THE MANDALAY
The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast;
We've lightened her a foot or more--
Up and rig a jury foremast,
She rights! She rights, boys! Wear off shore!
The case of the Mandalay here recorded so far resembles that of the
Royal Arch and of the Edina, that in all three cases the vessels, the
cargoes, and the lives of all on board, were saved by the Deal
lifeboatmen, and by their courage and seamanlike skill, and intimate
local knowledge of the Goodwins and other places and sands in their
dangerous vicinity, brought safe to port. The Royal Arch was drifting
at night from her anchorage in the Downs, in an easterly gale towards
the surf-beaten shore. The Edina was in the most imminent peril on the
edge of the Brake Sand. The Mandalay was on the Goodwins itself, and
to save a vessel and her cargo from the Goodwins is no easy task.
On December 13, 1889, the Mandalay was passing the North Sand Head
lightship a little after midnight. She was outward bound from
Middlesbrough to the River Plate with a cargo of railway iron sleepers.
They hailed the lightship as its great lantern rapidly flashed close to
them, but the reply was lost in the plash of the sea and the flap of
the sails and the different noises of a ship in motion. At any rate
the Mandalay mistook her bearings, and managed to get into the very
heart of the Goodwin Sands.
In the darkness she probably sailed into what is called the Ramsgate
Man's Bight, though this is only a conjecture. This bight is a
swatchway of deep water, and the Mandalay then struck the Sands on the
eastern jaw of another channel into the Goodwins. This swatchway runs
N.E. and S.W., and leads from the deep water outside the Goodwins into
the inmost recesses of the Sands; that is, into a shallowish bay called
Trinity Bay; and it is much harder to get out of this bay than to get
in, like many a scrape of another kind. The swatchway leading into
Trinity Bay was about seven fathoms deep, but only fifty fathoms or one
hundred yards wide. On the eastern bank or jaw of this channel the
Mandalay ran aground. She ran aground at nearly high water, when all
was covered with the sea, on a fine, calm night, there being no surf or
ripple or noise to indicate the shallow water or the deadly proximity
of the Goodwin Sands.
Some of the crew were on deck--the man at the wheel aft would take a
sight of the compass gleaming in the light of the binnacle lamp, and
then cast his eye aloft, where the main truck was circling among the
stars, as the ship gently swung along with a light N.W. breeze. Others
of the crew were below and had turned in, 'their midnight fancies
wrapped in golden dreams,' when the grating sound of contact with the
Sands was heard. Then came, 'Turn out, men! All hands on deck! We're
aground on the Goodwins!'
Efforts were made to box the ship off by backing and swinging the yards
and trimming the sails, but all to no purpose, and then flares and
torches to summon help were lighted. These at once caught the notice
of the look-out men on the lightships, and drew from those vessels the
guns and rockets, the usual signals of distress. As the sea was smooth
there was no present danger for the Mandalay, but wind and sea rise
suddenly on the Goodwins, and no one could foresee what might happen.
The Deal coxswain was roused by the coastguard; he saw the flash of the
distant guns and rockets, and having obtained a crew launched at 1.30
a.m., the weather being hazy with frost. They reached the Gull
lightship, and heard there that the vessel ashore lay E.N.E. from them.
They steered in that direction, gazing into the darkness and listening
for sounds or shouts or guns, and at last, about 3 a.m., found the
vessel, her flares having gone out. In spite of the efforts of those
on board, she was sidling more and more on to the Sands, and settling
further into them.
The lifeboat anchored and veered down as usual to the stranded vessel,
and the coxswain got on board: then morning came, and with it low
water, when there would be not more than two feet of water round the
Mandalay and the lifeboat, which latter was at that depth of water just
aground. The lifeboat remained by the vessel, to insure the safety of
the crew in case of possible change of weather. About midday, as the
tide began to rise over the Goodwins, the lifeboat and her crew were
employed by the captain to do their best to save the vessel.
The lifeboat was now on the port bow of the Mandalay, which lay fast on
the Sands with her head to the S.W., and the coxswains laid out a kedge
or small anchor, with warp attached, to the N.E., five of the
lifeboatmen remaining in the lifeboat with Roberts, the coxswain, to
direct the course of action on the Sands, while Hanger, the second
coxswain, went on board with seven lifeboatmen to direct operations
there, and to heave on the warp, in order to move the vessel. Just
then a tug-boat hove in sight, and as the sea was calm, she backed in
and made fast her hawser to the Mandalay, at the captain's desire.
