THE UNDERTOW OF THE SEASHORE.
Its Treachery Even When Encountered by a Powerful Swimmer.
"WHEN you have seen a strong man fight for his life against the treacherous undertow, you have looked upon a picture that will never fade from your memory. I stood on the extreme end of Howard's ocean pier at Atlantic City when three strong swimmers dived under the outer roller and began to disport themselves outside the surf," says a writer in the Detroit Free Press. "The tide was then running out, and a fresh breeze was rolling a sea in—just the conditions required to make a dangerous undertow. Two hours previously, as I stood in the surf only waist deep, I felt the deadly clutch so strong that I became frightened and gave up my bath. "I could look right down upon these swimmers as they cleared the surf. They were powerful men, each in the prime of life, and they arose to the seas coming in as if it was no effort to keep afloat. They were cautious in their rashness. They had passed the danger line, but they meant to keep near the pier. "And as I watched them, I saw the undertow as it plotted their destruction. It came sucking back from the shore in swirls and eddies—it crept along under the froth and foam as a panther creeps—it parted to the right and left of the swimmers and sent up great bubbles of warning. It was a lumpy sea coming in. It was vexed and harassed, and it flung the swimmers about and tested their strength more than they dreamed of. And little by little—literally foot by foot—the octopus of the undertow was reaching out its feelers and pulling them further from the sea. It was a drift which they did not notice nor feel until too late. "Of a sudden, almost like the spring of a wild beast, the undertow brought its currents together, rushed to the surface, and two lives were doomed. "I had my opera glass up. I could see each face as plainly as if only five feet away. There was a look of terror on each countenance. Each man gasped—cried out—lost his strength for a moment, and then came a change. Courage and determination had taken the place of terror and despair. They would make a brave fight. "If it ever comes to you to see a strong man battle with the water for his life, you cannot turn away. There is a horrid magnetism which fastens your eyes on him, and holds them there. Your throat is dry, your tongue parched, and you are lost to all around you. So I stood and watched, hearing never a shout, although a thousand people were shouting. "The three men turned their faces leeward, and put forth every exertion. There was more than the natural fear of death to urge them on. There were wives and children and happy homes—friends—years to live. "It was grand, but it was horrible. I could see the muscles play, the lips compress, the eyes gleam with the fire of determination, and the hundred of us nearest them prayed God to let them gain the victory. But it was not to be. The undertow is merciless. It is greedy. Once it fastens upon a victim, his fate is sealed. "Inch by inch the swimmers gained—foot by foot they lost. There was no one to aid them. The lifeboats were beached, and the life guards away. There were chairs and benches on the pier, but the men were too far away. Now, as I watched, I saw despair and terror come back to their faces as they felt the clutch anew. With one last vain outlay of strength, one of the three sprang breast high out of the water, turned over on his face, and drifted hither and yon, a corpse. The one nearest him was unnerved in a moment. I saw his face upturned to heaven through the froth and the foam, and then he raised his arms and gave up the fight. Twice he reappeared for an instant and then sank, to be sucked out to sea by the pitiless undertow—yet unsatisfied. "A puff of wind—a change of a point—a new set to a current—something no one could fathom, saved the third man. He had ceased swimming, but a current bore him to the surf, dashed him through it, and he was flung among the piles of the pier and rescued."