THE RESCUE OF THE CREW OF THE "AMOOR."
"No wild hurrahs accompany
The deeds these men do dare;
No beat of drum, no martial strain,
No spirit stirring air.
"But in the cold and darksome night
They combat with the blast;
And gain, by dint of hardihood,
The victory at last.
"Then let us pay the honour due
To such devoted strife;
Where gallant men so nobly risk
For fellow men their life."
_G. Ward._
We left, in our last chapter, the Kingsdown life-boat making for
Ramsgate harbour, and the Walmer life-boat, after a couple of upsets,
making for Deal beach. The Kingsdown boat reached Ramsgate about seven
o'clock in the morning, the gale still blowing very heavily.
Shortly after seven o'clock signals are heard from the Gull light-ship;
and the coxswain of the Ramsgate life-boat receives orders from the
harbour-master to proceed at once to sea,--the steamer as usual taking
her in tow: the sea is very heavy, and the air thick with rain and
spray. The steamer and life-boat work their way out through the storm,
and find a brig riding at anchor in the Gull stream, not far from the
light-ship; she has a flag hoisted at her peak as a signal, and they
make for her; the crew tell them, that shortly before, in a lift in the
storm, they saw a ship on the north-west spit of the Goodwin; the
life-boat cruises in the direction pointed out, but the crew can see
nothing of the wrecked vessel, so they proceed to the Gull light-ship,
hoping there to obtain further information. The men find the crew of the
light-ship anxiously watching for their approach; they crowd aft as the
steamer and life-boat passes under the stern of the vessel, and make
signals to describe the position of the wreck; the boatmen soon discover
it, and as soon as they have been towed into the right position for so
doing, slip from the steamer, and make in for the stranded vessel.
It is now nearly low tide. As they approach, they find that the wreck is
high and dry on a ridge of sand: nearer still, and they see a man
walking towards them on the sand, waving a large shawl; the life-boat is
steered towards him, and choosing a place where the surf is breaking
with less force, they run the boat on to the sands; three of the crew
jump overboard and wade through the surf; they join the man on the
Sands, and make for the wreck; the heavy seas have driven the Sands into
high ridges, and the gullies between these are waist-deep and full of
running water, with the sand soft and quick at the bottom; through these
deep gullies the men have to wade.
Arriving at the wreck, they find it to be that of a brigantine, named
the _Amoor_. At about eleven o'clock of the night previous, in the dark
mist and heavy gale, she had run on the Sands at nearly high tide, the
sea immediately ran over the vessel, and the crew had no time to make a
single signal of distress, but had directly to climb up into the main
rigging to prevent being washed overboard. Fortunately the ship was stem
on to the Sands, with her stern to the wind and tide, and she kept
straight--and as she was laden with coals, she kept upright on her keel.
As the tide rose, the waves in their rush lifted the wreck and carried
her gradually on and on, letting her fall after each lift with a heavy
shock that made it difficult for the men to retain their hold. Then the
seas broke over her so heavily that the men feared that they would be
washed even from their position in the main rigging, and managed to get
on to the foremast; here they found more shelter. For about four miles
did the ship thus beat over the Sands, and the men felt, with a great
and deep thankfulness, that if they had had the guidance of her
themselves, they could not have kept her more straight in her course
along the narrow high ridge of the sand than she was kept by God's
providence, for if the vessel had been carried to the right or to the
left of that narrow ridge of sand, she would have got into deep water,
and then must have sunk immediately, so much was her hull shattered,
and all her crew would of necessity have been at once drowned.
But the agony of mind and the suspense endured this time by the men was
something terrible. They could scarcely feel any hope that the wreck
would long sustain the terrible shocks that she was receiving. They
looked down upon the mad waves as they raced by, and each one seemed a
ready grave; there was nothing to be done, no fierce struggle for life,
which in its excitement should lessen the terrors of the apparently
approaching death, only to cling on and wait in the darkness.