Though all on board heaved their best on the warp, and the tug-boat
Bantam Cock made every effort, they were unable to move the Mandalay
from her perilous position, and the tug-boat then gave the matter up as
a bad job and later in the evening went away.
It was now about 3 p.m., and the tide was again falling when the lugger
Champion, of Ramsgate, appeared and anchored in the swatchway spoken of
above. Some of her crew also went on board the Mandalay, and under the
directions and advice of Roberts and Hanger, the two Deal coxswains,
who were determined to win, all hands turned to throwing overboard the
cargo to lighten the vessel. They thus jettisoned about two hundred
tons of iron sleepers--working at this job till midnight--and threw it
over the right or starboard side of the ship, where it lay in a great
mass. It was never recovered, though every effort was afterwards made
to save it. It had been engulfed and disappeared in the Goodwins'
capacious maw.
The men of the lifeboat, now cold, wearied, and hungry, managed to get
an exceedingly frugal meal of tea and some bread and meat, and about 4
or 5 p.m. the light N.W. breeze fell away to a calm. Towards 7 p.m.
the Champion lugger at anchor hoisted her light, to indicate the
channel or swatchway by which the Mandalay would have to come out if
ever she moved at all. The wind now came strong from the S.W. and then
backed to S. and by W., and there was heard the far-off moan of
breaking surf, making it plain that there was a heavy sea rolling in
from the S.W. on a distant point of the Sands. The sea was evidently
coming before the wind, 'the moon looked,' the men said, 'as if she was
getting up contrary,' and Roberts said, 'We'll have trouble before
morning.' At 10 p.m. the wind came. The calm was 'but the grim repose
of the winter whirlwind,' and it soon blew a gale from the S.W. Before
this some Deal galley punts had also wisely made their way for the
shore, and the lifeboat and the Champion lugger were left alone on the
scene--than which nothing could now be wilder. Fortunately another
tug-boat, the Cambria, had anchored about 7 p.m. in deep water outside
the Goodwins, as close as was prudent to the swatchway before
described; but the inevitable struggle was regarded with the greatest
anxiety by all hands, notwithstanding the proffered help of the
tug-boat and the lightening of the ship.
About midnight the rising tide had again covered the Goodwins, but the
surface, no longer fair and calm, was now lashed into fury by the gale.
The seas were breaking everywhere, and as the moon emerged from behind
a flying cloud, far as the eye could see was one sheet of tumbling,
raging breakers, except the narrow channel in which the brave Champion
rode with her guiding light, plunging heavily even in the deep channel.
But the most furious sea raged on the western jaw of the deep
swatchway; there currents and cross seas met, and the breakers rose up
and clashed and struck together in weightier masses and with especial
fury. Now a black cloud covered the moon, and again as it swept away
came the clear moonlight, but in the darkness and in the moonlight the
scene was equally tremendous.
As the water deepened round the ship, sea after sea broke over her with
such increasing fury that the work of jettisoning the cargo, which had
been carried on under great difficulties, had to be given up, and the
hatches had to be put on and battened down tight, to keep the ship from
filling. The same seas that broke over the Mandalay also struck and
buried the lifeboat as she rode alongside to the full scope of her
cable, and as each breaker went roaring past she as regularly freed
herself from the water which had been hurled into her the moment before.
At one o'clock this wild winter morning the time came for a final
effort to float the ship; and the steam-tug Cambria that had been
waiting outside the Sands now moved in, and, guided by the riding light
of the Champion lugger, anchored for this purpose in the swatchway, was
cautiously manoeuvred in through the narrow channel, and feeling her
way with the lead at great risk came even into the broken water in
which the Mandalay was lying. This broken water was only fourteen or
fifteen feet deep, and though barely enough to float the tug-boat in a
sort of raging smother of froth, was not deep enough to float the
Mandalay, which required three feet more and still lay firm as a rock,
and, like a tide-washed rock, was swept by the seas which were flying
over her.
