Produced by Duncan Harrod  HTML version by Al HainesThe Tides Of BarnegatbyF Hopkinson SmithCONTENTS       I  THE DOCTORS GIG      II  SPRING BLOSSOMS     III  LITTLE TOD FOGARTY      IV  ANN GOSSAWAYS RED CLOAK       V  CAPTAIN NATS DECISION      VI  A GAME OF CARDS     VII  THE EYES OF AN OLD PORTRAIT    VIII  AN ARRIVAL      IX  THE SPREAD OF FIRE       X  A LATE VISITOR      XI  MORTON COBDENS DAUGHTER     XII  A LETTER FROM PARIS    XIII  SCOOTSYS EPITHET     XIV  HIGH WATER AT YARDLEY      XV  A PACKAGE OF LETTERS     XVI  THE BEGINNING OF THE EBB    XVII  BREAKERS AHEAD   XVIII  THE SWEDES STORY     XIX  THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN      XX  THE UNDERTOW     XXI  THE MAN IN THE SLOUCH HAT    XXII  THE CLAW OF THE SEAPUSSTHE TIDES OF BARNEGATCHAPTER ITHE DOCTORS GIGOne lovely spring morningand this story begins on a spring morningsome fifty years or more agoa joy of a morning that made one glad tobe alive when the radiant sunshine had turned the ribbon of a roadthat ran from Warehold village to Barnegat Light and the sea to satinthe wide marshes to velvet and the belts of stunted pines to bands ofpurpleon this spring morning then Martha Sands the Cobdens nursewas out with her dog Meg She had taken the little beast to the innerbeach for a batha custom of hers when the weather was fine and thewater not too coldand was returning to Warehold by way of the roadwhen calling the dog to her side she stopped to feast her eyes on thepicture unrolled at her feetTo the left of where she stood curved the coast glistening like ascimitar and the strip of yellow beach which divided the narrow bayfrom the open sea to the right thrust out into the sheen of silverlay the spit of sand narrowing the inlet its edges scalloped with lacefoam its extreme point dominated by the grim tower of Barnegat Lightaloft high into the blue soared the gulls flashing like jewels asthey lifted their breasts to the sun while away and beyond the sailsof the fishingboats gray or silver in their shifting tacks crawledover the wrinkled seaThe glory of the landscape fixed in her mind Martha gathered her shawlabout her shoulders tightened the strings of her white cap smoothedout her apron and with the remark to Meg that hed never see nothinso beautiful nor so restful resumed her walkThey were inseparable these two and had been ever since the day shehad picked him up outside the tavern half starved and with a sorepatch on his back where some kitchenmaid had scalded him Somehow thepoor outcast brought home to her a sad page in her own history whenshe herself was homeless and miserable and no hand was stretched outto her So she had coddled and fondled him gaining his confidence dayby day and talking to him by the hour of whatever was uppermost in hermindFew friendships presented stronger contrasts She stout andmotherlylookingtoo stout for any waistlinewith kindly blue eyessmooth gray hairgray not whiteher round rosy face framed in acotton cap aglow with the freshness of the morninga comfortingcoddlingup kind of woman of fifty with a low crooning voice gentlefingers and soft restful hollows about her shoulders and bosom forthe heads of tired babies Meg thin rickety and sneakeyed with abroken tail that hung at an angle and but one ear a blackandtan hadruined the othera sandycolored roughhaired goodfornothing curof multifarious lineage who was either crouching at her feet or infull cry for some hole in a fence or rift in a woodpile where he couldflatten out and sulk in safetyMartha continued her talk to Meg While she had been studying thelandscape he had taken the opportunity to wallow in whatever camefirst and his wet hair was bristling with sand and matted with burrsCome here Megyou measly rascal she cried stamping her footCome here I tell yeThe dog crouched close to the ground waited until Martha was nearenough to lay her hand upon him and then with a backward springdarted under a bush in full blossomLook at ye now she shouted in a commanding tone Taint no use omy washin ye Yere full o thistles and jest as dirty as when Ithrowed ye in the water Come out o that I tell ye Now Megdarlinthis came in a coaxing tonecome out like a good dogsureIm not goin in them brambles to hunt yeA clatter of hoofs rang out on the morning air A twowheeled gig drawnby a wellgroomed sorrel horse and followed by a brownhaired Irishsetter was approaching In it sat a man of thirty dressed in a longmousecolored surtout with a wide cape falling to the shoulders On hishead was a soft gray hat and about his neck a white scarf showing abovethe lapels of his coat He had thin shapely legs a flat waist andsquare shoulders above which rose a cleanshaven face of singularsweetness and refinementAt the sound of the wheels the tattered cur poked his head from betweenthe blossoms twisted his one ear to catch the sound and with asidespring bounded up the road toward the setterWell I declare if it aint Dr John Cavendish and Rex Marthaexclaimed raising both hands in welcome as the horse stopped besideher Goodmornin to ye Doctor John I thought it was you but thesun blinded me and I couldnt see And ye never saw a better nor abrighter mornin