Chapter XXIV: Saved at Last. the Fatal Goodwin Sands

"There are to whom that ship was dear
For love and kindred's sake,
When these the voice of rumour hear,
Their inmost heart shall quake,
Shall doubt, and fear, and wish, and grieve,
Believe, and long to unbelieve,
But never cease to ache;
Still doom'd, in sad suspense, to bear
The hope that keeps alive despair."

_J. Montgomery._

Do we not often find in the winter evening that our warm rooms seem more cosy, and the flames to lap more brightly and closely round the half-consumed log, as a blast of wind moans in the chimney, and perhaps the cry of some poor street hawker tells its plain tale of toiling misery as it goes shiveringly along the streets? Do we not find our sensations of personal comfort increased, and our sympathy for the sufferer quickened, as the wintry gale and slashing rain beat against our well-shuttered windows, and suggest the hardships we should have to endure if we were less cared for and less protected?

But if we may learn the deeper to realize our blessings, and the more to enlarge our sympathies, as we contrast our respective positions with such as are endured by many of the poor toilers on shore, truly still more may we do so as we consider the trials and hardships endured by many of the toilers at sea. Jamb down the window harder to prevent those few drops of rain bubbling in, draw the curtain closer and check that one breath of draught; and now think of those of your fellow-men who are breasting the storm in its wildest rage, out in the full perils and dense darkness of the night, where cruel winds and mad seas attack them in all their dread force; but neither daunt their courage, check their efforts, nor frustrate their skill; their errand is to save, and all personal considerations are lost in the grandness and hope of their enterprise.

Thinking of these things, we shall not fail again and again to render our ready and full-hearted sympathy, not only for the shipwrecked, crying aloud in their quick peril and deep agony for rescue, but also for the poor brave-hearted boatmen of our coasts, who never hesitate to do all and to dare all when the prospect before them is that of saving life.

Let us recall again some of the features in the lives of those whom we may well call the "Storm Warriors" of seafaring life, who not only find their bread upon the waters, but upon the most troubled waters of the most storm-lashed seas; who, the darker the night, the sterner the tempest, the more blinding the snowdrift, are the more full of expectation that their services will be required, and are therefore the more determined to urge their way out into the storm, to be ready to render aid at the first call for assistance, and perhaps to pluck a harvest of saved lives off the very edge of the scythe of death.

Yes, my readers, I would once again carry you in thought far away from quiet home scenes and peaceful associations, from the pleasant nooks and sunny corners of memories which you delight to recall, upon which you love to let your thoughts half consciously ponder; but I ask you to take the joy of your home peace--the gladness of your blessings--with you, that you may be quickened in every chord of sympathy as you let me draw your thoughts away into the dread darkness, which is only broken by spectral sheens of light shed by flying foam, there to picture the rolling sea-mountains hurling along their avalanches of white spray; to listen to the dread discords of a howling tempest; to hover in fancy mid a scene of fierce turmoil and strife, where the elements in their rage seem to have cast off all bonds to their fury, and to have determined to sweep from their path every vestige of man and his works; and now to let your eyes centre upon a shattered wreck, to which are clinging a few storm-beaten sailors trembling upon the very verge of a grave.

Are you practically interested in life-boat work, then you have a message to them in their hour of agony; you would have a message to many a loving wife and innocent child if they could now realize the danger of those they love, upon whom they depend. And your whisper is of rescue and of hope. Look where a fitful light gleams in the darkness; now rides high on the crest of a huge wave, now falls buried in the trough of the sea, shines out again, is hidden in a cloud of spray, but pressing on and on, getting nearer each moment to the shipwrecked.

The light gleams from a life-boat in which a small band of men are battling,--battling on in the teeth of the fierce storm. No terrors stay them, no failures quell their courage and their zeal; are not fellow-men held captive and threatened with death by fierce and cruel seas? and shall they, the Storm Warriors, not be ready at every peril, and at every hardship, and against all difficulties to make in to their rescue. In such scenes we see the men actually at their work in their efforts to save life and property; but the life-boat work does not merely consist in doing the work at the moment of its necessity, but also in the unwearying watch and readiness for when that time of emergency shall come. Many a Ramsgate boatman leaves his poor, but warm and comfortable home, his humble and loving home circle, to pace Ramsgate pier for hours, and this, night after night, for many winter months, and for the mere chance of being among the first to make a rush for the life-boat when the signal is given to man her,--a chance that may not come a dozen times in the season, and which, when it does come, may afford indeed a grand opportunity for daring all and doing all for the saving of life, but not for doing much in the way of refilling the half-empty cupboards at home, or rubbing off the debts that have been gradually growing during the winter season.

