WRECKERS.
"O father! I see a gleaming light;
O say what may it be?"
But the father answered never a word--
A frozen corpse was he.
And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck."
_Longfellow._
"Perhaps some human kindness still
May make amends for human ill."
_Barry Cornwall._
As we have considered the growth of legislation upon the question of
wrecking and wreckage, and contrasted the more civilized, but not
perfect code, now existing, with the barbarous laws of days gone by, we
may also, perhaps, well put in contrast the present character and action
of our coast population, as a rule, with what they were in days more
remote.
Imagine a homeward-bound vessel some two hundred and fifty years ago,
clumsy in build, awkward in rig, little fitted for battling with the
gales of our stormy coast, but yet manned with strong stouthearted men,
who made their sturdy courage compensate for deficiency of other means;
think of many perils overcome, a long weary voyage nearly ended, the
crew rejoicing in thoughts of home, of home-love and home-rest, the
headlands of dear Old England, loved by her sons no less then, than now,
lying a dark line upon the horizon, the night growing apace, the breeze
freshening, ever freshening, adding each moment a hoarser swell to the
deep murmurs of its swift-following blasts; the ship scudding on,
breasting the seas with her bluff bows, rising and pitching with the
running waves which cover her with foam!
Look on land! keen eyes have watched the signs of the coming storm, men
more greedy than the foulest vulture, "more inhuman than mad dogs," have
cast most cruel and wistful glances seaward! yes, their eyes light up
with the very light of hell, as they see in the dim distance the white
sail of a struggling ship making towards the land!
And now try to imagine the scene, as the night falls, and the storm
gathers, two or three ill-looking fellows drop in, say, to a low tavern
standing in a by-lane that leads from the cliff to the beach, in some
village on our south-western coast--soon muttered hints take form, and
in low whispers the men talk over the chances of a wreck this wild
night; they remember former gains, they talk over disappointments, when
on similar nights of darkness, wildness, and storm, vessels discovered
their danger too soon for them, and managed to weather the headlands of
the bay.
The plot takes form; with many a deep and muttered curse, the murderous
decision is taken, that if a vessel can be trapped to destruction, it
shall be.
There is an old man of the party whose brow is furrowed with dread
lines; he does not say much, but every now and then his eyes glare, and
his features work as if convulsed; his comrades look at him, twice, and
as a terrific squall shakes the house, a third time: silently he rises
and leaves the inn; his mates now look away from him, as if quite
unconscious as to what he is about; their stifled consciences cannot do
much for them, but can give to each, just one faint half-realized
sensation of shame. Now in the pitch darkness of the night, with bowed
head, and faltering steps, battling against the storm, the old man leads
a white horse along the edge of the cliff, to the top of the horse's
tail a lantern is tied, and the light sways with the movement of the
horse, and in its movements seems not unlike the mast-head light of a
vessel rocked by the motion of the sea. A whisper has gone through the
village, of a chance of something happening during the night, and most
of the men and many of the women are on the alert, lurking in the caves
beneath the cliff, or sheltered behind jutting pieces of rock.
The vessel makes in steadily for the land; the captain grows uneasy, and
fears running into danger; he will put the vessel round, and try and
battle his way out to sea.
The look-out man reports a dim light ahead; What kind? and Whither
away? He can make out that it is a ship's light, for it is in motion.
Yes, she must be a vessel standing on in the same course as that which
they are on. It is all safe then, the captain will stand in a little
longer; when suddenly in the lull of the storm a hoarse murmur is heard,
surely the sound of the sea beating upon rocks? yes! look, a white gleam
upon the water! Breakers ahead! Breakers ahead! Oh! a very knell of
doom; the cry rings through the ship, Down, down with helm, round her
to; too late, too late! a crash, a shudder from stem to stern of the
stout ship; the shriek of many voices in their agony, green seas
sweeping over the vessel, and soon, broken timbers, bales of cargo, and
lifeless bodies scattered along the beach, while the shattered remnant
of the hull is torn still further to pieces with each insweep of the
mighty seas, as they roll it to, and fro, among the rocks. Fearful and
crafty the smile that darkened the dark face of the willing murderer,
who was leading the horse with the false light, as he heard the crash of
the vessel, and the shrieks of the drowning crew, fearful the smiles
that darkened the faces of the men and women waiting on the beach, as
they came out from their places, ready to struggle and fight among
themselves for any spoil that might come ashore; a homeward-bound ship
from the Indies--great good fortune, rich spoil--bale after bale is
seized upon by the wreckers, and dragged high upon the beach out of the
way of the surf--but see, a sailor clinging to a bit of broken mast,
with his last conscious effort he gains a footing on the shore, staggers
forward and falls. Is he alive? not now! Why did that fearful old woman
kneel upon his chest, and cover his mouth with her cloak? Dead men tell
no tales! claim no property!
Have such things been possible?
They have, and have been done; traditions of such dread tragedies still
linger on the Cornish coast, and it is a matter of history that all
around our shores miscreants were to be found, who were ready to
sacrifice to their blood-thirsty avarice those whom the rage of water
had spared.
Yes, and still many sailors find their worst enemies ashore, and know no
danger so great as that of falling into the hands of their fellow-men;
but not now in the small harbours or fishing-villages of the coast--not
now among the seafaring population of our shores, must wretches capable
of such deeds be looked for, but among the degraded quarters of our
large maritime towns--among the land-sharks, who haunt the docks, the
crimp-houses, the dens of infamy, the low taverns--there Jack may still
be wrecked, and drugged, and robbed, and perhaps murdered. But even
there darkness has not got it all its own way; for if there are many who
are ready to ruin the reckless sailor, there are many others, thank God,
who are ready to warn and aid him. Seamen's Churches, Bethels, Sailors'
Homes, Sailors' Missionaries, and all sorts of benevolent institutions,
seek to struggle with, and overcome, the bad effect of the many evils to
which the sailor on shore is exposed.
And the sea-coasts where the Storm Warriors now gather tell a tale of
hardihood, of courage, of endurance, and of skill, no less than the
olden days could boast of. But now courage is glorified by mercy, and
hardihood by sympathy, and endurance is sustained, and skill and
enterprise are quickened into action by the noblest feelings, and
readiness for self-sacrifice, which can move the heart of man.
If our last pages have been gloomy in the picture they have given of
what was frequently done not many generations ago, let us seek a
contrast, which shall be as light to darkness, and compare with those
scenes of old, a picture of that which happens month after month, and in
the winter season week after week, and sometimes, almost day after day,
on our own coasts in the present time.
A homeward-bound ship is rushing along, skimming the green seas, seeming
to rejoice in the pride of her beauty, strength, and speed; there is
some fatal error or accident, and she comes suddenly to destruction.
Many men are anxiously on the look-out; they have been watching her
closely from the shore, and eagerly preparing for action at the moment
of the shipwreck, which for some time they have feared must happen. And
now guns fire, and rockets flash, and the signals quickly given are
quickly answered, and the Storm Warriors rush into action; they are not
now the Storm Pirates as was the case too often of old, they are the
Storm Warriors; their flashing lights tell of coming rescue, and do not
lure to destruction; for as the gallant life-boat men rush into all
danger, make every effort, battling with mad waves and boiling surf,
they fight under the noble banner of Mercy--THEIR MISSION IS TO SAVE.