THE SORRENTO, S.S.
And the clamorous bell spake out right well
To the hamlet under the hill,
And it roused the slumb'ring fishers, nor its warning task gave o'er,
Till a hundred fleet and eager feet were hurrying to the shore.
That Norse and Viking blood is to be found in the E. and S.E. coasts of
England is tolerably certain. Tradition, as well as the physical
characteristics of the people, go to support the belief that the
inhabitants of the little picturesque village of Kingsdown, midway on
the coast line between Deal and the South Foreland, are genuine 'Sons
of the Vikings.'
Kingsdown looks seaward, just facing the southern end of the Goodwin
Sands, and at the back of the pretty village, which is built on the
shingle of the beach, rise the chalk cliffs which culminate in the
South Foreland, a few miles farther on. Here in days gone by the
samphire gatherer plied his 'dreadful trade,' and, still from the
wooded cliff 'the fishermen that walk upon the beach appear like mice.'
Like their Deal brethren, the hardy boatmen of Kingsdown live by
piloting and fishing, and, like the Deal men, have much to do with the
Goodwin Sands. The same may be said of the more numerous Walmer
boatmen; and all three are usually summed up in the general and
honourable appellation of Deal boatmen.
[Illustration: Jarvist Arnold]
The Kingsdown villagers are believed to be Jutes, and the names
prevalent amongst them add probability to the idea. Certainly there is
a Norse flavour about the name of Jarvist Arnold, for many years
coxswain of the Kingsdown lifeboat Sabrina. This brave, fine old
seaman still survives, and still his eye kindles, and his voice still
rings, as with outstretched hand and fire unquenched by age he tells of
grapples with death on the Goodwin Sands. He is no longer, alas! equal
to the arduous post which he nobly held for twenty years, a post now
well filled by James Laming, Jarvist's comrade in many a risky job; but
still he is regarded with reverence and affection, and the rescue of
the crew of the Sorrento and the story of the 'old cork fender' will
always be honourably associated with his name. Round him the incidents
of this chapter will group themselves, for, though brave men were his
crew on each occasion, he was the guiding spirit.
[Illustration: The Kingsdown lifeboat]
The mode of manning the Kingsdown lifeboat is somewhat different from
the practice of Deal and Walmer, as will be seen, but in all three
cases the same rush of eager men is made to gain the honourable post of
a place in the lifeboat.
Sometimes the launch is utterly unavailing, as was the case on a
December night in 1867, when with Jarvist Arnold at the helm, the
lifeboat sped into and through the tossing surf and 'fearful sea' (the
coxswain's words), across the south end of the Goodwins, and found a
barque from Sunderland on fire and drifting on to the sands. So hot it
was from the flames that they could not if they would go to leeward of
her, and they kept to windward, witnessing the spectacle of a ship on
fire in a midnight 'hurricane from the west.' There was no one on
board of the burning ship, and no one knows the fate of her crew.
Sadly the lifeboatmen returned to the land.
Again Jarvist Arnold is summoned to the rescue, and this time with a
different result. On February 12, 1870, all the vessels in the Downs
were driven ashore, with the exception of one, which the skill and
pluck of E. Hanger, second coxswain of the Deal lifeboat, safely
piloted away to safety, through the tremendous sea.
There was a great gale from E.S.E. with bitter cold and snow. Vessel
after vessel came ashore, and some were torn into matchwood along the
beach. One large vessel, the ship Glendura, having parted her anchors
in the great sea that was running, was driving landwards. The captain,
foreseeing the inevitable, and determined, if he could not save his
vessel, to save precious lives--his wife and child being on
board--boldly set his lower foretopsail, to force his vessel stem on as
far ashore on the mainland as possible; and about 9 p.m., in this dark
freezing snowstorm, the stem of his large vessel, drawing about
twenty-three feet of water, struck the land.
[Illustration: Scene on Deal Beach February 13, 1870. From a painting
by W. H. Franklin.]
The engraving shows this ship in the act of striking. Facing the
picture, the Glendura lies farthest from the spectator. Between her
and the land would be about 100 fathoms, or 200 yards of water; but
that water was one furious mass of advancing billows hurled landwards
by this great tempest.
Fortunately, as I have said, the Glendura struck the beach unlike the
other vessels in the engraving, not broadside on, but stem on. They
were broken up very soon; but the Glendura held together, burning
flares and sending up appealing rockets. Still more fortunately--but
in truth providentially is the word to use--she struck right opposite
Kingsdown lifeboat house, where lay head to storm-blast, the Kingsdown
lifeboat Sabrina, and where, grouped round her, Jarvist Arnold and the
lifeboat crew stood ready.
