The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism Volume II Part 16

"Some of those who had won the race and were in the boat were ill-prepared with clothing for the hardships they would have to endure, for if they had not their waterproofs at hand, they did not delay to get them, fearing that the crew might be made up before they got to the boat. But these men were supplied by the generosity of their disappointed friends, who had come down better prepared, but too late for the enterprise; the famous cork jackets were thrown into the boat and at once put on by the men.

"The powerful steam-tug, well-named the _Aid_, that belongs to the harbour, and has her steam up night and day ready for any emergency that may arise, speedily got her steam to full power, and with her brave and skilful master, Daniel Reading, in command, took the boat in tow, and together they made their way out of the harbour. James Hogben, who with Reading has been in many a wild scene of danger, was c.o.xswain, and steered and commanded the life-boat.

"It was nearly low water at the time, but the force of the gale was such as to send a good deal of spray dashing over the pier; the snow fell in blinding squalls, and drifted and eddied in every protected nook and corner. It was hard work for the excited crowd of people who had a.s.sembled to see the life-boat start, to battle their way through the drifts and against the wind, snow, and foam, to the head of the pier; but there at last they gathered, and many a one felt his heart fail as the steamer and boat cleared the protection of the pier, and encountered the first rush of the wind and sea outside. 'She seemed to go out under water,' said one old fellow; 'I would not have gone out in her for the universe.' And those who did not know the heroism and determination that such scenes call forth in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the boatmen, could not help wondering much at the eagerness which had been displayed to get a place in the boat-and this although the hardy fellows knew that the two Margate life-boats had been wrecked in the attempt to get the short distance which separated the wreck from Margate, while they would have to battle their way through the gale for ten or twelve miles before they could get even in sight of the vessel." And so the steamer with its engines working full power plunged heavily along, the life-boat towed astern with fifty fathoms (300 feet) of five-inch hawser out, an enormously strong rope about the thickness of a man's wrist. The water flowed into and over the boat, and still, like any other good life-boat, she floated, and rose in its buoyancy, almost defying the great waves, while her crew were knee-deep in water.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RAMSGATE-THE "AID" GOING OUT.]

They, making their way through the Cud channel, had pa.s.sed between the black and white buoys, so well-known to Ramsgate visitors, when a fearful sea came heading towards them. It met and broke over the steamer, buried her in foam and then pa.s.sed on. The life-boat rose to it, and for a moment hung with her bows high in air, then plunged bodily almost under water.

The men were nearly washed out of her, for at that moment the tow rope broke, and the boat fell across the sea, which swept in rapid succession over her. "Oars out! oars out!" was the cry, but they could do nothing with them. The steamer was, however, cleverly brought within a few yards to windward of the boat, and a hauling line, to which was attached a new hawser, was successfully pa.s.sed to the boat, and they again proceeded in the teeth of the blinding snow and sleet and spray which swept over the boat, till the men looked, as one said at the time, "like a body of ice."

Still they struggled on, till they reached the North Foreland, where the sea was running mountains high, and although early in the afternoon, the air was so darkened by the storm that the captain of the boat could not see the steamer only a hundred yards ahead, and still less able were the men on board the steamer to see the life-boat. Now they sighted Margate, and could plainly see the two disabled life-boats ash.o.r.e. But where was the wreck? A providential break in the drift of snow suddenly gave them a glimpse of it, and the master of the steamer made out the flag of distress flying in the rigging of the fated vessel. But she was on the other side of the sand, and to tow the boat round would take a long time in the face of such a gale; while for the boat to make across the sand seemed almost impossible. But although it seemed a forlorn hope, it was resolved to force her through the surf and sea under sail, and the hawser was cast off. Now a new complication arose. The tide was found to be running so furiously that they must be towed at least three miles to the eastward before they would be sufficiently far to windward to make certain of fetching the wreck. The tow rope had to be got on board again, and it was a bitter disappointment to all, that an hour or more of their precious time must be consumed before they could possibly get to the rescue of their endangered brother seamen. The snow-squalls increased, and they lost sight of the wreck again and again. "The gale, which had been increasing since the morning, came on heavier than ever, and roared like thunder overhead, the sea was running so furiously and meeting the life-boat with such tremendous force that the men had to cling on their hardest not to be washed out of her, and at last the new tow rope could no longer resist the increasing strain, and suddenly parted with a tremendous jerk; there was no thought of picking up the cable again-they could stand no further delay, and one and all of her crew rejoiced to hear the captain of the life-boat give orders to set sail."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "CURLY" WEATHER.]

Straight for the breakers they made in the increasing gloom; no faltering or hesitation, brows knit, teeth clenched, hands ready, and hearts firm.

