The Battle.
At first the men of the lifeboat had nothing to do but hold on to the thwarts1, with the exception, of course, of the coxswain, whose energies were taxed from the commencement in the matter of steering3 the boat, which was dragged through the waves at such a rate by the powerful tug4 that merely to hold on was a work of some difficulty. Their course might much more truly be said to have been under than over the waves, so constantly did these break into and fill the boat. But no sooner was she full than the discharging tubes freed her, and she rose again and again, buoyant as a cork5.
Those who have not seen this desperate work can form but a faint conception of its true character. Written or spoken words may conjure7 up a pretty vivid picture of the scene, the blackness of the night, and the heaving and lashing8 of the waves, but words cannot adequately describe the shriek9 of the blast, the hiss10 and roar of breakers, and they cannot convey the feeling of the weight of tons of falling water, which cause the stoutest12 crafts of human build to reel and quiver to their centres.
The steam-tug had not to contend with the ordinary straightforward13 rush of a North Sea storm. She was surrounded and beset14 by great boiling whirlpools and spouting15 cross-seas. They struck her on the bow, on the side, on the quarter, on the stern. They opened as if to engulf16 her. They rushed at as if to overwhelm her. They met under her, thrusting her up, and they leaped into her, crushing her down. But she was a sturdy vessel18; a steady hand was at the wheel, and her weather-beaten master stood calm and collected on the bridge.
It is probable that few persons who read the accounts of lifeboat service on the Goodwin sands are aware of the importance of the duties performed and the desperate risks run by the steam-tug. Without her powerful engines to tow it to windward of the wrecks20 the lifeboat would be much, very much, less useful than it is. In performing this service the tug has again and again to run into shallow water, and steer2, in the blackest nights, amid narrow intricate channels, where a slight error of judgment21 on the part of her master—a few fathoms22 more to the right or left—would send her on the sands, and cause herself to become a wreck19 and an object of solicitude23 to the lifeboat crew. “Honour to whom honour is due” is a principle easy to state, but not always easy to carry into practice. Every time the steam-tug goes out she runs her full share of the imminent24 risk;—sometimes, and in some respects, as great as that of the lifeboat herself, for, whereas, a touch upon the sand, to which it is her duty to approach as near as possible, would be the death-warrant of the tug, it is, on the other hand, the glorious prerogative25 of the lifeboat to be almost incapable26 of destruction, and her peculiar27 privilege frequently to go “slap on and right over” the sands with slight damage, though with great danger. That the death-warrant just referred to has not been signed, over and over again, is owing almost entirely28 to the courage and skill of her master and mate, who possess a thorough and accurate knowledge of the intricate channels, soundings, and tides of those dangerous shoals, and have spent many years in risking their lives among them. Full credit is usually given to the lifeboat, though not too much by any means, but there is not, we think, a sufficient appreciation29 of the services of the steam-tug. She may be seen in the harbour any day, modestly doing the dirty work of hauling out the dredge-boats, while the gay lifeboat floats idly on the water to be pointed30 out and admired by summer visitors—thus unfairly, though unavoidably, are public favours often distributed!
Observe, reader, we are far from holding up these two as rivals. They are a loving brother and sister. Comparatively little could be done in the grand work of saving human life without the mighty31 strength of the “big brother;” and, on the other hand, nothing at all could be done without the buoyant activity and courage of the “little sister.” Observe, also, that although the lifeboat floats in idleness, like a saucy32 little duck, in time of peace, her men, like their mates in the “big brother,” are hard at work like other honest folk about the harbour. It is only when the sands “show their teeth,” and the floating lights send up their signals, and the storm-blast calls to action, that the tug and boat unite, and the men, flinging down the implements33 of labour, rise to the dignity of heroic work with all the pith and power and promptitude of heroes.