Had the wrecked ship come ashore at any distance from the spot where
the lifeboat lay, either to the right or left, that is, either west or
east of where she did strike, the probability is that all on board
would have perished. With a heavy gale dead on shore, if the lifeboat
had succeeded in launching, she would not have fetched the wreck, had
she lain any distance either side, but would have been helplessly
beaten back again.
The Kingsdown men were keenly watching the approaching catastrophe as
the Glendura came landwards. Long before she struck, the little
fishing village echoed to the cry of 'Man the lifeboat,' and clad in
their sou'-westers and lifebelts the brave crew waited for the crash of
the doomed vessel, which, by God's mercy, took place right in front of
them. The sea they had to face was terrific, and so bitter was the
night that the sea spray froze as it was borne landwards by the blast,
and each rope in the ship's rigging was thick with ice.
Just as the men were all in the lifeboat, and were about to man their
haul-off warp to pull the lifeboat out into deep water thereby, a
service of the greatest danger on such a night, some one on the
beach--it was James Laming, the present able Kingsdown coxswain, but
then a very young man--even in that black night discovered a great
fender floating in the recoil. It was pulled ashore, and it was then
found that a line was attached to it, and to that line a weightier one;
and to that a four and a half-inch hawser, or strong cable, leading
from the wrecked ship to the land.
Perceiving the object of those on board, Jarvist Arnold gave the order
to 'Let the lifeboat go,' and she plunged down the steep beach into the
black billows of that easterly snowstorm and right into the very teeth
of it. No sooner had they touched the water than they hauled upon the
cable which had been sent ashore from the vessel; and so, bit by bit,
one moment submerged and the next swung on the crest of some stormy
wave, they gradually hauled themselves out to the vessel, and found the
crew with the captain and his wife and child gathered in a forlorn
little cluster out on the jib-boom.
Right under the martingale with its sharp spear-like head the lifeboat
had to lie. When a monstrous sea came roaring round the stern of the
vessel, the lifeboat had to let go and come astern, lest she should be
impaled on the sharp point, as she was hoisted up with great force.
Back again the crew hauled her, and when the furious sea had passed, in
answer to shouts of 'Come on!' 'Now's your time!' down a rope into the
lifeboat came the second mate with the captain's child in his arms. Up
the stiff half-frozen rope again he climbed and brought down the
captain's wife; and some more of the crew rapidly came the same way.
Then the lifeboat having their full complement of people on board, some
of whom were perishing with the cold of that awful night, made for the
land; still holding the cable from the ship they drifted, or rather
were hurled ashore, in the darkness, pelted by hail and snow and
drenched by the seas, which broke with force clean over them.
The task of landing the enfeebled crew and the poor lady and child in
such a great sea was dangerous, but it was accomplished safely.
Indeed, such was the sympathy and enthusiasm of the Kingsdown villagers
and fisherfolk that, if need were, they could and would have carried
the lifeboat with its human freight right up the beach.
An attempt was now made to use the rocket apparatus, and a rocket was
fired, which went clean through the fore-topsail and to the poop of the
vessel behind. Another whizzing rocket, carrying its line with it,
went hurtling through or close to the crowd clustered on the
top-gallant forecastle, where they cowered before creeping out on to
the bowsprit. No harm was done by the erratic flight of the rockets,
but the wrecked sailors naturally preferred to go ashore in the
lifeboat to being dragged through the breakers in the cradle of the
rocket-apparatus, and declining to use it, they again summoned the
lifeboat.
The first crew of the lifeboat were worn out with their exertions, and
the blows and buffetings of the freezing sea-spray. A fresh crew was
therefore obtained, all but the coxswain, Jarvist Arnold, who stuck to
his post. Back again to the ship the lifeboatmen hauled themselves,
through such a sea that words which would truly describe it must seem
exaggerated. Remember the bows of the ship lay nearly two hundred
yards from the land in a veritable cauldron of waters.
Again the lifeboat returned with her living freight of rescued seamen,
and again worn out as before with the struggle, a fresh crew was
obtained; but again Jarvist Arnold for the third time went back to the
wreck. And yet again with a fourth fresh crew the brave man returned
for the fourth and last time to the vessel; and finally came safe to
the shore with the remainder of the crew, twenty-nine of whom were thus
rescued, but only rescued by the most determined and repeated efforts,
through what the coxswain's report describes as 'a fearful sea with
snowstorm and freezing hard all the time.'