The boat, carrying the smallest amount of sail possible, was driven on by the hurricane force of the wind, till she plunged through the outer range of the breakers into the battling, seething, boiling sea, that marked the treacherous shallows. "When they saw some huge breaker heading towards them like an advancing wall, then the men threw themselves breast down on the thwart, curled their legs under it, clasped it with all their force with both arms, held their breath hard, and clung on for very life against the tear and wrestle of the waves, while the rush of water poured over their backs and heads, and buried them in its flood. Down, down, beneath the weight of the water, the men and boat sank; but only for a moment; the splendid boat rose in her buoyancy, and freed herself of the seas, which for a moment had overcome her and buried her, and her crew breathed again; and a struggling cry of triumph rises from them, 'Well done, old boat!

well done.'"

A sudden break in the storm, and the wreck is revealed to them half a mile to leeward. Her appearance made even these hardy men shudder. She had settled down by the stern, her uplifted bow being the only part of the hull that was to be seen, and the sea was making a clean breach over her.

"The mainmast was gone, her foresail and foretopsail were blown adrift, and great columns of foam were mounting up, flying over her foremast and bow. They saw a Margate lugger lying at anchor just clear of the Sands, and made close to her. As they shot by they could just make out, amid the roar of the storm, a loud hail, 'Eight of our men on board!' and on they flew, and in a few minutes were in a sea that would instantly have swamped the lugger, n.o.ble and powerful boat though she was.

"Approaching the wreck, it was with terrible anxiety they strained their sight, trying to discover if there were still any men left in the tangled ma.s.s of rigging, over which the sea was breaking so furiously. By degrees they made them out. 'I see a man's head. Look! one is waving his arm.'-'I make out two! three! why, the rigging is full of the poor fellows;' and with a cheer of triumph, as being yet in time, the life-boat crew settled to their work." Four hours they had been battling the elements, while the shipwrecked crew had waited eight hours despairingly, within a few miles of sh.o.r.e, shivering in the rigging. The sails were lowered, and anchor cast overboard. "No cheering! no shouting in the boat now, no whisper beyond the necessary orders; the risk and suspense are too terrible! Yard by yard the cable is cautiously paid out, and the great rolling seas are allowed to carry the boat, little by little, nearer to the vessel. The waves break over the boat, for the moment bury it, and then as the sea rushes on, and breaks upon the wreck, the spray, flying up, hides the men lashed to the rigging from the boatmen's sight. They hoist up a corner of the sail to let the boat sheer in; all are ready; a huge wave lifts them.

'Pay out the cable! sharp, men! sharp!' the c.o.xswain shouts; 'belay all!'

The cable was let go a few yards by the run, and the boat is alongside the wreck. With a cry, three men jump into the boat and are saved! 'All hands to the cable! haul in hand over hand, for your lives, men, quick!' the c.o.xswain cries; for he sees a tremendous wave rushing in swiftly upon them. They haul in the cable, draw the boat a little from the wreck, the wave pa.s.ses and breaks over the vessel; if the life-boat had been alongside she would have been dashed against the wreck, and perhaps capsized, or washed over, and utterly destroyed. Again the men watch the waves, and as they see a few smaller ones approaching, let the cable run again, and get alongside; this time they are able to remain a little longer by the vessel; and, one after another, thirteen of the shipwrecked men unlash themselves from the rigging and jump into the boat, when again they draw away from the vessel in all haste, and avoid threatened destruction." At last three Spaniards are left in the rigging; they seem nearly dead, and scarcely able to unlash themselves, and crawl down the shrouds. The boat must be placed dangerously near the vessel, and two of the life-boatmen must get on to the wreck and lift the men on board. They do it quietly, coolly, determinedly. The last one left is a poor little cabin-boy; he seems entangled in the rigging, and yet he holds fast to a canvas bag of trinkets and things he was taking as presents to the loved ones at home. "G.o.d only knows," says Gilmore, "whether the loved ones at home were thinking of and praying for him, and whether it was in answer to their prayers and those of many others that the life-boat then rode alongside that wreck, an ark of safety amid the raging seas.

"They shout, the boy lingers still, his half-dead hands cannot free the bag from the entangled rigging. A moment and all are lost; a boatman makes a spring, seizes the lad with a strong grasp, and tears him down the rigging into the boat-too late, too late; they cannot get away from the vessel; a tremendous wave rushes on: hold hard all, hold anchor! hold cable! give but a yard and all are lost. The boat lifts, is washed into the fore-rigging, the sea pa.s.ses, and she settles down again upon an even keel. Thank G.o.d! If one stray rope of all the torn and tangled rigging of the vessel had caught the boat's rigging, or one of her spars-if the boat's keel or cork fenders had caught in the shattered gunwale, she would have turned over, and every man in her been shaken into the sea to speedy and certain death. Thank G.o.d! it is not so, and once more they are safe."

