THE HOVELLERS, OR SALVORS, SAVED. THE "PRINCESS ALICE" HOVELLING LUGGER.
"When they who to the sea go down,
And in the waters ply their toil,
Are lifted on the surge's crown,
And plunged where seething eddies boil,
"Then with Thy mercies ever new,
Thy servants set from peril free;
And bring them, Pilot wise and true,
Unto the port where they would be."
_Hymn._
No sooner has the life-boat started in the morning, in answer to the
signal from the Goodwin light-vessel, than the master of the _Princess
Alice_ gathers a crew of twelve men, and follows as fast as possible in
the wake of the life-boat.
A fine south-westerly breeze is blowing and the noble lugger bowls along
at a great speed, and reaches the neighbourhood of the Sands about a
mile and a half behind the life-boat. The lugger brings to an anchor
just outside the Sands, and her crew, finding that the weather has
somewhat moderated, and that the sea has gone down with the tide,
determine to send six of their men in their small boat into the wreck,
to see if they can save any cargo or rigging; the men get to the wreck
without much difficulty, and find her right over on her broadside, with
her yard-arms buried some feet in the Sands; the top-gallant mast is
gone; her rigging and all her top-hamper, a tangled mass, is floating
and washing about in a deep hole which the eddy of the waves, beating
against the wreck, has worked.
The men climb on to the side of the vessel, and then lower themselves
down from the weather-rigging across the deck, which is lying almost
upright on its side, that they may look into the hold; the hatches are
off, and they find that the hold is quite empty, everything washed out;
it is difficult to get into the captain's cabin, as the vessel is
completely on her side, or there may be things there worth saving; they
will see to it by-and-by, and now they proceed at once to save what
rigging they can. The three men on the vessel get their knives and
choppers to work, and commence cutting away, when suddenly it begins to
get dark, a heavy squall threatens, and a storm of snow and hail comes
driving along before the wind.
The men in the boat shout out, "It begins to look bad; do you not think
that we had better be leaving, and get out of this?"
But the men busy in the rigging are somewhat excited over their work,
and answer back, "It is only a squall, a mere spoon drift, and will soon
work round;" the wind, however, rapidly increases, and sweeps by in
such violent gusts, that the men on the ship's side are nearly blinded
with the snow, and can no longer hold on against the wind; well! they
are willing to work hard and risk much, to save what they can from the
hungry Goodwin Sands, even if that which they save will give them only a
few shillings a man; but if they cannot, they cannot; it is not the
first time, by very many, that they have returned with nothing but
danger and labour for their pains.
"Look sharp, men, look sharp; do you want to drown us all?" "Come down
at once," is the cry from the boat; and the men lower themselves down
over the slippery side of the vessel, into the small boat, which is
leaping and tossing about in the waves which begin to surge up with some
violence.
"Now, men, oars out and away with a will; I doubt we have left it quite
long enough." "Aye! Aye! too long, I fear." "Well! time enough to think
that when we find it so." "Which way are you going?" they ask the
coxswain. "I don't suppose there is much choice, there will be less surf
running at the back of the Sand, and the lugger is sure to expect us to
come out there, now that the sea has got up; so round with her, and pull
hard."
And away, as for their lives, the men pull, the little boat seethes
through the troubled water, urged by her powerful crew; and they soon
near the edge of the Sand, and are making for deep water. "Easy all,
men! do you hear that?" And to their dismay, they hear the surf beating
heavily, right ahead of them. "Didn't I tell you so?" "Hold your
tongue--our work is to get out of this, not to grumble while in it."
"Right enough then, and I am your man; but what next?"
"Pull ahead a little, and let's look at them;" and doing so, they see
huge waves rolling in out of the deep water upon the shallow Sands,
mounting up, curling over, and breaking, washing back, meeting other
breakers foaming up against them; in fact, a sea of raging water
surrounding the Sands; a sea in which their little boat would be swamped
at once, and in which, indeed, no ordinary boat could float, and only a
life-boat could possibly pass through.
As they mount on a wave they can see the lugger, riding safely just
outside the surf, only a quarter of a mile off, waiting for them; but
that quarter of a mile it is impossible for them to pass, and equally
impossible for the lugger to get any nearer to them.