As they ploughed through the foam34 together, the tug was frequently obliged to ease-steam and give herself time to recover from the shock of those heavy cross seas. Suddenly a bright flaring35 light was observed in the vicinity of a shoal called the Break, which lies between the Goodwins and the shore. It went out in a few seconds, but not before the master of the tug had taken its bearings and altered his course. At the same time signal-guns and rockets were observed, both from the North sandhead light-vessel and the Gull37, and several flaring lights were also seen burning on or near the Goodwin sands.
On nearing the Middle Break, which was easily distinguishable from the surrounding turmoil38 by the intensity39 of its roar as the seas rolled over it, the coxswain of the lifeboat ordered the sail to be hoisted40 and the tow-rope slipped. Pike, who was a thoroughly41 intelligent and sympathetic bowman, had all in readiness; he obeyed the order instantly, and the boat, as if endued42 with sudden life, sprang away on its own account into the broken water.
Broken water! who but a lifeboat-man can conceive what that means?—except, indeed, those few who have been saved from wreck. A chaos43 of white water, rendered ghostly and grey by darkness. No green or liquid water visible anywhere; all froth and fury, with force tremendous everywhere. Rushing rivers met by opposing cataracts44; bursting against each other; leaping high in air from the shock; falling back and whirling away in wild eddies,—seeking rest, but finding none! Vain indeed must be our attempt to describe the awful aspect, the mad music, the fearful violence of “broken water” on the Break!
In such a sea the boat was tossed as if she were a chip; but the gale45 gave her speed, and speed gave her quick steering power. She leaped over the foam, or dashed through it, or staggered under it, but always rose again, the men, meanwhile, holding on for life. Pike was ready in the bow, with an arm tightly embracing the bollard, or strong post, round which the cable runs. The coxswain’s figure, towering high in the stern, with the steering tackles in his hands, leaned forward against a strong strap46 or band fixed47 across the boat to keep him in position.
They made straight for the spot where the flare48 light had been seen. At first darkness and thick spray combined prevented them from seeing anything, but in a few minutes a dark object was seen looming50 faintly against the sky, and the coxswain observed with anxious concern that it lay not to leeward51, but to windward of him.
His voice was very powerful, but it was swept away, and was only heard by those nearest to him. The order was instantly obeyed, however; but the gale was so heavy and the boat so large that headway could not be made. They could see that the wreck was a small vessel on her beam-ends. Being to leeward, they could hear despairing cries distinctly, and four or five human beings were seen clinging to the side. The lifeboat-men strained till their sinews well-nigh cracked; it seemed doubtful whether they had advanced or not, when suddenly an unusually large wave fell in thunder on the Break; it rushed over the shallows with a foaming53 head, caught the boat on its crest54 and carried it far away to leeward.
Sail was again made. A box near the coxswain a feet was opened, and a blue-light taken out. There was no difficulty in firing this. A sharp stroke on its butt55 lighted the percussion56 powder within, and in a moment the scene was illumined by a ghastly glare, which brought out the blue and white boat distinctly, and gave corpse-like colour to the faces of the men. At the same time it summoned the attendant steamer.
In a few minutes the tug ran down to her; the tow-rope was taken on board, and away went the brother and sister once more to windward of the wreck; but now no wreck was to be seen! They searched round the shoal in all directions without success, and finally were compelled to come to the conclusion that the same sea which had carried the boat to leeward had swept the wreck away.
With sad hearts they now turned towards the Goodwins, but the melancholy57 incident they had just witnessed was soon banished58 from their minds by the urgent signals for aid still seen flaring in all directions. For the nearest of these they made at full speed. On their way, a dark object was seen to sweep past them across their stern as if on the wings of the wind. It was the Broadstairs lifeboat, which had already done good service that night, and was bent59 on doing more. Similarly occupied were the lifeboats of Deal, Walmer, and other places along the coast. A Deal lugger was also seen. The hardy60 beachmen of Kent fear no storm. They run out in all weathers to succour ships in distress61, and much good service do they accomplish, but their powers are limited. Like the steam-tugs, they can hover62 around the sands in heavy gales63, and venture gingerly near to them; but thus far, and no farther, may they go. They cannot, like the noble lifeboats, dash right into the caldron of surf, and dare the sands and seas to do their worst!