Look at the boat now; thirteen of its own crew, eight of the Margate and Whitstable men, the captain, mate, eight seamen, and the boy, thirty-two souls in all. Will she be able to bring all this human freight safely to land? Their dangers are not yet over; in fact, to the poor Spaniards, the terrors of death have not yet pa.s.sed away; for they know little of the grand properties of a first-cla.s.s English life-boat.

Now come the difficulties of clearing the wreck. The anchor holds, and there is no thought of getting her up in such a gale and sea. The hatchet is pa.s.sed forward; there is a moment's delay, a delay by which indeed all their lives are saved. Already one strand out of the three of which the strong rope is composed is severed, when a fearful gust of wind sweeps by, the boat heels over almost on her side-a crash is heard, and the mast and sail are blown clean out of the boat! she is carried straight for the wreck; the cable is slack, they haul it in as fast as they can, but on they are carried swiftly, as it would seem to certain destruction. "Let them hit the wreck full, and the next wave must throw the boat bodily upon it, and all her crew will be swept at once into the sea; let them but touch the wreck, and the risk is fearful; on they are carried, the stem of the boat just grazes the bow of the vessel, they must be capsized by the bowsprit and entangled in the wreckage; some of the crew are ready for a spring into the bowsprit to prolong their lives a few minutes, the others are all steadily, eagerly, quietly, hauling in upon the cable might and main, as the only chance of safety to the boat and crew; one moment more and all are gone, one more haul upon the cable, a fathom or so comes in by the run, and at that moment mercifully taughtens and holds, all may yet be safe! another yard or two and the boat would have been dashed to pieces."

This danger over, they have to think of the mast and sail dragging over the side of the boat; it is with great difficulty that they get them on board, and rig them up once more. At last they sail away from the Sands, the breakers and the wreck.

And now for the steamer, which at length they reach, pa.s.sing on the way the lugger _Eclipse_ and the Whitstable smack, to the crews of which they were able to impart the good tidings. When they reached the steamer the sea was raging, and the gale blowing as much as ever, and it was no easy task to get the poor shipwrecked fellows on board, as they were too exhausted to spring up her sides as the opportunity occurred; and one poor fellow was literally hauled on board with a rope. The return voyage was little less dangerous than the voyage out, but at last the Ramsgate pier-head light shone out with its bright welcome, and cheers broke out from the anxious crowd, as it was known that nineteen men had been saved from a terrible and certain death. The Spanish sailors were well cared for, and their captain, in speaking of the rescue, was almost overcome by his feelings of grat.i.tude and wonder, for he had made up his mind for death. He had a picture made of the rescue to take home with him to show the Spanish authorities. It is gratifying to know that so much bravery did not go unrewarded. The English Board of Control presented each of the men with 2 and a medal, while the Spanish Government gratefully acknowledged the heroic exertions put forth, by granting each a medal and 3. And all the above is but one example of the work of our "Storm Warriors," whose glorious mission is to save.

One stormy night some years ago the _Aid_ and the life-boat started from Ramsgate in answer to rockets fired from one of the Goodwin light-vessels.

They knew well what it meant, but on reaching the edge of the Sands could not, after cruising about some distance, find any traces of a vessel in distress. They waited till daylight, and then were just able to distinguish the lower mast of a steamer standing out of the water. They made towards it, but found no trace of life, no signs of any floating wreck to which a human being could cling. They were forced to the conclusion that almost immediately upon striking, the vessel must have broken up and sunk in the quicksand. Poor crew! poor pa.s.sengers, maybe! a sharp, sudden death! Would that the vessel could have held together a little longer!

They had not proceeded much farther ahead in the hopes of a.s.sisting another vessel ash.o.r.e not far from Kingsgate, when the captain of the _Aid_ saw a large life-buoy floating by. "Ease her!" he cries, and the way of the steamer slackens; "G.o.d knows but what that life-buoy may be of some use to us." The helmsman steers for it; a sailor makes a hasty dart at it with a boat-hook, misses it, and starts back appalled from a vision of staring eyes, and pale and agonised faces, matted hair, and arms outstretched for help. The life-boat crew steer for the buoy; the bowman grasps at it, but cannot lift it; his cry of horror startles the whole crew. Some of them hasten to help him. To that buoy three dead bodies were found lashed with ropes round their waists. Slowly and reverently, one by one, the crew lifted them on board, and laid them out under the sail.

