s the water into fury and grips with a mighty hold
the keel of any vessel that is unlucky enough to be driven on them. When
the keen winter winds whip through the beach grasses on the dunes and
throw spiteful handfuls of cutting sand and spray; when the great waves
pound the beach and the crested tops are blown off into vapour, then the
life-saver patrolling the beach must be most vigilant.

All along the coast, from Maine to Florida, along the Gulf of Mexico,
the Great Lakes, and the Pacific, these men patrol the beach as a
policeman walks his beat. When the winds blow hardest and sleet adds
cutting force to the gale, then the surfmen, whose business it is to
save life regardless of their own comfort or safety, are most alert.

All day the wind whistled through the grasses and moaned round the
corners of the life-saving station; the gusts were cold, damp, and
penetrating. With the setting of the sun there was a lull, but when the
patrols started out at eight o'clock, on their four-hours' tour of duty,
the wind had risen again and was blowing with renewed force. Separating
at the station, one surf man went east and the other west, following the
line of the surf-beaten beach, each carrying on his back a recording
clock in a leather case, and also several candle-like Coston lights
and a wooden handle.

[Illustration: A LIFE-SAVING CREW DRILLING WITH BEACH APPARATUS
Hauling in a breeches-buoy and a passenger.]

"Wind's blowing some," said one of the men, raising his voice above the
howl of the blast.

"Hope nothing hits the bar to-night," the other answered. Then both
trudged off in opposite directions.

With pea-coats buttoned tightly and sou'westers tied down securely, the
surfmen fought the gale on their watch-tour of duty. At the end of his
beat each man stopped to take a key attached to a post, and, inserting
it in the clock, record the time of his visit at that spot, for by this
means is an actual record kept of the movements of the patrol at all
times.

With head bent low in deference to the force of the blast, and eyes
narrowed to slits, the surfman searched the seething sea for the shadowy
outlines of a vessel in trouble.

Perchance as he looked his eye caught the dark bulk of a ship in a sea
of foam, or the faint lines of spars and rigging through the spume and
frozen haze--the unmistakable signs of a vessel in distress. An
instant's concentrated gaze to make sure, then, taking a Coston signal
from his