The lifeboat men felt cheered, no doubt, to know that so many able hands were fighting around them in the same battle, but they had little time to think on such things; the work in hand claimed their exclusive attention—as it must now claim ours.
One vessel was seen burning three very large flare lights. Towards this the steamer hastened, and when as near as prudence64 would permit her to approach the Goodwin sands—something less than quarter of a mile—the hawser65 was again slipped, sail was made on the lifeboat, and she once more entered the broken water alone.
Here, of course, being more exposed, it was still more tremendous than on the Break. It was a little after midnight when they reached the sands, and made the discovery that they were on the wrong hide of them. The tide was making, however, and in a short time there was sufficient water to enable the boat to run right over; she struck many times, but, being tough, received no serious damage. Soon they drew near the wreck, and could see that she had sunk completely, and that the crew were clinging to the jibboom.
When about fifty yards to windward, the anchor was let go, the lifeboat veered66 down towards the wreck, and with much difficulty they succeeded in taking off the whole crew of seven men. Signalising the tug with another blue-light, they ran to leeward into deep water, and were again taken in tow; the saved men being with some difficulty put on board the tug. They were Dutchmen; and the poor master of the lost vessel could find no words sufficiently68 forcible to express his gratitude69 to the coxswain of the lifeboat. When he afterwards met him on shore, he wrung70 his hand warmly, and, with tears in his eyes, promised never to forget him. “Me never tinks of you,” said he (meaning the reverse), “so long’s I live; me tell the King of Holland!”
It is but just to add that the poor fellow faithfully redeemed71 his ill-expressed promise, and that the coxswain of the lifeboat now possesses a medal presented to him by the King of Holland in acknowledgment of his services on that occasion.
But the great work of that night still remained to be done. Not far from the light-vessel a flare-light was seen burning brightly. It seemed to be well tended, and was often renewed. Towards this the tug now steered72 with the little sister in tow. They soon came near enough to observe that she was a large ship, going to pieces on the sands.
Slipping the cable once more, the lifeboat gallantly74 dashed into the thickest of the fight, and soon got within hail of the wreck.
Then it was that, for the first time, a ray of hope entered the hearts of the passengers of the luckless Wellington, and then it was that Jim Welton and Stanley Hall, with several young officers, who had kept the tar-barrels burning so briskly for so many hours, despite the drenching75 seas, sent up a loud thrilling cheer, and announced to the terror-stricken women and children that the lifeboat was in sight!
What a cry for those who had been for three hours dashing on the sands, expecting every moment that the ship would break up! The horrors of their situation were enhanced by the novelty of their sensations! All of us can realise to some extent, from hearsay76 and from paintings, what is meant by billows bursting high over ships’ mast-heads and washing everything off the decks, but who that has not experienced it can imagine what it is to see gigantic yards being whipped to and fro as a light cane77 might be switched by a strong man, to see top-masts snapping like pipe-stems, to hear stout11 ropes cracking like pliant78 whipcord, and great sails flapping with thunder-claps or bursting into shreds79? Above all, who can realise the sensation caused by one’s abode80 being lifted violently with every surge and dropped again with the crashing weight of two thousand tons, or being rolled from side to side so that the floor on which one stands alternates between the horizontal and perpendicular81, while one’s frame each time receives a shock that is only too much in dread82 harmony with the desperate condition of the mind?
“The lifeboat in sight!” Who at such a time would not pray God’s best blessing83 on the lifeboat, on the stalwart men who man it, and on the noble Society which supports it?
