“MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!” (_continued_).
A “Dirty” Night on the Sands—Wreck of the _Samaritano_—The Vessel
boarded by Margate and Whitstable Men—A Gale in its Fury—The
Vessel breaking up—Nineteen Men in the Fore-rigging—Two Margate
Life-boats Wrecked—Fate of a Lugger—The Scene at Ramsgate—“Man the
Life-boat!”—The good Steamer _Aid_—The Life-boat Towed out—A
Terrible Trip—A Grand Struggle with the Elements—The Flag of
Distress made out—How to reach it—The Life-boat cast off—On
through the Breakers—The Wreck reached at last—Difficulties of
Rescuing the Men—The poor little Cabin Boy—The Life-boat Crowded—A
Moment of great Peril—The Steamer reached at last—Back to
Ramsgate—The Reward of Merit—Loss of a Passenger Steamer—The Three
Lost Corpses—The Emigrant Ship on the Sands—A Splendid Night’s
Work.
The waves are tearing over the fatal Goodwin Sands, but the life-boats of
Ramsgate, Margate, Deal, and Kingsdown are ready for their work. At
Ramsgate, in particular, the life-boat is ready at her moorings in the
harbour, while a powerful steam-tug—the _Aid_, whose interesting history
would form many a chapter—is lying with steam partially up, prepared to
tow out the boat as near the Goodwin Sands as may be with safety. The
“storm warriors,” as the Rev. Mr. Gilmore calls them with so much
appropriateness, in his fascinating and powerfully-written work,(75) “are
on the watch, hour after hour, through the stormy night walking the pier,
and giving keen glances to where the Goodwin Sands are white with the
churning, seething waves that leap high, and plunge and foam amid the
treacherous shoals and banks. Look! a flash is seen; listen, in a few
seconds, yes, there is the throb and boom of a distant gun, a rocket
cleaves the darkness; and now the cry—‘Man the life-boat! Man the
life-boat! Seaward ho! Seaward ho!’ Storm warriors to the rescue!”
One Sunday night in the month of February, a few years ago, the weather
was what sailors call “dirty,” and accompanied by sudden gusts of wind and
snow-squalls. Before the light broke on Monday morning, the Margate
lugger, _Eclipse_, put out to sea to cruise round the shoals and sands in
the neighbourhood of Margate, on the look-out for the victims of any
disasters that might have occurred during the night, and the crew soon
discovered that a vessel was ashore on the Margate sands. She proved to be
the Spanish brig _Samaritano_, bound from Antwerp to Santander, and laden
with a valuable cargo; she had a crew of eleven men under the command of
the captain, Modesto Crispo. Hoping to save the vessel, the lugger, as she
was running for the brig, spoke a Whitstable fishing-smack, and borrowed
two of her men and her boat. They boarded the brig as the tide went down,
and hoped to be able to get her off the sands at the next high water. For
this purpose, six Margate boatmen and the two Whitstable men were left on
board.
With the rising tide the gale came on again with renewed fury, and it soon
became a question not of saving the vessel, but of saving their own lives.
The sea dashed furiously over the wreck, lifting her, and then letting her
fall with terrific violence on the sands. Her timbers quivered and shook,
and a hole was quickly knocked in her side. She filled with water, and
settled on one side. “The waves began now to break with great force over
the deck; the lugger’s boat was speedily knocked to pieces and swept
overboard; the hatches were forced up; and some of the cargo which floated
on the deck was at once washed away. The brig began to roll and labour
fearfully, as wave after wave broke against her, with a force that shook
her from stem to stern, and threatened to throw her bodily upon her
broadside; the men, fearing this, cut the weather rigging of the mainmast,
and the mast soon broke off short with a great crash, and went over the
side.” All hands now had to take to the fore-rigging; nineteen souls with
nothing between them and death but the few shrouds of a shaking mast! The
waves threw up columns of foam, and the spray froze upon them as it fell.
