more tales of heroism.
if any one should doubt the fact that a lifeboat is all but indestructible, let that sceptical one read the following tale of wreck and rescue.
on a terrible night in the year 1857 a portuguese brig struck on the goodwin sands, not far from the lightship that marks the northern extremity of those fatal shoals. a shot was fired, and a rocket sent up by the lightship. no second signal was needed. the ramsgate men were, as usual, keeping a bright lookout. instantly they jumped into the lifeboat, which lay calmly floating in the harbour alongside the pier. so eager were the men to engage in the deadly struggle that the boat was over-manned, and the last two who jumped in were obliged to go ashore again.
the tug aid was all ready—according to custom—with steam up. she took the boat in tow and made for the mouth of the harbour. staggering out in the teeth of tide and tempest they ploughed their way through a heavy cross sea, that swept again and again over them, until they reached the edge of the goodwins. here the steamer cast off the boat, and waited for her while she dashed into the surf, and bore the brunt of the battle alone.
it was a familiar proceeding to all concerned. many a time before had the ramsgate boat and steamer rescued men and women and little ones from the jaws of death on the goodwins, but they were about to experience a few novelties that night.
it was very dark, so that the boat had much difficulty in finding the brig. on coming within about eighty yards of her they cast anchor and veered down under her lee. at first they were in hopes of getting the vessel off, and some hours were spent in vain attempts to do this, but the gale increased in fury; the brig began to break up. she rolled from side to side, and the yards swung wildly in the air. a blow from one of these yards would have stove the boat in, so the portuguese crew—twelve men and a boy—were taken from the wreck, and the lifeboat-men endeavoured to push off.
all this time the boat had been floating in a basin worked in the sand by the motion of the wreck; but the tide had been falling, and when they tried to pull up to their anchor the boat struck heavily on the edge of this basin. they worked to get off the shoals with the energy of men who believe that their lives depend on their efforts. for a moment they succeeded in getting afloat, but again struck and remained fast.
meanwhile the brig was lifted by each wave, that came rushing over the shoals like a mountain chain of snow, and let fall with a thundering crash. her timbers began to snap like pipe-stems, and, as she worked nearer and nearer to the boat, the wildly-swaying yards threatened immediate destruction. the heavy seas flew continually over the lifeboat, so that passengers and crew could do nothing but hold on to the thwarts for their lives. at last the brig came so near that there was a stir among the men; they were preparing for the last struggle—some of them intending to leap into the rigging of the wreck and take their chance. but the coxswain shouted, “stick to the boat, boys, stick to the boat!” and the men obeyed.
at that moment the boat lifted a little on the surf and grounded again. new hope was inspired by this. they pulled at the cable and shoved might and main with the oars. they succeeded in getting out of immediate danger, but still could not pull up to their anchor in the teeth of wind and tide. the coxswain then saw plainly that there was but one resource left—to cut the cable and drive away to leeward right across the goodwin sands, which at that place were two miles wide. but there was not yet sufficient water on the sands even for the attempting of that forlorn hope. as far as could be seen in that direction, ay, and far beyond the power of vision, there was nothing but a chaos of wild, tumultuous, whirling foam, without sufficient depth to float them over, so they held on, intending to wait till the tide, which had turned, should rise. very soon, however, the anchor began to drag. this compelled them to hoist sail, cut the cable sooner than they had intended, and attempt to beat to windward—off the sands. it was in vain. a moment more, and they struck with tremendous force. a breaker came rolling towards them, filled the boat, caught her up like a plaything on its crest, and, hurling her a few yards onwards, let her fall with a shock that well-nigh tore every man out of her. each successive breaker treated her in this way!
those who dwell by the seashore know well those familiar ripples that mark the sands when the tide is out. on the goodwins those ripples are gigantic banks, to be measured by feet, not by inches. i can speak from personal experience, having once visited the goodwins and walked among the sand-banks at low water. from one to another of these banks this splendid boat was thrown. each roaring surf caught it by the bow or stern, and, whirling it right round, sent it crashing on the next ledge. the portuguese sailors gave up all hope and clung to the thwarts in silent despair, but the crew did not lose heart altogether. they knew the boat well, had often gone out to battle in her, and hoped that they might yet be saved, if they could only escape striking on the pieces of old wreck with which the sands were strewn.
thus, literally, yard by yard, with a succession of shocks, that would have knocked any ordinary boat to pieces, did that lifeboat drive, during two hours, over two miles of the goodwin sands!
