THE EDINA
The oak strikes deeper as its boughs
By furious blasts are driven.
The Edina was one of a great fleet of ships at anchor in the Downs on
January 16, 1884. Hundreds of vessels were there straining at their
anchors--vessels of many nations, and of various rigs. There were
picturesque red-sailed barges anchored close in shore, while even there
the sea flew over them. Farther out were Italians, Norwegians and
Yankees, all unmistakable to the practised eye; French _chasse-marées_,
Germans, Russians and Greeks were there; and each vessel was
characterised by some nautical peculiarity. Of course the greater
number were our own English vessels, as plainly to be pronounced
British as ever was John Bull in the midst of Frenchmen or Spaniards.
It was blowing a heavy gale from the W.S.W., and towards night,
accompanied by furious rain-squalls and thunder, the gale increased to
a storm. The most powerful luggers along the beach tried to launch,
but as the tide was high they had not run enough to get sufficient
impetus, and were therefore beaten back on the beach by the surf.
[Illustration: Dangerous work.]
Some vessels were blown clean out of the Downs, and away from their
anchors. Indeed, when the weather cleared between the squalls, a
pitiable number of blue light signals of distress were seen in the
distance beyond the North Foreland. And it is probable that vessels
were lost that night on the Goodwins of which no one has ever heard.
When the tide fell, about 8.45, flares and rockets were seen coming
from the Brake, a very dangerous and partially rocky 'Sand' lying close
to the Goodwin Sands. Then the Gull lightship also fired guns and
rockets. There being obviously a vessel in danger on or near either
the Goodwins or the Brake Sand, the Deal lifeboat bell was rung; and a
crew was obtained out of the hundred men who rushed to get a place.
The beach was smoothed to give the lifeboat a run, she was let go, and,
in contrast with the failure of other boats, launched successfully.
In receiving the report of the coxswain next day, I asked him what time
precisely he launched. Now that evening, about 9 p.m., I was sitting
in my own house listening to the long-protracted roar of the wind, and
just when I thought the strong walls could bear no more, there came a
blinding flash of lightning which paled the lamps, almost
simultaneously with a peal of thunder that made the foundations of the
house tremble. When I asked the coxswain next day what time exactly he
launched, his reply was, 'Just in that clap of thunder.'
This may help my readers to depict the scene in its appalling grandeur,
and to realise the meaning of the words, 'A vessel in distress,' and
the launch of the lifeboat on its sacred errand.
The flares which had been burning now suddenly stopped. This, however,
was owing to the distressed vessel having exhausted her stock of
rockets and torches.
Passing under the stern of a schooner which they hailed, the gallant
lifeboat crew were pointed out the vessel that had been burning them,
riding with a red light in her rigging to attract notice. Making for
her, they anchored as usual ahead, and veered down eighty fathoms. In
the gale and heavy sea they found the anchor would not hold, and they
had to bend on another cable, and pay out a hundred fathoms, and at
last they got alongside.
The captain cried out, 'Come on board and save the vessel! My crew are
all gone!' And indeed she was in a sore plight.
That evening after dark, about 6 p.m., this brig, the Edina, had been
riding out the gale in the Downs. In a furious blast a heavy sea broke
her adrift from her anchor, and she came into helpless collision with a
ship right astern of her. Grinding fiercely into this other very large
vessel, the Edina tore herself free with loss of bowsprit and jib-boom,
all her fore-rigging being in dire ruin and confusion.
In the collision, six of the crew of the Edina jumped from her rigging
to the other ship with which they were in collision, leaving only three
men, the captain, mate, and boy, on board the Edina. By great efforts
they, however, were able to let go another anchor, but that did not
bite, and the Edina kept dragging with the wreckage and wild tangle of
bowsprit and jib-boom hanging over her bows and beating against her
side.
One of the six men who had jumped from the Edina in the panic of the
collision had, alas! jumped too short, and had fallen between the two
vessels. The next day his body was found by the lifeboatmen entangled
in the wreckage, and under the bows of the Edina.
The Edina in her wrecked and crippled condition had dragged till she
got to the very edge of the Brake Sand. She had dragged for two miles,
and at last her anchor held fast when within twenty fathoms or forty
yards of the Brake Sand. She was stopped just short of destruction as
the sea was breaking heavily under her stern, and had she drifted a few
more yards she would have struck the deadly Brake, and have perished
with those on board before the lifeboat could have reached her.
In setting off his rockets, the unfortunate captain had blown away a
piece of his hand, and was in much suffering, when the advent of the
lifeboat proclaimed that he was not to be abandoned to destruction.
The vessel was riding in only three fathoms of water, and as a furious
sea was running, she was plunging bows under. Six of the lifeboatmen
sprang on board and turned to clearing the wreck--the remainder of the
men remaining in the lifeboat, as they feared every moment the ship
would break adrift and strike.
They worked with the energy of men working for life, but they took
three hours to clear away the wreck; this being absolutely necessary in
order to get at the windlass and raise the anchor.
At morning dawn they found the body of the poor sailor who had failed
to spring to the other vessel; they got up anchor, they set the sails,
and they brought the vessel out of her dangerous position into Ramsgate
Harbour.
That day four weeks the Edina came out of Ramsgate refitted and ready
for sea. I went on board the vessel on my daily task as Missions to
Seamen Chaplain in the Downs, and talked with the captain over the
events of the night as here described, and the merciful Providence
which prevented him striking on the Brake Sand. 'What brought you up,'
I asked him, 'when you had already dragged for miles?'
The captain pointed me to a roll of large-printed Scripture texts, a
leaf for each day, for four weeks. 'Why,' said he, 'that's the very
leaf that was turned the night of the 26th of last month'--and going
close to the 'Seaman's Roll,' as this Eastbourne publication is
called--'There,' said he, 'is the very text.'
It ran thus: 'Wherefore, also, He is able to save them to the uttermost
that come unto God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession
for them.'
'And that,' said the captain, 'was the anchor that held my ship that
awful night.'
It is hard to doubt that He who once stilled the tempest, and granted
to this humble sailor the mighty gift of Faith, on that stormy night
'delivered His servant that trusted in Him.'
The Edina went on her way to Pernambuco.