Certain it is that many a prayer of this kind was ejaculated on board the Wellington that night, while the passengers re-echoed the good news, and hurriedly went on deck. But what an awful scene of dreary84 desolation presented itself when they got there! The flares85 gave forth86 just enough light to make darkness visible—ropes, masts, yards, sails, everything in indescribable confusion, and the sea breaking over all with a violence that rendered it extremely difficult to maintain a footing even in the most sheltered position.
Fortunately by this time the vessel had been beaten sufficiently high on the shoal to prevent the terrible rolling to which she had been at first subjected; and as the officers and seamen87 vied with each other in attentions to the women and children, these latter were soon placed in comparative security, and awaited with breathless anxiety the arrival of the boat.
In order to keep the flare-lights burning all kinds of materials had been sacrificed. Deluged88 as they were continually by heavy seas, nothing but the most inflammable substances would burn. Hence, when their tar-barrels were exhausted89, Stanley Hall and his assistants got hold of sheets, table-cloths, bedding, and garments, and saturated90 these with paraffine oil, of which, fortunately, there happened to be a large quantity on board. They now applied91 themselves with redoubled diligence to the construction and keeping alight of these flares, knowing well that the work which remained to be done before all should be rescued, was of a nature requiring time as well as care and courage.
On rushed the lifeboat through the broken water. When almost within hail, the coxswain heard the roar of an unusually heavy sea rushing behind him.
The wave—a billow broken to atoms, yet still retaining all its weight and motive92 force—overwhelmed the boat and passed on. Before she had quite recovered, another sea of equal size engulfed93 her, and as she had been turned broadside on by the first, the second caught her in its embrace and carried her like the wind bodily to leeward. Her immense breadth of beam prevented an upset, and she was finally launched into shallower water, where the sand had only a few feet of sea above it. She had been swept away full quarter of a mile in little more than a minute! Here the surf was like a boiling caldron, but there was not depth enough to admit of heavy seas.
The same sea that swept away the boat carried the fore and main masts of the Wellington by the board, and extinguished all her lights.
The boat drove quite two miles to leeward before the tug got hold of her again. To have returned to the wreck against wind and tide alone, we need scarcely repeat, would have been impossible, but with the aid of the tug she was soon towed to her old position and again cast loose.
Once more she rushed into the fight and succeeded in dropping anchor a considerable distance to windward of the wreck, from which point she veered down under her lee, but so great was the mass of broken masts, spars, and wreckage94—nothing being now left but parts of the mizzen and bowsprit—that the coxswain was obliged to pay out 117 fathoms of cable to keep clear of it all.
The difficulty and danger of getting the boat alongside now became apparent to the people on the wreck, many of whom had never dreamed of such impediments before, and their hopes sank unreasonably95 low, just as, before, they had been raised unduly96 high.
With great difficulty the boat got near to the port quarter of the ship, and Pike stood up ready in the bow with a line, to which was attached a loaded cane, something like a large life-preserver.
“Heave!” shouted the coxswain.
The bowman made a deliberate and splendid cast; the weighted cane fell on the deck of the ship, and was caught by Jim Welton, who attached a hawser to it. This was drawn97 into the boat, and in a few seconds she was alongside. But she was now in great danger! The wild waters that heaved, surged, and leaped under the vessel’s lee threatened to dash the boat in pieces against her every moment, and it was only by the unremitting and strenuous98 exertions99 of the men with boat-hooks, oars, and fenders that this was prevented. Now the boat surged up into the chains as if about to leap on board the ship; anon it sank into a gulf17 of spray, or sheered wildly to leeward, but by means of the hawser and cable, and a “spring” attached to the latter, she was so handled that one and another of the crew of the wreck were taken into her.
The first saved was a little child. It was too small and delicate to be swung over the side by a rope, so the captain asked Jim Welton, as being the most agile100 man in the ship and possessed101 of superabundant animal courage, to take it in his arms and leap on board. Jim agreed at once, handed over the care of his flare-lights to one of the men, and prepared for action. The poor child, which was about a year old, clung to its mother’s neck with terror, and the distracted woman—a soldier’s widow—could scarce be prevailed on to let the little one out of her arms.