And in this, the last tale, I propose telling of the doing of the Storm Warriors, the Life Savers, who watch and struggle mid the fierce seas of the Goodwin Sands, I have deeds to relate done by our brave boatmen--acts of daring and determination--for which I claim a place amid the records of the bravest, grandest deeds of heroism of the age; a tale to tell which, unless I fail utterly in the telling--and this God forbid--I reverently pray, and pray it for the sake of noble deeds done, and for the sake of the good life-boat cause--a tale which must excite sympathy for those in suffering and in peril from the dangers of the sea; and sympathy and high esteem for the daring and unselfish workers of brave works;--a tale, the echoes of which may well stir, as a trumpet peal, stout hearts to perseverance and brave deeds, to do and dare all in God's name, and for the right, whatever storms of opposition may impede their onward course, and stand between them and their high and holy aim.

The early days of the new year were bleak and cold; strong northerly and easterly winds swept over land and sea; people on shore spoke of the weather as being seasonable, but shuddered over the word.

At Ramsgate, on the 5th of January, it was a fresh breeze from the east-south-east, and the anxious boatmen were as usual keeping a good look-out. About half-past eight in the morning, the booming of signal guns was heard; the signals came from both the Goodwin and the Gull light-ships.

The boatmen, who had been watching all night in momentary expectation of such a signal, speedily manned the life-boat.

The steamer, the _Aid_, was soon ready, with her brave crew full of courage and hardihood, and full of zeal as ever to second every effort made by the life-boat men in saving life. The steamer is steered for the North Sands Head light-vessel. As they were making their way across the Gull stream, they saw what proved to be a shipwrecked crew in their own boat; they took them on board the steamer, and found that they were the crew, eight in number, of the schooner _Mizpah_, of Brixham. The schooner had stranded on the Goodwin in a thick fog the night previously; the weather was still thick, and the men could give no account of the position of their vessel, and thought that it was hopeless to try and find her, and that it would be useless to try and get her off if they did find her, and so the steamer took the boat in tow and returned to Ramsgate.

It proved afterwards that the vessel floated off the Sands at high water. A Broadstairs hovelling-lugger, while cruising about, fell in with her, and succeeded in bringing her into Ramsgate. The vessel and cargo were worth £6000 or £7000; the Broadstairs men obtained £350 as salvage. The life-boatmen were glad to take a few hours' rest after their night's watch and morning's work, they therefore found their way homewards, leaving, however, plenty of ready and able boatmen to watch on the pier, eager to make up another crew should a call for their services be made. The cold became hour by hour more intense, and the fresh breeze steadily grew; as the tide made, the sea broke over the pier in heavy clouds of spray, thundered down upon it, and poured over it in foaming cascades into the harbour.

The evening grew on, the gale became terrific; heavy snow-storms went sweeping by, showers of freezing sleet rushed on before the wind, and the night was as dreary and dismal, as dark and cold, as night could well be.

At about half-past ten the storm was in its full fury, and the sea a very howling wilderness of raging waters.

At that moment the boom of a signal gun made itself heard, in spite of the roar of the wind and sea, and rockets were soon seen streaming up from the Gull light-ship.

"The life-boat was manned with despatch," would be the short report the coxswain would afterwards make to the harbour-master. This means, that directly the signal was given, all was astir at the pier-head, the harbour-men on watch hurried themselves to lose no moment in getting the life-boat ready for sea; that the crew of the steamer also made all zealous speed; that the boatmen, in spite of the piercing cold and terrific gale, rush along the pier, hurry down the harbour steps, spring into the boat, and at once set to work in preparing her for sea, as readily as schoolboys bound down the school stairs and out on to the common for the joy of a summer holiday.

It takes the steamer and life-boat about one hour and a half to urge their way through the terrible storm into the neighbourhood of the Gull light-ship; the crews speak her about one in the morning, and are told that the men on board saw, some time since, a large light burning south-east by south, but they had lost sight of it for about twenty minutes.