"Well, my men, there is no help for it here; we cannot get off the Sands
this way, that's certain."
The seas begin to break heavily over the boat; the men keep her head to
the waves, or she would be at once rolled over, so rapidly is the swell
setting in; as it is, she begins to fill with water, and they have to
continue bailing her; they must let her drift back, pulling easy to keep
her head straight, and each wave carries them some distance further from
the edge of the Sand. As soon as they get clear of the rollers and the
surf, they rest on their oars, and consult what is to be done; it all
seems very hopeless, but it is no good waiting where they are; and so
they determine to return again to the wreck, as to their only place of
safety, and this indeed but for a very short time.
They get to the wreck, and lay under shelter of her hull, not knowing
what to do; never did men seem in more terrible plight, the wreck could
afford but the scantiest shelter to the crew who hopelessly clung to her
the night before; then the tide was falling, but now the tide is rising;
each moment the great rollers that are rushing in upon the Sands break
nearer and nearer; soon they will rush over the wreck, cover her
completely, and rend and tear her to fragments. What can be done? To
remain where they are is certain death, to attempt to escape in their
small open boat seems death, equally certain. Well, it is better to die
doing than to die waiting; but never have men held consultation under
more apparently hopeless circumstances; the boat the men are in is the
boat the _Princess Alice_ generally carries on her deck, between the
masts; she is about eighteen feet long, and four broad, fine boat enough
for her size; but she seems more than sufficiently filled by the six
powerful men who are in her, and if she should be caught in the roll of
one of the big waves, she will at once be capsized, or fill with water,
and sink, leaving her crew but a few gasping moments of vain struggle
with the boiling seas.
And the seas rage round them every moment nearer and nearer. Some of the
men think that if they can drag the boat for about a mile over the crown
of the part of the Sands that is still dry, and thus get out to windward
of the North-west Spit, that they may find more shelter there for a
time, and if they do find it somewhat smoother there, will perhaps be
able to work their way through the surf; but upon a snow-squall, which
for a time had darkened all around them, clearing away, they find that
the breakers are throwing up as much surf there as anywhere else, and
all hope of rescue in that direction is gone; and the conviction settles
down upon them all, that there seems indeed no possibility of escape;
but still they kept cool, and quiet, and undaunted, prepared to do their
utmost, calmly and skilfully, up to the last moment, letting no chance
go by; at all events, they will stop where they are no longer, as the
breaking seas are closing in upon them fast.
The Goodwin Sands are about nine miles long; in the middle of them there
is at low water a large lake, which is called on the chart "Trinity
Bay," but which is known to the boatmen as the In-sand; the men row in
the direction of this lake, and row over the sand-banks which surround
it, as soon as the tide has flowed sufficiently to enable them to do so;
now they find themselves in completely smooth water, and are safe; but
for how long? a short hour or so, for the hungry waves are following
them up fast, still higher and higher comes the tide, and a furious surf
begins to rage over the banks that for a time protect the lake.
Well do the men know how short a time of rest remains to them; they hear
the beat of the heavy waves thundering near, they see the gleam of the
surf, the sea begins to boil up around them, the circle of safety gets
each moment more narrow, their dread ruthless enemy is on them again,
and the men brace themselves for a life-and-death struggle, for with
such a struggle they are face to face.
"Now, my men, to it again! look out all!" and each man grasps his oar
hard, fixes his eye upon the steersman, James Penny, watches his every
sign, and listens to his every word; for in the struggle that is before
them any mistake may be at once fatal to all.
The big waves roll in, fast following each other, and the boat meets
each one head on, and rises to it; the surf flies over the men, and into
the boat; "Bale away, Penny! bale away! or she will swamp!"--and fast
the steersman bales; he has one hand on the tiller, and is watching the
direction of every wave, and shouting to the men, on which side to ease,
on which to pull a little harder, to keep the boat's head straight to
the waves; for if but one wave catches the boat on the side it will roll
her over at once, and all must perish; they must row sometimes harder in
a lull, sometimes gently when a high roller comes, to avoid its breaking
upon them, or to prevent their burying the boat's bow in its steep side.
