coast is rugged and steep, the beach very narrow, and the water so deep
that it has been driven on the rocks not more than a couple of hundred
yards from the cliffs. The beach is so rocky that no lifeboat would
dare to approach, or, if she did venture, she would be speedily dashed
to pieces--for a lifeboat is not _absolutely_ invulnerable! The
coastguardsmen are on the alert. They had followed the vessel with
anxious looks for hours that day as she struggled right gallantly to
weather the headland and make the harbour. When they saw her miss stays
on the last tack and drift shoreward, they knew her doom was fixed;
hurried off for the rocket-cart; ran it down to the narrow strip of
pebbly beach below the cliffs, and now they are fixing up the shore part
of the apparatus. The chief part of this consists of the rocket-stand
and the box in which the line is coiled, in a peculiar and scarcely
describable manner, that permits of its flying out with great freedom.
While thus engaged they hear the crashing of the vessel's timbers as the
great waves hurl or grind her against the hungry rocks. They also hear
the cries of agonised men and women rising even above the howling storm,
and hasten their operations.
At last all is ready. The rocket, a large one made of iron, is placed
in its stand, a _stick_ and the _line_ are attached to it, a careful aim
is taken, and fire applied. Amid a blaze and burst of smoke the rocket
leaps from its position, and rushes out to sea with a furious
persistency that even the storm-fiend himself is powerless to arrest.
But he can baffle it to some extent--sufficient allowance has not been
made for the force and direction of the wind. The rocket flies, indeed,
beyond the wreck, but drops into the sea, a little to the left of her.
"Another--look alive!" is the sharp order. Again the fiery messenger of
mercy leaps forth, and this time with success. The line drops over the
wreck and catches in the rigging. And at this point comes into play,
sometimes, that ignorance to which I have referred--culpable ignorance,
for surely every captain who sails upon the sea ought to have intimate
acquaintance with the details of the life-saving apparatus of every
nation. Yet, so it is, that some crews, after receiving the
rocket-line, have not known what to do with it, and have even perished
with the means of deliverance in their grasp. In one case several men
of a crew tied themselves together with the end of the line and leaped
into the sea! They were indeed hauled ashore, but I believe that most,
if not all, of them were drowned.
Those whom we are now rescuing, however, are gifted, let us suppose,
with a small share of common sense. Having got hold of the line, one of
the crew, separated from the rest, signals the fact to the shore by
waving a hat, handkerchief, or flag, if it be day. At night a light is
shown over the ship's side for a short time, and then concealed. This
being done, those on shore make the end of the line fast to the _whip_
with its "tailed-block" and signal to haul off the line. When the whip
is got on board, a _tally_, or piece of wood, is seen with white letters
on a black ground painted on it. On one side the words are English--on
the other French. One of the crew reads eagerly:--
"Make the tail of the block fast to the lower mast well up. If masts
are gone, then to the best place you can find. Cast off the
rocket-line; see that the rope in the block runs free, and show signal
to the shore."
Most important cautions these, for if the tail-block be fastened too low
on the wreck, the ropes will dip in the water, and perhaps foul the
rocks. If the whip does not run free in the block it will jamb and the
work will be stopped; and, if the signals are not attended to, the
coastguardsmen may begin to act too soon, or, on the other hand, waste
precious time.
But the signals are rightly given; the other points attended to, and the
remainder of the work is done chiefly from the shore. The men there,
attach the hawser to the whip, and by hauling one side thereof in, they
run the other side and the hawser out. On receiving the hawser the crew
discover another _tally_ attached to it, and read:--
"Make this hawser fast about two feet above the tail-block. See all
clear, and that the rope in the block runs free, and show signal to the
shore."
The wrecked crew are quick as well as intelligent. Life depends on it!
They fasten the end of the hawser, as directed, about two feet _above_
the place where the tail-block is fixed to the stump of the mast. There
is much shouting and gratuitous advice, no doubt, from the forward and
the excited, but the captain and mate are cool. They attend to duty and
pay no regard to any one.
Signal is again made to the shore, and the men of the coastguard at once
set up a triangle with a pendent block, through which the shore-end of
the hawser is rove, and attached to a double-block tackle. Previously,
however, a block called a "traveller" has been run on to the hawser.
This block travels on and _above_ the hawser, and from it is suspended
the lifebuoy. To the "traveller" block the whip is attached; then the
order is given to the men to haul, and away goes the lifebuoy to the
wreck, run out by the _men on shore_.
When it arrives at the wreck the order is, "Women first." But the women
are too terrified, it may be, to venture. Can you wonder? If you saw
the boiling surf the heaving water, the roaring and rushing waves, with
black and jagged rocks showing here and there, over which, and partly
through which, they are to be dragged, you would respect their fears.
They shrink back: they even resist. So the captain orders a 'prentice
boy to jump in and set them the example. He is a fine, handsome boy,
with curly brown hair and bright black eyes. He, too, hesitates for a
moment, but from a far different motive. If left to himself he would
emulate the captain in being that proverbial "last man to quit the
wreck," but a peremptory order is given, and, with a blush, he jumps
into the bag, or breeches, of the buoy, through which his legs project
in a somewhat ridiculous manner. A signal is then made to the shore.
The coastguardsmen haul on the whip, and off goes our 'prentice boy like
a seagull. His flight is pretty rapid, considering all things. When
about half-way to land he is seen dimly in the mist of spray that bursts
wildly around and over him. Those on the wreck strain their eyes and
watch with palpitating hearts. The ship has been rolling a little.
