THE WRECK OF THE "MARY"--GALES ABROAD.
"Yet more! the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!"
_Mrs. Hemans._
The year was fast dying out. Inland the wild winds did little to disturb
the progress of Christmas preparations, or the happiness of Christmas
gatherings. The blasts swept ragingly along, and the last of the dead
leaves were torn from the withering branches. The stalwart trees battled
sturdily in the woods; but many a stout veteran that had long laughed at
storms, at last was bowed in the grasp of the gale, and fell prostrate,
or, like a fainting giant, leant with arms all abroad against his
fellow-strugglers in the strife.
In the towns there was much wondering gossip at the force of the wind,
and here and there some trivial disasters to record; but for all its
rage and bluster, the gale did not gather on shore many trophies of its
strength, and swept moaningly out to sea, to find in the yielding waters
a more ready ally, as it would visit with its wrath man and his works.
The brave ships that were caught by the gale were prepared to accept the
accustomed challenge. It overtook the tall vessels, and then the
swelling sails garnered the force of the wind and held it captive, and
made it speed the swift ship along.
It fell with its full strength upon the stout ships riding at anchor,
and moaned through the shaking rigging, and by the swaying masts and
yards, while the groaning cables shuddered in every link, and the strong
anchors grappled the ground with a tighter and tighter grasp, and held
the good ships safe, in spite of the raging wind and rush of sea, safe
from the greedy waiting sands, or cruel rocks.
Thus on the tempest-lashed ocean all was life, and energy, and conflict;
and the dying year, as its closing hours sped away, had at sea the
howling winds and seething waves to sing its dirge, and storm weary
sailors, and storm-beaten ships to mark its close.
Ships from the Thames, from the east coasts of England and Scotland,
from all northern Europe--ships sailing under every flag, and bound to
all ports, gathered day by day in the Downs anchorage, where they waited
for the strong south-westerly gales to give place to a more favourable
slant of wind, that they might pursue their way down Channel; but still
the strong adverse winds prevailed. But while the outward-bound ships
were thus obliged to halt in their course, the homeward-bound ships came
foamingly along, their masts bending like whips under the small spread
of canvas they were alone able to carry. Like white-winged gulls they
fled over the leaping seas, and threaded their way through the crowded
anchorage of the Downs.
The careless sailors laughed at the heavy blasts of wind which in their
force only hurried the good ship on, and thus gave the crews a better
prospect of realising their hopes of being in Old England on the near
Christmas tide, to spend it with their friends on shore, and share in,
and by their presence greatly add to, all the pleasures of the season.
But the smaller vessels at anchor in the Downs began to ride uneasily,
the force of the gale fell on them with unchecked fury, the swift tide
pressed them sore, and raging seas broke over them again and again.
Their anchors began to drag; the breakers on the Goodwin Sands leapt and
foamed dangerously near to leeward; there was also danger of collision
if their anchors continued to drag, the ships in the Downs being so
crowded together. Yes, there must be a flight from the Downs on the part
of many of the smaller craft. Some vessels make for Ramsgate harbour,
not many, as the charges are now so high and restrictive as almost to
make it cease from being a harbour of refuge. Other vessels make for an
anchorage round the North Foreland; a dangerous experiment this, as it
frequently happens that a sudden lull comes in the southerly gale, and
in a short time the wind chops right round, and begins to blow from the
northward harder than ever. It was so on the occasion of which we are
writing. If a strong fort, under which a fleet was anchored for
protection, suddenly fell into the hands of the enemy, a greater change
would not be wrought in the position, as to the safety of the vessels,
than is occasioned by this sudden shift of wind to the vessels in the
Margate Roads. The high cliffs which have been their shield now become
their deadly peril. It had been desirable to gain their shelter, it is
now a necessity to escape from their neighbourhood as soon as possible.