The coxswain sees a tremendous wave rolling on; a few smaller ones come
first; up the boat flies, down again, again mounts high, and again falls
down; "Steady all, look out, half a stroke hard starboard side, easy
port, now easy all--easy all;" the men stop pulling, and lay their oars
flat on the water to steady the boat; the great wave rolls on, the
boat's bow is tossed high, nearly on end, the men lean back as far as
possible, but can scarcely keep their seats, or prevent being thrown
bodily forward upon the coxswain; the boat falls with a heavy plunge;
there is a moment's lull. "Now a stroke, or two, my men;" and they
gently press the boat forward and make a little way; "Easy all, head her
to it, here she comes," and up again they mount upon the crest of a
wave, and are again nearly turned end-over-end, but, happily, fall on an
even keel as the wave passes, and at once prepare themselves to meet the
next sea, and thus meeting wave after wave, overcoming danger after
danger, they go drifting slowly with the tide. The men do not dare at
any time to pull hard for fear of rowing the boat under, they make
therefore but little way ahead, not more than half a mile, or so, an
hour, but they are carried slowly by the tide down Trinity Bay in the
direction of the Downs.
The boat has been nearly full of water all this time, from the surf and
spray that have broken into her, but she happily has a belt of cork
round her, underneath the thwarts, or she must have long since been
swamped, but this, with the constant baling of the coxswain, has kept
her afloat.
The men have been able to remain in the bay until the tide has risen
greatly, and it is now high water over the Sands, and the water being
deeper, the seas do not break nearly as heavily as before; they are
mounting seas, not running seas. The mounting sea swells up and comes
pushing along, like a hill of water, steep on both sides; its crest is
caught by the wind and is driven away in clouds of spray and foam, but
a boat meeting it has time to rise, and float over it; but a running sea
is much more dangerous; its base is caught and retarded by the Sands; it
comes along, its sides steep as a wall, its crest curling more and more
over until it breaks, and the upper portion of the wave falls with a
mighty crash, with perhaps tons of water in its volume; it would be
impossible for any boat but a life-boat to contend for a moment with
such a rushing breaking sea as this, and the little boat the six men are
in, with its heavy freight, would be swamped, beaten under water and
rolled over by the first such sea she met; but if the men can only steer
clear of these breakers, and keep the boat's head so as to meet the
mounting seas bow on, and manage to bale her constantly so as to keep
her a little free from water, they may live through it all yet; with
this hope they labour on steadily, bravely, and hour after hour they
thus contend with the storm; the boat is now coming to the worst of the
water--to the steep edge of the Sand--and the men feel that, for a time,
the danger must increase, and all brace themselves up again, prepared
for any further effort, or care, that may be required.
The steersman, who has been steering and baling the boat for about four
hours, suddenly lets the bowl with which he is baling fly from his hand;
he gives a cry of horror, the men cannot help repeating it, for is not
this likely to be a death-stroke to them all? The men at once realize
the dread increase of danger this misfortune creates.
To keep the boat afloat without baling is impossible; the surf breaks
into her continually; the men cannot bale with their southwesters, for
they must keep rowing; they require both hands, and to exert all their
strength to free their oars from the seas, and to keep the blades from
being blown up into the air, as the force of the gale catches them;
while the steersman must of necessity keep one hand on the tiller; and
all must continue labouring without one moment's cessation to keep the
boat's head straight to the seas.
Most happily the bowl is a wooden one, and there it is floating a few
yards from them; they watch it wistfully, as they, and it, are tossed up
and down by the quick waves; back the boat down upon the bowl they
cannot, for it is on their broadside, and drifting away on the tide
faster than they are floating: it would seem, that it must be an easy
matter to pick up a bowl that is floating only a few yards from the
boat; but not so now, for every moment, racing swiftly after each other,
the waves come rushing on. It is strange as they watch the bowl to feel
that their lives depend upon their recovering it, and yet how likely
they are to perish in the attempt, and thus the men casting anxious
glances at the bowl keep steadily to their work; they allow no word of
fear or discouragement to be spoken; they must have mind, nerve, and
muscle in full play; if a word of hopelessness is let fall, "Don't speak
like that--don't speak like that, stick to your oar!" they must be words
of encouragement, or no words at all, and in grim silence, except for
the few words of direction shouted out by the coxswain, the men wait
their fate. Suddenly the coxswain cries, "Here is a lull, round with
her, sharp!" The men on the starboard side give a mighty pull; the men
on the port back their hardest; one pull all together, the bowl is
within reach; the coxswain grasps it with a hasty snatch! "Round! round,
with her quick, quick!" and the eager men get her head straight to the
seas again, before the waves have time to catch the boat broadside on
and roll it over. All breathe again; they have another chance of life.
