DEAL BEACH.
"Then courage, all brave mariners,
And never be dismay'd,
While we have bold adventurers,
We ne'er shall want a trade;
Our merchants will employ us
To fetch them wealth, we know;
Then be bold--work for gold,
When the stormy winds do blow."
_M. Parker._
Few places in the world, if any, have proved the scene of more daring
sailor-life than Deal beach. Generation after generation of boatmen have
passed away, having spent their lives, from early boyhood, in continuous
strife with the swift tide, strong seas, and rolling surf that race
through the channels off Deal, and break upon the Goodwin, or upon the
Shingle beach.
Other antagonists the old days used to provide, and the young men's
hands grew hard with handling the bow, or spear, or javelin, or the
musket, cutlass, or boarding-pike, as well as with handling the tiller
and the ropes.
In the days of old, the Northern Sea Kings were, to the east coast of
England, like clouds on the horizon, ever threatening a storm, but
without any indication as to where the storm would break.
The coast of Kent was especially open to their attacks; they came down
like wolves on the fold; a bright sunny morning, a bowling northerly
breeze, a few specks on the horizon standing out darkly with the clear
dawn behind them.
A few hours, and the Norsemen were at work; a fishing-village, wrecked
and half buried in ruins, some of its stout defenders lying gashed and
ghastly among its smoking embers; trembling fugitives still hurrying
inland with a few of their lighter and more treasured goods, and the
marauders holding swift and triumphant debauch upon the shore, as with
rude cries of mirth and victory, they prepare to start seaward again
before time can be found to gather forces to make any attack upon them,
or any efforts can be made to regain the plunder the hardy robbers have
obtained, or to revenge the slaughter they have worked.
The Romans, when they were lords of the land, felt the necessity of
resisting these roving Sea Kings in a determined and organised manner;
they formed nine military stations along the coast, and placed all under
the command of an officer, to whom they gave the sounding title of Count
of the Saxon Shore.
Four of these stations were in Kent--Reculver, Richborough, Dover, and
Lymne. Remains of the Roman fortifications still bear witness that they
were intended in defence from an enemy whose power was not lightly
esteemed.
This military organisation of the Romans was afterwards developed into
the establishment of the Cinque Ports and their respective members, the
jurisdiction of which embraced a coast line from Reculver to Hastings.
The inhabitants of the Cinque Ports well earned and fully obtained great
honour in the old days. The free men of the ports were styled barons,
and held rank among the nobility of the kingdom. They stood the vanguard
of defence against all England's continental enemies, and their service
is thus described by Mr. Boys in his 'History of Sandwich':
"The inhabitants were always on the watch to prevent invasion; their
militia were in constant readiness for action, and their vessels stout
and warlike, so that, in Edward the First's time, they alone equipped a
fleet of one hundred sail, and gave such a blow to the maritime power of
France as to clear the Channel of those restless and insidious invaders.
The state depended upon them for the safety of its coast-line and towns,
and their services went by no means unrewarded; an encouragement they
had always been accustomed to receive, and this for commercial as well
as for warlike enterprise, as by the wisdom of our Saxon ancestors, a
merchant who had at his own expense three times freighted vessels with
home produce was entitled to the rank of thane or baron. The Barons of
the Cinque Ports walked in procession at the coronations of the kings
and queens, and at the feast of the coronation had an especial table
allotted to them in Westminster Hall at the right of the king; this
privilege was preserved up to the time of the coronation of George the
Third."
All this is evident and sufficient testimony of the nature and extent of
the services of our coast heroes in defence of their country; and still
the enterprise and daring continue, and bold, vigilant warfare goes on,
although defence against a foreign foe has long ceased to be its first
consideration. In later times, indeed, the revenue officers
unfortunately, and to no small extent, took the place of the foreign foe
in the minds and labours of by no means a few of the boatmen and
inhabitants of these towns situated so conveniently adjacent to the
Continent; and the enterprise and labours of the boatmen were no less
daring, if less patriotic than in former days, and smuggling was
elevated into as organized a business as fishing is now: one writer
rather quaintly remarks, "Yet even this smuggling is not without its
utility, for however the revenue may suffer, it gives birth to a very
intrepid race of seamen, who are of the greatest service in relieving
others from the dangers which befall shipping on this coast in bad
weather."
Certainly the boatmen of Deal beach are not now, and probably never have
been, surpassed for skill and daring.
If they can by any possibility get their famous luggers out to sea, no
hurricane daunts them; their splendid boats glide over the seas,
escaping the broken water--now high on the wave, now buried in the
trough--and look like so many strong-winged gulls, as they seem almost
to play with the storm.