The Margate and Whitstable men were caught in a trap, for neither lugger
nor smack would have lived five minutes in the sea that surrounded the
vessel. Would the life-boat come?
As soon as the news of the wreck reached Margate, the smaller of the two
life-boats was manned and launched. By an oversight in the hurry of
preparation, the valves of the air-tight boxes had been left open, and she
was fast filling. Although she succeeded in getting within a quarter of a
mile of the brig, she had to be speedily turned towards shore, or she
would have been wrecked herself. After battling for four hours with the
sea and gale, she was run ashore in Westgate Bay. There the coastguardmen
did their best for them. Meantime, when it was learned in Margate that the
first boat was disabled, the larger one was launched. Away they started,
the brave crew doing all they could to battle with the gale, but all in
vain; their tiller gave way, and they had to give up the attempt. They
were driven ashore about one mile from the town. Next, two luggers
attempted to get out to the wreck. The fate of the first was soon settled:
a fearful squall of wind struck her before she had got many hundred yards
clear of the pier, and swept her foremast clean out of her. The second
lugger was a little more fortunate; she beat out to the Sands, but only to
find the surf so heavy, that it was impossible to cross them, or to get
near the wreck. “The Margate people became full of despair; and many a
bitter tear was shed for sympathy and for personal loss as they watched
the wreck, and thought of the poor fellows perishing slowly before their
eyes, apparently without any possibility of being saved.” And now let us
change the scene to Ramsgate.
About nine o’clock the news came to Ramsgate that there was a brig ashore
on the Woolpack Sands, off Margate, but it was naturally concluded that
the life-boats of the latter place would go to the rescue, and no one
supposed that the services of the Ramsgate boat would be required. “But
shortly after twelve, a coastguard-man from Margate hastened breathless to
the pier and to the harbour-master’s office, saying, in answer to eager
inquiries, as he hurried on, that the two Margate life-boats had been
wrecked. The order was, of course, at once given, ‘Man the life-boat!’ and
the boatmen rushed for it. First come, first in; not a moment’s
hesitation, not a thought of further clothing: they will go in as they
are, rather than not go at all. The news rapidly spreads; each boatman as
he heard it, hastily snatched up his bag of waterproof overalls and
south-wester cap, and rushed down to the boat; and for some time, boatman
after boatman was to be seen racing down the pier, hoping to find a place
still vacant; if the race had been to save their lives, rather than to
risk them, it would hardly have been more hotly contested.
“Some of those who had won the race and were in the boat were ill-prepared
with clothing for the hardships they would have to endure, for if they had
not their waterproofs at hand, they did not delay to get them, fearing
that the crew might be made up before they got to the boat. But these men
were supplied by the generosity of their disappointed friends, who had
come down better prepared, but too late for the enterprise; the famous
cork jackets were thrown into the boat and at once put on by the men.
“The powerful steam-tug, well-named the _Aid_, that belongs to the
harbour, and has her steam up night and day ready for any emergency that
may arise, speedily got her steam to full power, and with her brave and
skilful master, Daniel Reading, in command, took the boat in tow, and
together they made their way out of the harbour. James Hogben, who with
Reading has been in many a wild scene of danger, was coxswain, and steered
and commanded the life-boat.
“It was nearly low water at the time, but the force of the gale was such
as to send a good deal of spray dashing over the pier; the snow fell in
blinding squalls, and drifted and eddied in every protected nook and
corner. It was hard work for the excited crowd of people who had assembled
to see the life-boat start, to battle their way through the drifts and
against the wind, snow, and foam, to the head of the pier; but there at
last they gathered, and many a one felt his heart fail as the steamer and
boat cleared the protection of the pier, and encountered the first rush of
the wind and sea outside. ‘She seemed to go out under water,’ said one old
fellow; ‘I would not have gone out in her for the universe.’ And those who
did not know the heroism and determination that such scenes call forth in
the breasts of the boatmen, could not help wondering much at the eagerness
which had been displayed to get a place in the boat—and this although the
hardy fellows knew that the two Margate life-boats had been wrecked in the
attempt to get the short distance which separated the wreck from Margate,
while they would have to battle their way through the gale for ten or
twelve miles before they could get even in sight of the vessel.” And so
the steamer with its engines working full power plunged heavily along, the
life-boat towed astern with fifty fathoms (300 feet) of five-inch hawser
out, an enormously strong rope about the thickness of a man’s wrist. The
water flowed into and over the boat, and still, like any other good
life-boat, she floated, and rose in its buoyancy, almost defying the great
waves, while her crew were knee-deep in water.