Directed by the second coxswain, attempts were now made to get the
Cambria's steel hawser on board the vessel, and in the boiling turmoil
the Cambria came dangerously near the heap of jettisoned iron on the
starboard side of the Mandalay. It will be plain that without the
presence of the lifeboat and her crew in case of disaster, all other
efforts to save the ship would have been paralysed, and indeed would
never have been attempted. Without the lifeboat, no tug-boat, or any
other boat, would have dared to venture into that fearful labyrinth of
sand and surf.
The hawser was got on board after an hour's struggle, and made fast to
the Mandalay's starboard bow; but though the Mandalay rolled and bumped
she was not moved from her sandy bed. It was almost impossible for
those on board to keep their feet as she struck the sand and as the
seas swept her decks. The position of the tug on the starboard side of
the Mandalay was so perilous that it was decided to bring her across
the bows of the vessel to her port side; and this was done with great
difficulty against the gale and sea continually becoming heavier.
Creeping round the bows of the Mandalay the tug-boat came, and in doing
so crossed the cable of the lifeboat with her hawser, and therefore the
lifeboat's cable had to be slipped at once, and she had to be made fast
to and ride alongside the Mandalay.
Still round came the tug, and getting into deeper water of about three
or three and a half fathoms, after a most hazardous and gallant passage
through the breakers round the vessel, set her engines going full speed
ahead. The seas now struck and bumped the Mandalay so heavily that, in
spite of all efforts to save her, she was in a most critical position,
and at the same time a great disaster nearly occurred. The great steel
hawser of the tug, as she strained all her powers, was now tautening
and slackening, and then, as steam strove for the mastery against the
storm, again tightening with enormous force till it became like a rigid
iron bar. It vibrated and swung alongside the lifeboat, which could
not get out of the way, and dared not leave the vessel--return to
which, had the lifeboat once slipped her anchor, against wind and tide
would have been impossible; and their comrades' lives, and those of
all, depended on their standing by the vessel. Though the gallant
coxswain did all that man could do to combat this new danger, still
with a terrific jerk the steel hawser got right under the lifeboat,
hoisting her, in spite of her great weight, clean out of the water.
Aided by an awful breaker, whose tumultuous and raging advance was seen
afar in the moonlight, this powerful jerk of the tightening hawser,
which had got under the very keel of the lifeboat, lifted her up so
high that she struck in her descent, with her ponderous iron keel or
very undermost part of the lifeboat, the top rail of the Mandalay's
bulwarks. The marvel is how she escaped being turned right over by the
shock. The next day I saw with astonishment the crushed woodwork where
this mighty blow had been struck.
The lifeboat's rudder was smashed and her great stern post sprung, and
one of the crew that remained in her was also injured, but still
Roberts held on to the ship. At this critical moment Hanger, seeing
the lifeboat's safety was endangered, and regarding it as a question of
saving not only his comrades' lives but the lives of all, most
reluctantly gave orders to cut the steel hawser of the tug, which was
made fast on board the vessel. This would have of course sacrificed
all the trouble and risk that had been incurred; another tug-boat had
also crept up on the starboard bow to help the first, and efforts were
being made to get her hawser too on board; in fact, success and safety
seemed almost within their grasp, but it was a matter of life or death,
and one of the Deal men, obeying orders, seized an axe and hewed and
struck with all his might at the steel hawser, which was still
endangering the lifeboat.
Strand after wire strand was divided, when a great sea came and the
vessel trembled from her keel to her truck, and all hands had to hold
on for life. Down again came the axe, as the sea went by. But its
edge was blunted and it cut slowly, as the wielder doubled his efforts
in reply to the shouts, 'Cut the hawser, or the lifeboat's lost!'
A confused struggle was now going on; some were passing the second
tug-boat's hawser on board, and some were trying, under pressure of
dire necessity, to cut the hawser by which the Cambria tug was
straining at the vessel, and still the terrible hawser got under the
lifeboat, and still the axeman strove vainly with a blunted axe to
divide the hawser.
Another sea came racing at the vessel. It lifted her off the Sands,
and thumped her down with such fury that Hanger said, 'The bottom is
coming out of her!'