Those three pale corpses were all that were ever found of the crew and pa.s.sengers-to what number is not known precisely to-day-of the steamer _Violet_, which had left Ostend late the previous evening. At two o'clock she struck the Sands; a little after three there was no one left on board to answer the signals of a steamboat that had come to their rescue, and show their position; a little later and the _Violet_ was lying a worthless wreck below the breakers and quicksands.

Happily the efforts of the life-boat and steamer's men are almost invariably crowned with success, where such is anything like possible. A grand success was scored some years ago when the pa.s.sengers and crew of a large emigrant ship, and the crew of another vessel, one hundred and twenty in all, were rescued and brought into Ramsgate as the result of one long night's work. The first ship, the _Fusilier_, was found hard and fast on the Sands, in a perfect boil of waters, and the life-boat alone dare approach her, the _Aid_ being obliged to lay off at some distance. The terrified pa.s.sengers looked down upon the life-boat from the high ship's deck, which quivered with every thump on the sands, wondering how many she could possibly save, and despairingly crowding round the two life-boat's men who had sprung to the man-ropes when the boat had been lifted by a sea close to the wreck. The lights from the ship's lamps and the faint moonlight revealed a trembling, pale, and horror-stricken crowd, nine-tenths of whom had known nothing before of the terrors of the sea, and who still despaired of ever seeing land again. But every one of them, and the list included more than sixty women and children, were saved. The women and children were taken off first, helped down by sailors slung in bowlines over the vessel's side, to the plunging, restless boat, the dangers being greatly enhanced by the helplessness and frantic terror of the poor creatures. Yet not even a baby was lost, although many were thrown from the vessel to the outstretched arms of the life-boat men.

About thirty persons were conveyed at a time to the steamer, where the difficulties of transference were nearly as great as from the wreck, but at last all were safe on board. Then, as the heavily-freighted steamer turned her head for Ramsgate, the emigrants mentioned how, during the previous night, they had seen a large ship drifting fast for the Sands, and how in the darkness they had lost sight of her. A sharp look-out was therefore kept, and as they proceeded down Prince's Channel, and neared the lightship, their search was rewarded. They noted the remnants of a wreck well over on the north-east side of the Girdler Sands, and immediately put back for the lifeboat, which had been left alongside the emigrant ship, where the captain remained in the faint hope of saving her eventually. Both put back to the second wreck, the hull of which was almost torn to pieces, the timbers started, rent, and twisted-a mere skeleton of a ship. To the foremast-hardly held in position by a remnant of shattered deck-clung sixteen of an exhausted crew, including a pilot and a boy of eleven. But a rope was successfully thrown round the fore-rigging, and slowly, one by one, the poor fellows dropped from the mast to the boat. Then "oars out," lest a hole should be knocked through the boat's bottom by some part of the wreckage, and every rower strained his utmost to get clear of her. This done, and the sail hoisted, the steamer was soon reached, and a grand night's work consummated. One can imagine the keen interest of the emigrants watching from the steamer the rescue of men from dangers similar to, but even greater than, those through which they had themselves just pa.s.sed, and the enthusiasm ash.o.r.e, at an almost unparalleled example of successful life-boat work.

CHAPTER XVII.

"MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!" (_continued_).

A Portuguese Brig on the Sands-Futile Attempts to get her off-Sudden Break-up-Great Danger to the Life-boat-Great Probability of being Crushed-An Old Boatman's Feelings-The Life-boat herself on the Goodwin-Safe at Last-Grat.i.tude of the Portuguese Crew-A Blaze of Light seen from Deal-Fatal Delay-Twenty-eight Lives Lost-A Dark December Night-The almost-deserted Wreck of the _Providentia_-A Plucky Captain-An Awful Episode-The Mate beaten to Death-Hardly saved-The poor little Cabin-boy's Rescue-Another Wreck on the Sands-Many Attempts to rescue the Crew-Determination of the Boatmen-Victory or Death!-The _Aid_ Steamer nearly wrecked-A novel and successful Experiment-Anchoring on Board-The Crew Saved.

