Chapter VII

THE RESCUE OF THE CREW OF THE "SAMARITANO," AND THE RETURN.

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height! On, on, you noble English,
Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought.

"King Henry V."--_Shakespeare._

Harder still the gale, and the rush of the sea and the blinding snow. The storm was at its height. As the life-boat headed for the Sands, a darkness, as of night, seemed to settle down upon the men; they could scarcely see each other; but on through the raging sea and blinding storm they drove the gallant boat. As they approached the shallow water, the high part of the Sand, where the heaviest waves were breaking, they could see spreading itself before them, standing out in the gloom, a white, gleaming, barrier wall of foam; for there as the rushing waves broke, they clashed together in their recoil, and mounted up in columns of foam, their heavier volume falling, and their crests caught by the wind and carried away in white streaming clouds of spray, while the fearful roar of the beat of the waves could be heard above the gale.

But still straight for the breakers the men made. No faltering, no hesitation, brows knit, teeth clenched, hands ready, and hearts firm, and into it with a cheer.

The boat, although under the smallest sail she could carry--a double reefed fore-sail and mizen--was driven on by the hurricane force of the wind, on through the outer range of breakers she plunged, and then came indeed a struggle for life.

The waves no longer rolled on in foaming ranks, but leapt, and clashed, and battled together in a raging boil of sea. They broke over the boat, the surf poured in first on one side of the boat, and then on the other, as she rolled to starboard and port, wildly tossed from side to side. Some waves rushed bodily over the boat, threatening to sweep every man out of her. Look out, my men! hold on! hold on! was the cry. When they saw some huge breaker heading towards them like an advancing wall, then the men threw themselves breast down on the thwart, curled their legs under it, clasped it with all their force with both arms, held their breath hard, and clung on for very life against the tear and wrestle of the wave, while the rush of water poured over their backs and heads, and buried them in its flood. Down, down, beneath the weight of the water, the men and boat sank; but only for a moment; the splendid boat rose in her buoyancy, and freed herself of the seas, which for a moment had overcome her and buried her, and her crew breathed again; and a struggling cry of triumph rises from them. Well done, old boat! well done! all right! all right! Yes, all hands here, no one washed out of her; and with a quick glance of mutual congratulation they look at each other, and rejoice that all are safe, scarce time for a word. "Now she goes through it, now she's forging ahead! keep a tight hold, my boys!" A moment's lull, as she glided on the crest of some huge wave, or only smaller ones tried their strength against her; then again the monster fellows came heading on, again the warning cry was given; look out! hold on! hold on! and the men crouched, and clung, and struggled for their lives, while the wild waves rushed over the boat.

Thus until they got clear of the Sands the fearful struggle was again and again repeated; but at last it was for a time over, they had burst through the belt of raging surf and got again into deep water. They had then only the huge rolling waves and less broken tumble of sea to contend with; this, in such a furious gale of wind, was bad enough, and almost more than any other kind of boat could have endured, but little in comparison to what they had just gone through, and escaped from.

The boat was now put before the wind, and every man in her was on the look-out for the wreck. For a time it remained so thick that there was no possibility of finding her, when again a second time a sudden break in the storm revealed her: she was about half a mile to leeward.

They shifted the foresail with great difficulty, and again made in for the Sands towards the vessel. The appearance of the wreck as they approached her made even the stoutest among them shudder.

She had settled down by the stern in the Sands, the uplifted bow being the only part of the hull that was to be seen; the sea was making a clear breach over her.

The mainmast was gone, her foresail, and foretopsail were blown adrift, and great columns of foam were mounting up, flying over her foremast and bow. They saw a Margate lugger lying at anchor just clear of the Sands, and made close to her. As they shot by they could just make out, mid the roar of the storm, a loud hail, eight of our men on board! and on they flew, and in a few minutes were in a sea that would instantly have swamped the lugger, noble and powerful boat though she was.

Approaching the wreck, it was with terrible anxiety they strained their sight, trying to discover if there were still any men left in the tangled mass of rigging, over which the sea was breaking so furiously. By degrees they made them out. "I see a man's head, look! one is waving his arm."--"I make out two! three! why the rigging is full of the poor fellows;" and with a cheer of triumph, at being yet in time, the life-boat crew settled to their work.

The wreck of the mainmast, and the tremendous wash of sea over the vessel, prevented their going to the lee of the wreck. This increased their danger tenfold, as the result proved.

When about forty yards from the wreck, they lowered their sails, and cast the anchor over the side. The moment for which the boat had so gallantly battled for four hours, and the shipwrecked had waited almost in despair for eight hours, had at last arrived.