Just then, holding on to prevent himself falling, he looked at the
compass, 'Great heavens! She's moving! She's slewing, lads!' he said;
the axeman threw down his useless axe, and again came a sea, lifting up
the vessel and her iron cargo as if she had been a feather. Had she
struck the bottom as violently as before, her masts must have gone over
with a crash into the lifeboat, but the lift of this overwhelming sea
was at the very instant aided by the strain of the tug-boat's hawser,
exerting enormous force, though divided almost in twain, and the
vessel's head was torn round to the east and, 'Hurrah! my lads! she's
off!' was heard from the undaunted but wearied battlers with the storm.
The hawser of the second tug-boat had been passed shortly before this
with extreme danger both to that tug-boat, the Iona, and to the
lifeboatmen working forwards to make it fast, on the slippery footing
of the deck. The strain of the second tug-boat was now felt by the
moving vessel, and then came the scrapes and the crunches and the
thumps as she was pulled over the sand towards the deep swatchway. Her
head sails were set, to pay her head off still more, and at last the
victorious tug-boats pulled her safe into the swatchway, accompanied by
the lifeboat.
On the left or western jaw, it will be remembered, the most terrific
sea was running, and the tug-boat approached this awful turmoil too
closely. Fortunately, Roberts saw the danger, and shouted from the
lifeboat, 'Port your helm! Hard a-port! or you're into the breakers!'
Hanger on board, with answering readiness, set the great spanker of the
vessel, and forced her head up to the north-east, barely clearing the
Champion and her invaluable riding light; and at last the Mandalay was
towed through the narrow swatch, on either side of which roared the
hungry breakers, baulked of their prey by human skill and perseverance
and dauntless British pluck.
Some time before emerging from the death-trap, as the spot where the
Mandalay grounded might well be called, and when in the very most
anxious and critical part of the struggle, the moon broke out from
behind a great dark cloud, and there was seen struggling and labouring
in the gale a ship whose sails caught the moonlight. She shone out
vividly against the black background, but the lifeboatmen were
horrified to see that, attracted by the lights of the Champion, she was
heading straight for the terrible sea on the western jaw of the swatch,
where she apparently thought she would find safe anchorage in company
with other vessels.
The North Deal coxswain expected to see her strike, and had decided, in
his mind, to get his crew from the Mandalay on board, and then rush
through the breakers to the doomed vessel, and having rescued her crew,
to return with the help of one of the tug-boats to the Mandalay; but,
fortunately, this catastrophe was averted by the humane and generous
action of the captain of the tug-boat Bantam Cock, who went at full
speed within hail, and warned the unsuspecting vessel of the terrible
danger so near her.
We can almost fancy we hear the hoarse shouts from the tug-boat of
'Breakers ahead!' 'Goodwins under your lee!' and then the rattling and
the thunderous noise of the sails, and the creaking of the yards and
braces, as the vessel swings round on the other tack into safety.
The Mandalay was then towed out of the swatchway by the Cambria into
deep water, and round the Goodwin Sands, with the lifeboat alongside
her, into the anchorage of the Downs by the half-divided hawser. Had
the axe's edge been keener, or had a few more blows been struck, or a
few more strands severed, or had the masts of the vessel crashed into
the lifeboat, or the lifeboat been capsized by the hawser's mighty
jerks, how different a tale would have been told!
But it is our happy privilege to record the successful issue of
thirty-five hours' struggle against the terrors of a winter's gale on
the Goodwin Sands, and of doing some small justice to the seamanlike
skill and daring of the Deal coxswains and lifeboatmen, and of all
engaged in the task.
It will be seen from the case recorded in this chapter that the motives
which were apparent in the minds of the brave fellows who manned the
lifeboat on each occasion were those of humanity and generous ardour to
succour the distressed; the salvage of property was an afterthought.
They started from the beach to put their intimate local knowledge of
the Goodwins, their skill, their strength, nay, their lives, at the
service of seamen in distress; but when they saw that their energies,
and theirs alone, could save a valuable vessel and her cargo, and that
they could earn such fair recompense as the law allowed, this salvage
of property became a duty, in the discharge of which, had any man lost
his life he would have lost it nobly, having entered upon his perilous
task in the unselfish and sublimer spirit of rescuing 'some forlorn and
shipwrecked brother' from death on the Goodwin Sands.