[Illustration: RAMSGATE—THE “AID” GOING OUT.]
They, making their way through the Cud channel, had passed between the
black and white buoys, so well-known to Ramsgate visitors, when a fearful
sea came heading towards them. It met and broke over the steamer, buried
her in foam and then passed on. The life-boat rose to it, and for a moment
hung with her bows high in air, then plunged bodily almost under water.
The men were nearly washed out of her, for at that moment the tow rope
broke, and the boat fell across the sea, which swept in rapid succession
over her. “Oars out! oars out!” was the cry, but they could do nothing
with them. The steamer was, however, cleverly brought within a few yards
to windward of the boat, and a hauling line, to which was attached a new
hawser, was successfully passed to the boat, and they again proceeded in
the teeth of the blinding snow and sleet and spray which swept over the
boat, till the men looked, as one said at the time, “like a body of ice.”
Still they struggled on, till they reached the North Foreland, where the
sea was running mountains high, and although early in the afternoon, the
air was so darkened by the storm that the captain of the boat could not
see the steamer only a hundred yards ahead, and still less able were the
men on board the steamer to see the life-boat. Now they sighted Margate,
and could plainly see the two disabled life-boats ashore. But where was
the wreck? A providential break in the drift of snow suddenly gave them a
glimpse of it, and the master of the steamer made out the flag of distress
flying in the rigging of the fated vessel. But she was on the other side
of the sand, and to tow the boat round would take a long time in the face
of such a gale; while for the boat to make across the sand seemed almost
impossible. But although it seemed a forlorn hope, it was resolved to
force her through the surf and sea under sail, and the hawser was cast
off. Now a new complication arose. The tide was found to be running so
furiously that they must be towed at least three miles to the eastward
before they would be sufficiently far to windward to make certain of
fetching the wreck. The tow rope had to be got on board again, and it was
a bitter disappointment to all, that an hour or more of their precious
time must be consumed before they could possibly get to the rescue of
their endangered brother seamen. The snow-squalls increased, and they lost
sight of the wreck again and again. “The gale, which had been increasing
since the morning, came on heavier than ever, and roared like thunder
overhead, the sea was running so furiously and meeting the life-boat with
such tremendous force that the men had to cling on their hardest not to be
washed out of her, and at last the new tow rope could no longer resist the
increasing strain, and suddenly parted with a tremendous jerk; there was
no thought of picking up the cable again—they could stand no further
delay, and one and all of her crew rejoiced to hear the captain of the
life-boat give orders to set sail.”
[Illustration: “CURLY” WEATHER.]
Straight for the breakers they made in the increasing gloom; no faltering
or hesitation, brows knit, teeth clenched, hands ready, and hearts firm.
The boat, carrying the smallest amount of sail possible, was driven on by
the hurricane force of the wind, till she plunged through the outer range
of the breakers into the battling, seething, boiling sea, that marked the
treacherous shallows. “When they saw some huge breaker heading towards
them like an advancing wall, then the men threw themselves breast down on
the thwart, curled their legs under it, clasped it with all their force
with both arms, held their breath hard, and clung on for very life against
the tear and wrestle of the waves, while the rush of water poured over
their backs and heads, and buried them in its flood. Down, down, beneath
the weight of the water, the men and boat sank; but only for a moment; the
splendid boat rose in her buoyancy, and freed herself of the seas, which
for a moment had overcome her and buried her, and her crew breathed again;
and a struggling cry of triumph rises from them, ‘Well done, old boat!
well done.’”