No cheering! no shouting in the boat now, no whisper beyond the necessary orders; the risk and suspense are too terrible! yard by yard, the cable is cautiously payed out, and the great rolling seas are allowed to carry the boat, little by little, nearer to the vessel. The waves break over the boat, for a moment bury it, and then as the sea rushes on, and breaks upon the wreck, the spray, flying up, hides the men lashed to the rigging from the boatman's sight. They hoist up a corner of the sail to let the boat sheer in; all are ready; a huge wave lifts them. Pay out the cable! sharp, men! sharp! the coxswain shouts; belay all! The cable was let go a few yards by the run, and the boat is alongside the wreck. With a cry, three men jump into the boat and are saved! All hands to the cable! haul in hand over hand, for your lives, men, quick, the coxswain cries; for he sees a tremendous wave rushing in swiftly upon them. They haul in the cable, draw the boat a little from the wreck, the wave passes and breaks over the vessel; if the life-boat had been alongside she would have been dashed against the wreck, and perhaps capsized, or washed over, and utterly destroyed. Again the men watch the waves, and as they see a few smaller ones approaching, let the cable run again, and get alongside; this time they are able to remain a little longer by the vessel; and one after another, thirteen of the shipwrecked men unlash themselves from the rigging and jump into the boat, when again they draw away from the vessel in all haste, and avoid threatened destruction.

"Are they all saved?" No! three of the vessel's crew, Spaniards, are still left in the rigging; they seem almost dead, and scarcely able to unlash themselves, and crawl down the shrouds and await the return of the boat.

Again the boat is alongside, and this time the peril is greater than ever. They must place the boat close to the vessel, for the men are too weak to make any spring to reach her; they must remain alongside for a longer time, for two life-boatmen must get on to the wreck and lift the men on board; but, as before, they go coolly, quietly, and determinedly to work; the cable is veered out, the sail manoeuvred to make the boat sheer, and again she is alongside; the men are seized by their arms and clothing, and dragged into the boat.

The last one left is the cabin-boy; he seems entangled in the rigging. The poor little fellow had a canvas bag of trinkets and things, he was taking as presents to the loved ones at home, and all through the howling storm, the rush and beat of the waves, as he held on exhausted and half dead to the shrouds, he still thought of those loved friends, and clung to the canvas bag.

God only knows whether the loved ones at home were thinking of, and praying for him, and whether it was in answer to their prayers and those of many others that the life-boat then rode alongside that wreck, an ark of safety mid the raging seas.

They shout, the boy lingers still, his half-dead hands cannot free the bag from the entangled rigging. A moment and all are lost; a boatman makes a spring, seizes the lad with a strong grasp, and tears him down from the rigging into the boat--too late, too late; they cannot get away from the vessel; a tremendous wave rushes on: hold hard all, hold anchor! hold cable! give but a yard, and all are lost! The boat lifts, is washed into the fore-rigging, the sea passes, and she settles down again upon an even keel! Thank God! If one stray rope of all the torn and tangled rigging of the vessel had caught the boat's rigging, or one of her spars--if the boat's keel or cork fenders had caught in the shattered gunwale, she would have turned over, and every man in her been shaken into the sea to speedy and certain death. Thank God, it is not so, and once more they are safe.

The boat is very crowded; she has her own crew of thirteen on board, six of the Margate boatmen and two Whitstable fishermen, who were left on the vessel, the captain, mate, eight seamen and the boy; thus, thirty-two souls in all form her precious freight.

The life-boatmen at once, without a second's delay, haul in the cable as fast as possible, and draw up to the anchor to get clear of the wreck, for they must get some distance away before they dare let go their cable, or with the wind and seas setting directly towards the vessel they would be driven upon her, unless they had plenty of room to sail by her.

An anxious time it is, as they draw up to the anchor; at last they are pretty clear, and hoist the sail to draw still farther away before they let go.

There is no thought of getting the anchor up in such a gale and sea.

"She draws away," cries the captain of the boat, "pay out the cable; stand by to cut it; pass the hatchet forward; cut the cable, quick, my men, quick." There is a moment's delay, a delay by which indeed all their lives are saved; a few strong blows with the hatchet, and the cable would have been parted. A boatman takes out his knife, and begins gashing away at the hawser. Already one strand out of the three, which form the strong rope, is severed; when a fearful gust of wind sweeps by, the boat heels over almost on her side--a crash is heard, and the mast and sail are blown clean out of the boat.

