top speed. Just as daylight was breaking the coastguards reached the
point of the coast off which the unfortunate ship lay. What a sight
met their eyes! The ship, the Swedish barque _Trifolium_, had been
taken up by the waves and hurled ashore as though she had been but a
shuttlecock. She was held fast by the rocks, with a boiling sea around
her, with mountainous waves rearing angry heads, which dropped with
a staggering shock and a thunderous roar upon the deck, long since
deserted by the crew. To have remained there would have been to court
death, for no man could keep a footing on that sloping deck, swept
every minute by heavy seas.
[Illustration: “To the rigging they fled, scrambling up in frenzied
haste”]
So to the rigging they fled, scrambling up in frenzied haste, and
hanging on like grim death, watching, waiting for some answer out
of the darkness to their appeals for help. As they saw the life-savers
pull up upon the shore they raised a faint cheer. They were numbed,
wet to the skin; they had been staring death in the face for what had
seemed an eternity; and now help was at hand. Men would cheer then,
even if it were with their last breath!
Oddy and his companions immediately set to work to rescue those seven
luckless men. The tackle was got out, the rocket apparatus fixed up,
and the next instant a rocket went speeding away across the tumult
of the waters, carrying a lifeline. It went right over the vessel,
as also did a second one that was fired; but, though the lines were
across their ship, the men in the rigging dared not leave their hold,
precarious though it was, to fix the lifelines, by means of which they
could have been hauled ashore. To have left the rigging for the deck
would have been fatal. The avalanche of water that fell upon the ship,
and swirled away every loosened thing, was too terrifying to face;
certain and awful death lay that way.
So, with help so near, the sailors clung to the rigging, wide-eyed,
anxious-faced, wondering what could be done, what would happen. Very
soon they realised that whether they jumped or not, there was nothing
but death before them, for the ship, buffeted by the waves, rolled
dangerously on the rocks, and seemed as if about to heel over.
One man, taking his fate in his hands, watched his opportunity, and,
fully dressed in oilskins as he was, suddenly let go of the rigging and
jumped. Luckily he jumped wide enough, and plunged into the boiling
surf below; had he fallen on to the deck he would have been smashed to
pieces. His friends in the rigging gasped, staggered at the risk he
took; the watchers on the shore shuddered as they saw him disappear
beneath the waters; but all heaved a sigh of relief when they saw him
reappear and begin to battle with the seas. He was making for one of
the lifelines.
Cumbered with his oilskins, weighed down by his heavy sea-boots, the
man struck out boldly for the line. Yard by yard he drew nearer to it,
and it seemed that he would reach it; then he was caught upon the crest
of a wave, was flung high, dropped low, and the line was as far away as
ever! Yet once again he made for it, and, after a terrific fight, he
managed to grasp the line. Staying awhile to take breath and gather his
strength for the final struggle, he turned towards the shore, and began
to haul himself along by means of the rope. The men in the rigging
watched and waited; it meant much to them, this fight with the sea, for
if their comrade won through, they might do so as well. The rescuers on
shore stood to their work, waiting for the man to come nearer in, and
ready to plunge to his assistance, if necessary.
Yard by yard he drew nearer, and the coastguard could see that he was
almost at the last gasp; it was a case of going to his help. Instantly
Coastguard Oddy answered the call of duty. With neither lifeline nor
lifebuoy he went into the boiling sea. By a stroke of luck he missed
the hidden rocks, on which he might have been pounded to death, and
in a few moments reached the now drowning man, whom he seized with a
strong hand, and snatched from the maw of the sea in the very nick of
time. Then he set out to the shore with his burden. It was, indeed,
a fight for life, the struggle of a brave man with the force of a
mighty sea, which, as though taunting him, let him get within an ace
of safety, and then flung him back into the angry cauldron of the
deep. Foiled, but by no means beaten, Oddy once more set his teeth
and struck out for the shore, still holding his precious burden. On
and on he went, and then back again, only to push forward with more
determination; and the coastguard fought his fight to such good purpose
that at last he was again near the shore, found a footing, drew himself
up, and proceeded to drag the helpless man after him.