When, long after midnight, the lifeboatmen staggered home, Jarvist
found that his oilskin coat was frozen so hard that it stood upright
and rigid on his cottage floor when he took it off his own half-frozen
self. But he had a soft pillow that night; he had bravely done his
duty, and had saved twenty-nine of his fellow human beings from death
in the sea.
Many a stormy struggle after this rescue was gone through by Jarvist
Arnold and his Kingsdown lifeboat crew on the Goodwin Sands during the
years 1870-1873. Holding the honourable but arduous post of coxswain
of the Kingsdown lifeboat Sabrina, he also manfully earned his living
as Channel pilot, being a most trustworthy and skilful seaman. He did
well that which came to his hand; he did his best and his duty. I
speak after the manner of men, and as between man and man. More than
that no man can do.
On the night of December 17, 1872, about 2.30 a.m., it was blowing a
gale from the south-west. Out of the gale was borne landwards the boom
of guns; far away on the horizon, or where the horizon ought to be, was
seen the flash of their fire; and upwards into the winter midnight shot
the distant rockets, appealing not in vain for help.
Almost simultaneously the coxswains at Walmer and Kingsdown were
roused, William Bushell and Jarvist Arnold. At Walmer the
lifeboat-bell rang out its summons, but at Kingsdown a fast runner was
sent round the village, crying as he ran, 'Man the lifeboat!' 'Ship on
the Goodwins!' Up sprang the men--that is, all the grown-up men in the
village; and while the tempest shook their lowly cottage roofs, out
they poured into the night, followed by lads, boys, wives, mothers,
sweethearts and sisters.
Jarvist Arnold's wife said, 'Ladies can sometimes keep their husbands,
but poor women like us must let them go;' and once more Jarvist Arnold
steered his lifeboat--shall I not say to victory? for 'Peace hath her
victories no less renowned than War;' and this sentence might well be
emblazoned on every lifeboat in the kingdom.
At 3 a.m. on this midwinter night they launched at their respective
stations, distant about two miles from each other, the lifeboats of
Walmer and Kingsdown, and faced the sea and the storm. Think of the
deed, and its hardships, and its heroism; of the brave hearts who
'darkling faced the billows,' and the anxious women left behind, ye who
live to kill time in graceless self-indulgence, and ere it be too late,
learn to sacrifice and to dare.
The two lifeboats got together before they reached the edge of the
Goodwins, and held such consultation as was possible in the pitchy
darkness and in the roar of the sea. It was agreed between them that
there would be much difficulty in finding the vessel in distress, as
her signals and blue lights had ceased and the night was very dark.
They decided that the Kingsdown lifeboat should go first, and if they
hit the vessel they were to burn a red light in token of success, and a
white light if they could not find her; but that, in any case, Walmer
was to come shortly after them and search through the breakers, whether
Kingsdown succeeded or not.
In the dark the Kingsdown coxswain put his lifeboat into the surf on
the Goodwins; it was heavy, but they got through it safely, and found
on the off-part of the Goodwins, towards its southern end--known as the
South Calliper--a large steamship aground. She proved to be the
Sorrento, bound from the Mediterranean to Lynn.
Close outside where she lay on the treacherous sands were thirteen and
fourteen fathoms of deep water, that is, from seventy to eighty feet,
while she lay in about six feet of white surf, which flew in clouds
over her as each sea struck her quarters and stern.
The Sorrento had struck the Goodwins at midnight, or a little after, in
about twenty-one feet of water, but when the lifeboat got alongside the
tide had fallen, and there was only six feet of broken water around
her. As the sands were nearly dry to the southward of her, the sea was
by no means so formidable as it afterwards became with the rising tide
and increasing gale and greater depth of water.
The Kingsdown lifeboat sent up her red light, and then came through the
surf the Walmer lifeboat, guided by the red signal of success from
Jarvist Arnold. Both lifeboats got alongside the great steamer, and
the greater part of the crews of both lifeboats clambered on board her,
leaving eight men in each lifeboat.
The head of the wrecked steamer lay about E.N.E., and the seas were
hammering at and breaking against her starboard quarter, which rose
high in the air quite twenty feet out of the water at the time the
lifeboats got alongside. All the lifeboatmen now turned to pumping the
vessel, which was very full of water, with a view to saving the ship
and her valuable cargo of barley.
