lifeboats. Usually there is a _rush_ to the work; and as the men get
only ten shillings per man in the daytime, and twenty shillings at
night, on each occasion of going off, it can scarcely be supposed that
they do it only for the sake of the pay! True, those payments are
increased on occasions of unusual risk or exposure; nevertheless, I
believe that a worthier motive animates our men of the coast. I do not
say, or think, that religious feeling is the cause of their heroism.
With some, doubtless, it is; with others it probably is not; but I
sincerely believe that the _Word of God_--permeating as it does our
whole community, and influencing these men either directly or
indirectly--is the cause of their self-sacrificing courage, as it is
unquestionably the cause of our national prosperity.
CHAPTER SIX.
SUPPLIES A FEW POINTS FOR CONSIDERATION.
I have now somewhat to say about the Royal National Lifeboat
Institution, which has the entire management and control of our fleet of
273 lifeboats. That Institution has had a glorious history. It was
founded by Sir William Hillary, Baronet--a man who deserves a monument
in Westminster Abbey, I think; for, besides originating the Lifeboat
Institution, he saved, and assisted in saving, 305 lives, with his own
hands!
Born in 1824, the Institution has been the means of saving no fewer than
29,608 lives up to the end of 1882.
At its birth the Archbishop of Canterbury presided; the great
Wilberforce, Lord John Russell, and other magnates were present; the
Dukes of Kent, Sussex, and other members of the Royal family, became
vice-patrons, the Earl of Liverpool its president, and George the Fourth
its patron. In 1850 good Prince Albert became its vice-patron, and her
Majesty the Queen became, and still continues, a warm supporter and
annual contributor. This is a splendid array of names and titles, but
let me urge the reader never to forget that this noble Institution
depends on the public for the adequate discharge of its grand work, for
it is supported almost entirely by voluntary contributions.
The sole object of the Institution is to provide and maintain boats that
shall save the lives of shipwrecked persons, and to reward those who
save lives, whether by means of its own or other boats. The grandeur of
its aim and singleness of its purpose are among its great
recommendations.
When, however, life does not require to be saved, and when opportunity
offers, it allows its boats to save property.
It saves--and rewards those who assist in saving--many hundreds of lives
every year. Last year (1882) the number saved by lifeboats was 741,
besides 143 lives saved by shore-boats and other means, for which
rewards were given by the Institution; making a grand total of 884 lives
saved in that one year. The number each year is often larger, seldom
less. One year (1869) the rescued lives amounted to the grand number of
1231, and in the greater number of cases the rescues were effected in
circumstances in which ordinary boats would have been utterly useless--
worse than useless, for they would have drowned their crews. In respect
of this matter the value of the lifeboat to the nation cannot be
estimated--at least, not until we invent some sort of spiritual
arithmetic whereby we may calculate the price of widows' and orphans'
tears, and of broken hearts!
But in regard to more material things it is possible to speak
definitely.
It frequently happens in stormy weather that vessels show signals of
distress, either because they are so badly strained as to be in a
sinking condition, or so damaged that they are unmanageable, or the
crews have become so exhausted as to be no longer capable of working for
their own preservation. In all such cases the lifeboat puts off with
the intention in the first instance of saving life. It reaches the
vessel in distress; some of the boat's crew spring on board, and find,
perhaps, that there is some hope of saving the ship. Knowing the
locality well, they steer her clear of rocks and shoals. Being
comparatively fresh and vigorous, they work the pumps with a will,
manage to keep her afloat, and finally steer her into port, thus saving
ship and cargo as well as crew.
Now let me impress on you that incidents of this sort are not of rare
occurrence. There is no play of fancy in my statements; they happen
every year. Last year (1882) twenty-three vessels were thus saved by
lifeboat crews. Another year thirty-three, another year fifty-three,
ships were thus saved. As surely and regularly as the year comes round,
so surely and regularly are ships and property saved by lifeboats--saved
_to the nation_! It cannot be too forcibly pointed out that a wrecked
ship is not only an individual, but a national loss. Insurance protects
the individual, but insurance cannot, in the nature of things, protect
the nation. If you drop a thousand sovereigns in the street, that is a
loss to you, but not to the nation; some lucky individual will find the
money and circulate it. But if you drop it into the sea, it is lost not
only to you, but to the nation, indeed to the world itself, for ever,--
of course taking for granted that our amphibious divers don't fish it up
again!