“Oh, let me go with him,” she pleaded most earnestly, “he is all that is left to me.”
“You shall follow immediately; delay may be death,” said the captain, kindly102, as he drew the child gently but firmly from her grasp.
It was securely bound to Jim’s broad bosom103 by means of a shawl. Watching his opportunity when the boat came surging up on the crest of a billow almost to his feet, and was about to drop far down into the trough of the sea, the young sailor sprang from the side and was caught in the outstretched arms of the lifeboat men.
It had occurred to Stanley Hall, just before this happened, that there was every probability of some of the passengers falling overboard during the process of being transferred to the boat. Stanley was of a somewhat eccentric turn of mind, and seldom allowed his thoughts to dissipate without taking action of some kind. He therefore got into the mizzen chains and quietly fastened a rope round his waist, the other end of which he tied to a stanchion.
“You’ll get crushed by the boat there,” cried the captain, who observed him.
“Perhaps not,” was the reply.
He stood there and watched Jim Welton as he leaped. The mother of the child, unable to restrain herself, climbed on the bulwarks104 of the vessel. Just as she did so the boat surged up again,—so close that it required but a short step to get into her. Some of the passengers availed themselves of the chance—the poor widow among them. She sprang with a cry of joy, for she saw her child’s face at the moment as they unbound him from Jim’s breast, but she sprang short. Little wonder that a woman should neglect to make due allowance for the quick swooping105 of the boat! Next moment she was in the boiling foam. A moment later and she was in Stanley Hall’s grasp, and both were swept violently to leeward, but the rope brought them up. Despite darkness and turmoil the quick-eyed coxswain and his mate had noted106 the incident. Pike payed out the hawser, the coxswain eased off the spring; away went the boat, and next moment Pike had Stanley by the hair. Short was the time required for their strong arms to pull him and his burden in-board; and, oh! it was a touching107 sight to witness the expressions of the anxious faces that were turned eagerly towards the boat, and glared pale and ghastly in the flaring light, as her sturdy crew hauled slowly up, hand over hand, and got once more under the vessel’s lee.
No sooner were they within reach than another impatient passenger leaped overboard. This was Jim’s faithful dog Neptune108! Watching his time with the intelligence of a human being, he sprang, with much greater precision and vigour109 than any human being could have done, and, alighting on Pike’s shoulders, almost drove that stout boatman into the bottom of the boat.
Soon the boat was as full as it could hold. All the women and children had been got into her, and many of the male passengers, so that there was no room to move; still there remained from twenty to thirty people to be rescued. Seeing this, Jim seized Neptune by the neck and flung him back into the wreck. Catching110 a rope that hung over the side, he also swung himself on board, saying,—“You and I must sink or swim together, Nep! Shove off, lads, and come back as soon as you can.”
The hawser was slipped as he spoke6; the lifeboat was hauled slowly but steadily111 to windward up to her anchor. Tons of water poured over her every moment, but ran through her discharging tubes, and, deeply loaded though she was, she rose buoyant from each immersion112 like an invincible113 sea-monster.
When the anchor was reached, a small portion of the foresail was set, and then, cutting the cable with one blow of a hatchet114, away they went like the scudding115 foam right over the boiling shallows on the spit of sand.
“Hand out a blue-light there,” cried the coxswain. A sharp blow caused the blue-fire to flare up and shed a light that fell strong as that of the full moon on the mingled116 grave, pale, stern, and terrified faces in the lifeboat.
“Safe!” muttered one of the crew.
“Safe?” was echoed in surprise, no doubt, from several fluttering hearts.
