Chapter XXIII: Hardly Saved

"Much would it please you sometimes to explore
The peaceful dwellings of our borough poor;
To view a sailor just returned from sea,
His wife beside, a child on either knee,
And others crowding near, that none may lose
The smallest portion of the welcome news....
The trembling children look with steadfast eyes,
And panting, sob involuntary sighs;
And sleep awhile his torpid touch delays,
And all is joy, and piety, and praise."

_Crabbe._

The second mate and cabin-boy still remain on board the wreck; they have watched with the greatest horror and dread the terrible death of the chief mate, and are themselves almost in absolute despair.

The seas continue to wash over the ship with great violence; the deck-house, under the protection of which the sailors have been crouching, begins to break up, and wrench, and tear, and is carried away piecemeal; the second mate, as the wreck wrestles and writhes beneath him, under the rush of a huge wave, fears that it is going to break up altogether, that the ship's last moment is come, and he throws himself upon the rope by which the life-boat is made fast to the ship, and begins to make his way along it; it is almost level with the water, for the wreck has so worked herself down in the Sands that her gunwale is but four or five feet above the sea; the breakers rush over the poor fellow as he painfully struggles on; he is again and again buried by the waves, but he clings on; and half working his way, half carried by the seas and tide, he reaches the high bow of the life-boat, which is leaping, and falling, and jerking, tearing the hawser to which the sailor is clinging, up and down through the seas, as if trying its utmost violence to jerk him from his hold.

But still he holds on, his hands convulsively clutching the rope as his body is being swayed and thrown violently about; he is exhausted, and breathless--he is half drowned; his face is pale as death, his jaw drops, he seems about to swoon; in another moment he will be gone; he gives a wild despairing look at the life-boat, and as the waves dash him against it, makes an effort to grasp it; the man in the bow of the boat has been watching his every movement, has shuddered with dismay as he saw the seas wash over him, expecting him to be carried away in the strong tide. No! he still grasps the rope, and at last is within reach; in one spring, and with a cry to his mates, "Hold me! hold me!" the boatman throws himself upon the raised foredeck of the life-boat, and with his body half stretched over the stem, he grasps the collar of the sailor; the drowning man throws his arm around the boatman's neck, and clings to him convulsively, by his weight dragging the man's head down and burying it in the water; but the brave fellow clings as hard to the half-dead sailor as the sailor does to him; the seas wash bodily over them and over the bow of the boat; up and down the boat plunges them both, but he still holds on; three or four of the boatmen have hold of his legs, and are doing their utmost to pull him back into the boat, but they cannot do so, and so the struggle goes on; it is only as the boat rises on a wave and throws her bow up in the air that the men can breathe.

Now a shout of horror, and a cry--"Look-out! look out! sheer the boat, quick! quick! port--port your helm!" For right down upon the bow of the boat, tossing on the huge seas, and borne swiftly by the tide comes the wreck of one of the ship's largest and heaviest boats; it has been entangled in the mast, which is hanging over the side of the ship, but it has now washed free, and comes driving down as if to stave in the bow of the boat, and crush to death the two poor fellows hanging on to the side:--the boat sheers a little; a cross wave catches the wreckage, and it just sweeps clear. Thank God! is the cry of every man in the boat.

The boatmen cannot get the two men in over the high bow of the boat, and the poor fellows are drowning fast; and so they drag the life-boatman by his legs along the side of the boat, he still clinging to the sailor, and get him to the waist of the boat where the gunwale is very low; some of the men can now catch hold of the sailor, they drag him on board, and the boatman is pulled in by his legs. The brave fellow is very exhausted by his great and gallant exertions; but he has saved the man's life, and that is every consolation to him; the mate of the vessel is almost unconscious. If the boatman had not clung to him as the seas broke over them both, he must have let go his hold and soon have been beaten under by the waves, for he was quite incapable of any further exertion.

The boatmen again turn their attention to the wreck; they have been so much engaged with the two men struggling in the water, that they have not been able to think of the poor boy still clinging to the vessel in loneliness and fear.

