The log cabin Democrat., 1916-03-07

story would be a night of storm. For with the howl of the wind in his ears and the spatter of the sleet l@l upon his windows it would I7N>I seem good to the reader to
 reflect that the men of the coast-guard patrol, in relays that in terlock from sunset to sunrise on clear nights and through all the hours of the twenty-four on days and nights Of darkness and danger, are tramping the beaches of the whole United States in an almost unbroken success sion from Quoddy Head to Cape Fear, from Oswego to Duluth, and from Pe- tersons s Point to the Golden Gate.
 Nightly the members of this hardy and heroic band of men patrol a thou sand miles of the coast of this coun- try. They oscillate like a big pendu- lum. Away at the far North a man swathed in oil skins starts south and at the same time a guard at the far South starts north. and between these two end links of the long chain there are hundreds of other watchers, each tramping his beat to the midway point where he meets the patrol from the adjoining station, and then tramp ing back to his quarters, alert every minute, peering through darkness and fog, blinding rack and flying spray, ready any instant to burn a Coston light, to hurry to the wire with a re- port of ship in trouble, or to leap into the lifeboat for race through the surf to a vessel in distress.
 A Hard Life.
 The coastguardsman' life is a hard one. It abounds in peril But it has the fascination of the lure of danger, and no enlisted man of the army or navy surpasses the beach patrol in fidelity to duty or ingenuity in devis- ing ways to help the helpless. It is no unusual thing for a guard to be blown off his feet by gale, and some times he is washed out to sea. No wonder his face is hard as leather for he has to make his way through
 
 cry winter, and through the driving blast he must see all that keen and trained pair of good eyes can see in the midst of a storm that would leave the landlubber helpless. Many a time in the teeth of stiff northeaster he pulls his tired legs through sodden sand into which he sinks to his boot tops at every step, stumbling over half-buried casks and timbers that have been thrown up by the sea. On clear and cold nights the beach may be hard and smooth, but such nights often enough are of freezing tempera. ture. But the guard never falters He bucks the gale and endures the cold, his eyes always watchful and all his senses quick to catch the tokens of human need and possible rescue.
 A Visit to the Station.
 It is an Illuminating experience to visit one of these stations. It matters but little which one you may choose to see Every station has it's history and it's traditions but all are similar in their methods of work and in gen. eral equipment
 Probably you would appreciate a visit to the Peaked Hill Bars station. It is brown wooden building which a stranger unaided might have hard work in finding. It is but a few hun- dreds of feet from the shore line. and yet is invisible both from the beach and from off shore. Big hummocks of sand have been piled about it by the shifting winds. and on every side these make the entire view which the eye of the undiscerning would per -Coive. There is no beaten track to the door; the winds and the sands ob literate trails very quickly. You tramp several miles of desolate dunes before you reach the door, but when the door is reached and you look into the faces of the husky guardsmen you