Falconer, in his 'Shipwreck,' pays the following tribute to the skill
and courage of the boatmen:
"Where e'er in ambush lurks the fatal sands,
They claim the danger, proud of skilful bands!
For while, with darkling course, the vessels sweep
The winding shore, or plough the faithless deep;
Or bar, or shelf, the watery path they sound
With dexterous arm, sagacious of the ground.
Ceaseless they combat every hostile wind,
Wheeling in mazy track with course inclined;
Expert to moor where terrors line the road,
Or win the anchor from its dark abode."
Let us take a peep at Deal beach, and try to realize some of the scenes
that are there to be witnessed.
Suppose a fine clear winter's day. A gentle south-westerly breeze has
been blowing on and off for several days; many ships have found their
way out of the Thames, or have beaten down helped by the tides from the
North Sea, and having reached the Downs there ride safely at anchor; the
ships-boats, or the galley punts, as the small Deal boats are called,
are doing the little work that is to be done, and the large luggers are
drawn high upon the beach.
The boatmen are lounging about the beach here and there, or they are
smoothing the shingle down with shovels, where the tide has heaped it
up, to give the luggers a fair run down into the sea in the event of
their being wanted; tanned sails are spread abroad upon the shingle
drying, women hang about knitting and watching the ships at anchor for
any signal for a boat; at times there is a move down the beach to help a
boat that is coming ashore out of the surf and to drag it up high and
dry.
The wind gets a slant to the south-east as the tide ebbs, and at once
all are alert in the fleet of ships at anchor in the Downs, that have
been waiting for a fair breeze. There is a hurry to the beach of all
officers, sailors, or passengers that may be ashore; the last supply of
fresh provisions is taken on board those ships on which the Captain can
afford to be luxurious: you can hear the orders shouted, the capstans at
work; jibs are set, topsails loosened, the anchors got up and catted,
the sails let fall, and away the ships go down Channel; a fresh
northerly breeze bowls along and lasts some days, the outward bound
ships go flying through the Downs with top-gallant sails set; and except
that they land a few pilots, there is nothing whatever for the Deal men
to do.
At last a change of weather promises, the homeward-bound are to have a
turn; the outward-bound must anchor in the Downs and wait a while. The
French coast shows out clearly, the gulls are whirling about uttering
shrill plaintive cries; the boatmen watch the sunset, greyish white
streaky clouds are gathering in the west, the sun looks _sheer_, is the
boatmen's word for it, and as the long rays of light break through the
clouds--ah! yes, we shall have a change of wind and weather. "The sun is
setting up his backstays." "Bright _skies_ make dirty ways;" and before
daylight closes the men overhaul their luggers and see that everything
is ready for a sudden start, should their services be needed.
A mizzling rain comes on, the wind is round to the westward and
freshening; some of the vessels which have been among the last to pass
Deal bound to the southward, give up the hope of getting down Channel in
the face of the freshening breeze, and return to find anchorage in the
Downs.
It is a likely night for work, and the boatmen get ready for a cruise;
everything is prepared to launch one of the large luggers; she is now
drawn up high upon the beach; her crew of fifteen men hasten to get
ready for sea. It is a dark and squally winter's morning, about one
o'clock; fourteen of the men are now on board, each at his station; one
man stands ready to cut the lashing of the stop which holds the boat in
position on the ways; they wait till a squall passes; the word is given,
the lashing cut, the man springs to the gunwale of the boat, and climbs
on board. Scarcely has he tumbled over the side when the boat rushes
down the greased ways and is launched into the surf; the mizen is
already set, the foresail is hoisted with all speed, and the boat speeds
on her way seaward.
As the day comes the breeze freshens, and many luggers are cruising
about, speaking the vessels at anchor, or the vessels running through
the Downs, ready to offer any assistance in their power; upon some of
the vessels they put men to pilot them into Ramsgate harbour, or round
the North Foreland into the Margate Roads.
Or if the wind has blown heavily, there will be generally some vessels
that have lost their anchors and cables, and the boatmen will receive
orders to supply fresh ones.
There is sometimes a degree of surprise expressed at the amount claimed
by a boat's crew for taking an anchor and cable off to a vessel in
distress; it requires some knowledge of the work to appreciate its
danger, and how hardly and well the money awarded is generally earned.
Consider, as an example, the case of the _Albion_ lugger, as it happened
during the gale, some of the incidents of which we are about to relate.
The _Albion_ during her cruise meets with a vessel which is driving
before the increasing storm; she has lost both her anchors and cables,
and the lugger receives orders to supply her from the shore; the hardy
crew receive the order gladly, put the lugger round, and beat through
the heavy seas, making for Deal. They have to force the boat against
wind and tide, and much skill is required to prevent her being filled by
the rising seas which sweep around her; now she rushes upon the beach,
the surf breaks over her and half fills her with water; with a
tremendous thump and shake, she strikes the shore with her iron keel.
