Stories of the Lifeboat Part 5

The scene on the landing of the lifeboat at Folkestone baffles description. Thousands of people had a.s.sembled at the harbour, and as soon as the boat appeared, cheer after cheer was raised, and rescuers and rescued were quickly brought ash.o.r.e. The former received the hearty congratulations of everyone. The latter appeared too exhausted to bear the excitement of the moment, so they were at once conducted to a place where they received the care they needed after their exposure to the wind and waves.

Next morning the crew wrote a letter of thanks to all who had taken part in their rescue, in the following terms, touching in their simplicity,--

"We desire to tender our heartfelt grat.i.tude for the way in which we have been rescued and cared for by the crew of the lifeboat, and the others who a.s.sisted in our rescue."

At noon a special service of thanksgiving was held in the parish church, Folkestone, and as the men bad lost all their belongings, a collection was made on their behalf.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE STRANDING OF THE "EIDER."

On the night of Sunday the 31st of January 1892, the North-German Lloyd liner _Eider_, bound from New York to Southampton, stranded on a reef of rocks off the Isle of Wight. A dense fog prevailed at the time, and a very rough sea was running. Signal rockets were immediately sent up, and about eleven o'clock the Atherfield lifeboat proceeded to her a.s.sistance. There was no immediate danger to the pa.s.sengers and crew, so the captain decided to telegraph for steam tugs. The telegrams were accordingly handed into the lifeboat, and she returned to the sh.o.r.e to send them off.

At daylight next morning signals were made by the _Eider_, and the lifeboat again went out, and found that the captain wished to land some of the mails, and they were therefore brought ash.o.r.e. Meanwhile news of the stranding of the steamer had been sent to the lifeboat stations at Brighstone Grange and Brooke, and these lifeboats at once put off and made for the scene of the disaster with all speed. The captain of the _Eider_ then decided that it would be best to land the pa.s.sengers, and during the day the lifeboats made altogether eighteen trips to the ship, and safely landed two hundred and thirty-three pa.s.sengers, besides specie and mails. Darkness, however, came on and put an end to the work.

The next day eleven journeys were performed by the lifeboats, and one hundred and forty-six people were brought to land without accident.

During Wednesday and Thursday the boats were engaged in bringing ash.o.r.e bars of silver, specie, the ship's plate, and pa.s.sengers' luggage.

Forty-one journeys in all were made by the gallant lifeboatmen, who worked hard and n.o.bly, and rescued three hundred and seventy-nine persons. The captain and several of the crew remained on board, and the vessel was eventually towed off the rocks and safely berthed in Southampton docks.

In recognition of the devotion to duty and self-sacrifice shown by the lifeboatmen in the work of rescue, the Emperor of Germany presented each of the c.o.xswains of the three lifeboats with a gold watch bearing His Majesty's portrait and initials. The inst.i.tution also awarded the second-service clasp to the c.o.xswain of the Atherfield lifeboat, the silver medal to the c.o.xswain of the Brighstone Grange lifeboat, and the third-service clasp to the c.o.xswain of the Brooke lifeboat.

We reproduce the following poem on the stranding of the _Eider_, by special permission, from _The Star_:--

The _Eider_ rode on the open sea With her safety in G.o.d's own hand For a thousand miles--ay, two, and three, With never a sight of land.

A sh.e.l.l of steel on the world of waves That severs the hemispheres, That covers the depths of a thousand graves And the wrecks of a hundred years.

She bore, unhurt, through the storm-G.o.d's din, Through shower, and shade, and sheen, With the death without and her lives within, And her inch of steel between.

From the port behind, to the port beyond, With never a help or guide, Save the needle's point and the chart he conned, The master has fought the tide.

On the bridge, in the Sunday twilight dim, He has taken his watchful stand; And he hears the sound of a German hymn, And the boom of a brazen band.

He looks for the lights of the royal isle, Ahead, to left, and to right; Below there is music and mirthful smile, For land must be soon in sight.

In sight? Not yet! for a fog creeps round And the night is doubly dark.

"Slow speed! Hush! is it the fog-bell's sound, Or the shriek of the siren? Hark!"

The fog-bell clangs from its seaward tower, And the siren shrills in fear; But the vapours thicken from hour to hour, And the master cannot hear!

On the seaward headland, the beacon's blaze Like a midday sun would seem, But its warning rays are lost in the haze, And the master sees no gleam!

"How goes the line? There is time to save!"

"It is ten fathom deep by the log."

"We have not tarried for wind or wave, We cannot wait for the fog."

On, on! through the dark of a double night; On, on--to the lurking rock!

No sound, no gleam of a saving light Till the _Eider_ leaps to the shock.

All night she bides where the sea death hides, And her pa.s.sengers crowd her deck; While the leaping tides laugh over her sides And sink from the stranded wreck.

The _Eider_ has gold, she has human lives; But these can a.s.sist no more.

Pray, pray, ye German children and wives, For help from the English sh.o.r.e!

A signal is sent, and a signal is seen, And a lifeboat--ay, two, and three, From the sh.o.r.e to the vessel their crews row between, And fight with the stormy sea.

They fight day and night, as true Englishmen can, 'Mid the roar of the storm-lash'd waves; And the _Eider's_ four hundred are saved to a man From the terror of sea-bed graves.

The _Eider_ bides, all broken and bent; With the tide she shivers and starts, And stands--for a time--as a monument Of the courage of English hearts.

