SAVED AT LAST. WE WILL NOT GO HOME WITHOUT THEM.
"O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!
Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now
The ship boring the moon with her mainmast,
And anon swallowed with yest and froth;
How the poor souls roared, and the sea
Mocked them."
_Winter's Tale._
As soon as it is daylight the coxswain of the life-boat and others of
the boatmen feel very anxious; they fear that, when driven in by
exhaustion on the previous night, they may, after all, have left some
poor fellows clinging to a remnant of wreck; or perhaps have left a ship
on the Sands, lost in the darkness of the night, and unable to make any
signal of distress; the men cannot rest, and although the life-boat has
only been in a few hours, the coxswain of the boat and the mate of the
steamer go to the harbour-master, tell him their fears, and ask his
permission to put to sea again and to search round the Sands.
The permission is readily given--"Go by all means," and the men are
encouraged to make their search. Ten fresh hands join the coxswain and
the bowman of the life-boat; and soon after daylight they start on their
dangerous and merciful mission.
They are towed again by the steamer _Aid_, and make for the North Sands
Head light-vessel, keeping a good look-out for the faintest signal of
distress. The men discover nothing on the north side of the Sands, and
they determine to work their way to the back of the Sands, on the French
side, and there pursue their search.
Soon they see in the misty distance what seems to be a large vessel on
the south-east spit of the Sands; they tow with all speed in her
direction; they are proceeding along the edge of the Sand, just outside
the broken water.
The waves are rolling along in all their fury, and beat down upon the
Sands with tremendous force; the surf flying up in great sheets of foam,
and the roar of the breakers is like loud quivering thunder; the scene
is enough to make the stoutest heart quail; but, without one thought of
flinching from whatever lies before them, the men cling to the life-boat
as the seas break over them, and patiently bear all the cold and storm,
and wash of water, as they are towed on nearer and nearer to the wreck.
One of the men said afterwards, in answer to questions as to what his
feelings were as he watched the tremendous seas, and knew that shortly
he would be battling for his life in the midst of them, "Well, Sir, I
think that at all such times a man must naturally have his inward
feelings; soldiers say that they have theirs, and I am very sure that
we have ours; a man can't help knowing the danger, and thinking about
it, and feeling about it too; but we are not going to be made
cold-hearted about it, or we shouldn't be out there. We can't help
seeing that we've got hard work before us, and we determine by God's
help to do it, and we won't flinch. We hope to save others, and feel
that we shall do our best to do so, but at the same time we know that we
may lose our own lives in making the attempt. We think about this
sometimes as we are sitting in the boat, holding on against the wash of
the seas, but when we get to the wreck we forget all about ourselves,
and only think about saving the others."
The seas become still heavier and heavier as they get nearer to the
wreck and approach a more exposed part of the Sands; they now have to
encounter one great rush of water, which, urged by the hurricane of wind
and the strong tide, comes raging along in unbroken course through the
Straits of Dover.
At last they get within a short distance of the wreck, and find her to
be a large barque. She has settled down somewhat on the Sands, has
heeled over a good deal, and huge waves are foaming over her. The men
look at the awful rage of sea, hear the tremendous roar with which the
mountainous waves break upon the Sand, and say to each other, "We have
indeed our work cut out for us."
The boatmen can see no signs of any of the crew of the vessel being left
on board. They may have been swept from the wreck, or have been lost in
some vain effort to get to land in their own boat. The flag of distress
is still flying, and the steamer tows the boat nearer to the wreck; they
can now make out that the crew are crouching down under cover of the
deck-house; while the huge waves make a complete breach over the vessel,
and threaten every moment to wash the deck-house and the crew away.
The steamer tows the boat up to windward. The life-boatmen feel their
turn for the battle has come, and make every preparation; they get their
sails ready to hoist, make the cable up all clear for paying out; the
coxswain sees that they are now far enough to windward, the steamer's
tow-rope is cast off; the boat lifts on a huge wave as the strain of the
rope is taken off her, they hoist the sail, round she flies in answer to
her helm, and she makes in for the wreck; they mount on the top of huge
seas, go plunging down into the trough of the waves; the spray flies
over them as the gale catches the crests of the towering breakers, and
fills the air with clouds of flying foam; a minute more and they are in
broken water; the seas rush and leap and recoil, fly high and fall in
tangled volumes over the boat; she is tossed in all directions by the
wild broken waves, and as she fills again and again with water, becomes
almost unmanageable.