The deck-house has by this time been completely washed away, and no longer affords him any protection. The poor little fellow is clinging to the gunwale, holding on to the cleats; and he is calling out in good English, and in the most piteous tones, O save me! O save me! O do save me! He is only thirteen years old. The boatmen answer him back; and much as they have passed through, it affects them very deeply to see the poor child in his fear, and misery, and danger, to hear his cries and sobs, and not to know how to help him. Continually he is completely buried in the seas, and it seems wonderful that he can hold on; each time the waves rush over the wreck, the boatmen expect to find him washed away like a cork, but he still holds on, and again and again his piteous pleading voice is heard 'mid the roar of the storm--"O save me! O save me! O be quick and save me!"--"What can we do? What can we do?" the boatmen ask each other in tones of real sorrow and dismay; there is not a man among them who is not ready to risk his own life to save the boy, but nothing can be done. It is impossible for them to climb on board the wreck by the rope with which the life-boat is fastened to the vessel, for the wreck is now so overrun by the tide that the bend of the rope is continually under water, and the wreckage of the vessel's masts is washing over it; moreover, although it was possible for a man to come down the rope, the sea and tide making with him, it would be impossible for a man to work his way up the rope against such a tremendous rush of water and breaking surf as are continually sweeping over it. The steamer is not in sight, or they might be tempted to go to her, get towed to windward again, and try to run in upon the wreck and grapple her closer; but this would be almost impossible, so wild is the sea on the weather side, and on the lee side the wreck of one of the masts is flying about in the broken water in a way, which would at once prove fatal to the life-boat if she got entangled with it.

And so all they can do is to wait on, till the tide slackens, when perhaps they will be able to haul the life-boat up to the wreck, and save the boy. But while the tide runs so fiercely they can only wait, and watch the poor little lad. They do not forget the captain of the vessel, they will go in search of him by-and-by, but they conclude that all life must have been beaten out of him long since; and they must not leave the living to go and search for the body of one whom they think must very certainly be by this time dead.

A short time, and the tide rapidly slackens, an eddy comes rushing through some channel in the Sands, and the boat begins to sheer about wildly; and is soon in danger of being crushed against the wreckage of the masts, which is heaving and tossing about among the very heaviest of the seas.

"We must make an effort soon," the coxswain cries; "make ready, my men; try and keep the wreckage clear; haul the boat up to the ship sharp, when I tell you: we will soon have the poor little chap."

Scarcely are the words shouted out by the coxswain when some of the men give a cry--"What's that! look out! yes, he is overboard, washed over by that big sea. Where is he? where is he? There he is! No! only his cap, there he lifts on that sea--he is coming straight for the boat."--From the change and eddy of the tide, the rush of the sea past the boat is not nearly as rapid as it was, and the poor boy comes floating slowly from the ship; once or twice he has been rolled under by the waves, now he is on the surface again, and near the boat. "Here he comes! look! on that wave! Lost! no, he floats again; slacken the hawsers; now he is within reach, carefully, quick; now you have got him; he is making no effort, and floating with his head under water;" a boatman manages to hook his jacket with a long boat-hook, and pulls him towards the boat--gently the men lift him in, sorrowfully; and tears are in the eyes of more than one, as they look upon the small face. "Poor little chap! too late! too late! he is gone," they say--and think that the delicate little face and slender childlike form suggest that he is fitted rather for quiet home scenes, and home care, than for such scenes of hardship and peril as he has had to endure.

"Now, my men," shouts the coxswain; "stations all! put the poor boy down here in the stern-sheets. If we do not look sharp we shall be driven upon the wreck, and likely enough all lost."

"Ay! ay! all right. Get the foresail clear! All clear,--hoist as the boat sheers; stand by to cut the cable, and ship's ropes; hoist away! Now she pays round; cut the cable; all gone; round the boat flies; away she goes before the wind. Make all fast. Now come and look to the poor lad again;" and some of the boatmen with tender fatherly pity in their hearts, take up the little fellow. They chafe his hands and rub his back and limbs, and his chest over his heart, with strong rum, put a little rum to his lips, and persevering as well as they can, following the instructions given to all life-boat men, for recovering the apparently drowned, after about half an hour they have the joy of seeing him show signs of life; the men who can be spared from working the boat continue their care of him; his circulation returns, and he can drink a little water; some of the men take off their jackets which have been kept dry by their waterproof overalls, and wrap him up in them; they then spread the mizen sail above him, to prevent the seas breaking over him; and the poor lad lies quiet, gradually recovering his strength.