The steamer at once tows the boat in the direction described; a careful look-out is kept; the snow-storms come down more darkly than ever, and the men find it bitterly cold, as they are continually overrun by the foam and spray, and by the broken crests of the waves, which are very wild and running mountains high; still on and on the brave fellows battle their way, but they can discover no signs of any signal-light. The crew hold a consultation as to what is best to be done; there appears no possibility of any of the crew of the vessel which gave the signals of distress being still alive; she must have broken up at once, in so tremendous a sea, and it would be impossible for any poor fellow to float clinging to any piece of wreckage in the midst of such a terrific turmoil of water. Still some other vessel may be in danger; the night is wild and dark enough for disaster after disaster to occur; and so the men determine to wait and watch for any signal of distress, and not seeing one, to remain in the neighbourhood of the Sands at all events until daylight, that they may feel sure before they leave the Sands that they are not turning their backs upon any whom they might leave to perish in the storm for want of their aid.

And so, my readers, while most of you, if not all, were quietly in your beds (the wakeful ones of you perchance listening wistfully to the storm, and perhaps having your hearts moved to great pity and deep prayer for the poor fellows at sea), these brave boatmen, from choice, and not for the hope of money reward, but for the far dearer hope of saving life, waited on and on, by those gloomy storm-beaten Sands, a prey to all the fierceness of the gale, the raging seas, and deadly cold.

Time after time the mad rushing waves break over the boat, burying her in clouds of spray and foam, or, coming in heavier volume still, bury her and the men for a moment or two completely under water. It is to the crew something more than intense discomfort; their sufferings become very great, yet they will not give in; they do all that they can to encourage each other, and still let the boat lay to.

Willing as every man is to endure to the utmost, they soon find that it is getting beyond their strength; they feel as if frozen through and through, and are rapidly getting numbed and exhausted with the continual wash and beating over them of the heavy seas. There is no help for it, and unwillingly they make a signal for the steamer, and are towed back to Ramsgate, arriving between four and five in the morning.

The name of the vessel that was lost during that terrible night was never known; the greedy Sands soon swallowed up every vestige of the ship; her name may perhaps be found among the missing ships at Lloyds'. Hope, doubtless, long lingered, may still linger, in many mournful homes; still the story be told to wondering children, how their father or their brother sailed on such a day from a foreign port, and has not since been heard of; but no clue has ever yet been found as to which of the many missing vessels it was that came to such sudden destruction in that dread night on the Goodwin Sands.

Shall we linger another moment or two in thought over the poor fellows thus lost in the fierce seas. We fancy that the bronzing of a tropical sun was still ruddy upon their cheeks; a few weeks since they were ready to rest 'neath the shadow of the sails, and lie about the deck at night; and then speeding north they were met in the chops of the Channel by the rough welcome of a strong adverse wind, against which they sought, day and night, to beat their way, while the sails and cordage grew hard and stiff with frozen rain and spray.

Favoured at last with a slant of wind, the vessel finds her way up Channel; the crew already feel the hardship and dangers of their voyage at an end, as they begin to count the hours until they shall be in dock; night falls as they pass the South Foreland. The wind goes moaningly back to the old direction; hour after hour it increases, a gale sweeps along in dread force, the blinding snow bewilders the pilot, who can now see no guiding light, and soon in the darkness of the night, the force of the wind, and the swirl of the tide, the vessel is driven through the raging surf on to the Sands.

The crew make a rush for the boats; useless; they would not live a moment in such a boil of sea. The waves fly over the vessel, now lift her, and then let her crash with the force of all her weight down upon the Sands; now they beat with tremendous force against her, and shake her each moment to her keel; the captain burns a blue light, the spray washes it out, the men hasten to get a tar-barrel on deck, knock in the top, fill it with combustibles, and light it; it flares up, and for a time resists the rush of spray with which the air is full; the light-vessel sees the signal, fires a gun and a rocket; the life-boat starts upon her mission, but the waves close in upon the doomed ship in fierce hungry strife, lifting and crashing her down time after time; the decks are soon swept of everything that the force of water can tear from them, the tar-barrel is washed out; the men can no longer remain on the deck, but have to take refuge in the rigging, where they lash themselves to the shrouds, and they wait on in darkness and despair; a tremendous wave comes boiling along, it lifts the vessel, and almost rolls her over; the strong masts snap like reeds; the ship fills and sinks in the hole she has worked by her rolling and beating in the quicksand. Another half-hour, perhaps, and the life-boat is there; too late! only the tangled spars and cordage and broken pieces of wreck float near--tokens of the death and destruction that have been wrought: and a fine ship has been thus utterly and speedily destroyed--and all living things on board being swiftly engulfed, have found their graves in the strife of that deadly sea.