Well, let us gauge the value of our lifeboats in this light. If a
lifeboat saves a ship worth ten or twenty thousand sovereigns from
destruction, it presents that sum literally as a free gift to owners
_and_ nation. A free gift, I repeat, because lifeboats are provided
solely to save life--not property. Saving the latter is, therefore,
extraneous service. Of course it would be too much to expect our
gallant boatmen to volunteer to work the lifeboats, in the worst of
weather, at the imminent risk of their lives, unless they were also
allowed an occasional chance of earning salvage. Accordingly, when they
save a ship worth, say 20,000 pounds, they are entitled to put in a
claim on the owners for 200 pounds salvage. This sum would be divided
(after deducting all expenses, such as payments to helpers, hire of
horses, etcetera) between the men and the boat. Thus--deduct, say, 20
pounds expenses leaves 180 pounds to divide into fifteen shares; the
crew numbering thirteen men:--
+==================================+==========+
|13 shares to men at 12 pounds each|156 pounds|
+----------------------------------+----------+
|2 shares to boat |24 pounds |
+----------------------------------+----------+
|Total |180 pounds|
+==================================+==========+
Let us now consider the value of loaded ships.
Not very long ago a large Spanish ship was saved by one of our
lifeboats. She had grounded on a bank off the south coast of Ireland.
The captain and crew forsook her and escaped to land in their boats.
One man, however, was inadvertently left on board. Soon after, the wind
shifted; the ship slipped off the bank into deep water, and drifted to
the northward. Her doom appeared to be fixed, but the crew of the
Cahore lifeboat observed her, launched their boat, and, after a long
pull against wind and sea, boarded the ship and found her with seven
feet of water in the hold. The duty of the boat's crew was to save the
Spanish sailor, but they did more, they worked the pumps and trimmed the
sails and saved the ship as well, and handed her over to an agent for
the owners. This vessel and cargo was valued at 20,000 pounds.
Now observe, in passing, that this Cahore lifeboat not only did much
good, but received considerable and well-merited benefit, each man
receiving 34 pounds from the grateful owners, who also presented 68
pounds to the Institution, in consideration of the risk of damage
incurred to their boat. No doubt it may be objected that this, being a
foreign ship, was not saved to _our_ nation; but, as the proverb says,
"It is not lost what a friend gets," and I think it is very satisfactory
to reflect that we presented the handsome sum of 20,000 pounds to Spain
as a free gift on that occasion.
This was a saved ship. Let us look now at a lost one. Some years ago a
ship named the Golden Age was lost. It was well named though ill-fated,
for the value of that ship and cargo was 200,000 pounds. The cost of a
lifeboat with equipment and transporting carriage complete is about 650
pounds, and there are 273 lifeboats at present on the shores of the
United Kingdom. Here is material for a calculation! If that single
ship had been among the twenty-seven saved last year (and it _might_
have been) the sum thus rescued from the sea would have been sufficient
to pay for all the lifeboats in the kingdom, and leave 22,550 pounds in
hand! But it was _not_ among the saved. It was lost--a dead loss to
Great Britain. So was the Ontario of Liverpool, wrecked in October,
1864, and valued at 100,000 pounds. Also the Assage, wrecked on the
Irish coast, and valued at 200,000 pounds. Here are five hundred
thousand pounds--half a million of money--lost by the wreck of these
three ships alone. Of course, these three are selected as specimens of
the most valuable vessels lost among the two thousand wrecks that take
place _each year_ on our coasts; they vary from a first-rate mail
steamer to a coal coffin, but set them down at any figure you please,
and it will still remain true that it would be worth our while to keep
up our lifeboat fleet, for the mere chance of saving such valuable
property.
But after all is said that can be said on this point, the subject sinks
into insignificance when contrasted with the lifeboat's true work--the
saving of human lives.
There is yet another and still higher sense in which the lifeboat is of
immense value to the nation. I refer to the moral influence it
exercises among us. If many hundreds of lives are annually saved by our
lifeboat fleet, does it not follow, as a necessary consequence, that
happiness and gratitude must affect thousands of hearts in a way that
cannot fail to redound to the glory of God, as well as the good of man?