As well might that have been said to the hapless canoe-man rushing over the Falls of Niagara as to the inexperienced ones there, while they gazed, horror-struck, on the tumult117 of mad waters in that sudden blaze of unearthly light. Their faith in a trustworthy and intelligent boatman was not equal to their faith in their own eyes, backed by ignorance! But who will blame them for lack of faith in the circumstances? Nevertheless, they were safe. The watchful118 master of the tug,—laying-to off the deadly banks, now noting the compass, now casting the lead, anon peering into the wild storm,—saw the light, ran down to it, took the rescued ones on board, and, having received from the coxswain the information that there were “more coming,” sent them down into his little cabin, there to be refreshed and comforted, while the lifeboat sheered off again, and once more sprang into the “broken water.” So might some mighty warrior119 spur from the battle-field charged with despatches of the highest import bearing on the fight, and, having delivered his message, turn on his heel and rush back into the whirling tide of war to complete the victory which had been so well begun!
Once more they made for the wreck, which was by that time fast breaking up. Running right before the wind in such an awful gale, it was necessary to make the men crowd aft in order to keep the boat’s head well out of the water. On this occasion one or two of the seamen of the Wellington, who had been allowed inadvertently to remain in the boat, became alarmed, for the seas were rolling high over the gunwale on each side, and rushing into her with such force as to make it a difficult matter to avoid being washed out. It was a new sensation to these men to rush thus madly between two walls of foam eight or ten feet high! They glanced backward, where another wall of foaming water seemed to be curling over the stern, as if about to drop inboard. The coxswain observed their looks, and knew their feelings. He knew there was no lack of courage in them, and that a little experience would change their minds on this point.
“Never look behind, lads,” he cried; “look ahead; always look right ahead.”
“Ay, Geordy,” remarked one of the men,—a Scotchman,—to his mate, “it’s rum sailin’ this is. I thocht we was a’ gaun to the bottom; but nae doot the cox’n kens120 best. It’s a wonderfu’ boat!”
Having so said, the sedate121 Scot dismissed his anxieties, and thereafter appeared to regard the surrounding chaos of water with no other feelings than philosophic122 interest and curiosity.
On nearing the wreck the second time, it was found that the tide had fallen so low that they could scarcely get alongside. Three times they struck on the shoal; on the third occasion the mizzen-mast and sail were blown out of the boat. They managed to drop anchor, however, and to veer67 down under the port bow of the Wellington, whence the anxious survivors123 threw ropes to them, and, one after another, leaped or swung themselves into the boat. But they were so long about it that before all had been got out the coxswain was obliged to drop to leeward to prevent being left aground. In spite of this, the boat got fast, and now they could neither advance to the wreck for the nine men who still remained in her, nor push off to rejoin the tug.
The space between the boat and vessel was crossed by such a continuous rush of broken water that for a time it was impossible to attempt anything, but as the tide fell the coxswain consulted with his bowman, and both agreed to venture to wade124 to the wreck, those on board having become so exhausted as to be unable or unwilling125 to make further effort to save themselves.
Acting126 on this resolve they with one of their men sprang into the raging surf and staggered to the wreck, where they induced two of the crew to leap overboard and brought them safely to the boat. Others of the lifeboat crew then joined them and four more were rescued. (See note 1.)
The tide had been at its lowest when this desperate work was begun,—before it was finished it had turned. This, coupled with the fact that they had all been nearly swept away during the last effort; and that there was a fresh burst of violence in the gale, induced them to wait until the tide should rise. When it did so sufficiently, they hauled and shoved the boat alongside, and the captain, who was one of the three remaining men, made a desperate spring, but missed the boat and was whirled away. Pike made a grasp at him but missed. The coxswain seized a life-buoy and hurled127 it towards him. It fell within his reach, and it was supposed that he had caught it, but they could not be certain. The boat was now afloat and bumping violently. If they had cut the cable in order to rescue the captain, which they could by no means make sure of doing, the improbability of being able to return in time to save the two remaining men would have been very great. It seemed to be life or death in either case, so they stuck by the wreck.