The emigrant ship mentioned in the preceding chapter was eventually got off the Sands; but although similar efforts are often made, they are by no means usually attended by similar results. The danger of waiting by the ship is very considerable. Gilmore gives us a good example of this in his account of a Portuguese brig on the Sands, of which there were, at first, strong hopes of saving. Her masts and rigging, as at first seen by the Ramsgate men, were all right, and her clean new copper was intact. "A grand thing for all hands-for owners, underwriters, crew, and boatmen-the men think, if they can only get her safely off when the tide rises, and bring her into harbour; a fine vessel and perhaps valuable cargo saved, and a pretty piece of salvage, which will be well earned, and n.o.body should grudge, for the boatmen have to live, as well as to save life." The captain had at first refused to employ the services offered by the crews of two Broadstairs luggers, but at last was glad to avail himself of their a.s.sistance, coupled with that of the life-boat men and the steam-tug _Aid_. The boatmen got an anchor out astern as quickly as possible, the vessel being head on to the Sands, and used other means to a.s.sist the steamer's work. They hoped that the _Aid_ would be able to back close enough to them, to get a rope on board fastened to the flukes of the brig's anchor, and to drag the anchor out, and drop it about one hundred fathoms astern of the vessel. All hands would then have gone to the windla.s.s, keeping a strain upon the cable, and, each time the vessel lifted, heaved with a will-the steamer, with a hundred and twenty fathoms of nine-inch cable out, towing hard all the time. By these means they expected to be able gradually to work the vessel off the Sands. But they soon lost hope of doing this. The gale freshened about one o'clock in the morning; the heavy waves rolled in over the sands, and she lifted and fell with shocks that made the masts tremble and the decks gape open. The life-boat remained alongside, afloat in the basin that the brig had worked in the sands, and it took all the efforts of the men on board to prevent her getting under the side of the vessel, and being crushed. The Portuguese captain still refused to desert his vessel, while the boatmen, who knew the danger, were almost ready to force the crew to leave the ship.

Suddenly a loud sharp crack, like a crash of thunder, pealed through the ship. One of her large timbers had snapped like a pipe-stem, and now the Portuguese sailors were only too anxious to leave. Even then, however, they made a rush to get their things, and soon eight sea-chests hampered the life-boat. The captain did not like to refuse the poor fellows, although every moment was of consequence. The surf flew over the brig, and boiled up all around her; the life-boat, deluged with spray, had all her lights washed out. The snapping and rending of the brig's timbers was heard over the fury of the storm; she was breaking up fast. The boy was handed to the boat, the sailors following, and the brig was abandoned. But the danger was far from over.

The steamer and the luggers, exposed to the full fury of the increasing gale, were outside, the former head to wind, steaming half-power. The steamer endeavoured to keep in the neighbourhood of the wreck and of the life-boat. One of the luggers had to cut her cable, without attempting to save her anchor, and make with all speed for Ramsgate; the second sprung her mast, which was fished with great difficulty, and she too made the best of her way for the harbour. The crew of the steamer could see nothing of the boat-Was she swamped or stove, and all lost? They made signals, but to no purpose; and the _Aid_ cruised up and down the edge of the dangerous sands as near as might be, hoping against hope. The night was pitchy dark, and the storm remained at its worst. Through the thick darkness the bright light of the Goodwin light-vessel shone out like a star. With a faint hope, the crew of the steamer wrestled their way through the storm, and spoke the light-ship. Nothing had been seen of the life-boat. They hastened to their old cruising-ground. How they longed for the light! All hands were still on watch, and as the faint grey light of dawning came, they sought with straining eyeb.a.l.l.s to penetrate the twilight, and find some sign of their lost comrades. It was almost broad daylight before they could find the place where the wreck was lying, and when they discovered it, lost all hope, for the brig was found completely broken up, actually torn to pieces. They could see great ma.s.ses of splintered timber and tangled rigging, but not a sign of life. Sadly they turned from the fatal Goodwin, and made for the harbour.

To return to the life-boat, afloat within the circle of the bed worked by the brig in her wild careering. She could not by any possibility leave, though the wreck threatened to roll over her every moment, for outside were the shallow sands, and she was grounding every few moments. "Crash!

the brig heaves, and crushes down upon her bilge; again and again," says the narrator, "she half lifts upon an even keel, and rolls and lurches from side to side; each time that she falls to leeward she comes more and more over, and nearer to the boat.

"This is the danger that may well make the stoutest heart quail. The boat is aground-helplessly aground; her crew can see through the darkness of the night the yards and masts of the brig swaying over their heads, now tossing high in the air as the brig rights, and now falling nearer and nearer to them, sweeping down over their heads, swaying and rending in the air, the blocks, and ropes, and torn fragments of sails flying wildly in all directions. Let but one of the swaying yards. .h.i.t the boat, she must be crushed, and all lost. The men crouch down closer and closer, clinging to the thwarts as the brig falls to them, casting dread glances at the approaching yards; all right once more; another pull at the cable-hard, men, hard; over again comes the brig; stick to it, stick to it, my men; crushed or drowned, it will be soon over if we cannot move the boat; another pull, all together; again and again they make desperate efforts to stir the boat, but she will not move one inch; they must wait, and, if needs be, wait their doom." And so through hours of fearful suspense, half dead with cold and the ceaseless rush of surf over them, watching in the shadowy darkness the swaying masts and flying blocks, expecting each moment to be their last.