The men have to cling with all their strength to the thwarts, but still
the wind drives the boat on, and they get within about sixty yards of
the wreck; the anchor is thrown out, the cable payed out swiftly; the
sea is rushing with tremendous force over the ship; the boat sheers in
under her lee-quarter; the boatmen cheer to the poor half-dead sailors
who are crouching and clinging under shelter of the deck-house. All is
hope; "A minute or two more," they think, "and we shall have saved
them." A shout from the coxswain of the boat--"Hold on! hold on!" a
glance upwards, a huge mountain of a wave comes rolling swiftly on, its
crest curls over, breaks, falls upon the boat, the men and the boat are
carried down by the tremendous weight of water. Some of the men seem
almost crushed by the blow and pressure of the falling wave; they do not
know whether the boat is upset or not, so is she rolled about in the
whirl of the broken wave; they cling convulsively to her, she soon
floats, lifted by her air-tight compartments, and she frees herself. The
men breathe again; they find that the wave that buried them has taken
the boat in its irresistible flood, and dragging the anchor with it, has
carried it more than one hundred yards away from the ship.
The men lift themselves up, clear their faces from the water, shake it
from their clothes, and look at the vessel; they determine that, please
God, they will yet save the crew. They give a cheer to encourage and
give hope to the poor fellows, and without further thought of the dread
danger they have but just escaped, prepare for another attempt.
They hoist the sail quickly and get the boat's head round, and try and
sheer her into the ship; but all their efforts are in vain, wave after
wave breaks over them, the boat is tossed in all directions by the
broken seas--sometimes the coxswain feels as if he would be thrown
bodily forward on the men, as the waves lift the boat almost end on end.
Again and again are boat and men overrun bodily by the rush of the
waves, but the boat behaves splendidly, lifts buoyantly from under the
weight of water; her undaunted crew bear up bravely, and all are once
more ready for another struggle. They labour on, but without success;
they cannot make their way back to the ship: they get the oars out, the
waves and wind take them and send them leaping from the rowlocks, and
out of the men's hands; they must give it up for this time.
All their thoughts are for the poor shipwrecked crew, and the
bitter--bitter disappointment they must feel. Again they cheer to them,
and shout to them, to keep their hearts up--they will soon be at them
again; and they make the best of their way back to the steamer. They
have failed in their first attempt.
The steamer again tows them into position, and they make for the second
time boldly in for the wreck; the coxswain steers as near to the stern
as possible, avoiding the danger of being washed over it on to the deck
of the vessel, and thus crushed to pieces; they get nearer to the vessel
than they did before; the shipwrecked crew begin to stir themselves, the
boatmen are about to run the boat alongside, when again they are
overwhelmed in the rush of a fearful sea, buried in its deluge of broken
water, and the boat is again hurled away by the force of the waves, and
carried many fathoms from the vessel; the anchor holds, but the tide is
running more strongly than ever, and in the direction to carry them
right away from the wreck; and so it is hopeless for them to try to get
any nearer to her from where they are.
The tide has risen and is nearly at its height; the vessel has fallen
still more over upon her side; the lee side of the deck is completely
under water, the top of the deck-house is just above the sea; the crew
have been driven from their old place of shelter, they have lashed a
spar across the mizen shrouds, and are all clinging to it, while the
heavy waves beat continually over the poor fellows.
It is with terrible agony that the crew on board the wreck witness the
second failure of the life-boat: "She will never come again," the
captain says, in a voice of despair; "the men cannot do it, the very
life must have been washed and beaten out of them." Great is their
astonishment to find that no sooner does the life-boat clear herself of
the water that seems almost to drown her, no sooner do the men free
themselves from the rush of the foam, which has for a time overwhelmed
them, than they begin to cheer again, as if only rendered the more
determined by their second defeat; the more courageous by the
difficulties and dangers they had already endured; and the shipwrecked
crew, encouraged by the hoarse cheers of the exhausted half-drowned
boatmen, do not lose all hope.
