Meade County news. [volume] (Meade, Kan.) 1900-1918, 1912-09-05

forefathers. 1t is still possible TO nnO
father and son serving In the same
crew, and there are Long Island lam
flies that can boast of having every
male member a coast guard; but
these instances are by no means as
frequent as they used to be. The
Surfmen are beginning to doubt the
value of service that pays, at most
a salary Of $1,104 year, with no pros
pect of pension or naturalization II
a man dies In the performance OF his
duty. Why should man adopt such
a life when he can do better and live
safely as fisherman or FISHERMAN, or
combination carpenter and yacht
skipper in the summer months? Why,
indeed?
Along the 10000 miles Of coast line
there Is no stretch that is 80 uniform
ly dangerous as the tenuous sand spit
that runs along the south side Of Long
Island, projecting 100 miles into the
Atlantic. The Great South beach, 1t
is called, or Fire Island beach; but to
men Of the sea 1t is known as "the
Graveyard of the Atlantic because
of the ships that have broken their
backs on the shifting bars that dot its
length.
Since the white man first sailed
these seas, the Great South beach has
taken its toll. Bluff-bowed Dutchmen
out Of Rotterdam; Spanish galleons
from Cuba; high-pooped English
merchantmen that traded to the loyal
colony Of New York; kings ships and
fishing boats of the old days; stout
clippers and ocean liners-all these
and many more have driven in with
the flying scud, setting their stems
deep in the clinging sand that has so
seldom let loose its prey
You find evidences Of them in the
shattered thimbers that line the beach
from Fire island to the Hamptons
and beyond-stout spars, sections of
planking, water-soaked timbers of
many shapes and ages; and off-shore,
sometimes one catches a glimpse of a
shattered hull, draped with the green
seaweed or a sunken mass of engines
and boilers and twisted pipes.
The government long ago recognized
the peculiar dangers of the Long Is
land shore, with its menace to the
liners that ply between New York and
European ports, and measures to safe
guard 1t were taken. At intervals of
five miles along the most dangerous
section, tiny stations are planted
There are 10 of them, each manned
by eight men from the first of August
to the first of June. Between these
dates all the crews, except captains
or keepers, go off duty-without pay.
These are are stations at New York's
door. They are also the stations
which do the greatest amount of work
and bear the heaviest responsibility
"a statement that casts no reflection
on the remainder of the 300 stations.
Some of the men in these stations
have performed noteworthy deeds of
valor, but the most they have ever re-
ceived in recognition has been a few
medals, and in one instance the
thanks of the New York legislature.
Despite the undoubted hardship of
their work. and the fact that they are
called upon to risk their lives more
often than soldiers or sailors or even
hremen probably, the government has
not seen fit to raise their pay or in
crease the comforts of their surround
fnOC Onn hor
attitude will be preserved. It seems
unfair and unwise, inasmuch as 1t has
already begun to react by curtailing
the supply Of recruits.
1t should be borne in mind that in
all the history of the life-saving sefv-
fee there has never been an instance
OF cowardice-not once. There has
never been a time when a CAPTAIN
had any difficulty in getting his men
to follow him into the surf. There has
never been time when 1t was neces-
sary for the captain to repeat an or
der. Now and then, men have been
known to drink and neglect patrol
duty, but even these have never
showed themselves to be towards.
And perhaps, after all, that is the
thing the service is most proud Of.
Yes, they do say it's a hard life,"
said old Capt. George Goddard OF Lone
Hill, when some one once asked him
why he still stuck to his Job at sew.
enty. Yes, it may be hard life." he
unused. But like 1t. Thirty-odd
years I've been on the beach. for
was middle-aged man when Joined
the service. But I'm good for a spell
yet, and then I've laid aside a little,
SOS can live comfortable. They
don't give us a pension, you know"
This last was not a complaint, but a
fact. 1t was spoken, too, by a man
who had reached three-score years
and ten and who was still able to
stand up in the stern of a big surf
boat and handle a kicking steering
oar, with the seas piling in higher
every minute and the North German
Lloyd liner Princess Irene fast on the
outer bar. His tones expressed a