Chapter XXV

SAVED AT LAST. WE WILL NOT GO HOME WITHOUT THEM.

"O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!
Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now
The ship boring the moon with her mainmast,
And anon swallowed with yest and froth;
How the poor souls roared, and the sea
Mocked them."

_Winter's Tale._

As soon as it is daylight the coxswain of the life-boat and others of the boatmen feel very anxious; they fear that, when driven in by exhaustion on the previous night, they may, after all, have left some poor fellows clinging to a remnant of wreck; or perhaps have left a ship on the Sands, lost in the darkness of the night, and unable to make any signal of distress; the men cannot rest, and although the life-boat has only been in a few hours, the coxswain of the boat and the mate of the steamer go to the harbour-master, tell him their fears, and ask his permission to put to sea again and to search round the Sands.

The permission is readily given--"Go by all means," and the men are encouraged to make their search. Ten fresh hands join the coxswain and the bowman of the life-boat; and soon after daylight they start on their dangerous and merciful mission.

They are towed again by the steamer _Aid_, and make for the North Sands Head light-vessel, keeping a good look-out for the faintest signal of distress. The men discover nothing on the north side of the Sands, and they determine to work their way to the back of the Sands, on the French side, and there pursue their search.

Soon they see in the misty distance what seems to be a large vessel on the south-east spit of the Sands; they tow with all speed in her direction; they are proceeding along the edge of the Sand, just outside the broken water.

The waves are rolling along in all their fury, and beat down upon the Sands with tremendous force; the surf flying up in great sheets of foam, and the roar of the breakers is like loud quivering thunder; the scene is enough to make the stoutest heart quail; but, without one thought of flinching from whatever lies before them, the men cling to the life-boat as the seas break over them, and patiently bear all the cold and storm, and wash of water, as they are towed on nearer and nearer to the wreck.

One of the men said afterwards, in answer to questions as to what his feelings were as he watched the tremendous seas, and knew that shortly he would be battling for his life in the midst of them, "Well, Sir, I think that at all such times a man must naturally have his inward feelings; soldiers say that they have theirs, and I am very sure that we have ours; a man can't help knowing the danger, and thinking about it, and feeling about it too; but we are not going to be made cold-hearted about it, or we shouldn't be out there. We can't help seeing that we've got hard work before us, and we determine by God's help to do it, and we won't flinch. We hope to save others, and feel that we shall do our best to do so, but at the same time we know that we may lose our own lives in making the attempt. We think about this sometimes as we are sitting in the boat, holding on against the wash of the seas, but when we get to the wreck we forget all about ourselves, and only think about saving the others."

The seas become still heavier and heavier as they get nearer to the wreck and approach a more exposed part of the Sands; they now have to encounter one great rush of water, which, urged by the hurricane of wind and the strong tide, comes raging along in unbroken course through the Straits of Dover.

At last they get within a short distance of the wreck, and find her to be a large barque. She has settled down somewhat on the Sands, has heeled over a good deal, and huge waves are foaming over her. The men look at the awful rage of sea, hear the tremendous roar with which the mountainous waves break upon the Sand, and say to each other, "We have indeed our work cut out for us."

The boatmen can see no signs of any of the crew of the vessel being left on board. They may have been swept from the wreck, or have been lost in some vain effort to get to land in their own boat. The flag of distress is still flying, and the steamer tows the boat nearer to the wreck; they can now make out that the crew are crouching down under cover of the deck-house; while the huge waves make a complete breach over the vessel, and threaten every moment to wash the deck-house and the crew away.

The steamer tows the boat up to windward. The life-boatmen feel their turn for the battle has come, and make every preparation; they get their sails ready to hoist, make the cable up all clear for paying out; the coxswain sees that they are now far enough to windward, the steamer's tow-rope is cast off; the boat lifts on a huge wave as the strain of the rope is taken off her, they hoist the sail, round she flies in answer to her helm, and she makes in for the wreck; they mount on the top of huge seas, go plunging down into the trough of the waves; the spray flies over them as the gale catches the crests of the towering breakers, and fills the air with clouds of flying foam; a minute more and they are in broken water; the seas rush and leap and recoil, fly high and fall in tangled volumes over the boat; she is tossed in all directions by the wild broken waves, and as she fills again and again with water, becomes almost unmanageable.

