Tombstone epitaph., 1916-03-12


 Of the wind il his ears and the spatter of the sleet
 upon his windows 1t would t seem good to the reader to
 reflect that the men of the coast-guard patrol. in relays that ir- 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 osweso to Duluth. and from Pe- terson'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 patiol from the adjoining station. and then tramp ing back to his quarters. alert every minute. peering through darkness and fog. blindirg rack and flying spray. ready any instant to burn a Coston light, to hurry to the wire with a re- port of a ship in trouble. or to leap into the lifeboat for a race through the surf to a vessel in distress
 4 Hard Life.
 The coastguardsman's life is a hard one. It abounds in peril. But 1t has the fascination of the lure of danger. and no enlisted man of the army CT 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 on his feet by a 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 rain. sleet and sand many nights ev- cry winter. and through the driving blast he must see all that a keen and trained pair of good eyes can see in the midst of storm that would leave the landlubber helpless. Many a time in the teeth of a stin 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 its history and its traditions. but all are similar fin their methods of work and in gen. eral equipment.
 Probably you would appreciate a visit to the Peaked Hill Bars station It is a brown wooden building which a stranger unaided might have hard --ork in finding It is but few hun dreds of feet from the shore line, and yet Is invisible both from the beach and from on 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 ceive. There is no beaten track to the door: the winds and the sands ob- iiterate 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