But at length a dawn of hope arrived; the boat lifted on the swell of the tide that was beginning to reach her, and though she immediately grounded again, the men knew that all was not lost. After desperate hauling on the cable they at last were able to ride to their anchor a few yards clear of the brig. But to get away from the sand in the face of the fierce gale and tide was impossible, and so there was no alternative, they must beat right across the sands, and this in the wild fearful gale, and terrible sea, and pitch-dark night. Breaker after breaker rushed furiously towards and over them; the men were nearly washed out of the boat; and, worse, the anchor began to drag, and every moment they drifted nearer to the wreck again.

There might now be water enough to take them clear; at all events, they must risk it. The foresail was hoisted and the cable cut, and she leaped forward, but only for a few yards, when she grounded upon the sands again with a terrible shock, and again within reach of the brig. Huge breakers came tearing along, and, at last, after many such experiences, they were once more clear of the wreck. Then another danger arose. A small life-boat belonging to the Broadstairs men had been in tow all this time, and when the Ramsgate boat grounded she came crashing along into her. The Ramsgate men had, in the midst of the boiling sea, to fend her off with their feet, and at last cut her adrift. The sea-chests of the Portuguese sailors-or at least those not already washed away-were thrown overboard. Again and again she grounded on the sand ridges washed up by the surf-ridges giant editions of the little sand-ripples on the sea-sh.o.r.e so well remembered by all visitors to our coasts, but two and three feet high, instead of as many inches.

"One old boatman," says Gilmore, "afterwards thus described his feelings:-'Well, sir, perhaps my friends were right when they said I hadn't ought to have gone out-that I was too old for that sort of work'

(he was then about sixty years of age), 'but, you see, when there is life to be saved, it makes one feel young again; and I've always felt I had a call to save life when I could, and I wasn't going to hang back then. And I stood it better than some of them, after all. I did my work on board the brig, and when she was so near falling over us, and when the _Dreadnought_ life-boat seemed knocking our bottom out, I got on as well as any of them; but when we got to beating and grubbing over the sands, swinging round and round, and grounding every few yards with a jerk that bruised us sadly, and almost tore our arms out from the sockets; no sooner washed off one ridge, and beginning to hope that the boat was clear, than she thumped upon another harder than ever, and all the time the wash of the surf nearly carrying us out of the boat-it was truly almost too much for any man to stand. There was a young fellow holding on next to me; I saw his head begin to drop, and that he was getting faint, and going to give over; and when the boat filled with water, and the waves went over his head, he scarcely cared to struggle free. I tried to cheer him a bit, and keep his spirits up. He just clung to the thwart like a drowning man. Poor fellow!

he never did a day's work after that night, and died in a few months.' And then the old man described how he took his life-belt off, that he might have it over all the quicker; how the captain cheered them up by crying out, 'We'll see Ramsgate yet again, my men, if we steer clear of old wrecks;' and how he was going off into a kind of stupor when the clouds broke a little, and one bright star shone out, a star of life and hope to him. For seven whole days after the poor old man reached sh.o.r.e he lost his speech, and lay like a log on his bed, while all the men were considerably shaken. 'I cannot describe it,' said he, 'and you cannot, neither can any one else; but when you say you've beat and thumped over those sands, almost yard by yard, in a fearful storm on a winter's night, and live to tell the tale, why it seems to me about the next thing to saying that you've been dead, and brought to life again.'"

But suddenly the swinging and beating of the boat ceased: she was in a heavy sea, but in deep water, and she answered her helm. The crew soon got more sail on her, and she made good way before the gale. Even the Portuguese sailors lifted their heads. They had been clinging together and to the boat, crouching down under the lee of the foresail, utterly despairing of life; now their joy knew no bounds. They were noticed earnestly consulting together. They had lost their kits, and only possessed the clothes they stood in and a few pounds in money (about 17) between them, but the latter they determined to present to the crew. "I, for one, won't touch any of it," said the c.o.xswain of the boat. "Nor I!"

"Nor I!" all added; "put your money up." And so to the harbour, where their consul took care of them. When the steamer arrived later on, what was not the surprise and delight of the captain and all hands to find the life-boat at her old moorings, and their comrades in so many dangers all safe in port!