A sudden break in the storm, and the wreck is revealed to them half a mile
to leeward. Her appearance made even these hardy men shudder. She had
settled down by the stern, her uplifted bow being the only part of the
hull that was to be seen, and the sea was making a clean breach over her.
“The mainmast was gone, her foresail and foretopsail were blown adrift,
and great columns of foam were mounting up, flying over her foremast and
bow. They saw a Margate lugger lying at anchor just clear of the Sands,
and made close to her. As they shot by they could just make out, amid the
roar of the storm, a loud hail, ‘Eight of our men on board!’ and on they
flew, and in a few minutes were in a sea that would instantly have swamped
the lugger, noble and powerful boat though she was.
“Approaching the wreck, it was with terrible anxiety they strained their
sight, trying to discover if there were still any men left in the tangled
mass of rigging, over which the sea was breaking so furiously. By degrees
they made them out. ‘I see a man’s head. Look! one is waving his arm.’—‘I
make out two! three! why, the rigging is full of the poor fellows;’ and
with a cheer of triumph, as being yet in time, the life-boat crew settled
to their work.” Four hours they had been battling the elements, while the
shipwrecked crew had waited eight hours despairingly, within a few miles
of shore, shivering in the rigging. The sails were lowered, and anchor
cast overboard. “No cheering! no shouting in the boat now, no whisper
beyond the necessary orders; the risk and suspense are too terrible! Yard
by yard the cable is cautiously paid out, and the great rolling seas are
allowed to carry the boat, little by little, nearer to the vessel. The
waves break over the boat, for the moment bury it, and then as the sea
rushes on, and breaks upon the wreck, the spray, flying up, hides the men
lashed to the rigging from the boatmen’s sight. They hoist up a corner of
the sail to let the boat sheer in; all are ready; a huge wave lifts them.
‘Pay out the cable! sharp, men! sharp!’ the coxswain shouts; ‘belay all!’
The cable was let go a few yards by the run, and the boat is alongside the
wreck. With a cry, three men jump into the boat and are saved! ‘All hands
to the cable! haul in hand over hand, for your lives, men, quick!’ the
coxswain cries; for he sees a tremendous wave rushing in swiftly upon
them. They haul in the cable, draw the boat a little from the wreck, the
wave passes and breaks over the vessel; if the life-boat had been
alongside she would have been dashed against the wreck, and perhaps
capsized, or washed over, and utterly destroyed. Again the men watch the
waves, and as they see a few smaller ones approaching, let the cable run
again, and get alongside; this time they are able to remain a little
longer by the vessel; and, one after another, thirteen of the shipwrecked
men unlash themselves from the rigging and jump into the boat, when again
they draw away from the vessel in all haste, and avoid threatened
destruction.” At last three Spaniards are left in the rigging; they seem
nearly dead, and scarcely able to unlash themselves, and crawl down the
shrouds. The boat must be placed dangerously near the vessel, and two of
the life-boatmen must get on to the wreck and lift the men on board. They
do it quietly, coolly, determinedly. The last one left is a poor little
cabin-boy; he seems entangled in the rigging, and yet he holds fast to a
canvas bag of trinkets and things he was taking as presents to the loved
ones at home. “God only knows,” says Gilmore, “whether the loved ones at
home were thinking of and praying for him, and whether it was in answer to
their prayers and those of many others that the life-boat then rode
alongside that wreck, an ark of safety amid the raging seas.
“They shout, the boy lingers still, his half-dead hands cannot free the
bag from the entangled rigging. A moment and all are lost; a boatman makes
a spring, seizes the lad with a strong grasp, and tears him down the
rigging into the boat—too late, too late; they cannot get away from the
vessel; a tremendous wave rushes on: hold hard all, hold anchor! hold
cable! give but a yard and all are lost. The boat lifts, is washed into
the fore-rigging, the sea passes, and she settles down again upon an even
keel. Thank God! If one stray rope of all the torn and tangled rigging of
the vessel had caught the boat’s rigging, or one of her spars—if the
boat’s keel or cork fenders had caught in the shattered gunwale, she would
have turned over, and every man in her been shaken into the sea to speedy
and certain death. Thank God! it is not so, and once more they are safe.”
