It was what sailors call a "dirty night." When you looked out upon the
sea, it seemed as if there were nothing there but horrible darkness. If
you went down to the beach, however,--close under the fishing village of
Sunland--you found that there was just enough of light to make the
darkness visible.
Tremendous waves came rolling madly into the bay, their white crests
gleaming against the black sky until they came down like thunder on the
sand. The wind roared and whistled over the bay, cutting off the
foam-tops of the billows, and hurling them against the neighbouring
cliffs. Mingled rain and hail filled the shrieking blast, and horrid
uproar seemed to revel everywhere.
"God have mercy on those at sea," was uttered by many a lip that night.
It was a most suitable prayer! Some there were, doubtless, who uttered
it with a little shudder as they turned in their beds, but said and did
nothing more. Others there were, weak in body perhaps, but strong in
spirit, who reflected, with some degree of comfort, that they had given
of their gold to help those whose business it is to help the perishing.
And there were others who had little gold to give, but who gladly gave
their strong, stalwart bodies, and risked their precious lives to save
the perishing.
Many of these last were on the beach at Sunland that night, with oilskin
coats and caps, cowering in the lee of boats and rocks, or leaning
against the furious gale as they tried to gaze out to sea through the
blinding sleet and spray.
Among these fishermen were two young men--tall and strong--who seemed to
despise shelter, and stood at the very edge of the raging sea. One was
a black-bearded man of the Coastguard. The other, as his dress
betokened, was a Jack-tar of the Royal Navy.
"There, she shows a light," said the naval youth, as a flame, like that
of a blazing tar-barrel, shot suddenly up against the dark sky and
showed the rigging of a wreck, far out in the bay where the war of wind
and waves was fiercest.
Scarcely had this light appeared when the Coastguardsman laid his hand
on the young sailor's shoulder and pointed towards the cliffs far away
to the left of the bay. There a rocket had cut the heavens with a line
of vivid fire. While they gazed, another sprang up into the sky.
"A vessel on the rocks!" said the Coastguardsman, (he had to shout in
the other's ear, so loud was the gale); "my duty lies there. Will you
go with me, or stay to see the lifeboat start?"
"I'll stick by the lifeboat," shouted the man-of-war's man, and they
parted.
Ah! it was grand to see that lifeboat go into action. She could be
easily seen, though the night was so dark, for she was painted pure
white and bright blue, with a scarlet strip round her--a "thing of
light," but by no means a light thing! She was so large, and stout, and
heavy, that she required a strong carriage on four wheels to transport
her from her boat-house to the edge of the sea, which foamed, and
hissed, and leaped up at her bow as if to taste the morsel which it
hoped soon to swallow.
While the boat was yet on its carriage, her stout coxswain, or captain,
clambered in.
"Now then, my jolly volunteers," he shouted, "jump up, and on wi' your
life-belts."
At that word our handsome young sailor laid his hands on the edge of the
boat and vaulted into her as if he had been made of india-rubber. Ten
more men followed his example, and quickly put on their belts.
"Nobody's allowed to go off without a life-belt," said the coxswain to
the young sailor, "besides, it's against rules to let you go."
"How's that?" asked the youth; "you called for volunteers."
"Yes, but our volunteer-crew is already made up, so you must jump out.
Thank you all the same, my fine fellow."
The man-of-war's man was too well disciplined to think of resistance,
even for a moment. With a look of disappointment and an active bound,
he leaped out upon the sand.
At that moment one of the men raised an oar, which was blown round by a
sudden blast, and its end struck another of the crew on the temple,
rendering him almost insensible. He had to be put out at once, and
another volunteer was called for. Like a flash of light, our youthful
seaman again vaulted into the boat. His services were now accepted, and
a cork life-belt was given to him, which he quickly put on.
Meanwhile crowds of men, and even some women and boys, stood ready at
the launching-ropes. The word was given. There was a strong and a long
pull altogether, and the lifeboat sprang into the sea as if it had been
alive, with her crew seated and the oars out. A huge wave caught her
bow and raised her up almost perpendicular. She seemed as if about to
dance a reel upon her rudder. Our man-of-war's man had rode in many a
wild sea, but never before had he seen the like of that. Nevertheless,
he clung to his seat like a limpet, and pulled at his oar with all his
might. The others were more accustomed to that special work. Just as
she seemed about to topple over, the boat dropped forward and plunged
out to sea. The next wave caught her in the same way, but with less
power. Another stroke of the short, stout oars, and they had got fairly
off into deep water.
Then did the heart of the young sailor beat wildly, for, besides
rejoicing in that fierce struggle with the storm, he knew that his
mission was one of mercy as well as danger. But how much more wildly
did his heart beat when he reached the wreck, and, by the light of the
blazing tar-barrel, beheld about twenty human beings--some of them women
and children--clinging to the wreck, which was buried in foaming water
by every sea.
One by one they were got into the lifeboat with great difficulty. Then
the boat was pushed off and rowed towards the land. What a deep-toned
shout there was on shore when her light form was dimly seen coming in on
the crest of a great billow! And what a mighty cheer rang out when she
drew closer, and the man at the bow-oar stood up and cried, "Thank God,
_all_ saved!"
Just then a monster wave fell on the stern of the boat and filled it.
One little girl was swept overboard and went away with the backward rush
of water, as the boat was hauled out of danger. Every one saw this, and
a terrible cry went up, but only one man moved. Our young sailor sprang
after the child. He knew that it was almost certain death to enter that
surf without a rope, but a spirit of self-sacrifice--founded on the
great example of Jesus--urged him on. He had no time to think--only to
act. He caught the child and was dragged along with her into the wild
sea. At that moment another Coastguardsman, who chanced to be a friend
of the man-of-war's man, came upon the scene. Seeing what had occurred,
he seized the end of a rope which some men had just brought down, tied
it round his waist, dashed into the sea, caught the sailor and the girl
in the wide grasp of his strong arms--and then all three were hauled to
the land in safety.
The poor child was nearly insensible, and had to be carried to a
neighbouring cottage; and the young sailor staggered so from exhaustion
that his friend and another man were obliged to support him as he went.
"Who is he?" inquired one of the fisherwomen, as she followed behind.
The Coastguardsman looked over his shoulder with a proud glance in his
sparkling eye, and said aloud, "His name is Richard Thorogood."
A statement which was received with three loud and ringing cheers.