During this time, the coxswain and the men have been consulting about the poor captain, who floated away with the life-buoy round him some two hours before; and they determine to run down the Stream-reach in search of him, dead or alive. But alive scarcely for one moment can they hope to find him.

The Stream-reach or Stream-wreckage, as it is called, is where the currents setting down on either side of the Sands meet on the highest part.

Most of the wreckage is washed up into it, and what remains of a lost ship or cargo will often be kept in this stream, and float away in one long line some miles to leeward. Along this Stream-reach, and in the heaviest of the seas, the men steer the life-boat, all keeping a keen look-out for the body of the lost captain.

They look back at the wreck several times as they speed away; and they soon see the foremast of the vessel go over the side; the hull of the vessel seems also to heave over, and that is the last that is seen of the _Providentia_, for by the next morning her hull is completely torn to pieces, the lower part buried in the Sands, and the remaining portion utterly swept away.

They run down the Stream-reach for about two miles; when one of the men fancies that he can see an arm waving. All look in the direction pointed out; and to their astonishment they see the captain in the life-buoy; as he rises on the sea, he shouts to them and again waves his arm.

The coxswain at once steers the boat for him, but the seas are so heavy that they knock the boat to leeward, and they just miss him.

The brave fellow shouts, "All right!" as they pass a few yards from him.

The boatmen lose no time; they take the mizen-sail which covers the mate and lad, set it with all possible haste, shake out all reefs in the foresail, head the boat round, and sail well to windward of the captain; almost capsizing the boat under her press of canvas, so eager are they; they keep a good look-out for him, for the seas are leaping so violently that it is a hard thing to keep the poor fellow in view, and at last they lose sight of him altogether. As soon as the boat is well to windward they make across the Stream-reach, then sail down it, and soon catch sight of the captain again; they lower the mizen and run straight for him; soon they down with the foresail to lessen the speed of the boat, for fear they should over run him, and manage to drop gently down by his side.

They lay hold of him and drag him into the boat; the exertion of being pulled in over the side of the boat, and the reaction after his fearful time of suffering and suspense, is too much for his remaining strength, and he seems dying in the men's hands; they try and get him to swallow a little rum, but he cannot do so, and faints.

The men now set sail and make for the Gull light-ship; they see the steamer coming round the South Sands Head in search of them; she takes the boat in tow, and they proceed towards Ramsgate. In the meanwhile some of the men have been doing all they can for the captain, rubbing his back and limbs, and doing all they possibly can to restore his circulation; he soon gets a little better, and is able to tell them that his ship was a Russian ship, the _Providentia_, from Finland, and that he is a Russian Fin; this last fact enables the men to account for his wonderful powers of endurance in his long exposure to the beating of the waves and to the coldness of the water, for the Finlanders are the hardiest of all sailors. He also tells the men, that the _Providentia_ was a full rigged ship of 700 tons, bound from Newcastle to the Mediterranean with coals. That they had run ashore about eleven or twelve o'clock the night before, in thick weather. That they made signals, which the light-vessels answered. That they had seen the light-vessels signal to the shore; and as he knew that he was near Ramsgate, he felt sure that the life-boat would come out to their rescue; he therefore tried to persuade the crew, eleven in number, to remain by the ship; but that they took the big boat, and left the ship in so heavy a sea that he feared they must all be lost (they were blown over on the French coast, and at last got into Boulogne). Upon reaching Ramsgate the captain, mate, and the boy were carried to the Sailors' Home, being too weak to walk, and were well cared for.

The captain made a long statement as to the gallant services of the life-boat men, and of his deep gratitude to them.

We may as well add, that as some of the men, who had run away so suddenly from their work on board the Dutch steamer, to make a rush for the life-boat, were walking upon the pier, they saw the Dutch mate hurrying to them, evidently in a state of excitement. Halloo! What's up now? think the men, remembering how the mate had shouted after them as they left the vessel. Halloo! What's up now? but the honest fellow comes to them, and shaking them heartily by the hands, says with deep feeling,--"Me sorry me called you bad men for running away from the steamer. You good men! you good men! _Me give you_ more work if me can."