But in the moment of his victory the angry foe, as if to rob him of
this life won from the jaws of death, returned to the fray; a mighty
wave swooped down upon him, there was a noise as though heaven and
earth had met as the wave fell in a thunderous roar upon the rocks, the
sailor was wrenched from Oddy’s grasp, and he himself flung heavily on
to the rocks.
He had tried valiantly--but he had failed! So said the men who watched
him in his fight for a fellow-man’s life. They saw him now, unable to
move, his legs jammed between rocks so that he could not free them. It
seemed but a matter of minutes ere he should be sacrificed on the altar
of heroism.
Oddy strained every effort to free himself. Even in that moment of
peril he wondered what had happened to the sailor, and realised that
unless something almost miraculous happened the end had come. There was
no fear of death, only the thought of having failed in what he had so
bravely set out to do. And for it all to end like this!
Then the miracle happened. The very sea that had conquered him set him
free! Wave after wave had broken over him, and presently one of greater
volume than any of the others hit him with such force that it did for
him what he himself had tried so vainly to do; it lifted him out of the
imprisoning rocks. He was free! Flung face downwards on the rocks, Oddy
felt the sea rushing over him, and as the force of it spent itself
he got upon his feet, and, counting not the danger, went back for the
drowning man.
He found him--whether alive or dead he knew not--but without loss of
time struck out with him for the shore, and, after another stern fight,
succeeded in getting him into safety--alive. It had all been worth
while!
Meanwhile, the men on the _Trifolium_ had been watching anxiously and
hopelessly, for it seemed to them that it was useless to expect to be
saved. But as soon as they saw their comrade safely ashore they took
heart. If it were possible to save him, then they might all be saved. A
second man plunged boldly into the surf, seized a lifeline, and hauled
himself within reach of the shore. Several of the coastguards pluckily
went to his assistance and got him out.
Before the other five men on the vessel had time to follow the example
of their comrades the sea had completed its fell work. It pounded
upon the hapless ship, wrenched her plates apart, battered her sides
and tore great holes in her. Held fast as she was by the cruel rocks,
there was but one end to her--she broke her back. The great iron vessel
parted amidships as though she had been a toy, and in that instant,
with death all around them, the five men in the rigging jumped. They
were in the nick of time; another minute, and they would have been
crashed to death with the wreck of what was once a proud vessel. Three
of them found lifelines, and were hauled towards the shore; and once
again Oddy plunged into the surf and succeeded in bringing one of
them to safety, while in the case of the others, Oddy and two other
life-savers joined efforts and managed to rescue them. The remaining
two men who had been on the ship unfortunately died; one was killed by
a falling mast, the other was drowned, and though he was got ashore,
and artificial respiration was used for nearly four hours, it was all
in vain; death had claimed him.
For seven hours the rescuers had watched and worked, and had not worked
in vain; and when Lieutenant A. S. Chambers, R.N., the divisional
officer, arrived on the scene, he had the gratification of knowing
that, although he had not been present, his men had done their duty
nobly.
GREAT NAVAL DISASTERS
The Loss of the _Formidable_ and the _Victoria_
“You never know when anything may happen,” wrote Captain Noel Loxley,
of H.M.S. _Formidable_ a day or so before 1915 elbowed 1914 into the
past; and before the New Year was much more than an hour old H.M.S.
_Formidable_ was holed by a German torpedo, and Loxley and a gallant
band of noble sailors died like heroes for their king and country.
The _Formidable_ left Sheerness on December 31 with a crew of 750 men,
all in high spirits, to keep vigil on the Channel. At 1.30 next morning
she was steaming at about eighteen knots, fighting her way through a
south-westerly gale, a bright moon shining overhead when not obscured
by thin clouds that sifted a drizzly rain upon her as she drove at the
high seas.
Suddenly, above the howl of the wind and the thump of the engines,
there was the report of a thunderous explosion on the starboard bow.
The ship seemed to shiver, then reel. Down in the stokeholds men looked
at each other in wonder; like the noise of a distant gun the sound came
to them, and they thought, and hoped, that it meant an engagement with
the enemy. Then again, from port, this time, there came another of
those muffled reports--so near that they knew something had hit their
ship.
“Torpedoed!” said one. “By Heaven, they’ve got us!”
And up on the bridge, standing there with his commander, Ballard,
Captain Loxley also muttered “Torpedoed!” Its periscope hidden by the
darkness and the swelling of the seas, a German submarine had crept up
within striking distance, had launched her two death-tubes, seen them
take effect, and then slunk away into the night.