Thank God! thank God!
They now pass away from the Sands and get into the Gull stream, but the
wind has chopped round and continues to blow a fierce gale; the sea is
running very high and broken; and in that rough sea they are still in
extreme danger on account of the smallness of their boat, and so many
men being in her, and they have to proceed with the greatest care and
caution.
As they get into the Gull stream they see vessel after vessel running
with close-reefed topsails before the gale; the boatmen hail them but
they get no answer: one little sloop affords them slight hope, for she
is evidently altering her course, but after a moment's apparent
hesitation, away she goes again before the gale, and abandons them to
their fate. The captain of the little vessel related afterwards, how in
the height of the storm he saw some poor fellows in a small boat, and
had a great wish to try and save them, but the sea was running so high
that he felt it was impossible to heave his vessel to, and so had to
leave them, and that they must have been driven on the Sands and lost.
This sloop was about a quarter of a mile from the boat, and the men do
not again get as near to any other ship, and as vessel after vessel
passes, and the night begins to grow dark, the position of the men
becomes more and more hopeless--and they all feel that if no vessel
picks them up, they must soon be blown in again upon the Sands, and
there perish.
All of the men, except one, are married; the man in the bow has a wife
and five children, and it is his thoughts of them that keep him nerved
to his work, for although weak, exhausted, and almost fainting, he still
sticks to his oar and feebly paddles on; the only single man in the boat
is his brother-in-law; and his mind keeps running as much upon what his
sister will do, as a widow with five children, as it does upon the
thoughts of his own probable fate; and so although the men will not
permit themselves to lament or bemoan their almost certain fate, for
fear of weakening their own nerves or discouraging each other, each has
his solemn conviction of what must soon happen, and is in his own breast
thinking of death, and bidding "Good-bye," to the loved ones who are
resting those few miles away.
The Downs had been full of ships at the commencement of the storm, but
as the wind increased in violence and blew right through, the anchorage
was no longer safe, and vessel after vessel slipped her cable and ran
before the gale; until at last only one vessel, a large American ship,
remains at anchor. The boatmen make her out when they are about half a
mile from her, and find, to their great joy, that she is almost
directly in the path in which they are drifting; to get alongside her is
their last hope, for although the tide is now carrying them against the
wind and from the Sands, the tide will very soon turn, and then with the
tide, and before the wind, they will be swept with terrible speed right
in upon the Sands, and must there at once perish, and it will be
impossible for them to row against the tide, as all their efforts will
still be required to keep the boat bow on to the seas.
Whenever, after the passing of a few of the largest of the waves, there
comes a comparative lull, or smooth, and they dare press the boat, they
pull a few strokes and shoot ahead, and thus manage to get exactly in
the path of the American ship.
As they drop slowly towards her they shout time after time, but cannot
make themselves heard; and it is getting too dusk for them to be seen at
any distance; the seas are running alongside the ship almost gunwale
high, and it is impossible to get nearer to her than within fifty yards.
Hail after hail the men give, still they get no answer; they can see a
man on the poop, but he evidently neither sees nor hears them, and their
last chance seems slipping away, for they are fast drifting past the
vessel. "Get on the thwart, Dick, and shout with all your might!" the
coxswain says to the man pulling stroke-oar; "I'll hold you," hauling in
his oar, and catching it under the seat; the man springs upon the
thwart, and balancing himself for a second, hails with all his force.
"The man is moving, he hears us; hurrah!" is the glad cry in the boat.