It was grey dawn now, and the wreckage was knocking against and around them to such an extent that the coxswain began to fear for the safety of his boat. Yet he was loath128 to leave the men to perish.
“Jump now, lads!” he cried, sheering up alongside, “it’s your last chance. It’s death to all of us if we stop longer here!”
The men sprang together. One gained the side of the boat and was saved, the other was swept away. He made frantic129 efforts to gain the boat, but before his companion had been got inboard he was out of sight, and although the cable was promptly130 cut and the sail set he could not be found. The boat was then run down along the sands in search of the captain. The coxswain knew well from experience that he must certainly have been swept by the current in the same direction as the wreckage. He therefore followed this, and in a short time had the inexpressible satisfaction and good fortune to find the captain. He had caught the life-buoy, and having managed to get it under his arms had floated about for the greater part of an hour. Though nearly dead he was still sensible, and, after being well chafed131 and refreshed with a little rum from the coxswain’s case-bottle—provided for occasions of this sort—he recovered.
The great work of the lifeboat had now been accomplished132, but they could not feel that it had been thoroughly completed without one more effort being made to save the lost man. They therefore ran still farther down the sand in the direction where he had been last seen. They followed the drift of wreckage as before. Presently the bowman uttered a thrilling shout, for, through the turmoil of dashing spray, he saw the man clinging to a spar!
So unexpected was this happy event that the whole crew involuntarily gave vent49 to a ringing cheer, although, in the circumstances, and considering the nature of their exhausting work and the time they had been exposed to it, one might have supposed them incapable of such a burst of enthusiasm.
In a few moments he was rescued, and now, with light hearts, they ran for the tug, which was clearly visible in the rapidly increasing daylight. They did not put off time in transferring the saved men to the steamer. The big hawser,—their familiar bond of attachment,—was made fast to them, and away went that noble big brother and splendid little sister straight for Ramsgate harbour. (See note 2.)
But the work of that wild night was not yet finished. On their way home they fell in with a schooner133, the foretopmast and bowsprit of which were gone. As she was drifting towards the sands they hailed her. No reply being made, the lifeboat was towed alongside, and, on being boarded, it was found that she was a derelict. Probably she had got upon the sands during the night, been forsaken134 by her crew in their own boat—in which event there was small chance of any being saved—and had drifted off again at the change of the tide.
Be that as it might, six lifeboat men were put on board. Finding no water in her, they slipt her two cables, which were hanging from the bow, a rope was made fast to the steamer, and she was taken in tow.
It was drawing towards noon when they neared the harbour. Very different indeed was the aspect of things there then from what it had been when they went out on their errand of mercy thirteen hours before. Although the gale was still blowing fresh it had moderated greatly. The black clouds no longer held possession of the sky, but were pierced, scattered136, and gilded137, as they were rolled away, by the victorious138 sun. The sea still raged and showed its white “teeth” fiercely, as if its spirit had been too much roused to be easily appeased139; but blue sky appeared in patches everywhere; the rain had ceased, and the people of the town and visitors swarmed140 out to enjoy the returning sunshine, inhale141 the fresh sea-breeze, and await, anxiously, the return of the lifeboat—for, of course, every one in the town was aware by that time that she had been out all night.
When, at length, the smoke of the “big brother” was observed drawing near, the people flocked in hundreds to the piers142 and cliffs.—Wherever a point of vantage was to be had, dozens of spectators crowned it. Wherever a point of danger was to be gained, daring spirits—chiefly in the shape of small boys—took it by storm, in absolute contempt of the police. “Jacob’s Ladder”—the cliff staircase—was crowded from top to bottom. The west pier135 was rendered invisible to its outer extremity143 by human beings. The east pier, as far as it was dry, was covered by the fashion and beauty—as well as by the fishy144 and tarry—of the town. Beyond the point of dryness it was more or less besieged145 by those who were reckless, riotous146, and ridiculously fond of salt-water spray. The yards and shrouds147 of the crowded and much damaged shipping148 in the harbour were manned, and the windows of the town that commanded the sea were filled with human faces. An absolute battery of telescopes, like small artillery149, was levelled at the approaching tug. Everywhere were to be seen and heard evidences of excitement, anxiety, and expectation.