Just then it gives a heavy lurch shoreward, the rope slackens, and down
goes our 'prentice boy into the raging sea, which seems to roar louder
as if in triumph! It is but for a moment, however. The double-block
tackle, already mentioned as being attached to the shore-end of the
hawser, is manned by strong active fellows, whose duty it is to ease off
the rope when the wreck rolls seaward, and haul it in when she rolls
shoreward, thus keeping it always pretty taut without the risk of
snapping it.
A moment more and the 'prentice is seen to emerge from the surf like a
true son of Neptune; he is seen also, like a true son of Britain, to
wave one hand above his head, and faintly, through driving surf and
howling gale, comes a cheer. It is still more faintly replied to by
those on the wreck, for in his progress the boy is hidden for a few
seconds by the leaping spray; but in a few seconds more he is seen
struggling among the breakers on the beach. Several strong men are seen
to join hands and advance to meet him. Another moment, and he is safe
on shore, and a fervent "Thank God!" bursts from the wrecked crew, who
seem to forget themselves for a moment as they observe the waving
handkerchiefs and hats which tell that a hearty cheer has greeted the
rescued sailor boy.
There is little tendency now to hesitation on the part of the women, and
what remains is put to flight by certain ominous groans and creakings,
that tell of the approaching dissolution of the ship.
One after another they are lifted tenderly into the lifebuoy, and drawn
to land in safety, amid the congratulations and thanksgivings of many of
those who have assembled to witness their deliverance. It is truly
terrible work, this dragging of tender women through surf and thundering
waves; but it is a matter of life or death, and even the most delicate
of human beings become regardless of small matters in such
circumstances.
But the crew have yet to be saved, and there are still two women on
board--one of them with a baby! The mother--a thin, delicate woman--
positively refuses to go without her babe. The captain knows full well
that, if he lets her take it, the child will be torn from her grasp to a
certainty; he therefore adopts a seemingly harsh, but really merciful,
course. He assists her into the buoy, takes a quick turn of a rope
round her to keep her in, snatches the child from her arms, and gives
the signal to haul away. With a terrible cry the mother holds out her
arms as she is dragged from the bulwarks, then struggles to leap out,
but in vain. Another wild shriek, with the arms tossed upwards, and she
falls back as if in a fit.
"Poor thing!" mutters the captain, as he gazes pitifully at the
retreating figure; "but you'll soon be happy again. Come, Dick, get
ready to go wi' the child next trip."
Dick Shales is a huge hairy seaman, with the frame of an elephant, the
skin of a walrus, and the tender heart of a woman! He glances uneasily
round.
"There's another lady yet, sir."
"You obey orders," says the captain, sternly.
"I never disobeyed orders yet, sir, and I won't do it now," says Dick,
taking the baby into his strong arms and buttoning it up tenderly in his
capacious bosom.
As he speaks, the lifebuoy arrives again with a jovial sort of swing, as
if it had been actually warmed into life by its glorious work, and had
come out of its own accord.
"Now, then, lads; hold on steady!" says Dick, getting in, "for fear you
hurt the babby. This is the first time that Dick Shales has appeared on
any stage wotsomediver in the character of a woman!"
Dick smiles in a deprecating manner at his little joke as they haul him
off the wreck. But Dick is wrong, and his mates feel this as they cheer
him, for many a time before that had he appeared in woman's character
when woman's work had to be done.
The captain was right when he muttered that the mother would be "soon
happy again." When Dick placed the baby--wet, indeed, but well--in its
mother's arms, she knew a kind of joy to which she had been a stranger
before--akin to that joy which must have swelled the grateful heart of
the widow of Nain when she received her son back from the dead.
The rest of the work is soon completed. After the last woman is drawn
ashore the crew are quickly rescued--the captain, of course, like every
true captain, last of all. Thus the battle is waged and won, and
nothing is left but a shattered wreck for wind and waves to do their
worst upon.
The rescued ones are hurried off to the nearest inn, where sympathetic
Christian hearts and hands minister to their necessities. These are
directed by the local agent for that admirable institution, the
Shipwrecked Fishermen's and Mariners' Society--a society which cannot be
too highly commended, and which, it is well to add, is supported by
voluntary subscriptions.
Meanwhile the gallant men of the coastguard, rejoicing in the feeling
that they have done their duty so well and so successfully, though wet
and weary from long exposure and exertion, pack the rocket apparatus
into its cart, run it back to its place of shelter, to be there made
ready for the next call to action, and then saunter home, perchance to
tell their wives and little ones the story of the wreck and rescue,
before lying down to take much-needed and well-earned repose.
Let me say in conclusion that hundreds of lives are saved in this manner
_every_ year. It is well that the reader should bear in remembrance
what I stated at the outset, that the Great War is unceasing. Year by
year it is waged. There is no prolonged period of rest. There is no
time when we should forget this great work; but there are times when we
should call it specially to remembrance, and bear it upon our hearts
before Him whom the wind and sea obey.
When the wild storms of winter and spring are howling; when the frost is
keen and the gales are laden with snowdrift; when the nights are dark
and long, and the days are short and grey--then it is that our prayers
should ascend and our hands be opened, for then it is that hundreds of
human beings are in deadly peril on our shores, and then it is that our
gallant lifeboat and rocket-men are risking life and limb while fighting
their furious Battles with the Sea.
THE END.