THE JERSEY COAST. aT 
drowning men than I have. I tell you it’s an awful 
sight to see the poor creatures clinging to the rig- 
ging and bowsprit, to see them washed off before 
your eyes, sometimes close to you, without your 
being able to help them, and their dead bodies 
thrown up by the waves on the sand. You don’t 
feel like stealing or murder at such times; and 
besides, I never knew a dead man come ashore that 
had anything in his pockets.” 
A peal of laughter greeted this naive remark, toge- 
ther with the ready response: “ Bill, you were too 
late; some Barnegat pirate had been before you.” 
“No, the Barnegat pirates are kinder than the 
Government. We do our best to save the poor 
fellows, but the Government puts men in charge 
of their station-houses that know nothing about 
their business. My father-in-law was the first man 
that threw a line with the cannon over a ship, and 
he was presented with a medal by the Humane 
Society. He never was paid a dollar for taking 
charge of the station, the life-boat, and the cannon. 
Since he died I kept it for five years, and was paid 
two years; now men are selected for their polities. 
One lives back on the main land two miles from his 
station-house, another never fired a gun, and a third 
never rowed a boat. The last gota crew of us toge- 
ther once to go out to a ship in the life-boat and 
undertook to steer, but we told him not one of us 
would go unless he stayed on shore. It is a dan- 
gerous thing to have a green hand at the helm, or 
even at an oar, in times like that.” 