Let facts answer this question.
We cannot of course, intrude on the privacy of human hearts and tell
what goes on there, but there are a few outward symptoms that are
generally accepted as pretty fair tests of spiritual condition. One of
these is parting with money! Looking at the matter in this light, the
records of the Institution show that thousands of men, women, and
children, are beneficially influenced by the lifeboat cause.
The highest contributor to its funds in the land is our Queen; the
lowliest a sailor's orphan child. Here are a few of the gifts to the
Institution, culled almost at random from the Reports. One gentleman
leaves it a legacy of 10,000 pounds. Some time ago a sum of 5000 pounds
was sent anonymously by "a friend." A hundred pounds comes in as a
_second_ donation from "a sailor's daughter." Fifty pounds come from a
British admiral, and five shillings from "the savings of a child!"
One-and-sixpence is sent by another child in postage-stamps, and 1 pound
5 shillings as the collection of a Sunday school in Manchester; 15
pounds from three fellow-servants; 10 pounds from a shipwrecked pilot,
and 10 shillings, 6 pence from an "old salt." I myself had once the
pleasure of receiving twopence for the lifeboat cause from an
exceedingly poor but enthusiastic old woman! But my most interesting
experience in this way was the receipt of a note written by a blind
boy--well and legibly written, too--telling me that he had raised the
sum of 100 pounds for the Lifeboat Institution.
And this beneficial influence of our lifeboat service travels far beyond
our own shores. Here is evidence of that. Finland sends 50 pounds to
our Institution to testify its appreciation of the good done by us to
its sailors. President Lincoln, of the United States, when involved in
all the anxieties of the great war between North and South, found time
to send 100 pounds to the Institution in acknowledgment of services
rendered to American ships in distress. Russia and Holland send naval
men to inspect--not our armaments and _materiel_ of hateful war, but--
our lifeboat management! France, in generous emulation, starts a
Lifeboat Institution of its own, and sends over to ask our society to
supply it with boats--and, last, but not least, it has been said that
foreigners, driven far out of their course and stranded, soon come to
know that they have been wrecked on the British coast, by the
persevering efforts that are made to save their lives!
And now, good reader, let me urge this subject on your earnest
consideration. Surely every one should be ready to lend a hand to
_rescue the perishing_! One would think it almost superfluous to say
more. So it would be, if there were none who required the line of duty
and privilege to be pointed out to them. But I fear that many,
especially dwellers in the interior of our land, are not sufficiently
alive to the claims that the lifeboat has upon them.
Let me illustrate this by a case or two--imaginary cases, I admit, but
none the less illustrative on that account.
"Mother," says a little boy, with flashing eyes and curly flaxen hair;
"I want to go to sea!"
He has been reading "Cook's Voyages" and "Robinson Crusoe," and looks
wistfully out upon the small pond in front of his home, which is the
biggest "bit of water" his eyes have ever seen, for he dwells among the
cornfields and pastures of the interior of the land.
"Don't think of it, darling Willie. You might get wrecked,--perhaps
drowned."
But "darling Willie" does think of it, and asserts that being wrecked is
the very thing he wants, and that he's willing to take his chance of
being drowned! And Willie goes on thinking of it, year after year,
until he gains his point, and becomes the family's "sailor boy," and
mayhap, for the first time in her life, Willie's mother casts more than
a passing glance at newspaper records of lifeboat work. But she does no
more. She has not yet been awakened. "The people of the coast
naturally look after the things of the coast," has been her sentiment on
the subject--if she has had any definite sentiments about it at all.
On returning from his first voyage Willie's ship is wrecked. On a
horrible night, in the howling tempest, with his flaxen curls tossed
about, his hands convulsively clutching the shrouds of the topmast, and
the hissing billows leaping up as if they wished to lick him off his
refuge on the cross-trees, Willie awakens to the dread reality about
which he had dreamed when reading Cook and Crusoe. Next morning a lady
with livid face, and eyes glaring at a newspaper, gasps, "Willie's
ship--is--wrecked! five lost--thirteen saved by the lifeboat." One
faint gleam of hope! "Willie may be among the thirteen!" Minutes, that
seem hours, of agony ensue; then a telegram arrives, "_Saved, Mother--
thank God,--by the lifeboat_."