The men have to cling with all their strength to the thwarts, but still the wind drives the boat on, and they get within about sixty yards of the wreck; the anchor is thrown out, the cable payed out swiftly; the sea is rushing with tremendous force over the ship; the boat sheers in under her lee-quarter; the boatmen cheer to the poor half-dead sailors who are crouching and clinging under shelter of the deck-house. All is hope; "A minute or two more," they think, "and we shall have saved them." A shout from the coxswain of the boat--"Hold on! hold on!" a glance upwards, a huge mountain of a wave comes rolling swiftly on, its crest curls over, breaks, falls upon the boat, the men and the boat are carried down by the tremendous weight of water. Some of the men seem almost crushed by the blow and pressure of the falling wave; they do not know whether the boat is upset or not, so is she rolled about in the whirl of the broken wave; they cling convulsively to her, she soon floats, lifted by her air-tight compartments, and she frees herself. The men breathe again; they find that the wave that buried them has taken the boat in its irresistible flood, and dragging the anchor with it, has carried it more than one hundred yards away from the ship.

The men lift themselves up, clear their faces from the water, shake it from their clothes, and look at the vessel; they determine that, please God, they will yet save the crew. They give a cheer to encourage and give hope to the poor fellows, and without further thought of the dread danger they have but just escaped, prepare for another attempt.

They hoist the sail quickly and get the boat's head round, and try and sheer her into the ship; but all their efforts are in vain, wave after wave breaks over them, the boat is tossed in all directions by the broken seas--sometimes the coxswain feels as if he would be thrown bodily forward on the men, as the waves lift the boat almost end on end.

Again and again are boat and men overrun bodily by the rush of the waves, but the boat behaves splendidly, lifts buoyantly from under the weight of water; her undaunted crew bear up bravely, and all are once more ready for another struggle. They labour on, but without success; they cannot make their way back to the ship: they get the oars out, the waves and wind take them and send them leaping from the rowlocks, and out of the men's hands; they must give it up for this time.

All their thoughts are for the poor shipwrecked crew, and the bitter--bitter disappointment they must feel. Again they cheer to them, and shout to them, to keep their hearts up--they will soon be at them again; and they make the best of their way back to the steamer. They have failed in their first attempt.

The steamer again tows them into position, and they make for the second time boldly in for the wreck; the coxswain steers as near to the stern as possible, avoiding the danger of being washed over it on to the deck of the vessel, and thus crushed to pieces; they get nearer to the vessel than they did before; the shipwrecked crew begin to stir themselves, the boatmen are about to run the boat alongside, when again they are overwhelmed in the rush of a fearful sea, buried in its deluge of broken water, and the boat is again hurled away by the force of the waves, and carried many fathoms from the vessel; the anchor holds, but the tide is running more strongly than ever, and in the direction to carry them right away from the wreck; and so it is hopeless for them to try to get any nearer to her from where they are.

The tide has risen and is nearly at its height; the vessel has fallen still more over upon her side; the lee side of the deck is completely under water, the top of the deck-house is just above the sea; the crew have been driven from their old place of shelter, they have lashed a spar across the mizen shrouds, and are all clinging to it, while the heavy waves beat continually over the poor fellows.

It is with terrible agony that the crew on board the wreck witness the second failure of the life-boat: "She will never come again," the captain says, in a voice of despair; "the men cannot do it, the very life must have been washed and beaten out of them." Great is their astonishment to find that no sooner does the life-boat clear herself of the water that seems almost to drown her, no sooner do the men free themselves from the rush of the foam, which has for a time overwhelmed them, than they begin to cheer again, as if only rendered the more determined by their second defeat; the more courageous by the difficulties and dangers they had already endured; and the shipwrecked crew, encouraged by the hoarse cheers of the exhausted half-drowned boatmen, do not lose all hope.

