft?"

And so it turned out. The raft, though deep in the water, still supported them; and a quarter of an hour later the steam-trawler _Alice_ came along and took them on board.

"Well," said Fred, as they walked up to Uncle Win's, wet and weary but safe, "you can't deny that the 'Jolly Sandboy' is a good all-around machine. She carried us on land and saved us in the water; what more do you want?"

"I think," said Jack, softly, as he snuffed up the grateful odors from the kitchen, "that I should like a piece of that fried bluefish."

AMERICAN CAGE BIRDS.

BY JAMES STEELE.

The rules for keeping cage birds well and happy are few. Cleanliness is the first requisite; then temperance in feeding, fresh air, and exercise, in the order mentioned. But these rules should be followed with care and intelligence if you would keep your birds in good condition.

Some people have an idea that all that you have to do is to get a bird, put it into a cage, and give it food and water as directed. This is very far from being enough. The habits of your bird must be studied; the climate of the room in which it lives, the amount of daylight which it should enjoy, the atmosphere which it breathes, its freedom from sudden alarms, all have to be considered if you wish your bird to be happy, and without happiness there is little chance of its being a pleasant companion.

Canaries are not included in this article, because they are bred in captivity, and have inherited the capacity for living in cages.

In a state of nature small birds flit about and sing only during daylight, and they always retire to rest at sundown. You must look out for this if you keep your birds in cages. They do not understand that they had better keep silent after the lamps are lighted. They instinctively keep on singing, as if it were still daylight. The immediate effect of this is that the birds become over-fatigued; they are apt to moult, grow thin, suffer from exhaustion, and quickly perish. The cage should be removed to a darkened room at nightfall; or, if this is not convenient, cover up the cage with a dark cloth before lighting the lamps. In covering the cage care should be taken so to arrange the cloth that the bird can have plenty of air. In removing birds from one room to another it is important to see that there is no change in temperature. If removed to a different temperature there is a strong chance that they will begin to moult, which generally leads to something serious. Remember that Nature supplies a coat to suit heat or cold in which her creatures are placed, and that sudden and frequent changes in temperature are a severe tax upon a bird's vitality.

The object in the construction of a bird's cage should be to furnish plenty of light and air, and the cage should always be kept perfectly clean. It is well to have a night covering of dark cloth, which should cover the top of the cage and extend half-way down the sides, as many birds are likely to take cold.

It is almost impossible to rear woodpeckers and fly-catchers, for they live on a special kind of food, such as grubs and other insects, seldom touching seeds and fruit; and there are some birds that it is exceedingly difficult to keep in a small confined space.

Birds of the thrush variety--and this of course includes robins and blackbirds--are hardy and docile pets, and will live in a cage with _varied_ food from seven to ten years. The principal disease to which they are subject is consumption, and this should be guarded against with care. Of the thrushes, the robin finds it most difficult to accustom himself to cage life, and in the spring, at pairing-time, he usually pines for freedom. I cannot bear to see robins caged, although many people have succeeded in keeping them happy and contented.

All of the finches, birds of the mocking-bird type, which includes the cat-bird, will thrive well in cages.

Birds should not be taken when too young, as they are likely to sicken and die; but if caught about the time the pin-feathers begin to show they will generally live. At this time it is necessary to feed them almost constantly, and they will devour more than their own weight in food every day.

The mocking-bird is by all odds the best American cage bird. The best food for a young mocking-bird is thickened meal and water, or meal and milk, mixed occasionally with tender fresh meat, minced fine. Young and old birds require berries of various kinds, such as cherries, strawberries, etc. Any kind of wild fruit of which they are fond is good for them, but this should not be given too freely. A few grasshoppers, beetles, and other insects, which may easily be obtained, as well as gravel, are also necessary.

The mocking-bird can easily be taught a tune, as can the cat-bird, which, despite his cat-call--generally a cry of warning or distress--is one of the sweetest singers among our common birds.

Finches are very bright and animated, and make very desirable pets. They may be taught many amusing tricks. They will learn to fire small cannons and imitate death. They may be taught to draw up their food and water in a little bucket by means of a fine chain.

Of the finches, the bullfinch is probably the best cage bird. It can be taught to whistle a tune. This is done by keeping it in a dark room, and admitting light only at intervals. Every time the light is let into the room you should whistle one air to it, over and over again. Soon it will pick up a few notes, and often will be able to whistle the whole tune in a very short time. The bullfinch is not indigenous to America, although we have many varieties of finches, and some that closely approach those native to England; but bullfinches can be purchased at any bird-store.

Finches should be fed chiefly on poppy and hemp seed--the first to be given as its usual food. Now and then some unflavored biscuit may be given them, but they should never be fed on sweetened cake.

Game-birds and birds that build their nests on the ground almost never breed in captivity. Birds that are enemies when in their natural state will live together contentedly in a cage.

In regard to the feeding of birds, it may be stated in a general way that birds with short triangular bills, like the finches, live on seeds or some form of vegetable food entirely, and never require any meat. Birds with long slender bills, like the thrushes, mocking-birds, crows, etc., require animal as well as vegetable food, while birds with long hooked bills, like hawks or gulls, live on a diet entirely of meat. The reason that the birds in the bird-stores are always in such good health is because the bird-fancier understands how to feed them, and varies their diet as their condition demands.

The importance of giving a bird plenty of water, both to drink and in which to bathe, cannot be overestimated. Birds suffer frightfully from thirst when neglected, and as they have no power to express their wants, they often go for hours unheeded, when a little thoughtful attention would give them relief. Care should always be taken to see to it that their water-cup is filled, and that it does not become twisted to one side or the other so that the bird cannot reach it.

MORRO CASTLE.

BY T. R. DAWLEY, JR.