"Ay, thank God," echoes Willie's mother, with the profoundest emotion
and sincerity she ever felt; but think you, reader, that she did no
more? Did she pass languidly over the records of lifeboat work after
_that_ day? Did she leave the management and support of lifeboats to
_the people of the coast_? I trow not. But what difference had the
saving of Willie made in the lifeboat cause? Was hers the only Willie
in the wide World? Are we to act on so selfish a principle, as that we
shall decline to take an interest in an admittedly grand and good and
national cause, until our eyes are forcibly opened by "our Willie" being
in danger? Of course I address myself to people who have really kind
and sympathetic hearts, but who, from one cause or another, have not yet
had this subject earnestly submitted to their consideration. To those
who have _no heart_ to consider the woes and necessities of suffering
humanity, I have nothing whatever to say,--except,--God help them!
Let me enforce this plea--that _inland_ cities and towns and villages
should support the Lifeboat Institution--with another imaginary case.
A tremendous gale is blowing from the south-east, sleet driving like
needles--enough, almost, to put your eyes out. A "good ship," under
close-reefed topsails, is bearing up for port after a prosperous voyage,
but the air is so thick with drift that they cannot make out the guiding
lights. She strikes and sticks fast on outlying sands, where the sea is
roaring and leaping like a thousand fiends in the wintry blast. There
are passengers on board from the Antipodes, with boxes and bags of
gold-dust, the result of years of toil at the diggings. They do not
realise the full significance of the catastrophe. No wonder--they are
landsmen! The tide chances to be low at the time; as it rises, they
awake to the dread reality. Billows burst over them like miniature
Niagaras. The good ship which has for many weeks breasted the waves so
gallantly, and seemed so solid and so strong, is treated like a cork,
and becomes apparently an egg-shell!
Night comes--darkness increasing the awful aspect of the situation
tenfold. What are boxes and bags of gold-dust now--now that wild
despair has seized them all, excepting those who, through God's grace,
have learned to "fear no evil?"
Suddenly, through darkness, spray, and hurly-burly thick, a ghostly boat
is seen! The lifeboat! Well do the seamen know its form! A cheer
arouses sinking hearts, and hope once more revives. The work of
rescuing is vigorously, violently, almost fiercely begun. The merest
child might see that the motto of the lifeboat-men is "Victory or
death." But it cannot be done as quickly as they desire; the rolling of
the wreck, the mad plunging and sheering of the boat, prevent that.
A sturdy middle-aged man named Brown--a common name, frequently
associated with common sense--is having a rope fastened round his waist
by one of the lifeboat crew named Jones--also a common name, not seldom
associated with uncommon courage. But Brown must wait a few minutes
while his wife is being lowered into the boat.
"Oh! be careful. Do it gently, there's a good fellow," roars Brown, in
terrible anxiety, as he sees her swung off.
"Never fear, sir; she's all right," says Jones, with a quiet reassuring
smile, for Jones is a tough old hand, accustomed to such scenes.
Mrs Brown misses the boat, and dips into the raging sea.
"Gone!" gasps Brown, struggling to free himself from Jones and leap
after her, but the grasp of Jones is too much for him.
"Hold on, sir? _she's_ all right, sir, bless you; they'll have her on
board in a minute."
"I've got bags, boxes, _bucketfuls_ of gold in the hold," roars Brown.
"Only save her, and it's all yours!"
The shrieking blast will not allow even _his_ strong voice to reach the
men in the lifeboat, but they need no such inducement to work.
"The gold won't be yours long," remarks Jones, with another smile.
Neptune'll have it all to-night. See! they've got her into the boat all
right, sir. Now don't struggle so; you'll get down to her in a minute.
There's another lady to go before your turn comes.
During these few moments of forced inaction the self-possessed Jones
remarks to Brown, in order to quiet him, that they'll be all saved in
half an hour, and asks if he lives near that part of the coast.
"Live near it!" gasps Brown. "No! I live nowhere. Bin five years at
the diggings. Made a fortune. Going to live with the old folk now--at
Blunderton, far away from the sea; high up among the mountains."
"Hm!" grunts Jones. "Do they help to float the lifeboats at
Blunderton?"