And so, on this occasion, as the wind chopped round all was at once
astir; some ships succeeded in regaining their anchors, others had no
time or power to do so; some were driven ashore; twenty or thirty
vessels had to slip their cables, and as, with no anchors on board, the
captains did not dare to remain in the neighbourhood of the Sands or
land, these vessels were hauled on a wind, and like a flock of weary
frightened birds went staggering out into the North Sea.[1] The
hovelling-luggers from Ramsgate, Margate, Deal, and Broadstairs are out
during the gale; they go in chase of the ships that have fled from their
anchorage; they place men on board such vessels as need them, either to
act as pilots, or to assist the weary crews. Some of the luggers receive
orders to fetch anchors and cables for such vessels as have lost theirs,
and away they go plunging and speeding through the seas, making for the
nearest port where they can find agents to supply them; and then out
again with all speed, heavily laden, with anchors and chains, in search
of the vessels which have employed them, and which have, likely enough,
been driven by the force of the gale, far from the position in which the
luggers left them.
At midnight the gale gathers increased force; the dark heavy clouds seem
to settle lower and lower, and as the snow-squalls sweep by, the air and
sea seem one confused mass of flying foam and snow.
The storm rages at Ramsgate Pier with all its fury; the pier stands an
advanced fortress unmoved by the fierce attack of the waves, and it is
well manned by brave boatmen, the reserved guard of the storm--Storm
Warriors ready to sally forth to rescue life at the first signal of
danger. One or two waggons, heavily laden with chains, and trucks with
anchors, are being drawn down the pier by the struggling horses, the
spray in heavy volumes washing over all.
Luggers in the harbour, and alongside the pier, are rolling and pitching
in the rough tumble of the miniature sea that the gale arouses even
there.
An anchor is hanging from the crane, a lugger beneath it is tossing up
and down; the men are doing their utmost to guide the anchor in its
descent into the boat as she plunges about; it is perilous work for all
hands; it seems a marvel that it can be done without staving in the
boat, or crushing the men.
A group of boatmen are crouching under shelter of the wall of the pier,
near the life-boat; the night wears away--it is three o'clock in the
morning.
A boatman makes his way to the pier-head; he finds the coxswain of the
life-boat on the look-out.
"Well, Jarman, a heavy gale this."
"A heavy gale indeed, Gorham; it is blowing great guns and no
mistake--a terrific sea, too; just the night for our work, and I shall
not be surprised if some is cut out for us, and pretty stiff too, before
the morning."
"Likely enough, it is a sort of touch-and-go night for the Goodwin. I
noticed before dark several vessels riding in the Gulls; now the wind
has cast in so heavily from the north, it will go hard with some of
them, I fear.
"Yes, I noticed them; they must have a bad time of it now; it is to be
hoped that the anchors will hold; it will be almost sudden death for any
poor fellows whose ships touch the Goodwin to-night; why, with the sea
that must be now raging there, it would take in a ship almost at a
mouthful."
"True enough, coxswain; I have been very anxious about them all
night--cannot help thinking about them." And it is supposed that the
boatman's fears were very terribly justified. One vessel was wrecked in
the way we are about to tell; and very grave fears were felt as to the
fate of several others; when the morning came, not one of the vessels
that had been noticed the evening before as being anchored in such a
dangerous position was to be seen, and yet it was almost certain that
not any of them could have got away in safety.
Fishing-smacks that had been lying-to not far from the North Foreland
saw the fleet of vessels driven from the Margate Roads, and afterwards
saw several of them flying signals of distress, and apparently in a
sinking condition; but from the extraordinary force of the gale, the
fishermen could render no assistance, and the weather was too dark and
thick for the signals for help to be seen from the light-vessels, or
from the shore; moreover, a good deal of wreckage was seen floating
about in the morning, and the mast-head of one vessel was discovered
standing out of the water upon the Goodwin, the last seen relic of some
unknown ship and crew.
Among the vessels observed during the afternoon to be at anchor in a
very perilous position in the Gull Stream, and making very bad weather
of it, was the _Mary_, a schooner of about 170 tons; she had been a
Dutch galliott, had a cargo of coals on board, and was bound from
Shields to Dieppe.