a thrilling and graphic account of this wreck and rescue is given in the reverend john gilmore’s book, “storm warriors,” in which he tells us that while this exciting work was going on, the aid lay head to wind, steaming half power, and holding her own against the storm, waiting for her lifeboat, but no lifeboat returned to her, and her gallant captain became more and more anxious as time flew by. could it be possible that her sturdy little comrade, with whom she had gone out to battle in hundreds of gales, was overcome at last and destroyed! they signalled again and again, but got no reply. then, as their fears increased, they began to cruise about as near to the dangerous shoals as they dared—almost playing with death—as they eagerly sought for their consort. at last the conviction was forced upon them that the boat must have been stove by the wreck and swamped. in the midst of their gathering despair they caught sight of the lightship’s bright beam, shining like a star of hope through the surrounding darkness. with a faint hope they made for the vessel and hailed her. “have you seen anything of the lifeboat?” was the eager question. “nothing! nothing!” was the sad reply. back they went again to the place they had left, determined to cruise on, hoping against hope, till the night should pass away. hour after hour they steamed hither and thither, with anxiously straining eyes. at last grey dawn appeared and the wreck became dimly visible. they made for it, and their worst fears were realised—the remnant of the brig’s hull was there with ropes and wreckage tossing wildly round it—but no lifeboat!
sadly they turned away and continued to search for some time in the faint hope that some of her crew might be floating about, buoyed up by their lifebelts, but none were found, and at last they reluctantly made for the harbour.
and when the harbour was gained what saw they there? the lifeboat! safe and sound, floating as calmly beside the pier as if nothing had happened! as the captain of the aid himself said, he felt inclined at once to shout and cry for wonder, and we may be sure that his wonder was not decreased when he heard the lifeboat’s story from the brave coxswain’s lips—how that, after driving right across the sands, as i have described, they suddenly found themselves in deep water. that then, knowing the extremity of danger to be past, they had set the sails, and, soon after, had, through god’s mercy, landed the rescued portuguese crew in ramsgate harbour!
it must not be imagined, however, that such work as this can be done without great cost to those who undertake it.
some of the men never recovered from the effects of that night’s exposure. the gratitude of the portuguese seamen was very great, as well as their amazement at such a rescue! it is recorded of them that, before arriving in the harbour, they were observed to be in consultation together, and that one who understood a little english spoke to one of the crew in an undertone.
“coxswain,” said the lifeboat man, “they want to give us all their money!”
“yes, yes,” cried the portuguese interpreter, in broken english; “you have saved our lives! thank you, thank you! but all we have is yours. it is not much, but you may take it between you.” the amount was seventeen pounds!
as might have been expected, neither the coxswain nor his men would accept a penny of it.
this coxswain was isaac jarman, who for many years led the famous ramsgate lifeboat into action, and helped to save hundreds of human lives. while staying at ramsgate i had the pleasure of shaking the strong hard hand of jarman, and heard some of his adventures from his own lips.
now, from all that has been said, it will, i think, be seen and admitted that the lifeboats of the institution are almost indestructible.
the lifebelt, to which reference has been so often made, deserves special notice at this point. the figure on the title-page shows its appearance and the manner in which it is worn. it was designed in 1854, by admiral j.r. ward, the institution’s chief inspector of lifeboats. its chief quality is its great buoyancy, which is not only sufficient to support a man with head and shoulders above water when heavily clothed, but enables the wearer easily to support another person—the extra buoyancy being 25 pounds. besides possessing several great advantages over other lifebelts, that of admiral ward is divided in the middle by a space, where the waistbelt is fastened. this permits of great freedom of action, and the whole machine is remarkably flexible. it is also very strong, forming a species of armour which protects the wearer from severe blows, and, moreover, helps to keep him warm.
it behoves me now to say a few words about the inventor of lifeboats. as has been told, our present splendid boat is a combination of all the good points and improvements made in such boats down to the present time. but the man who first thought of a lifeboat and invented one; who fought against apathy and opposition; who completed and launched his ark of mercy on the sea at bamborough, in the shape of a little coble, in the year 1785, and who actually saved many lives therewith, was a london coachbuilder, lionel lukin by name.
assuredly this man deserved the deepest gratitude of the nation, for his was the first lifeboat ever brought into action, and he inserted the small end of that wedge which we have been hammering home ever since, and which has resulted in the formation of one of the grandest, most thoroughly national and unsectarian of our charitable institutions.
henry greathead—a boatbuilder of south shields—erroneously got the credit of this invention. greathead was a noted improver and builder of lifeboats, and was well and deservedly rewarded for his work; but he was not the inventor. lionel lukin alone can claim that honour.
in regard to the men who man them, enough has been written to prove that they well deserve to be regarded as the heroes of the coast!
and let me observe in passing that there are also heroines of the coast, as the following extract from the journal of the institution will show. it appeared in the january number of 1865.