For by far the larger proportion if not indeed nearly the whole of these life-savers work _con amore_, and a mishap or positive disaster is often to them an agonising disappointment. One stormy New Year's Eve some years ago "a ship was seen off Deal beach in almost a blaze of light, burning tar-barrels and firing rockets, to tell of her distress; an intervening fog seemed to prevent the look-out on board the light-vessel seeing her, and some boatmen on Deal beach, who could not possibly get their boats off the sands in the face of the strong gale blowing straight on sh.o.r.e, put their halfpence together to pay for a telegraph message-the messages were dearer then than they are now-and sent their swiftest runner to telegraph to Ramsgate; and, after all, there was some unfortunate mistake, and fatal delay, and a telegram at last sent for further particulars, which was answered with a demand for urgent speed, and away then flew steamer and life-boat, and they neared the wreck, and rounded to, to send the life-boat in, when some of the boatmen thought they heard an agonising shriek, and others thought it was only the wail of the storm; but they looked, and the great green seas swept over the wreck, turned her right over, and she was seen no more, and twenty-eight lives went to their account. A piteous New Year's tale it was that was told next morning. A boat's crew got away from the ship soon after she struck, and, battling through the broken seas, made way before the wind to Dover, and they told the story that the lost vessel had picked up a shipwrecked crew, who were thus a second time wrecked, and at the second time lost; and that more of the crew would have come away in the boat, and in other boats, but it was a great risk; and there was a Deal pilot on board, who pointed out the danger, and said that the Ramsgate life-boat was sure to be out to their rescue, they might be sure of her; and so they stayed and lighted tar-barrel after tar-barrel, and fired rocket after rocket; and when the sea washed their signal-fires out and swept the decks, they took to the rigging, and waited for the life-boat; and as they waited, the poor Deal pilot could watch the light on the beach, by the house where slept his wife and eight children, who were to call him husband-father-no more." The life-boat men hardly like to speak of such a cruel disaster-blameless though they be in the matter. In this particular case a Board of Trade inquiry acquitted them and all else concerned of any blame whatever.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A GROUP OF LIFE-BOAT MEN.]

A dark December night, and a large ship reported ash.o.r.e on the Goodwins.

The harbour-master hurries to Ramsgate pier-head; he and all with him can see nothing; they cross-question the man who a.s.serts that he observed during a lift in the fog a vessel on the sands. Although there is no signal from the light-vessels, the harbour-master decides to send out steamer and life-boat. The crews of both soon discover the vessel looming through the mist, a complete wreck, her bow to the sea, her mizen-mast down to the deck, and the wild seas running over her. There are no sailors to be seen lashed in her rigging. Have all on board perished?

Thank G.o.d! not so. After infinite difficulty, and after nearly getting entangled with some of the wreckage, the life-boat crew get near the vessel, and find that three men and a boy are crouching under the shelter of the deck-house; they must be a small proportion of the original crew, for she is a large ship, and must have had some fifteen or sixteen hands aboard. The men have been crouching there for hours, and their confidence in the advent of the life-boat had been so strong that they had prepared for her coming by preparing a life-buoy, with a long line fastened to it, ready to throw overboard.

As the long hours pa.s.sed, fervent hope had been dashed by wild despair.

Suddenly the life-boat appears, coming up to her cable just astern of the vessel; it is to them as a reprieve from death, and they wake to life and action. They throw the life-buoy and line to the life-boat men, and after much trouble the latter get it on board. All hands lay hold on the rope, and do their utmost to haul the life-boat nearer to the wreck, but the heavy gale, terrific sea, and strong tide, render it impossible. A tremendous sea comes rushing over the vessel, and for the moment swamps the boat, knocking down five or six of the men, hurting some of them severely, but she lifts again, and no one is lost. But what of the poor crew? The life-boat men feel that it is impossible to haul their boat nearer the ship.

"To their great surprise, they see the captain spring up from the lee of the deck-house, hurriedly take off his oilskin coat, throw it into the water, and then, jumping on the gunwale, grasp the hawser that holds the boat, and slide down into the boiling sea. A huge wave breaks over him and washes him away from the rope; he now tries to swim to the boat, but the life-boat is not directly astern-the sheer she has to her cable that is fastened to the anchor, which was thrown over some distance to the side of the vessel, prevents her dropping right astern; and although the captain has but to swim a few yards out of the direction of the sweep of sea and tide, it is impossible for him to manage it. He is perfectly overwhelmed by the boil of sea, tossed wildly up and down, wave after wave beating over him: it is all that he can do to keep his head above water, and cannot guide his course in the least; the boatmen try all they can to make the boat sheer towards him, so as to reach him or throw him a rope, but it is impossible: they cannot get sufficiently near, and in a few seconds they see him swept rapidly by in the swift tide. Jarman, the c.o.xswain of the boat, seizes a life-buoy, and throws it with all his force towards him; the wind catches it, and helps the throw; it falls near him; he makes a spring forward and reaches it; the men gladly see that he has got it; they see him put his two hands upon one side, as if to get upon it; as he leans forward it falls over his head like a hoop; he gets his arms through it, and shouting to the boatmen, 'All right!' he waves his hand as if to beckon them to follow him, and goes floating down in the strong tide and among the raging, leaping seas, in a strange wild dance, that threatens indeed to be a dance of death." With terror and dismay they watch him in his fearful struggle, till he is lost to their view, quite out of sight among the waves; they could not follow him, however much they might have wished it, for it might be hours before they could get back to the ship, and the two men and boy still aboard.