It was not long before it was announced that flags were seen flying at the mast-heads of the tug and lifeboat—a sure evidence that a rescue had been successfully accomplished. This caused many a burst of cheering from the crowds, as the fact and its import became gradually known. But these were as nothing compared with the cheers that arose when the steamer, with the lifeboat and the schooner in tow, drew near, and it could be seen that there were many people on board—among them women and children. When they finally surged past the pier-head on the crest of a tremendous billow, and swept into the harbour under a vast shower of spray that burst over the pier and rose above the mast-heads of the shipping within—as if to pour a libation on the gallant73 crews—then a succession of cheers, that cannot be described, welcomed the victors and re-echoed from the chalk-cliffs, to be caught up and sent out again and again in thrilling cadence150 on the mad sea, which had thus been plundered151 of its booty and disappointed of its prey152!
Scarfs and hats and kerchiefs and hands were waved in wild enthusiasm, strangely mingled with tender pity, when the exhausted women and children and the worn-out and battered153 lifeboat-men were landed. Many cheered, no doubt, to think of the strong hearts and invincible courage that dwelt in the breasts of Britain’s sons; while others,—tracing things at once to their true source,—cheered in broken tones, or were incompetent154 to cheer at all, when they thought with thankfulness of Britain’s faith in the Word of God, which, directly or indirectly155, had given that courage its inspiration, and filled those hearts with fire.
Note 1. The coxswain—Mr Isaac Jarman—who has rendered heroic service in the Ramsgate Lifeboat during the last ten years, has been personally instrumental in saving between four and five hundred lives.
Note 2. If the reader should desire to know something more of the history of the celebrated156 Ramsgate lifeboat, which, owing to its position, opportunities, and advantages, has had the most stirring career of all the lifeboat fleet, we advise the perusal157 of a work (at present in the press, if it be not already published) named Storm Warriors158, or the Ramsgate Lifeboat and the Goodwin Sands, by the Reverend John Gilmore, whose able and thrilling articles on the lifeboat-service in Macmillan’s Magazine are well known.
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1
thwarts
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| 阻挠( thwart的第三人称单数 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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13
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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14
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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15
spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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16
engulf
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| vt.吞没，吞食 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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18
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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19
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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21
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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22
fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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23
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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24
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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25
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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26
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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32
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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33
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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34
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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35
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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36
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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37
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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38
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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39
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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40
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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42
endued
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| v.授予，赋予（特性、才能等）( endue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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44
cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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45
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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46
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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47
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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48
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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49
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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50
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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51
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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52
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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54
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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55
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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56
percussion
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| n.打击乐器；冲突，撞击；震动，音响 | |
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57
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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58
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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60
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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61
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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62
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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63
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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64
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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65
hawser
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| n.大缆；大索 | |
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66
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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67
veer
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| vt.转向，顺时针转，改变；n.转向 | |
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68
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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69
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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70
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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71
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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72
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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73
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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74
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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75
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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76
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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77
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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78
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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79
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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80
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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81
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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82
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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83
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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84
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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85
flares
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| n.喇叭裤v.（使）闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 )；（使）（船舷）外倾；（使）鼻孔张大；（使）（衣裙、酒杯等）呈喇叭形展开 | |
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86
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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87
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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88
deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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89
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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90
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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91
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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92
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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93
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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95
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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96
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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97
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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98
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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99
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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100
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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101
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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102
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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103
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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104
bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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105
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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106
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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107
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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108
Neptune
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| n.海王星 | |
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109
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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110
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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111
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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immersion
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| n.沉浸；专心 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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114
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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115
scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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120
kens
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| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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