There was one fine young man on board, David Fullarton. Life seemed more
especially dear to him, as he was engaged to be married; the
arrangements for the wedding had been made; he had been busy in
preparing a home; and a short voyage from Shields to Dieppe and back,
would do something towards the expenses, and he would not be long away;
and so there were bright memories to look back upon, bright hopes before
him; but this terrible storm seems to cover all with its shadow. As soon
as darkness sets in, and the gale shows signs of increasing in force,
Fullarton becomes very anxious, and keenly alive to the danger the
schooner is in; time after time he entreats the captain to have the
masts cut away, that the vessel may ride more easily, and be less
exposed to the fury of the wind. "Do! captain, pray do! for the sake of
our lives let it be done! we are dragging our anchors--we are fast
driving on the Sands;" and again he begs the captain to signal for
assistance. "Why not! why not? you will do it too late, captain, too
late!" the poor fellow cries in his restlessness and distress.
The night grows on, and its terrors multiply; the intense darkness, the
wild sea, the howling winds moaning and wailing through the rigging, the
hoarse roar and thunder of the breakers raging on the near Goodwin
Sands.
At last, the captain feels that the schooner is in great danger, and
orders the crew to set a tar-barrel on fire; they hasten to do
so--Fullarton working with eager haste; but the wash of the sea over it
and the heavy wind will not let it burn; they fill the barrel with tow
and tar, and grease, and at last get it to flare up with a fierce flame
that resists the storm; the watch on board the Gull light-ship had
noticed before dark the danger of the vessel, and had been keenly on the
look-out in her direction for signals of distress; on Ramsgate Pier,
also, an anxious look-out had been kept for some hours, the boatmen
expecting disasters in that quarter.
It is a little before four in the morning; the men on board the
light-vessel see the signal of distress, and fire a gun and send up a
rocket to convey to the shore the tidings that help is wanted.
The boatmen at once commence preparations with all energy, they arouse
the men asleep in the watch-house on the pier, a man hurries to give the
harbour-master notice, the crew of the steamer _Aid_ get ready for sea,
the harbour-master hurries down the pier and gives the men orders to
start on their merciful and perilous errand.
Away they go in the teeth of the hurricane, clearing their way through
the leaping foaming waves and the clouds of heavy spray.
The town and harbour lights gleam out in the darkness, but there is no
looking back for them on the part of the men, and there may be none;
until by God's mercy, their work is successfully finished, and then
doubly will the lights shine out a glad welcome on their triumphant
return home.
The lights they now look for are the beacon fires of warfare; calls to
conflict and peril; guides into the thickest of the dread battle-field.
As the life-boat lifts on the curl of a wave, the crew see the
flickering flame of the signal-fire that is burning so fiercely in the
tar-barrel on the wreck; they make in for the signal at once, pass
through the Cud channel; snow-squalls come sweeping by, adding to the
cold and darkness, and shutting out from their view all lights on the
Sands; the men are eager and excited in their quick sympathy for the
shipwrecked crew--eager to brave all the dangers of the lashing seas
which they know must be leaping and tearing about the wreck. And they
well realize the deadly peril the poor shipwrecked seamen must be in,
and think little in their struggle onward of all the hardships they
themselves are enduring.
For about forty minutes they battle their way, and then find themselves
near the wreck; the signal flame from the burning tar-barrel leaps, and
flickers, and burns low, and is almost extinguished by the spray; the
life-boatmen watch it anxiously, for they know that if the crew of the
vessel cannot succeed in keeping it alight, it will be almost impossible
for them to find the vessel in the darkness of the night; the crew of
the schooner also feel this to be the case, and bring clothes and
bedding, and all the tar and oil they can get at, and by great exertions
manage to keep the fire burning.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] NOTE.--_Extract from Newspaper._--"Five vessels wrecked off
Margate:--On Friday evening there were about one hundred and fifty
vessels anchored in the Margate and North Foreland Roads, where they
were sheltered from a south-westerly gale. Suddenly, about one o'clock
on Saturday morning, a violent gale sprung from the north-east, and the
vessels in the Roads were compelled to slip their anchors and seek the
nearest shelter. Rockets and flares were seen displayed in all
directions from the numerous distressed vessels. The Broadstairs
life-boat and the Margate life-boat, the _Quiver_, put to sea. Four
vessels were driven ashore, three in the Main, and one in Margate Bay,
and the crews of three were saved by the Broadstairs life-boat. Another
vessel was run down off the North Foreland, and it is reported that
another has gone to pieces on the Tongue Sand, and, it is feared, with
all hands."