And now they feel that the end must soon come, for they hear the surf
roaring near; it is roaring on the edge of the Sands, the waves rushing
in from the deep water and breaking upon the Sands, and this right in
the path along which their vessel is being driven yard by yard. A little
more and she must be plunged in this surf, and then a few yards, and she
must sink in deep water; and as thousands upon thousands have earnestly
prayed that they might be kept off these deadly sands, so these poor
sailors now earnestly seek that they may be left on them, until daylight
comes, and their pitiable position may be seen, and they have a chance
of being saved.
They are now within a quarter of a mile of the end of the sand, but the
tide is falling rapidly, and the wreck lifts less and less; at last, to
the great joy of all her crew, she grounds heavily and ceases to lift.
She is swung round broadside to the tide, and falls over on her side,
and then works and crashes almost to pieces. The water now soon leaves
her, and she becomes high and dry, and speedily the men can leave the
wreck and stand upon the sand; the surf rages around them at a short
distance; it is only for a few hours that where they now stand will be
dry, and then the sea will rage over the sand again with all its fury.
The captain is a bold, active determined man; he will throw away no
chance of safety; something must be done before the return of tide, and
he will lose no time. The captain and crew can form no opinion as to
where they are; the vessel is an absolute wreck, beaten by this time
almost to fragments, they have no means of signalling their distress,
and it seems that their only chance will be to make a raft out of the
many shattered pieces of timber that are hanging about the wreck; the
boats have long since been destroyed and washed away. The shipwrecked
crew have only their knives to work with, but they commence with all
energy, wrenching away the broken timbers from the deck and sides of the
vessel, cutting away the ropes, lashing the timbers together. But with
their utmost efforts they can make but slow progress, and they feel that
their raft, when as hastily completed, as it must be, will be but a
frail support in the rage of waters with which it will have to contend,
as soon as the sea again beats over the Sands; but still on that dry
knoll of sand, in almost pitch darkness, with the wind howling by them,
and the roar of the breaking waves all around, the men work on and on.
The poor storm-beaten, wearied men, feel faint and exhausted, but spare
no labour, slack no energy, for the tide will turn with the dawn, and
then, as an enemy creeping up to destroy them, will, in its speedy
advance, give them short time for labour, and scant mercy, when it once
seizes them as its prey. The dawn has broken, the tide is rising, and
each man is inspired to fresh exertions. Suddenly, they are all startled
by the loud report of a gun, fired at no great distance from them. What
is it? What is it? they all cry. Soon a rocket goes whizzing up into the
grey misty clouds. Is it a signal from some unfortunate vessel in
distress similar to that which they are in? At all events that feeling
of intense and hopeless solitude which almost overcame them, seemed
disturbed, and whilst they eagerly work on, they at the same time keep a
sharp look out in the direction from which the signals have been given;
they are soon able to make out that it is a light-vessel that is
signalling; this fills them with hope; they must have been seen by the
watch on board, and it is on their account that the signal must have
been made; but still they will not abate any of their efforts, the
life-boat may not be able to reach them, or she may not be out in time
to save them; at all events, with the tide creeping up as it is, they
will not lose a chance, and go on busily constructing the raft. They
have made considerable progress, having lashed a good many spars
crosswise, and pieces of bulwark over them, when they discover a
steamer's smoke not far off, and soon after make out a boat, which must
be a life-boat, making in over the seas towards them; one man makes for
the edge of the Sands, and soon the boat grounds not far from him, and
three boatmen wade towards him.
The boatmen, when they reach the raft, find the men getting some
provisions on to it, but all the stores have been under water during the
night, and are spoilt. The joy of the shipwrecked men at the arrival of
the boatmen is intense. "Thank God! that you have come," said the
captain; "I did not at all expect that any of us would have been alive
this morning."
A strange meeting it seems, in that wild stormy morning, there, on the
centre of the Goodwin Sands, where the waves had raged so furiously a
few hours before, and would in a few hours rage so furiously again;
there, where the shipwrecked had expected to die a tragical death, the
sailors and the boatmen stand greeting each other; the life-boatmen
rejoicing almost as much at being there ready to save the poor sailors,
as they are at the prospect of being saved; the ship's crew look down
upon their raft, and feel indeed what a poor protection it must have
proved in the storm which they would have had to encounter.