The Walmer lifeboat lay alongside the Sorrento, under her port bow, and
the head of the Walmer lifeboat pointed towards the stern of the
wrecked steamer, and was firmly fastened to her by a stout hawser.
About this time--say, five o'clock in the morning--while it was dark,
the Ramsgate lifeboat also arrived, and seeing the other two lifeboats
alongside they anchored outside the sands. And the Kingsdown lifeboat,
manned only by her coxswain and seven of her crew, was sheered off
about two hundred fathoms, to lay out a kedge anchor, with a view to
preventing the vessel drifting farther, as the tide rose, into the
shallower parts of the sands, and in the hope of warping her into
deeper water.
Naturally the presence of the lifeboats and a company of seventeen or
eighteen stalwart lifeboatmen, all thoroughly up to their work, infused
fresh courage into the captain and crew of the Sorrento. They felt
that all was not lost, and dividing themselves into different gangs of
men, all hands worked with a will, throwing the cargo overboard to
lighten the vessel, and pumping with all their energies--their shouts
ringing out bravely as they worked to get out the water. The donkey
engine too was set at work, and steam fought storm and sea, but this
time in vain. After several hours' hard work, the engineer came to the
captain and lifeboatmen and said, 'It's all up; the water's coming in
as fast as we pump it out. Come down and see for yourselves!'
It was too true, the good steamship's back was broken, and the clear
sea-water bubbled into her faster than it could be got out. As the day
began to break, the sea rose and beat more heavily over the vessel; it
burst no longer merely in clouds or showers on the deck, but in heavy
volumes, and on all sides, especially to the south; long lines of
rollers careered on towards the doomed vessel with tossing, tumbling
crests, and then burst over her.
At 11 a.m. in this state of affairs the hope of saving the ship was
abandoned, and all only thought now of saving life. Thinking the two
lifeboats--the Centurion and the Sabrina--were insufficient to rescue
the whole of the steamer's crew, the ensign was hoisted 'union down'
for more assistance. None came; probably the signal was not seen, or
possibly, it was thought that the presence of the lifeboats had
answered the appeal.
As the tide rose the water deepened and more wind came. Heavy masses
of water struck the hapless vessel, and though her starboard quarter
was still ten feet out of the water, each sea swept her decks, carrying
spars, hen coops, and everything movable clean before it.
All hands now fled to the bridge of the steamer, watching for a
favourable moment to get into the Walmer lifeboat, still riding
alongside, while each mad billow lifted her up almost to the level of
the bridge and then smothered the lifeboat in its foaming bosom as she
descended into the depths.
Any one who carefully observes a succession of waves either breaking in
charging lines on a beach, or in the wilder turmoil of the Goodwins,
must notice how frequently they differ in shape and in size. I am by
no means convinced that either the third wave--the [Greek] _trikumia_
of the Greeks--or the tenth wave, as the Latin _fluctus decimanus_
seems to suggest--is always larger than its tempestuous comrades, but
ashore or afloat you do now and then see a giant, formed mysteriously
in accordance with the laws of fluids, that does out-top its fellows,
[Greek] _kephalen te kai eureas ômous_.
Such a great sea was seen advancing by the occupants of the bridge of
the Sorrento. Combing, curling, high over the stern of the wreck it
broke, carrying everything before it in one common ruin. It carried
away the boats of the wrecked steamer, tearing them and the davits
which supported them out of the vessel.
Snap went the strong five-inch cable which fastened the Walmer lifeboat
to the port or sheltered quarter of the Sorrento, as the end of the
great green sea swept round her stern; and as the lifeboat was torn
away from the wreck she was forced up against the crashing jangle of
the steamer's boats and davits; and yet again with tremendous force
jammed right up against the anchor of the Sorrento, which was driven
into the fore thwart of the ascending lifeboat. The lifeboatmen
crouched down to avoid destruction, and--for all this was done in a
moment--away she sped, spun round as a boy would spin his top, to
leeward of the wreck and among the breakers of the Goodwins.
'Never saw anything spin round like her in my life!' said one of the
crew afterwards; and so far was she carried by this great sea that she
could not drop anchor till she was half a mile from the wrecked
steamship. Tide and wind were both against her, and she was utterly
unable to get back to the wreck. She simply rode helplessly to her
anchor with less than half of her own men in her, the remainder being
clustered on the bridge, as already described, or clinging to the
rigging of the Sorrento. The aspect of affairs had now become one of
extreme gravity.
