HARDLY SAVED.
The first duty of the crew of the lifeboat is to save life, but it
frequently happens that a stranded vessel is not so seriously damaged as
to hinder her being got afloat again. Under these circumstances the men
are at liberty to assist in saving the vessel if the captain is willing
to employ them. This is a very dangerous business, and often after long
hours of peril and labour the ship is dashed to pieces by the waves, and
the men are with difficulty rescued. A splendid example of the risk
attending this salvage service occurred several years ago on the Goodwin
Sands.
In response to signals of distress the tug and lifeboat put out from
Ramsgate pier, and found a Portuguese ship on the sands. Her masts and
rigging were still standing, and there was every chance of her being
saved. The vessel had gone head on to the Goodwins, and the boatmen got
an anchor out from the stern as quickly as possible, with the intention
of working her off into deep water by the help of the tug; but this
attempt had soon to be abandoned. Shortly after midnight the gale
increased, and heavy seas began to roll over the sands. The ship, which
had all along lain comparatively still, was now dashed about by the
waves with terrific violence. The lifeboat remained alongside, and her
crew, knowing well that a storm on the Goodwins is not to be trifled
with, urged the sailors to come on board. The captain, however, refused
to leave his ship, so there was nothing for it but to wait until an
extra heavy sea should convince the captain that it was no longer
possible to save the vessel.
This happened sooner than could have been expected, for almost the very
next instant a wave struck her and smashed several of her timbers. The
sailors now begged to be taken on board, and they were told to "Come on,
and hurry up." But first of all they had to get their belongings.
Though every moment was of consequence, the coxswain had not the heart
to forbid them bringing any articles on board, and eight chests were
lowered into the lifeboat. Then one by one the crew abandoned the
vessel.
All danger was not yet over. The seas dashed over the ship into the
lifeboat, blinding and drenching the men, and rendering still more
difficult their task of keeping the boat from being crushed under the
side of the vessel. Haul at the cable as they would, they were unable
to get her out of the basin which the brig had made for herself in the
sand. To add to the horror of their position, the wreck threatened to
fall over on the top of them every moment.
There was only one way of escape--to wait until the tide rose
sufficiently to float them off, but the chances were that when the tide
rose it would be too late to save them. They would then have ceased to
struggle or to suffer, and the battered remains of their trusty boat
would tell those at home what had become of them. Crouching down as low
as possible to avoid being struck by the swaying yards and fluttering
canvas, the men waited for deliverance--or would it be death?
At length the tide reached her, and the boatmen redoubled their efforts
to haul their little vessel away from the ship. Slowly, very slowly,
she drew away from that terrible black hull and those swaying yards. But
now a new and unforeseen difficulty presented itself. In the face of
the wind and tide it was impossible for them to get away from the sands,
so in spite of their exhaustion and the black darkness of the night,
they determined to beat right across the sands. They hauled hard on the
cable again, but the anchor began to drag, and they were drifting back
again to the wreck.
"Up foresail!" shouted the coxswain, at the same time giving orders to
cut away the anchor. The boat bounded forward for a few yards and then
struck on the sands again fearfully near to the wreck. Wave after wave
dashed into the boat and nearly washed the wearied men overboard, but
they held on like bulldogs. Three times she was driven back to the
wreck, and again and again she grounded on the sands.
One of the crew, an old man upwards of fifty years of age, thus
described his feelings.
"Perhaps my friends were right when they said I hadn't ought to have
gone out, but, you see, when there is life to be saved, it makes a man
feel young again; and I've always felt I had a call to save life when I
could, and I wasn't going to hang back then. I stood it better than some
of them, after all; but when we got to beating and grubbing over the
sands, swinging round and round, and grounding every few yards with a
jerk, that almost tore our arms out from the sockets; no sooner washed
off one ridge, and beginning to hope that the boat was clear, than she
thumped upon another harder than ever, and all the time the wash of the
surf nearly carrying us out of the boat--it was truly almost too much
for any man to stand. I cannot describe it, nor can anyone else; but
when you say that you've beat and thumped over these sands, almost yard
by yard, in a fearful storm on a winter's night, and live to tell the
tale, why it seems to me about the next thing to saying that you've been
dead and brought to life again."
At length deep water was reached, and their dangers were over. Quickly
more sail was hoisted, and the boat headed for the welcome shelter of
Ramsgate pier. All were in good spirits now, even the Portuguese
sailors who had lost nearly everything they possessed. On the way home
the lifeboatmen noticed that they seemed to be discussing something
among themselves. Presently one of them presented the coxswain with all
the money they could scrape together, amounting to about L17, to be
divided among the crew. "We don't want your money," shouted the hardy
fellows, and with many shakings of the head they returned the generous
gift. The harbour was soon afterwards reached, where they were landed
overjoyed at their miraculous escape, and by every means in their power
endeavouring to show the gratitude they felt but could not speak.