And had they thought of so doing the next episode would have obliged them to desist. A tremendous crash startles them all; the mainmast has fallen over the port side of the vessel. The men on board give a loud cry; the chief mate springs wildly to the starboard quarter, and, making the end of the mainbrace hanging there fast round his waist, drops into the sea. He is a powerful swimmer; but what can he do in a tide and sea so tremendous that twelve strong men cannot haul the boat one foot against them? And so a fearful tragedy is worked out before their very eyes. Now he is buried in a sea; now he is thrown high in the air on the crest of a wave, but he never nears the boat, nor can it near him. He strikes out wildly, as if to make a last effort, and cries aloud in his agony and despair. They try again and again to throw the lead-line over the rope which holds the poor fellow, but the boat is pitching and tossing so much that their efforts are all in vain. "'Now he rises on a wave; now try; heave with a will, well clear of his head. Ah! missed again; look out; hold on all!' A wave rushes over them, boat and all; another half minute, and they make another attempt. No! all in vain, each time it falls short. The struggle cannot last long; strong and young as the man is, his strength cannot possibly endure long in such a conflict; his cries grow more feeble, and soon cease; they see him try and get back to the ship, climbing up the rope, but his strength fails, and he falls back; his arms and legs are still tossed wildly about, but it is by the action of the waves; his head drops and sinks; yes! it is all over!-all over with him!" Think of the second mate and cabin-boy on the wreck, watching in helpless horror the death they could not avert, and which may be theirs in a few moments!

The deck-house under which they have been crouching is beginning to break up, and the remaining man, throwing himself on the rope by which the life-boat is made fast to the ship, attempts to reach the boat. The breakers rush over him as he painfully struggles on, and he is again and again buried in the waves. At last he reaches the high bow of the life-boat, which is leaping and falling and jerking, tearing the hawser up and down in the seas, as if trying to throw him from his hold. His hands convulsively clutch the rope; pale, and with jaw dropping, he seems about to swoon, and in another moment he will be gone. "The man in the bow of the boat has been watching his every movement, has shuddered with dismay as he saw the seas wash over him, expecting him to be carried away in the strong tide. No; he still grasps the rope, and at last is within reach! In one spring, and with a cry to his mates, 'Hold me! hold me!' the boatman throws himself upon the raised fore-deck of the life-boat, and, with his body half-stretched over the stern, he grasps the collar of the sailor.

The drowning man throws his arm around the boatman's neck, and clings to him convulsively, by his weight dragging the man's head down and burying it in the water; but the brave fellow clings as hard to the half-dead sailor as the sailor does to him; the seas wash bodily over them and over the bow of the boat; up and down the boat plunges them both, but he still holds on; three or four of the boatmen have hold of his legs, and are doing their utmost to pull him back into the boat, but they cannot do so; and so the struggle goes on: it is only as the boat rises on a wave and throws her bow up in the air that the men can breathe." And now a new horror, for right down upon them comes the wreck of one of the ship's largest boats, which has just got free of the wreckage. Thank G.o.d! it just pa.s.ses clear of them. The boatmen cannot get the men in over the high bow of the boat, and the two poor fellows are drowning fast, and so they drag them along the side of the boat, still clinging together, to the waist of the boat, where the gunwale is very low, and with more a.s.sistance succeed in getting them aboard.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE COAST AT DEAL.]

And now for the poor boy, still clinging to the gunwale, and crying out in piteous tones. Each moment, as the waves dash over the vessel, the boatmen expect to see him washed overboard like a cork. What can be done? No one can mount the rope in the face of the seas and tide which had really helped the poor fellow now safely on the boat. There seems no hope of taking him off by any means whatever, but the c.o.xswain determines to haul the boat up to the ship sharply, and attempt it. Scarcely are the orders given, when some of the men give a cry, "'What's that? look out!' Yes, he is overboard, washed over by that big sea. 'Where is he? where is he?