Never was a moment of greater peril. Away in the rush of the wave the boat is carried straight for the wreck; the cable is payed out and is slack; they haul it in as fast as they can, but on they are carried swiftly, apparently to certain destruction. Let them hit the wreck full, and the next wave must throw the boat bodily upon it, and all her crew will be swept at once into the sea; let them but touch the wreck, and the risk is fearful; on they are carried, the stem of the boat just grazes the bow of the vessel, they must be capsized by the bowsprit and entangled in the wreckage; some of the crew are ready for a spring into the bowsprit to prolong their lives a few minutes, the others are all steadily, eagerly, quietly, hauling in upon the cable might and main, as the only chance of safety to the boat and crew; one moment more and all are gone, one more haul upon the cable, a fathom or so comes in by the run, and at that moment it mercifully taughtens and holds; all may yet be safe, another yard or two and the boat would have been dashed to pieces.

They again haul in the cable, and draw the boat away as rapidly as they can from the wreck, but they do it with a terrible dread, for they remember the cut strand of the rope. Will the remaining two strands hold? The strain is fearful, each time that the boat lifts to a wave, the cable tightens and jerks, and they think it breaking; but it still holds, and a thrill of joy passes through the heart of all, as they hear that the cut part of the rope is safely in the boat.

But the danger is not even yet over: all this time the mast and sail have been dragging over the side of the boat; it is with great difficulty that they get them on board.

The mast had been broken short off about three feet from the heel.

They chop a new heel to it, and rig it up as speedily as they can, but it takes long to do so; for the boat is lying in the trough of the sea, and the waves are constantly breaking over her; moreover, she is so crowded that the men can scarcely move, and the gale is blowing as hard as ever.

For the poor Spaniards, as they cling to each other, the terrors of death seem scarcely passed away; they know nothing of the properties of the life-boat, and cannot believe that it will live long in such a sea. As the waves beat over the boat and fill it, they imagine that she will founder, and each time that the great rolling seas launch themselves at her they cling to each other, expecting that she will capsize; besides, the poor fellows' nerves are not in a very good state; for eight hours they have been in great danger, for a large portion of that time in momentary expectation of death, during the four hours they were lashed to the rigging of the wreck, with the life nearly beaten and frozen out of them by the constant rush of sea and of spray, and by the bitter wind.

One of the Spaniards seeing a life-belt lying down, which one of the crew had thrown off in the hurry of his work, sits upon it by way of making himself doubly safe. But the work goes on. At last the mast is fitted and raised. No unnecessary word is spoken all this time, for the life and death struggle is not yet over; nor, indeed, can it be before they are well away from the neighbourhood of the wreck. Now, as they hoist the sail, the boat gradually draws away; the cable is again payed out little by little; as soon as they are well clear of the vessel they cut it, and away they sail. The terrible suspense is over when each moment was a moment of fearful risk. It had lasted from the time when they let go the anchor to the time when they got clear of the vessel--about one hour. The men could now breathe freely, their faces brighten, and from one and all there arises spontaneously a pealing cheer. They are no longer face to face with death, and thankfully and joyfully they sail away from the sands, the breakers, and the wreck.

The gale was still at its height, but the peril they were in then seemed nothing to what they had gone through, and had happily left behind. In the great reaction of feeling, the freezing cold and sleet, the driving wind, and foam, and sea, were all forgotten; and they felt as light-hearted as if they were out on a pleasant summer's cruize. They could at last look round and see who they had in the boat, speak hearty words of congratulation to the Margate and Whitstable men, some of whom they knew, and strive by a good deal of broken English, and slaps on the back, and shaking of hands, to cheer up the Spanish sailors, and to let them know how glad they are to have saved them. They then proceeded in search of the steamer, which, after casting the life-boat adrift, made for shelter to the back of the Hook Sand, not far from the Reculvers, and there waited, her crew anxiously on the look-out for the return of the life-boat.

As they were making for the steamer, the lugger _Eclipse_ came in chase to hear whether they had succeeded in saving all hands, and especially, whether all the men of her crew were saved. They welcomed the glad tidings with three cheers for the life-boat crew, and made in for the land. Soon after, the Whitstable smack made towards them upon a similar errand, and her crew were equally rejoiced to hear that their ship-mates with all hands were safe. It was too rough, a great deal, for the men to be taken on board the smack; and so she, after speaking them, tacked in for the land.

The night was coming on apace; it was not until they had run three or four miles that they sighted the steamer; and when they got alongside her it was a difficult matter to get the saved crew on board. The sea was raging, and the gale blowing as much as ever, and the steamer rolled and pitched heavily; the poor shipwrecked fellows were too exhausted to spring for the steamer as the opportunities occurred, and had to be almost lifted on board, one poor fellow being hauled on board by a rope. Again the boat was taken in tow, almost all her crew remaining in her, and they commenced their return home. The night was very dark and clear; the sea and gale had lost none of their force; and until the steamer and boat had got well round the North Foreland, the struggle to get back was just as great as it had been to get there.