Immediately he realised what had happened, Loxley, as calm as though he
were at practice, ordered the water-tight doors to be closed and the
men to be piped to collision quarters. Up on to the deck the startled
men swarmed--startled men, truly, but calm--men who could stand at
attention in the face of death and laugh and joke about “A fine New
Year’s gift for us, this!” Men who could cry as they stood naked and
shivering on the deck, “Here we are again! Undress uniform--swimming
costume!” Men, too, who could enter into the spirit of the captain on
the bridge, who could signal to another ship in the neighbourhood:
“Keep off! Submarines are about!”
Loxley knew what might happen to that ship if she stood by, as he had
no doubt her officers would be prompted to do. Only a month or so
before three British cruisers had been sunk in the North Sea, two of
them through standing by to help the other. The Admiralty had issued an
order that in such circumstances ships were not to attempt rescue work,
but, as if to make assurance doubly sure, Loxley had given his signal;
he wanted no risks to be run; he and his men were willing to take their
chance of life and death without bringing others into danger. It is the
spirit of the British Navy.
But if he would not allow others to help them, he used all his efforts
to save his crew. There was no hope for the _Formidable_, he knew, and
she would have to be abandoned. She was listing to starboard already.
“Out pinnaces and the launch!” was the order, and while the boat crews
worked to carry it out there came another: “’Way barges 1 and 2!”
Lieutenant Simmonds superintended the lowering of the boats, and by his
fine work earned Loxley’s encomium, “Well done, Simmonds.”
Into one boat there scrambled seventy or eighty men, and she got
away from the starboard side; soon after a second boat, with seventy
men, pushed off from the port side, and, acting on instructions, she
remained near the sinking ship for about an hour. All this time the
gale had been blowing fiercely, and mountainous seas made the work
of hoisting away the boats anything but easy. It was, indeed, found
impossible to lower further boats, because the ship listed so much that
only the starboard boats could be hauled out. One barge which they
tried to launch slipped in the davits, and hurled her crew of sixty men
into the water below. Dozens of men leapt overboard and swam to the two
successfully lowered boats, and the captain, thinking of others all the
time, told the boats to stand by and try to pick them up. The darkness,
however, prevented this being done.
Meanwhile, on the _Formidable_ was a strange scene. On the deck stood
lines of men, naked many of them, calm all of them, puffing away at
cigarettes or passing along a smoke to a comrade who had not brought
his up from below. From somewhere there came the sound of a piano;
a man sat playing breezy tunes to cheer his comrades in the face of
death. In the stokeholds begrimed heroes stuck to their posts until,
with a lurch, the ship knocked them off their feet and sent the fires
rushing out at them; heroes who, when the word came, raked out the
fires, while elsewhere engineers shut off the steam--all so that, when
the ship sank, there should be no explosion.
Not a man lost his head. Their example was pacing the bridge, smoking,
just as though the ship was riding in harbour with anchors down.
“Steady, men; it’s all right!” he cried to them. “Be British! There’s
life left in the old ship yet!”
But there was not much life; listing, she gave a sudden plunge, and all
knew that it was the end.
“Every man for himself!” came the order; and those that could jumped
as she took her final plunge. About half the company got clear of her;
but the two boats could not take many, and in addition to those in the
boats only seventy were saved--by a light cruiser which later came upon
the scene.
Loxley went down with his ship, as did hundreds of the men, standing
in line, saluting the Old Jack for the last time. “The last impression
on my mind,” said a survivor, “was of a long line of saluting figures
disappearing below the skyline.”
For the men in the two boats there now began an anxious time. Many
of them had no clothes beyond vests and pants--some none at all, and
these had to be wrapped in the few blankets that were in the boats.
The night was bitterly cold, the gale was blowing its hardest, the sea
was running high. The first boat that put off found her difficulties
at once; she shipped water by the ton, and the men had to improvise
bailers. Those who had boots on took them off, and used these; a
blanket, held at each corner by a sailor, was also brought into play
for the purpose; caps and coats, too--every man doing something to
clear the boat of water. For hours they toiled, expecting every minute
to be their last. All through the night, till early morning, they
drifted whither the waves would take them, and when dawn came they
found themselves out of sight of land, with never a ship in view.