But longer lasting, the memoried grace Of a n.o.ble deed and grand Will knit the hearts of the English race To the hearts of the Fatherland!

CHAPTER XV.

THE WRECK OF THE "NORTHERN BELLE."

During a dreadful storm which swept over the British Isles several years ago, the American ship _Northern Belle_, from New York to London, came to anchor off Kingsgate, near Broadstairs, about a mile from the sh.o.r.e.

The sea made great breaches over her, and, in order to lighten the vessel and help her to ride out the storm, the crew cut away two of the masts. With the flood-tide, however, the gale increased, and it was feared that the vessel would drag her anchors and come ash.o.r.e. A swift-footed messenger was accordingly despatched to summon the Broadstairs lifeboat.

Without delay the crew were mustered, and the boat, on her carriage, was dragged overland to Kingsgate, a distance of two miles. It was nine o'clock when the _Mary White_ arrived, and by that time the cliffs were lined with crowds of people. Shortly afterwards two luggers were seen bearing down upon the unfortunate vessel. One of these crafts, when trying to take out one of the ship's anchors, was overwhelmed by a heavy sea, and sank. Not one of her crew of nine men were ever seen again.

The other was more successful, and five of her crew managed to get on board the _Northern Belle_. Every moment the mult.i.tude of spectators expected to see the vessel run ash.o.r.e and be dashed to pieces on the rocks at the foot of the cliff; but as the day wore on and the anchors still held, it was thought that she would yet be safe. Heedless of the heavy snow and bitter cold, the people watched her till darkness came on and shut out the vessel from their gaze.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THEY BENT THEIR BACKS TO THE OARS.]

About midnight, the long-expected catastrophe took place, the cable broke and the vessel was driven on the rocks. In the storm and darkness it would have been worse than useless to launch the lifeboat, so the men were reluctantly compelled to put off the rescue till a new day should give them sufficient light to see what they were doing. Next morning, about seven o'clock, the remains of the ill-fated ship could be seen, and lashed to the only remaining mast were the figures of twenty-three perishing sailors. What they must have suffered in the cold and darkness of that terrible night may be imagined, but it cannot be described.

The lifeboat was dragged down to the water's edge, and the crew got into their places. The c.o.xswain stood up in the stern, grasping the yoke lines, and watching for a favourable moment to put off. The faces of the men were grave, for they knew the terrific struggle that was before them, and, with such a high sea running, who knew if they would come back again? The c.o.xswain gave the word, and the boat was pushed off into the raging surf. The boatmen bent their backs and made headway in spite of the storm. Over and over again they were lost to sight, and those on sh.o.r.e were filled with fear for their safety, but the good boat breasted each wave gallantly, and quickly drew near to the wreck.

Great difficulty was experienced in getting alongside, and in the struggle the bow of the lifeboat was badly damaged, but at last the boat was made fast. The poor sailors were so benumbed by their long exposure to cold that they were almost helpless, and this made the task of the boatmen still more difficult. At length, after tremendous exertions, they succeeded in taking off seven of the crew. On account of the broken condition of the boat and the high sea, it was not judged prudent to take more, so she was cut adrift from the wreck and returned to the sh.o.r.e with her precious burden.

Fearing that an accident might happen to the _Mary White_ and disable her for further service, a second lifeboat had been brought over from Broadstairs. She was now launched, and made for the wreck, from which she shortly afterwards returned with fourteen men. Only two sailors now remained on board, the aged captain and the pilot. The former stubbornly refused to leave his ship, declaring that he would rather be drowned; and the latter said that he was not going to leave the old man to perish by himself.

The c.o.xswain allowed two hours to pa.s.s, expecting that the captain would change his mind and signal for them to come and take him off; but when he showed no signs of yielding, he called the men together and launched the lifeboat. After a stiff pull they reached the wreck, and tried to persuade the captain to save himself, but he remained obstinate. Then the men declared that they would remain by the wreck as long as she held together, even if they waited a week. The c.o.xswain pointed out to the captain that he was not only throwing his own life away for no good reason, but that he was also endangering the lives of those in the boat, and he told him that it was his duty to save himself. At length he was persuaded of the folly of his action, and came down from the rigging.

The pilot, whose chivalrous feelings alone had kept him in this perilous position, also gladly entered the saving boat.

Great were the rejoicings on the beach when it became known that the whole crew had now been rescued. The shipwrecked men were taken to a house near at hand, but they were so exhausted that they were unable to eat.

Shortly afterwards three horses were harnessed to the transporting carriage of the _Mary White_, and she was taken back to Broadstairs. As she approached the town, the people came out to meet her, and with cheers loud and long welcomed the heroes home.

An eye-witness of the rescue says: "The lifeboatmen were not labouring under any species of excitement when they engaged in the perilous duty, which they performed so n.o.bly and so well. Under the impression that these men would never return,--the impression of all who witnessed their departure from the sh.o.r.e,--I watched their countenances closely. There was nothing approaching bravado in their looks, nothing to give a spectator any idea that they were about to engage in a matter of life or death, to themselves and the crew of the ship clinging to the fore-rigging of the _Northern Belle_. They had no hope of a decoration or of a pecuniary reward when, with a coolness of manner and a calmness of mind which contrasted strongly with the energy of their movements, they bounded into the lifeboat to storm batteries of billows far more appalling to the human mind than batteries surmounted by cannon and bristling with bayonets. There could be no question about the heroism of these men."