As the wave which bore the lugger in upon the beach recedes, a man
springs overboard from the bow with a rope in his hand; many catch hold
of the rope, and haul their hardest to keep the boat straight, head on
to the beach; there is a stem strap--a chain running through a hole in
the front part of the keel; a boatman watches his opportunity, and as a
wave sweeps back, rushes down and passes a rope through the loop of the
strap; the other end of this rope is fastened to a powerful capstan,
which is placed high up on the beach. "Man the capstan! Heave with a
will," and the strong men strain at the capstan bars until the capstan
creaks again. There is no starting the lugger; she is so full of water
from the surf breaking on the beach, that she is too heavy for the men
at one capstan to move her; ropes are led down from two other capstans,
and rove through a snatch block fastened to a boat on the beach; all put
out their strength, round they tramp with a "ho! heave ho!" and slowly
the lugger travels up the beach, and is safe from the roll of the
breakers. The men get the water out of her, haul her higher up on to a
swivel platform, turn her round head to the sea, and the leading hands
hurry away to inquire about an anchor and cable. The agent supplies them
with such as seem suitable for the size of the vessel, and which will
perhaps weigh together about seven tons.
There is no small amount of labour attached to getting the anchor and
chain cable on board the lugger, but in a short time all are again ready
for sea.
The gale has rapidly increased in force, and a frightful surf is running
on the beach; the roar of the breakers on the shingle, the howling of
the storm, the gleam of white foam, shining out of the mist and gloom,
all picture the wildness of the storm, but the undaunted boatmen do not
hesitate; all is ready, the signal given, the boat rushes down the steep
ways, and is launched into the sea. A breaking wave rolls in swiftly,
it meets the bow of the lugger in its rush, fills her; for a moment the
big boat runs under water, and then is lifted and twisted like a toy in
the grasp of the sea, and is thrown in the heave of the wave broadside
on to the beach; a cry of horror from all on shore, and a rush down to
aid the crew, who are all--there are fifteen of them--struggling in the
surf; now the men are washed up by the wave, and feel the ground, and
stagger forward; now they are caught again by a breaker and rolled over;
it is for each of them a terrible battle with the fierce seas; here, one
gets on his feet and stumbles forward, he is caught by the men on shore
and dragged up the beach; there, a man is lying struggling on the
shingle, trying in vain to rise, exhausted and confused; two men seize
his collar and pull him forward a yard or two, then get him to his feet,
and he escapes the next wave, which would have washed him out to sea
again. Now all the men seem to be saved; names are shouted--do all
answer? no! there is one missing; all rush to the water's edge, and gaze
into the darkness; eagerly watching each shadow mid the surf; there he
is! no! yes it is! there lifting on the surf; there rolling over:
"Quick, quick, form a line!" and the brave boatmen grasp each other's
hands with iron strength and form a chain, the lowest of the four or
five men at the sea end of the chain being in the water; the waves
battle with them, but sturdily they persevere; at last the body is
within the reach of the seaward man, he grasps it, the men are dragged
up the beach, and the poor insensible man is carried ashore. Alive? or
dead? they cannot say, and with a great fear in their hearts they carry
him hurriedly up the beach, and soon, to the great joy of all, he gives
signs of life, and gradually recovers.
In the meanwhile the poor boatmen on the beach have nothing that they
can do, but watch their fine boat, which was worth five hundred pounds,
being torn, and hammered to pieces in the surf, plank after plank is
wrenched from her, now with a loud crash she is broken in half, the two
halves part, the anchor and cable fall through her, they can see part of
the fore-peak with one side torn away, floating in the breakers; soon
that also is rent to pieces, and nothing but fragments of the boat float
in the surf, or are strewn about the beach, and the boatmen,
heavy-hearted, but thankful that they have escaped with their lives, go
slowly to their homes, to rest for a few hours, and recruit their
strength, and then to be ready to form part of the crew of any other
boat, and at the first summons to rush out again to the encounter with
the stormiest seas.
In a narrative of adventure and conflict with the seas that rage over
the Goodwin Sands, it would not be well to refrain from bearing
testimony to how readily, how gallantly, the men of Deal, of
Broadstairs, of Walmer, and of Kingsdown, as well as of Ramsgate, man
their respective life-boats, whenever the call is made for their
services, and race out to the scene of action, full of hardihood, of
skill, of courage--true Storm Warriors, ever ready to dare all and do
all that they may rescue the drowning from a watery grave.