The Walmer lifeboat was swept away, and as helpless as if she were
fifty miles off, leaving seven of her crew in great peril on the
bridge. Seven of the crew of the Kingsdown lifeboat were also gathered
on the steamer's bridge, together with thirty-two of the crew of the
wrecked vessel herself. In all, there stood or clung there, drenched
by the clouds of spray, drowned almost as they fought for breath,
forty-six persons; and their only hope or chance for life was the
Kingsdown lifeboat, which still bravely lived, heavily plunging into
and covered now and then by the seas.
At the helm, in dire anxiety, was Jarvist Arnold, and with him were in
the lifeboat only seven of his crew, the remainder of them being
entrapped on board the Sorrento, together with the Walmer lifeboatmen.
It was thought, as my readers will remember, that two lifeboats were
insufficient to rescue all hands, but now the rescue--if rescue there
were to be--depended upon one small lifeboat half manned.
Besides this, Jarvist Arnold saw with his own eyes the defeat of the
Walmer lifeboat, and was so close to the wreck that he was well aware
of the dangerous sea sweeping over her and racing up under her stern;
but the brave fellow never faltered in his determination to attempt the
rescue; and he was strung to his formidable task by the knowledge that
three of his own sons were holding on for dear life on the bridge of
the wreck. He could see the gestures and hear the shouts from the
bridge as the sounds came across the wind, now a heavy gale.
There was no lack of resolution, but the problem was to get at the
Sorrento at all, as the diagram will help the reader to understand.
[Illustration: Position of the Sorrento.]
It will be plain that the tide current was forcing the Kingsdown
lifeboat, even when at anchor, away from the distressed vessel, and
that if she weighed anchor, she would be carried away to leeward, as
the Walmer men had been.
Thinking of all expedients, they bent on their second cable and rode to
the long scope of one hundred and sixty fathoms. Still the cruel
lee-tide and wind forced them away. They sheered the head of the
lifeboat in towards the wreck--and then--the six men in her sprang to
the oars, and tugged and strained at them, all rowing on the same side,
to direct the lifeboat towards the vessel. While they struggled, the
great breakers overwhelmed and blinded them, filling many times the
gallant little lifeboat--she was only thirty-six feet in length--which
as obstinately emptied herself free and lived through it all, by God's
good providence.
'Must I see my sons die in my sight, and my friends and neighbours
too?' thought Jarvist Arnold, as he was beaten away from the vessel;
and then, 'Lord, help me!' Again and again, in vain they struggled,
when some one on the wreck sprang from the bridge at the most imminent
peril of his life, on to the slippery, sloping wave-swept deck.
He had seen coiled on a belaying pin on the bridge a long lead line,
and on the deck still unwashed away an old cork fender. Some say it
was the mate of the vessel; others that it was one of the Kingsdown men
who fastened the lead line to the fender and who slung it overboard,
and then, stumbling and slipping, ran for his life back to the bridge,
barely escaping an overwhelming wave.
Swirling and eddying in the strange currents on the Goodwins, and
beaten of the winds and waves, on came the old cork fender towards the
lifeboat. They had not another bit of cable to spare on board the
lifeboat; every inch of their one hundred and sixty fathoms was paid
out. Breathless the coxswain, and the man in the bows, rigid as his
own boat-hook with the anxiety of the moment, lashed to his position, a
life line round his waist, watched the approach of the fender. It was
sucked by the current towards the lifeboat, and then tossed by a wave
away from her again.
Feeling assured that a great loss of life must soon occur, either by
the people on the frail refuge of the steamer's bridge being swept off
it, or by the bridge itself being carried away by the seas, which were
becoming more solid every moment, Jarvist and his comrades thought the
cork fender was a long time in reaching them. Lives of men hung in the
balance, and minutes seem hours then.
At last it drifted hopelessly out of reach, but into a curious
backwater, which eddied it right under the boat hook of the bowman. In
an instant it was seized, and the line made fast to a thwart. 'I've a
great mind to trust to it,' said Jarvist Arnold, but caution prevailed,
and they made fast a stout rope to the lead line.
Again the people on the bridge watched their chance. One man managed
to wade along the now submerged deck to reach the lead line, and he
hauled it with the stronger rope on board, making the latter securely
fast. Again had this man to fly for life up the bridge from an
advancing billow, which, leaping over the stern of the wreck, nearly
overtook him, and at the same time by its great weight and impulse,
beat the stern of the steamship a little way round to the west.
Hauling on this cable without letting go their own anchor, Jarvist
Arnold and his small crew hauled their lifeboat as close under the
leaning bridge as they dared.