They can see that he is looking about in astonishment, wondering from
where the voice from the sea came. They all shout together; he sees
them, waves his arm, and hurries along the poop; other men come
hastening up, called by him, and look with astonishment at the little
boat so full of men, being tossed about in that wild sea. The boat
drifts by the ship, they venture a pull or two and get her under the
stern of the vessel, shooting her a little across the seas; they then
pull a little harder to try and keep her position, risking a little more
to keep near the ship--indeed the vessel somewhat protects them from the
rush of the seas.
The coxswain sees a man on the vessel throw something overboard--it is a
coil of rope with a life-buoy attached; they make it out as it floats
near, and manage to get it on board. The pilot is the man who first saw
the boat, and has got the life-buoy and thrown it over to them. The
captain of the vessel is now on deck; he orders the men to send down a
rope from each quarter of the vessel, and to try and keep the boat
directly astern of the centre of the ship, for if the boat sheers to one
side or the other, and any of the big waves which are racing by the ship
catch her on her broadside, she must go over at once.
So they shout to the men in the boat, "Hold on--we will send you another
rope," and soon another life-buoy with a rope attached, comes floating
by; they get it on board, and seeing directly the object for which it is
sent, haul the ropes over each bow, and strive to keep the boat in
position; but still they are in great danger; their safety hitherto has
been in floating with the waves, yielding to them as they rolled on;
but now as she is moored to the ship, the little boat has to breast the
waves, and at times is tossed high with her bow in the air, and again
plunged down, smothered with spray, and in danger every moment of being
overturned; indeed it is only by the skilful manoeuvring of the captain
that the boat is kept safe at all. He has stationed six men on each
quarter of the ship; they hold the ropes to which the boat is fastened;
and as the big waves press the boat, the men slacken the rope, and let
the boat go with the seas, pulling her up again between the waves,
hauling on one rope, and slacking the other if the boat sheers too much
on one side. The difficulty now is how to get the men out of the boat,
for they dare not haul her up closer to the vessel, as she will not ride
with a shorter scope of rope. They send another rope down to the boat,
with a bowline knot made in it for the men to sit in, and then shout to
the men, "We will haul you on board, one at a time."
There is a moment's question as to the order in which the men shall go,
for each feels that at any moment the boat may sink under them; it is
quickly decided that the men shall leave the boat in the order in which
they sit, and one after another, they plunge into the waves, and are
hauled on board through the seas.
All safe at last! and very soon the boat fills and turns over, and hangs
there held by the ropes till the morning. As soon as the men have shaken
the water a little from their clothes, and have wiped their eyes and
faces somewhat clear, the captain says, "I suppose you have come from
the barque that was riding near at the beginning of the gale, and which
I missed after a squall, and which must have foundered." (It was
supposed that two or three ships went down with all hands that night).
"No, sir; we have come from no barque, we were blown away from a wreck
some hours ago, near the North Sands Head, and have drifted right over
the Goodwin."
"Impossible! impossible! no boat could live in such a sea, and over the
Sands, impossible!"--"It is true, sir; we are Ramsgate boatmen and
belong to a lugger; we went in from her on to the Sands to a wreck, and
could not get back to her again." And the captain declares that their
escape has been wonderful indeed. The feelings of the men at finding
themselves safe are perfectly overwhelming; the reaction after those
long hours of almost hopeless and constant struggle; it is too much for
them, especially added, as it is, to the condition of physical
exhaustion to which they are reduced. Some of them can scarcely speak;
one of them, realizing the almost miracle by which they have been saved,
leans against the boom, repeating in a broken voice, "What, I saved! I
saved--I saved! one of the worst! one of the worst!" Another can only
think of the words he had so often repeated to one of his mates, who had
seemed almost dying during the night. "Come, cheer up! come, cheer up!
stick to your oar, keep up your heart, man," and he continues for some
time repeating these words in a strange dreamy way.
The coxswain, upon whom the chief anxiety and greatest stress of mind
had fallen, for he had hour, after hour, to sit watching every sea as it
rolled to them and meet it with the tiller, felt more than the others
the effect of the night's work; he soon after fell very ill, was nigh to
death's door, and did not recover his strength for a twelvemonth. The
captain, officers, and crew of the American ship are full of sympathy
and kindness.