"The lifeboats? No, of course not; never think of lifeboats up there."
"Some of you think of 'em down _here_, though," remarks Jones. "Do
_you_ help the cause in any way, sir?"
"Me? No. Never gave a shilling to it."
"Well, never mind. It's your turn now, sir. Come along. We'll save
you. Jump!" cries Jones.
And they do save him, and all on board of that ill-fated ship, with as
much heartfelt satisfaction as if the rescued ones had each been a
contributor of a thousand a year to the lifeboat cause.
"Don't forget us, sir, when you gits home," whispers Jones to Brown at
parting.
And _does_ Brown forget him? Nay, verily! He goes home to Blunderton,
stirs up the people, hires the town-hall, gets the chief magistrate to
take the chair, and forms a _Branch_ of the Royal National Lifeboat
Institution--the Blunderton Branch, which, ever afterwards, honourably
bears its annual share in the expense, and in the privilege, of rescuing
men, women, and little ones from the raging seas. Moreover, Brown
becomes the enthusiastic secretary of the Branch. And here let me
remark that no society of this nature can hope to succeed, unless its
secretary be an enthusiast.
Now, reader, if you think I have made out a good case, let me entreat
you to go, with Brown in your eye, "and do likewise."
And don't fancy that I am advising you to attempt the impossible. The
supposed Blunderton case is founded on fact. During a lecturing tour
one man--somewhat enthusiastic in the lifeboat cause--preached the
propriety of inland towns starting Branches of the Lifeboat Institution.
Upwards of half a dozen such towns responded to the exhortation, and,
from that date, have continued to be annual contributors and
sympathisers.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE LIFE-SAVING ROCKET.
We shall now turn from the lifeboat to our other great engine of war
with which we do battle with the sea from year to year, namely, the
Rocket Apparatus.
This engine, however, is in the hands of Government, and is managed by
the coastguard. And it may be remarked here, in reference to coastguard
men, that they render constant and effective aid in the saving of
shipwrecked crews. At least one-third of the medals awarded by the
Lifeboat Institution go to the men of the coastguard.
Every one has heard of Captain Manby's mortar. Its object is to effect
communication between a stranded ship and the shore by means of a rope
attached to a shot, which is fired over the former. The same end is now
more easily attained by a rocket with a light rope, or line, attached to
it.
Now the rocket apparatus is a little complicated, and ignorance in
regard to the manner of using it has been the cause of some loss of
life. Many people think that if a rope can only be conveyed from a
stranded ship to the shore, the saving of the crew is comparatively a
sure and easy matter. This is a mistake. If a rope--a stout cable--
were fixed between a wreck and the shore, say at a distance of three or
four hundred yards, it is obvious that only a few of the strongest men
could clamber along it. Even these, if benumbed and exhausted--as is
frequently the case in shipwreck--could not accomplish the feat. But
let us suppose, still further, that the vessel rolls from side to side,
dipping the rope in the sea and jerking it out again at each roll, what
man could make the attempt with much hope of success, and what, in such
circumstances, would become of women and children?
More than one rope must be fixed between ship and shore, if the work of
saving life is to be done efficiently. Accordingly, in the rocket
apparatus there are four distinct portions of tackle. First the
_rocket-line_; second, the _whip_; third, the _hawser_; and, fourth, the
_lifebuoy_--sometimes called the sling-lifebuoy, and sometimes the
breeches-buoy.
The rocket-line is that which is first thrown over the wreck by the
rocket. It is small and light, and of considerable length--the extreme
distance to which a rocket may carry it in the teeth of a gale being
between three and four hundred yards.
The whip is a thicker line, rove through a block or pulley, and having
its two ends spliced together without a knot, in such a manner that the
join does not check the running of the rope through the pulley. Thus
the whip becomes a double line--a sort of continuous rope, or, as it is
called, an "endless fall," by means of which the lifebuoy is passed to
and fro between the wreck and shore.
The hawser is a thick rope, or cable, to which the lifebuoy is suspended
when in action.
The lifebuoy is one of those circular lifebuoys--with which most of us
are familiar--which hang at the sides of steamers and other vessels, to
be ready in case of any one falling overboard. It has, however, the
addition of a pair of huge canvas breeches attached to it, to prevent
those who are being rescued from slipping through.