The crew of the wrecked vessel, now that the excitement of working with
such fierce energy at the raft is over, begin to feel the reaction, and
feel thoroughly exhausted, and look so worn and weather beaten, as if
the death shade, which had seemed to hover over them for so many hours,
had left its impress upon the countenance of each.
A few more words of greeting and thankfulness between the castaways and
the rescuers, and all prepare to find their way across the Sands to the
life-boat. The life-boatmen first climb on board the wreck, to see if
they can find any small things which they can save for the men, but
every moveable thing seems to have been washed out of the vessel; they
find the cabin broken and crushed up, but manage to drag a few of the
captain's clothes out of it; they find a dog on board, which they save.
And now all turn their backs upon the wreck.
The shipwrecked sailors have become very feeble, and some of them are
scarcely able to drag their limbs along, and require to be held up on
both sides as they wade through the shallow channels of water, many of
which they have to cross on their way to the boat.
They hurry on as fast as they can, for the weather is very uncertain,
and a mist or snow-squall coming on would put them in the greatest
possible peril, for they would in that case very speedily be lost among
the gullies, which are half filled with water, and which stretch in all
directions across the Sands at low water; and the boatmen know what it
would be to be lost there; with the sand getting soft and quick beneath
their feet as the tide rose, and with the narrowing belt of surf each
moment drawing nearer and nearer, there to wander hopelessly for a short
time, then to be scarcely able to move as the sands grew quick, and then
to fall an easy prey to the fierce sweep of the first breaker that
rolled in upon them. It is no wonder that the boatmen look with dread
upon the increasing gloom of the morning, and hurry the men on as much
as possible; they make out the life-boat, and with much difficulty and
exertion they get to the edge of the Sands.
The life-boat is at anchor with ten fathoms of chain out; the heavy
breakers are rolling in and lifting her with such violence as they sweep
on, that at each lift she drags her anchor, and beats further and
further over the spit of sand upon which the waves are expending their
first fury. The surf flies over the boat, fills her, and then rages on
in clouds of foam. The men on board are anxiously looking for the return
of their comrades with the shipwrecked crew, and greatly rejoice as they
see the groups of men struggling across the Sands to the boat. They soon
make out how exhausted the shipwrecked men are, and feel that it will be
very hard work for them to wade through the surf to the boat. Some of
the boatmen get life lines ready to throw to any that may be overpowered
and thrown down by the wind and tide, others jump overboard to go to the
assistance of the enfeebled sailors. It is bitterly cold, and the water,
as they wade through it, feels as if it would freeze them through and
through; they bring off the shipwrecked crew one by one, the more
exhausted of them being supported on both sides between two life-boat
men; at last all are on board, but they cannot yet leave the sands; they
must wait until the water is high enough to float the life-boat over the
ridge which surrounds her. All are shivering with cold and wet; they
crouch in the boat and protect themselves as well as they can from the
flying surf; a long weary hour is thus passed; the tide rises
sufficiently, sail is set, and the life-boat makes for the steam-boat,
and is greeted with cheers--cheers that are heartily answered. The
shipwrecked sailors, who had had during the night no hope of again
giving a cry of joy on earth, join in as lustily as they can, in that
cry which, sounding over the wild seas, tells of noble deeds in
struggling to save life, and of happy and most blessed results. That
although the storm still swept furiously by, and although the waves
still rushed madly around the shipwrecked, that they were now safe in
the safety afforded by the noble life-boat. So safe, indeed, that it was
not too soon for the poor sailors to rejoice in their rescue, and to
express with heartfelt cheer their gratitude to the brave men who had
rescued them from their position of deadly peril.
The steamer does not take long in towing the boat to Ramsgate, where all
receive the usual warm greeting, and the shipwrecked the needful care.
The crew of the wrecked vessel, the _Amoor_ of Elswick, are Germans;
their consul takes care of them, and sends them to the Sailors' Home.
They proved so thankful for the rescue effected, that they wrote to
their home authorities, and the life-boat men soon received from the
Grand Duke of Mecklenburg Schwerin an expression of gratitude and
admiration for their conduct, accompanied by a Silver Medal, a
Certificate of Merit, and ten shillings each man.