The captain takes the men into his cabin, and gives them each a little
brandy, then offers them dry clothes, and orders beds to be made up for
them in the cabin: the clothes and the bed the men think too kind, but
the beef-steak supper and the glass of grog all round, as soon as they
have eaten a little, is not to be refused; and the hardy fellows are
soon sound asleep on the cabin-floor, with all their perils for a time
forgotten. In the morning the gale has greatly abated; the men have a
hearty breakfast provided by the hospitable captain: their boat is by
his orders hauled up, baled out, and as everything has been washed out
of her, the captain lends them oars, and they start for Ramsgate, giving
their most hearty thanks for the great skill with which they were got on
board the ship and saved, and for the kindness they have received on
board.
When the crew of the _Champion_ lugger had put the men she had saved
from the wreck on board the life-boat, they found that they could not
well get back to Ramsgate in the then state of the wind and tide, and
they were forced to run for Dover.
The men on board the _Princess Alice_ remained in the greatest state of
anxiety as to the fate of their comrades who went into the wreck in
their little boat, and waited on, and on, in the position in which the
boat must come to them, if she clears the Sands; hour after hour she
cruises backwards and forwards, her crew keeping most anxious watch, and
then runs down the back of the Sands, thinking it possible the boat
might get out somewhere there; the gale increases; the night comes on;
the high tide has swept over the whole of the Sands with its wild seas
long before this, and they can only conclude, which they do most
positively and sorrowfully, that their companions in many a hard
struggle--their friends since childhood--have been lost, overwhelmed in
the rage of the sea on the Goodwin. They therefore give up the search,
and now regard their own safety, and they also find that they cannot
reach Ramsgate, but must make away for Dover.
Arriving there, they at once telegraph the sad news to Ramsgate, that
they have lost six hands; news that creates the greatest excitement in
the town. The next morning the _Princess Alice_ starts at daylight for
another cruise round the Sands, hardly with the hope of finding their
lost comrades, but possibly fragments of the boat may be found; but they
search in vain, and feeling their fears to be altogether confirmed, they
steer for Ramsgate. There the arrival of the lugger is most anxiously
awaited, and the report of the men increases the excitement, and sorrow,
and sympathy, which had been created by the telegraph sent the night
before, and now that the names of the missing men are known, there is
sad, sad, grief among their supposed widows, and orphans, and their
friends.
In the meanwhile the boatmen, having left the American ship, row
steadily toward Ramsgate. They see a lugger making for the harbour; this
proves to be the _Champion_. The lugger takes the men on board, and the
boat in tow, her crew rejoicing over their friends whom they had
supposed to be drowned. They hoist the lugger's flag in token that they
are bearers of good news, and speed towards Ramsgate. The lugger's
approach with her flag flying excites the curiosity of the men on the
harbour, and a crowd hurries down the pier to watch her arrival. And, as
soon as the men missing from the _Princess Alice_ are recognised, the
cheers and excitement are wild in the extreme, and men speed off at
their hardest to bear the good news. One poor woman in the midst of her
agony and mourning for her husband, and surrounded by her weeping
friends, is surprised by her door being burst violently open, and at
seeing a boatman almost dropping with breathlessness, gasping, and
gesticulating, and nodding, but trying in vain to speak; and it is some
seconds before he can stammer out "All right! all right! your husband is
safe, coming now!"
A little subscription was got up by the men and their friends, in order
to give to the captain of the American ship and the pilot a small
testimonial of the appreciation of their skill and hospitality. The men
took the borrowed oars back and presented their thankofferings, in the
shape of a silver cigar case each, to the captain and pilot.
And as the men told the story of the despair and grief that had existed
among the wives and children at home--of the tears of sorrow that were
turned into tears of gladness--of the rejoicings that took place upon
their return, the brave and feeling American captain shared the emotion
of the men as they told their tale, and was much overcome as he thanked
them for their present, saying,--he should value it as long as he lived,
and ever be deeply grateful that he had in any way been the instrument
of saving such honest and brave fellows, and of restoring them to their
wives and families.