The daily morning journal and courier., 1896-11-21


 Beach, Bowery Bay, South Beach, Der gen Beach, Canarsie, and Far Rock away all have their diggings and their diggers.
 Why, sir, I'll bet there's $5,0OO in money alone on the Coney Island Beach and think of the jewelry" This was the Cap'ns estimate and he is not given to exaggeration.
 The idea that Jones clutched under the board walk was the conclusion of 8 perfectly logical bit of ratiocination 1T he found two coins without looking for them, he would find more if he looked, So he looked. He went about it systematically, thoughtfully. Themoney that people dropped must be where people went. There he must seek. It would lie right on the surface; he must dig beneath the surface. His sombero suggested the Western gold-digger' g cradle he must have a sieve, a sieve and shovel. There were any number of shovels on Coney Island; one out of every hundred of the million children who played in the sand had left one that was just right for his purpose. But the sieve was another thing. There wasn't one on the island. Jones got along without a sieve for a day or two, but he had luck enough only ito urge upon him the necessity for his cradle, i" He came to town. got one, and then the sitting of the sand began in earnest,
 He worked under the board walk till he reasoned, under the impetus of a backache, that there were other places, The abandoned stands where money was exchanged for frankfurters, waffles peanuts, popcorn, where you chuck at a mark, where you ''try your strength" where you shoot at clay pipes, where YOU gamble against awful odds-in all these places Captain Jones, alone on his Island like Crusoe, filled his sieve, shook it, raked over the sticks, stones and shells, and picked out the pennies, nickles, dimes, quarters, every thing up ot a dollar. Besides money however, and far more common, were his findings of jewelry and trinkets. Rings, cuff buttons, collar buttons, cuff links, studs, badges, lodge emblems, watch chains, class medals, bins-all sorts of such things he gathered in his sieve. They varied in value, of course, and were mostly cheap things, but they counted up in the long run. It was soon evident there was a living for a Darker" in the abandoned sands of the winter season, and Jones at that time, though not exactly a barker, did bark; he had a long-range-s e-shooting-g gallery, the first at Coney, and called out the joy of trying it himself.
 f oJ, had a gold mine, and others joined in the sitting of the sand, and they de- veloped the business as their minds bent to the search. Among those who came and stayed are "GilP'-whose last name nobody knows, but whose brothers name everybody knows is Frank Schaeffer-"GilP' and Dave Stewart, the coon,'' and Tom Fenton, and Curly" but Curly" got drowned last year, and a lot of others, twelve in all, whom the cataloguer did not speci- fy. These three do nothing else, and they are not over industrious. They | just go out and pick up, enough for the | drinks and meals of a day or two. l Their spirit was suggested by a dia- l logue between the Cap'n and "Gill {" The Cap'n had been telling the reporter about "Gill'' when a figure appeared | coming up the beach.
 There he is now said the Cap'n. ''Hello, Gill"
 Hello, Cap'n"
 "How much did you rake in?"
 Enough fer a. beef stew"
 How much is that?" asked the re- porter.
 "Tuenty-five cents, two tens three | lives, and some pennies" said "Gill, /" counting the coins over in his hand l Storm and fire opened up the first tbig things" after the routine was well settled. When the West End Hotel | burned down, the ''combers" bethought them of the mine there must be in the ruins. The tearing down of a clam chowder booth would fetch in the sand beneath it an easy harvest, what must a hotel contain? They combed that pile of debris, and their eyes distended as they kept still abosat they got. The only item mentioned was two quarts of coins, mostly nickels." found by one l man.
 | Flow about the White Elephant? ?' asked the reporter, recalling the last 1 fire on Coney Island
 "Oh that must be Solomon's mine. , said the comber; but you see fires ain't no good no more since John Y. McKane was sent away. In his day everything was free and easy, every man for him self, and the other fellows winked. But now the police are a fence round the elephant"
 There was a solo of signs and remi- niscence here, suggestive, but not perti- nent to the present argument.
 A storm is just as good as a fire 1 though. When the "beach-combers'' see one coming across the waters they pull on their rubber boots and oilslhins mad 1 forth they sally. The first wind picks up the light dry sand blows it away in little swirls That takes off one lay CT The 'comber" hurries around after 1 the swirls and picks up whatever is eX- posed to sight This is what the Captain | likes to do even now, despite his back 1 and his snug little bank account Layer after layer of sand is removed uncovering more and more coins and l trinkets for the scavengers of the sea- 1 shore. On the day of the last great storm one man picked up $92, which is the best days work remembered by any 1 of the men talked with. This storm chasing is pretty hard labor. The men i have to run around from place to place after the ''blows of sand" and the wind soon begins to lift and throw in big l xxavas which with the tide OOUT' in