Harper's Round Table, August 25, 1896

"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.