During the night they sang the modern warriors’ song, “Tipperary,” till
they grew tired even of that; and the daylight brought them no relief
from the monotony, till, about nine o’clock, their hearts gave a great
leap. A liner appeared on the horizon. Shouting lustily, they hoisted a
blanket on an oar and waved it madly, seeking to attract attention; but
the liner changed her course and dipped over the horizon, leaving them
to the waste of waters.
This hope of being taken up by a passing ship was renewed no less than
eleven times during the day, each time to be dashed to the ground; and
one survivor later said that he didn’t think much of the look-out on
those ships.
As the day progressed the gale became stronger, and the boat was
pitching and rolling, swinging high upon the crest of a wave, now
racing down into the trough, the men becoming drenched through again
and again, those who were nearly naked suffering extreme agony. No less
than nine of them died of exposure.
At about one o’clock land was sighted; but when the crew, pulling
sixteen oars, tried to make it, they found that they could not cope
with the strong tide that was running. Darkness came, and found them
still adrift. Then their eyes were gladdened by the sight of two red
lights gleaming in the distance, and Leading Seaman Carroll, who had
been the life and soul of the party, wielded his oar, with which he
had all along been steering, and kept the boat headed for the lights
of hope. Fortunately for them, the wind and tide were now with them;
otherwise, so exhausted were they, never would they have made the
haven--for haven it was. They heard the sound of breakers, saw in the
shimmering moonlight the white foam of the water, pulled like mad to
the “Pull, boys, pull!” of Petty Officer Bing, and after seven miles
of stiff rowing were caught in a mighty wave that carried them straight
to the beach at Lyme Regis, where very soon crowds of people gathered
to give them help and drag them ashore, for they were too exhausted to
help themselves. They had been adrift twenty-two hours.
It is time now to return to the second boat, which, after having
picked up as many swimming men as possible, had to get away from the
_Formidable_, lest she be dashed into her side by the raging sea. The
story of the sufferings of the men in her is much the same as the
others; but in this case nearly all the oars were smashed and the boat
had a hole stove in her side. One of the men, whipping off his pants,
stuffed them into the gap, and then sat there to keep them from being
washed away. The little craft filled with water time and time again,
and they bailed her out as fast as they could.
About nine o’clock in the morning someone noticed a large fishing
smack to windward, and an oar was hoisted, with a black scarf on it
as a signal of distress. It was seen by John Clark, third hand on the
smack _Providence_ (Captain Pillar, Brixham), and he immediately told
the captain and his comrades, the second hand, Dan Taylor, the cook,
and Pillar, the boy. Instantly they fell to work, set the storm jib,
shook out a reef in the mainsail, and stood after the boat, which by
this time had drifted far away, and was continually hidden by the heavy
seas. Through the now blinding rain the smack pushed, and, coming near,
found that it was impossible to get close enough on the present tack
to do any good. Captain Pillar therefore decided to take a desperate
chance; he would gybe the boat--that is, swing all her sails over
violently--and get upon the other tack, which would put him in a much
better position to effect the rescue of the men.
This was done successfully; and then the fishermen tried to get a rope
to the boat. Three times they failed, but at the fourth attempt the
rope pitched into the boat, where it was made fast, the other end being
round the capstan of the smack. Then, working his vessel in a manner
that won the praise of every sailor there, Pillar hauled the boat to a
berth at the stern, and eventually got her to leeward.
Once alongside, Pillar gave the word, and the sailors began to jump
aboard the smack. It took half an hour to get that bunch of men off, so
difficult was the work as a result of the gale; over thirty feet the
waves mounted sometimes, and many a man wellnigh tumbled into the sea,
from which his chance of rescue would have been small.
When all were safe on board the _Providence_, Captain Pillar turned her
about and made for Brixham, his men meanwhile attending to the comforts
of the sailors, who were exhausted and frozen to the bone. Hot coffee
and food were served out, and never did men enjoy a meal as they did
on board the _Providence_ on that January afternoon. Near Brixham the
_Providence_ fell in with the _Dencade_, which took her in tow and
brought her into Brixham, where the people on the wharves heard the
lusty voices of men singing “Auld Lang Syne,” as though for hours they
had not been adrift, helpless, hopeless, as though they had never felt
the shock as the _Formidable_ received her fatal wound, as though they
had never stood face to face with death.
