over the shallow bay have been hauled up high and dry, the pavilions
deserted and the bathing-houses boarded up, the beaches take on a new
aspect. The sun shines with a cold gleam, and the surf has an angry
snarl to it as it surges up the sandy slopes and then recedes, dragging
the pebbles after it with a rattling sound. The outer line of sand-bars,
which in summer breaks the blue sea into sunny ripples and flashing
whitecaps, then churns 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