Look at the boat now; thirteen of its own crew, eight of the Margate and
Whitstable men, the captain, mate, eight seamen, and the boy, thirty-two
souls in all. Will she be able to bring all this human freight safely to
land? Their dangers are not yet over; in fact, to the poor Spaniards, the
terrors of death have not yet passed away; for they know little of the
grand properties of a first-class English life-boat.
Now come the difficulties of clearing the wreck. The anchor holds, and
there is no thought of getting her up in such a gale and sea. The hatchet
is passed forward; there is a moment’s delay, a delay by which indeed all
their lives are saved. Already one strand out of the three of which the
strong rope is composed is severed, when a fearful gust of wind sweeps by,
the boat heels over almost on her side—a crash is heard, and the mast and
sail are blown clean out of the boat! she is carried straight for the
wreck; the cable is slack, they haul it in as fast as they can, but on
they are carried swiftly, as it would seem to certain destruction. “Let
them hit the wreck full, and the next wave must throw the boat bodily upon
it, and all her crew will be swept at once into the sea; let them but
touch the wreck, and the risk is fearful; on they are carried, the stem of
the boat just grazes the bow of the vessel, they must be capsized by the
bowsprit and entangled in the wreckage; some of the crew are ready for a
spring into the bowsprit to prolong their lives a few minutes, the others
are all steadily, eagerly, quietly, hauling in upon the cable might and
main, as the only chance of safety to the boat and crew; one moment more
and all are gone, one more haul upon the cable, a fathom or so comes in by
the run, and at that moment mercifully taughtens and holds, all may yet be
safe! another yard or two and the boat would have been dashed to pieces.”
This danger over, they have to think of the mast and sail dragging over
the side of the boat; it is with great difficulty that they get them on
board, and rig them up once more. At last they sail away from the Sands,
the breakers and the wreck.
And now for the steamer, which at length they reach, passing on the way
the lugger _Eclipse_ and the Whitstable smack, to the crews of which they
were able to impart the good tidings. When they reached the steamer the
sea was raging, and the gale blowing as much as ever, and it was no easy
task to get the poor shipwrecked fellows on board, as they were too
exhausted to spring up her sides as the opportunity occurred; and one poor
fellow was literally hauled on board with a rope. The return voyage was
little less dangerous than the voyage out, but at last the Ramsgate
pier-head light shone out with its bright welcome, and cheers broke out
from the anxious crowd, as it was known that nineteen men had been saved
from a terrible and certain death. The Spanish sailors were well cared
for, and their captain, in speaking of the rescue, was almost overcome by
his feelings of gratitude and wonder, for he had made up his mind for
death. He had a picture made of the rescue to take home with him to show
the Spanish authorities. It is gratifying to know that so much bravery did
not go unrewarded. The English Board of Control presented each of the men
with £2 and a medal, while the Spanish Government gratefully acknowledged
the heroic exertions put forth, by granting each a medal and £3. And all
the above is but one example of the work of our “Storm Warriors,” whose
glorious mission is to save.
One stormy night some years ago the _Aid_ and the life-boat started from
Ramsgate in answer to rockets fired from one of the Goodwin light-vessels.
They knew well what it meant, but on reaching the edge of the Sands could
not, after cruising about some distance, find any traces of a vessel in
distress. They waited till daylight, and then were just able to
distinguish the lower mast of a steamer standing out of the water. They
made towards it, but found no trace of life, no signs of any floating
wreck to which a human being could cling. They were forced to the
conclusion that almost immediately upon striking, the vessel must have
broken up and sunk in the quicksand. Poor crew! poor passengers, maybe! a
sharp, sudden death! Would that the vessel could have held together a
little longer!