The boat is again towed into position, and for the third time makes in for the wreck.

This time they throw the anchor overboard farther from the vessel than before, give longer scope to the cable, sail in well under the ship's stern, and again steer as near as possible to the vessel's lee-quarter, and lower the foresail.

They are within a dozen yards of the ship; the bowman heaves a rope with all his force; it falls short of the men in the shrouds to whom he throws it, and the boat sweeps on; they check her with the cable, and bring her head to the ship abreast of her, but unhappily some distance off.

The captain of the shipwrecked vessel had despaired of the boat being able to come in the third time; but when he saw her coming, he felt fully convinced that it was their last opportunity of being saved, and determined that if the boat were again swept from the wreck, that he would jump into the sea and try and swim to her.

The boat comes and misses, and the crew of the boat see the captain hastily throw off his sea-boots, seize a life-buoy, and prepare to plunge into the sea: they shout to him not to do so, and to the crew to hold him back. "The tide in its set off the Sands would sweep him away; the seas would beat his life out of him: they will be back again soon, and won't go home without them."

The steamer has followed the boat as closely as possible, running down close to the edge of the Sands, just clear of the broken water. The life-boat has swung out to the full length of her cable, and is in deep water; the men upon being beaten away from the wreck for the third time, look round for the steamer, and to their astonishment see her making in straight towards them.

The men on board the steamer had watched with increasing anxiety and dismay the defeat of the successive gallant attempts made by the life-boat crew. They had grown more and more excited each time that the life-boat had returned to them, and feel now prepared to run almost any risk whatever to further help the life-boatmen in their brave but as yet unsuccessful efforts to save the crew.

And so the steamer makes right in across the broken water, straight for the life-boat; a rope is thrown from the steamer, and is made fast in the life-boat; they now hope, with the steamer's help, to be able to sheer the boat right in upon the wreck.

The boatmen have hold of their own cable, to which their anchor is fast; they gradually draw in upon this cable, and the steamer tries to tow the boat nearer and nearer to the vessel, and for the fourth time the life-boat makes in 'mid the wild raging seas for the rescue of the crew.

The steamer ventures into the rage of the sea, and her position becomes one of very great peril; she rolls in the trough of the tremendous waves till her gunwales are right under water; the foam and spray dash completely over her, and tons and tons of water deluge her deck. They gradually approach the vessel; the life-boat sheers in; the seas and tide and wind catch her in their full power, and whirl her away again.

A huge wave sweeps bodily over the steamer--she is in extreme danger; the life-boatmen watch her in the greatest alarm, fearing each moment that a wave will swamp her--but rolling, plunging, burying herself in the foaming seas, the steamer bravely holds her own, until to remain longer is certain death to all on board; and sorrowfully the crew of the steamer abandon their most gallant attempt, and make out of the rage of broken water.

The life-boatmen rejoice to see the steamer get clear of the deadly peril, but they are scarcely in less peril themselves; they cut the steamer's tow-rope, and then find that they must cut their own cable, to avoid being dashed over the wreck; and away they go again driven on before the gale. They look at each other, but only read courage and determination in each other's countenances. Beaten off for the fourth time, not one heart fails, not one speaks of giving up the attempt, not one of the brave fellows has any such thought for an instant; their one consideration is what next shall be attempted to save the poor fellows from a speedy and terrible death, which indeed threatens them every minute. Thus the only question is, what they shall try next? and weak and exhausted, and almost frozen with cold, but determined, and full of courage and zeal as ever, their one anxiety is for the poor shipwrecked crew, whose peril increases each minute, and they prepare for a fifth effort for their rescue, strong still in their old determination--"that they will not go home without them."