The boat is again towed into position, and for the third time makes in
for the wreck.
This time they throw the anchor overboard farther from the vessel than
before, give longer scope to the cable, sail in well under the ship's
stern, and again steer as near as possible to the vessel's lee-quarter,
and lower the foresail.
They are within a dozen yards of the ship; the bowman heaves a rope with
all his force; it falls short of the men in the shrouds to whom he
throws it, and the boat sweeps on; they check her with the cable, and
bring her head to the ship abreast of her, but unhappily some distance
off.
The captain of the shipwrecked vessel had despaired of the boat being
able to come in the third time; but when he saw her coming, he felt
fully convinced that it was their last opportunity of being saved, and
determined that if the boat were again swept from the wreck, that he
would jump into the sea and try and swim to her.
The boat comes and misses, and the crew of the boat see the captain
hastily throw off his sea-boots, seize a life-buoy, and prepare to
plunge into the sea: they shout to him not to do so, and to the crew to
hold him back. "The tide in its set off the Sands would sweep him away;
the seas would beat his life out of him: they will be back again soon,
and won't go home without them."
The steamer has followed the boat as closely as possible, running down
close to the edge of the Sands, just clear of the broken water. The
life-boat has swung out to the full length of her cable, and is in deep
water; the men upon being beaten away from the wreck for the third
time, look round for the steamer, and to their astonishment see her
making in straight towards them.
The men on board the steamer had watched with increasing anxiety and
dismay the defeat of the successive gallant attempts made by the
life-boat crew. They had grown more and more excited each time that the
life-boat had returned to them, and feel now prepared to run almost any
risk whatever to further help the life-boatmen in their brave but as yet
unsuccessful efforts to save the crew.
And so the steamer makes right in across the broken water, straight for
the life-boat; a rope is thrown from the steamer, and is made fast in
the life-boat; they now hope, with the steamer's help, to be able to
sheer the boat right in upon the wreck.
The boatmen have hold of their own cable, to which their anchor is fast;
they gradually draw in upon this cable, and the steamer tries to tow the
boat nearer and nearer to the vessel, and for the fourth time the
life-boat makes in 'mid the wild raging seas for the rescue of the crew.
The steamer ventures into the rage of the sea, and her position becomes
one of very great peril; she rolls in the trough of the tremendous waves
till her gunwales are right under water; the foam and spray dash
completely over her, and tons and tons of water deluge her deck. They
gradually approach the vessel; the life-boat sheers in; the seas and
tide and wind catch her in their full power, and whirl her away again.
A huge wave sweeps bodily over the steamer--she is in extreme danger;
the life-boatmen watch her in the greatest alarm, fearing each moment
that a wave will swamp her--but rolling, plunging, burying herself in
the foaming seas, the steamer bravely holds her own, until to remain
longer is certain death to all on board; and sorrowfully the crew of the
steamer abandon their most gallant attempt, and make out of the rage of
broken water.
The life-boatmen rejoice to see the steamer get clear of the deadly
peril, but they are scarcely in less peril themselves; they cut the
steamer's tow-rope, and then find that they must cut their own cable, to
avoid being dashed over the wreck; and away they go again driven on
before the gale. They look at each other, but only read courage and
determination in each other's countenances. Beaten off for the fourth
time, not one heart fails, not one speaks of giving up the attempt, not
one of the brave fellows has any such thought for an instant; their one
consideration is what next shall be attempted to save the poor fellows
from a speedy and terrible death, which indeed threatens them every
minute. Thus the only question is, what they shall try next? and weak
and exhausted, and almost frozen with cold, but determined, and full of
courage and zeal as ever, their one anxiety is for the poor shipwrecked
crew, whose peril increases each minute, and they prepare for a fifth
effort for their rescue, strong still in their old determination--"that
they will not go home without them."