The Men Who Rowed Out

Since we've just passed the lighthouse, let me tell you about the other half of that system — because a light only warns you. It doesn't come and get you.

For that there was the United States Life-Saving Service, and there were stations strung all along this coast, including in the Manitou Passage ahead. A crew of six or eight men lived at each one through the shipping season. They patrolled the beach on foot at night, in all weather, carrying a flare — walking a set distance in the dark to meet the man from the next station, then turning around and walking back.

And when a ship went aground, they launched into the surf that had just wrecked it. In an open wooden boat. With oars. Their unofficial motto tells you everything: the regulations say you have to go out — they say nothing about coming back.

They also had a gun that fired a light line out to a stranded vessel; the crew aboard would haul across a heavier line, rig a breeches buoy — essentially a pair of canvas trousers hanging from a pulley — and men, women and children were dragged one at a time through breaking seas to the beach.

The service later merged into what became the Coast Guard. The stations are museums now, or private houses. But when you see one of those long low buildings with a boathouse door facing the water, that's what it was for.