During the same year the men at the Point aux Barques Station had been the means of saving more than a hundred lives. Still the life of the surfmen has its merry, as well as its serious moods. Each station is provided with a small but well selected library, and the men find it a constant source of instruction and delight. Then there is always in every crew one or two who can play a violin, flute or accordion, and often when the weather is fine and the wind off shore, the surfmen gather in the messroom and listen to the music of their companions or sing songs and spin yarns, the latter couched in a quaint and awkward vernacular, yet full of life and spirit, and redolent of the sea and the waves. Often on clear, moonlit nights there are "surprise parties" at the station, made up of the wives, sisters' and sweethearts of the crew, who always bring with them a generous store of household dainties for those they love, sure to prove a welcome addition to the surfmen's plain, but substantial fare. On such occasions the boat-room is quickly cleared for the dance, and joy and merriment hold unfettered sway. And, yet, never is the patrol relaxed, nor do the surfmen forget the stern call to duty that may come to them at any moment. "When I see a man clinging to a wreck," said a sturdy surf man, not long ago, "I see nothing else in the world, nor think of family and friends until I have saved him." And it is but simple truth to say that this heroic spirit animates every member of the life-saving service. CHAPTER X WHALERS OF THE ARCTIC SEA In the streets and hotels, or more often the smoking-room of the custom-house of the beautiful old town of New Bedford, Massachusetts, one meets in these latter times certain quiet, elderly men who, save for their weather-beaten faces, an occasional scar, the deference shown them, and the title of "captain," give no sign of the stormy and adventurous lives they have led. These men belong to a most interesting class, and one which promises to soon become extinct. They are the whaling captains of the old days, when, with whaling still one of the most prosperous and important of our national industries, the New Bedford whalers carried the American flag to the most distant parts of the globe, and yearly poured a golden stream into the strong-boxes of their shrewd and venturesome owners. Cabin-boys at twelve, captains before they were twenty-five, at fifty, stranded hulks--having often made and lost great fortunes, made them for others, lost them for themselves--in such quiet havens as chance or fortune affords, they now peacefully and with perfect contentment await the end that sooner or later comes to us all.