Once round the Foreland the wind was well on the quarter, and they made easier way; light after light opened to them; Kingsgate and Broadstairs were passed, and at last the Ramsgate pier-head light shone out with its bright welcome, and the men began to feel that their work was nearly over.

A telegram had been sent from Margate in the afternoon, stating that the Ramsgate life-boat had been seen to save the crew; but nothing more had been heard. The boatmen had calculated the time when they thought the steamer and life-boat might both be back; and the fearful violence of the storm suggested some sad occasion for the delay. As hour after hour grew on, the anxiety increased; real alarm was beginning to be felt by all, and a keen watch was kept for the first appearance of the steamer and boat round the edge of the cliff.

As the tide went down, and the sea broke less heavily over the pier, the men could venture farther along it, until, by the time of the boat's return, they were enabled to assemble at the end of the pier, and there a large and anxious crowd gathered. The anxiety of all was increased by the suggestions and speculations of disasters, which always present themselves at a time of suspense and apprehension; and so, when the steamer was announced with the life-boat in tow, the reaction was great, and the watchers shouted for very joy.

And as the "Storm Warriors" entered the harbour waving the strong right arms that had worked so well, and shouted, "All saved!" "All saved!" and the flags of triumph were seen flying out in the gale. Cheer after cheer broke from the crowd as they welcomed home from the dread battle-field those who had fought and conquered, and now bore with them as trophies of their victory, nineteen men; fellow-sailors, whose lives had been saved from a terrible and certain death. And many cheered again as they thought of the number who would have had life-long cause to mourn, if these poor fellows had perished. Parents, wives, children--what a group they would seem if they could be pictured watching the saved ones return; what words, and looks, and tears of thanks where feelings are too deep for words, for the Storm Warriors, and for the life-boat cause, and for the generous English people who placed such boats at the disposal of such brave hearts and strong hands--of men ready to dare all and to do all that men can do to rescue the perishing from death.

Think only of the group that may possibly welcome back the little pale, exhausted cabin-boy, their hearts as warm as his, their love as deep as his--as his, which made that little canvas bag full of simple presents so dear to him that he held to it through all the many hours of the storm; that made it his first thought when the wild seas rushed over the vessel, and the crew had to take to the rigging; love that made him, when grown men thought only of their own lives, rush to his chest and seize his treasure, and all through the wild gale cling to it; cling to it still, though the winds in their bitter cold froze him through and through, and the seas beat over him hour after hour. Think of the faces that may have seemed to peer at him out of the darkness of the storm. A loving-hearted father ready to thank him for the tobacco-box; a mother for that wonderful brooch; a little dark-eyed brother for the knife with four blades, and a little sister for the little very blue-eyed doll with such rosy cheeks. No, he could not let the bag go, and so it nearly cost him his life, and by the delay his clinging to it caused, nearly cost all the brave men their lives also; but the good God would not let so much simple love work so much disaster, and the loving ones shall see him again, and perhaps he will stand, and perhaps each of his fellow-sailors will stand, in the centre of some tearful group, who again and again will weep, and thank God, as they are told of the wreck, and the hours of peril, and the waiting for death, and the hopeless despair, and the strange wonderful boat that came in through the storm; and how they were saved, when they never thought to see home again. And often shall the brave boatmen be blessed and thanked by grateful hearts, and the life-boat cause not forgotten. I repeat the picture that we may learn to think much of the sailor's arrival home, as well of his being saved from the wreck, and thus learn to appreciate the more the value and the mercy of life-boat work.

But to return. The Spanish sailors had, by the time they reached the harbour, somewhat recovered under the care of the life-boat crew, and were further well cared for, and supplied with clothes by the care of the Spanish consul. And the hardy English boatmen did not take long to recover from their exposure and fatigues, fearful as they had been.

The Spanish captain, in speaking of the rescue, was almost overcome by his feelings of gratitude and wonder. He had quite made up his mind for death; he felt that the wreck could not by any possibility hold together much longer; every moment he expected a final crash; and all his experience taught him that it was impossible for any boat to come to their rescue in such a fearful sea. His experience of the life-boat was new, and not easily to be forgotten.

He had a painting made of the rescue to take with him and show to the Spanish Government. It is pleasing to be able to wind up this story with stating, that the English Board of Control acknowledged the bravery and exertions of the men engaged in the rescue, by presenting to each of them 2_l._ and a medal, and that the Spanish Government also gratefully acknowledged the heroic exertions of the men, by granting to each a medal and 3_l._