The first man who tried to escape from the bridge in his leap missed
the lifeboat and fell into the sea, and not a moment too soon was
grasped by friendly hands and dragged into the lifeboat.
The direction of the tidal current on the Goodwins shifts every hour to
a different point of the compass; and now this strong eddy, being
altered still more by the position of the wreck, would suck the
lifeboat towards the stern of the wreck. There she would meet another
current of the truer tide, and get hurried back again half buried in
breakers, which were ever and anon bursting over and round the stern of
the wreck.
[Illustration: The Sorrento on the Goodwin Sands.]
Then she would come back under the bridge, where every effort was made
to hold her by stern ropes; and as she rose, 'by the dreadful tempest
borne, high on the broken wave,' man after man they jumped, or were
dragged, or came quick as lightning down a rope, into the Sabrina, the
whole forty-six of the imperilled men, the captain being last man, and
almost too late.
Bringing with them the old cork fender as a memento, Jarvist and his
unbeaten crew sheered out their lifeboat to ride by their own cable, as
before the timely arrival of the fender. Now they saw signs of the
approaching break up of the Sorrento, for before they had left her very
long her funnel and masts went overboard, and reeling to the blows of
the sea, she split in halves and disappeared under the breakers of the
Goodwins.
But before this dramatic conclusion, the Kingsdown lifeboat slipped her
anchor, to which she never could have got back, and setting her mast
and double-reefed storm-foresail, ran away before the wind through the
'heavy boiling surf' on the Goodwins. These are the coxswain's own
written words, and I can only repeat they are below the grim reality.
With the forty-six rescued seafarers on board she was terribly low in
the water, and was filled in and out from both sides at once by the
seas as they broke. Only a lifeboat could have lived, but even she
resembled a floating baulk of timber, which is covered and swept by the
seas on the same level as itself. Holding on for life to thwarts and
life-lines, they kept the lifeboat dead before the sea. They did not
dare to luff her to the west or bear her away to the east. They dared
not keep away to get to the Walmer lifeboat, nor in the other direction
toward the mainland, about six miles off.
The slightest exposure of the broadside of the lifeboat would either
have capsized her, or washed every soul out of her; onwards, therefore,
dead before the wind and right on the top of and in the breakers of the
Goodwins she flew her stormy flight for nearly four miles.
The Walmer lifeboat had got up anchor at the same time as the Kingsdown
men; for as the Kingsdown overcrowded lifeboat ran past the Walmer
lifeboat, which was waiting at anchor for them, they shouted to the
Walmer men, 'Slip your cable, and come after us!'
This the Walmer lifeboat did, and now ventured to approach the
Kingsdown lifeboat. Though handled with skill and caution, being
light, she took a sea; and she came right on top of the gunwale of the
Kingsdown lifeboat, smashing her oars, which were run out to steady
her, like so many pipe-shanks, and crunching into her gunwale.
But at last, with difficulty, half of the living freight of the Sabrina
was transferred to the Walmer lifeboat; and then both lifeboats luffing
in through Trinity Swatch, by God's mercy, escaped the deadly Goodwins,
and landed the rescued crew at Broadstairs.
And the gallant deed is still sung by the Kingsdown children in simple
village rhymes,
God bless the Lifeboat and its crew,
Its coxswain stout and bold,
And Jarvist Arnold is his name,
Sprung from the Vikings old,
Who made the waves and winds their slaves,
As likewise we do so,
While still Britannia rules the waves,
And the stormy winds do blow;
And the old Cork Float that safety brought,
We'll hold in honour leal,
And it shall grace the chiefest place
In Kingsdown, hard by Deal!
One of Jarvist Arnold's sons never recovered the strain of those awful
hours on the bridge of the Sorrento in her death-throes, and, to use
his father's words: 'He never was a man no more.' But Jarvist himself
did many a subsequent good deed of rescue, and stuck to his arduous
post as long as, and even beyond, what health and strength and age
permitted.
Would that I could say that the noble old fellow was in independent
circumstances! Despite the continued generosity of the Royal National
Lifeboat Institution to him, alas! this is not the case. Would that
some practicable scheme for providing a pension for deserving working
men in their old age were before the country!
Jarvist Arnold is, however, not forsaken; he has good and honourable
children, and I know that with that inner gaze which sees more clearly
as eternity approaches, he too in simple faith beholds the advancing
lifeboat, and hears the glad words, 'When thou passest through the
waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not
overflow thee,' from the mouth of the Great Commander.