They had not proceeded much farther ahead in the hopes of assisting
another vessel ashore not far from Kingsgate, when the captain of the
_Aid_ saw a large life-buoy floating by. “Ease her!” he cries, and the way
of the steamer slackens; “God knows but what that life-buoy may be of some
use to us.” The helmsman steers for it; a sailor makes a hasty dart at it
with a boat-hook, misses it, and starts back appalled from a vision of
staring eyes, and pale and agonised faces, matted hair, and arms
outstretched for help. The life-boat crew steer for the buoy; the bowman
grasps at it, but cannot lift it; his cry of horror startles the whole
crew. Some of them hasten to help him. To that buoy three dead bodies were
found lashed with ropes round their waists. Slowly and reverently, one by
one, the crew lifted them on board, and laid them out under the sail.
Those three pale corpses were all that were ever found of the crew and
passengers—to what number is not known precisely to-day—of the steamer
_Violet_, which had left Ostend late the previous evening. At two o’clock
she struck the Sands; a little after three there was no one left on board
to answer the signals of a steamboat that had come to their rescue, and
show their position; a little later and the _Violet_ was lying a worthless
wreck below the breakers and quicksands.
Happily the efforts of the life-boat and steamer’s men are almost
invariably crowned with success, where such is anything like possible. A
grand success was scored some years ago when the passengers and crew of a
large emigrant ship, and the crew of another vessel, one hundred and
twenty in all, were rescued and brought into Ramsgate as the result of one
long night’s work. The first ship, the _Fusilier_, was found hard and fast
on the Sands, in a perfect boil of waters, and the life-boat alone dare
approach her, the _Aid_ being obliged to lay off at some distance. The
terrified passengers looked down upon the life-boat from the high ship’s
deck, which quivered with every thump on the sands, wondering how many she
could possibly save, and despairingly crowding round the two life-boat’s
men who had sprung to the man-ropes when the boat had been lifted by a sea
close to the wreck. The lights from the ship’s lamps and the faint
moonlight revealed a trembling, pale, and horror-stricken crowd,
nine-tenths of whom had known nothing before of the terrors of the sea,
and who still despaired of ever seeing land again. But every one of them,
and the list included more than sixty women and children, were saved. The
women and children were taken off first, helped down by sailors slung in
bowlines over the vessel’s side, to the plunging, restless boat, the
dangers being greatly enhanced by the helplessness and frantic terror of
the poor creatures. Yet not even a baby was lost, although many were
thrown from the vessel to the outstretched arms of the life-boat men.
About thirty persons were conveyed at a time to the steamer, where the
difficulties of transference were nearly as great as from the wreck, but
at last all were safe on board. Then, as the heavily-freighted steamer
turned her head for Ramsgate, the emigrants mentioned how, during the
previous night, they had seen a large ship drifting fast for the Sands,
and how in the darkness they had lost sight of her. A sharp look-out was
therefore kept, and as they proceeded down Prince’s Channel, and neared
the lightship, their search was rewarded. They noted the remnants of a
wreck well over on the north-east side of the Girdler Sands, and
immediately put back for the lifeboat, which had been left alongside the
emigrant ship, where the captain remained in the faint hope of saving her
eventually. Both put back to the second wreck, the hull of which was
almost torn to pieces, the timbers started, rent, and twisted—a mere
skeleton of a ship. To the foremast—hardly held in position by a remnant
of shattered deck—clung sixteen of an exhausted crew, including a pilot
and a boy of eleven. But a rope was successfully thrown round the
fore-rigging, and slowly, one by one, the poor fellows dropped from the
mast to the boat. Then “oars out,” lest a hole should be knocked through
the boat’s bottom by some part of the wreckage, and every rower strained
his utmost to get clear of her. This done, and the sail hoisted, the
steamer was soon reached, and a grand night’s work consummated. One can
imagine the keen interest of the emigrants watching from the steamer the
rescue of men from dangers similar to, but even greater than, those
through which they had themselves just passed, and the enthusiasm ashore,
at an almost unparalleled example of successful life-boat work.