Early in the forenoon the waves were leaping at times over the trestle work of the street railway along the beach front, making it impossible to operate the cars around the belt, as the water would have burned out the motors. The cars were therefore operated between town and the Gulf on the double tracks of either side of the belt line. A little later in the forenoon the waves undermined the track at Twenty-fourth street and avenue R. They washed under the little Midway houses on the south side of avenue R, which were built on piling, and in places carried away the sidewalks in front of the buildings, which were not thus supported. THE ANGER OF THE SEA. The platform which supported the photograph gallery at the Pagoda bath house was washed away. This was not a part of the original structure, and was not as strongly built as the remainder of the bath house. The bath house proper and its pier, extending out to sea, were not at that time (Saturday noon) disturbed by the waves, although the high rollers at times dashed so near the flooring of this and the other bath houses that it looked like a rise of a few inches would punch up the flooring. The scene at the beach was grand. The sea in its anger was a sight beautiful, though awe-inspiring, to behold. Notwithstanding the wind and the driving rain, thousands of people went to the beach to behold the maddened sea, and the street cars were kept quite busy. Down town, during the early morning, when the rain was not so heavy, there seemed no apparent necessity for getting into rainy day garb to make this trip to the beach, and many people went out in their best bibs and tuckers, to their sorrow. Well dressed men and women disembarked from the cars at the beach and picked their way amid swirling pools of water and the spent waves to get into midway and to pass along to places where a good view of the sea might be obtained. For a few minutes they succeeded in keeping feet and bodies reasonably dry, but using umbrellas counted for naught, and were soon turned wrong side out or ripped into ribbons, and their owners getting partially wet, abandoned themselves to the inevitable and went around seeing the sights, caring not for the weather, nor worrying about their good duds. Some people, with abundant foresight, appeared on the scene in bathing suits, and, of course, they were right in it from the jump. At Twenty-fifth street the big waves rolled up the shelving beach, crossed the street railway tracks, leaving the water impounded behind the embankment. These waters backed up in the ditches and the low places of the street as far as avenue N, and the supply being ever replenished, both from the sea and from the clouds, there was no opportunity for this water to run off. IMPOSSIBLE TO NAVIGATE.