“voted the silver medal of the institution, and a copy of its vote of thanks on parchment, to miss alice r. le geyt, in admiration of her prompt and courageous conduct in rowing a small boat into the surf at the risk of her life, and rescuing two little boys who had fallen into the sea from the outer pier at lyme regis, dorset, on the 4th august.”
again, in october, 1879, the committee of the national lifeboat institution voted the silver medal of the institution, and a copy of the vote inscribed on vellum, to miss ellen francis prideaux brune, miss gertrude rose prideaux brune, miss mary katherine prideaux brune, miss beatrice may prideaux brune, and miss nora o’shaughnessy, in acknowledgment of their intrepid and prompt services in proceeding through a heavy surf in their rowing-boat, and saving, at considerable risk of life, a sailor from a boat which had been capsized by a squall of wind off bray hill, padstow harbour, cornwall, on the 9th august. when the accident occurred, the ladies’ boat was being towed astern of a fishing-boat, and miss ellen prideaux brune, with great gallantry and determination, asked to be cast off, and, with her companions, she proceeded with all possible despatch to the rescue of the drowning sailor. all the ladies showed great courage, presence of mind, and marked ability in the management of their small boat. they ran great risk in getting the man into it, on account of the strong tide and sea on at the time.
so it would appear that the spirit of the far-famed grace darling has not yet departed from the land!
if heroism consists in boldly facing and successfully overcoming dangers of the most appalling nature, then i hold that thousands of our men of the coast—from shetland to the land’s end—stand as high as do those among our soldiers and sailors who wear the victoria cross. let us consider an example.
on that night in which the royal charter went down, there was a maltese sailor on board named joseph rodgers, who volunteered to swim ashore with a rope. those who have seen the effect of a raging sea even on a smooth beach, know that the power of the falling waves is terrible, and their retreating force so great that the most powerful swimmers occasionally perish in them. but the coast to which rodgers volunteered to swim was an almost perpendicular cliff.
i write as an eye-witness, reader, for i saw the cliff myself, a few days after the wreck took place, when i went down to that dreary coast of anglesea to identify the bodies of lost kindred. ay, and at that time i also saw something of the awful aspect of loss by shipwreck. i went into the little church at llanalgo, where upwards of thirty bodies lay upon the floor—still in their wet garments, just as they had been laid down by those who had brought them from the shore. as i entered that church one body lay directly in my path. it was that of a young sailor. strange to say, his cheeks were still ruddy as though he had been alive, and his lips were tightly compressed—i could not help fancying—with the force of the last strong effort he had made to keep out the deadly sea. just beyond him lay a woman, and beside her a little child, in their ordinary walking-dresses, as if they had lain down there and fallen asleep side by side. i had to step across these silent forms, as they lay, some in the full light of the windows, others in darkened corners of the little church, and to gaze earnestly into their dead faces for the lineaments of those whom i had gone to find—but i did not find them there. their bodies were washed ashore some days afterwards. a few of those who lay on that floor were covered to hide the mutilation they had received when being driven on the cruel rocks. altogether it was an awful sight—well fitted to draw forth the prayer, “god help and bless those daring men who are willing to risk their lives at any moment all the year round, to save men and women and little ones from such a fate as this!”
but, to return to joseph rodgers. the cliff to which he volunteered to swim was thundered on by seas raised by one of the fiercest gales that ever visited our shores. it was dark, too, and broken spars and pieces of wreck tossing about increased the danger; while the water was cold enough to chill the life-blood in the stoutest frame. no one knew better than rodgers the extreme danger of the attempt, yet he plunged into the sea with a rope round his waist. had his motive been self-preservation he could have gained the shore more easily without a rope; but his motive was not selfish—it was truly generous. he reached the land, hauled a cable ashore, made it fast to a rock, and began to rescue the crew, and i have no doubt that every soul in that vessel would have been saved if she had not suddenly split across and sunk. four hundred and fifty-five lives were lost, but before the catastrophe took place thirty-nine lives were saved by the heroism of that maltese sailor. the lifeboat institution awarded its gold medal, with its vote of thanks inscribed on vellum, and 5 pounds, to rodgers, in acknowledgment of his noble conduct.
all round the kingdom the men are, as a rule, eager to man our 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.