It is the cheery fortitude of the British Jack Tar that has helped old
England to the command of the sea; and it is such men as Captain Pillar
and his gallant crew who reveal the courage that lives in the hearts
of men whose work keeps them in the field of peace--where as great
victories are won as on the field of battle.
* * * * *
While, during war, great disasters such as that of the _Formidable_
are to be expected, when the wings of the Angel of Peace are spread
the shock of a catastrophe is infinitely greater, because it comes
when there seems to be no reason why it should. Such was the case of
the loss of the _Victoria_ battleship in June, 1893. A steel-armoured
turret-ship of 10,470 tons and 1,400 horsepower, 39 guns and 8
torpedo-tubes, she was the flagship of Vice-Admiral Sir George
Tryon, commanding the Mediterranean squadron, which, in addition to
the _Victoria_, consisted of twelve other vessels, including the
_Camperdown_, the ship which rammed her.
The squadron was steaming line abreast, bound from Beyrout for Tripoli,
and going at eight knots an hour, when the admiral, calling his staff
in, decided to form the squadron in two columns ahead, six cables’
length (1,200 yards) apart, the course to be later on reversed by
the lines turning inwards. Staff-Commander Hawkins-Smith pointed out
that, as the turning circles of the _Victoria_ and the _Camperdown_
(the latter leading the port column) were six hundred yards (or three
cables’ length), the inward turn would involve a collision between this
vessel and the _Victoria_, which was leading the starboard column.
“It will require at least eight cables, sir,” said Hawkins-Smith, to
which Tryon replied, after a moment’s thought:
“Yes, it shall be eight.”
The staff-commander left the cabin; and then the admiral gave
instructions to his flag-lieutenant to signal the order for the
manœuvre he had in mind--to line ahead _at six cables apart_. Tryon had
evidently changed his mind.
On board the _Victoria_ several officers approached the admiral, and
queried him on the matter, pointing out that he had agreed that eight
cables’ length was wanted. But he adhered to his command, saying:
“That’s all right; leave it at six cables.”
So the fatal order fluttered in the breeze.
Rear-Admiral Markham, on the _Camperdown_, was staggered.
“It is impossible!” he exclaimed. “It is an impracticable manœuvre!”
and did not answer back, thus giving the _Victoria_ to understand that
he had not grasped the signal. “It’s all right,” he said to Captain
Johnstone. “Don’t do anything. I have not answered the signal.” And
then gave instructions for the flag-lieutenant to ask for fuller
instructions.
Meanwhile, on the _Victoria_ other signals were being hoisted, asking
Markham why he was not obeying orders, and reproving him for it. The
rear-admiral, knowing it was his duty to obey, decided to do so,
thinking that Tryon must be intending to make a wider circle, and so go
outside the _Camperdown’s_ division.
The two ships therefore turned inwards, Markham and his officers
watching the _Victoria_ closely to see what she would do. On the
flagship, too, officers were discussing the movement, and Captain
Bourke asked Tryon whether it would not be as well to do something to
avoid the collision he saw was inevitable. It was a case for haste, he
knew, and he had to repeat his question hurriedly: “May I go astern
full speed with the port screw?”
“Yes,” said Tryon at last, and Bourke gave the order. But it was too
late; three minutes and a half after the two ships had turned inwards
the _Camperdown_, although her engines had been reversed, crashed into
the starboard bow of the _Victoria_, hitting her about twenty feet
before the turret and forcing her way in almost to the centre line.
Instantly excitement reigned on the _Victoria_; but the crew, never
losing their heads, rushed to carry out the orders which were now flung
hither and thither:
“Close the water-tight doors!”
“Out collision mats!”
“All hands on deck!”
In rapid succession the orders came; the doors were shut tight, the
mats were hung over the side, where, so great was the gap left when
the _Camperdown_ backed away, the water rushed in in torrents. Captain
Bourke, having visited the engine-rooms to see that all that was
possible had been done, rushed up on deck, and there found that the
_Victoria_ had a heavy list to starboard. On the deck all the sick
men and the prisoners had been brought up in readiness, and all hands
except the engineers were there, too.