Man on the Ocean by Robert Michael Ballantyne (web ebook reader TXT) 📕

a shock that well-nigh tore every man out of her. Each successive breaker treated her in this way.

Those who dwell by the sea-shore know well the familiar ripples that mark the sands when the tide is out. On the Goodwins these ripples are gigantic steps, to be measured by feet, not by inches. From one to another of these banks this splendid boat was thrown. Each roaring surf caught it by the bow or stern, and, whirling it right round, sent it crashing on the next ledge. The Portuguese sailors appeared to give up all hope, and clung to the thwarts in silent despair; but the crew-- eighteen in number--did not lose heart altogether. They knew their boat well, had often gone out to battle in her, and hoped that they might yet be saved if she should only escape striking on the pieces of old wrecks with which the Sands were strewn.

Thus, literally, yard by yard, with a succession of shocks that would have knocked any ordinary boat to pieces, did that lifeboat drive during _two_ hours over _two_ miles of the Goodwin Sands. At last they drove into deep water; the sails were set; and soon after, through God's mercy, they landed the rescued crew in safety in Ramsgate Harbour.

What further evidence need we that the lifeboat is almost, if not altogether, indestructible?

That the lifeboat is insubmergible has been proved to some extent by the foregoing incident. No better instance could be adduced to prove the buoyancy of the life boat than that of the Tynemouth boat, named the Constance, at the wreck of the _Stanley_, in the year 1864. In this case, while the boat was nearing the wreck, a billow broke over the bow of the _Stanley_, and falling into the Constance, absolutely overwhelmed her. Referring to this, the coxswain of the lifeboat says: "The sea fell over the bows of the Stanley and buried the lifeboat. Every oar was broken at the gunwale of the boat, and the outer ends swept away. The men made a grasp for the spare oars; three were gone--two only remained." Now, it is to be observed that the coxswain here speaks of the boat as being _buried, sunk_ by the waves, and _immediately_, as he says, "the men made a grasp for the spare oars." The sinking and leaping to the surface seem to have been the work almost of the same moment. And this is indeed the case; for when the force that sinks a lifeboat is removed, she rises that instant to the surface like a cork.

In order to prove the value of the self-righting quality, and the superiority of those lifeboats which possess it over those which are destitute of it, we will briefly cite three cases--the last of which will also prove the value of the self-emptying quality.

On the 4th of January 1857, the Point of Ayr lifeboat, when under sail in a gale, upset at a distance from land. The accident was seen from the shore; but no help could be rendered, and the whole boat's crew-- thirteen in number--were drowned. Now, this was deemed a good lifeboat, but it was not a self-righting one; and two of her crew were seen clinging to the keel for twenty minutes, by which time they became exhausted and were washed off.

Take another case of a non-self-righting boat. In February 1858 the Southwold lifeboat, a large sailing-boat, and esteemed one of the finest in the kingdom, went out at the quarterly period of exercise in rough weather, and was running before a heavy sea with all sail set when she suddenly ran on the top of a wave, broached to, and upset. The crew in this case were fortunately near the land, had on their cork belts, and were dragged ashore, though with difficulty; but three amateurs, who were without belts, perished.

These two cases occurred in the day-time.

The third case happened at night--on a very dark stormy night in October 1858. A wreck had been seen about three miles off Dungeness, and the lifeboat at that place--a small self-righting and self-emptying one belonging to the Royal National Lifeboat Institution--put off, with eight stout men of the coast-guard for a crew. On reaching the wreck, soon after midnight, it was found that the crew had deserted her; the lifeboat therefore returned towards the shore. On nearing it she got into a channel between two shoals, where she was caught up and struck by three heavy seas in succession. The coxswain lost command of the rudder; she was carried away before the sea, broached to, and upset, throwing her crew out of her. Immediately she righted herself, cleared herself of water, and the anchor, having fallen out, brought her up. The crew, meanwhile, having on cork belts, floated, regained the boat, clambered into it by means of the life-lines hung round her sides, cut the cable, and returned to shore in safety.

So much for the nature and capabilities of our lifeboats. We cannot afford space to say more in regard to them than that they are the means, under God, of saving many hundreds of human lives every year on the coasts of the United Kingdom, besides a large amount of shipping and property, which, but for them, would inevitably be lost. The noble Institution which manages them was founded in 1824, and is supported entirely by voluntary contributions.

Along with the lifeboat we may appropriately describe here another species of vessel, which, if it does not directly rescue lives, at all events prevents disaster by giving timely warning of danger. We refer to:--


LIGHTSHIPS.

These floating beacons are anchored in the immediate vicinity of the numerous sand-banks which lie off the mouths of some of the principal ports of the kingdom, especially in England, and on other parts of our shores. There are numerous floating lights around our coasts, marking shoals on which lighthouses could not easily be erected. Their importance to shipping is inconceivably great. The accompanying illustration shows a vessel passing the lightship at the Nore. The impossibility of shipping getting safely into or out of the port of London without the guiding aid of lightships, as well as of buoys and beacons, may be made clear by a simple statement of the names of some of the obstructions which lie in the mouth of the Thames. There are the _Knock_ Shoals, the East and West _Barrows_, the _John_, the _Sunk_, the _Girdler_, and the _Long_ Sands, all lying like so many ground sharks waiting to arrest and swallow up passing vessels, which, unfortunately, they too often accomplish despite the numerous precautions taken to rob them of their prey. Most people know the appearance of buoys, but we dare say few have seen a buoy or beacon resembling the one in our engraving, which is a sort of cage, fastened to a buoy, with a bell inside that rings by the action of the waves. It must have been something of this sort that was used at the famous "Bell Rock" in days of yore.

Lightships are usually clumsy-looking, red-painted vessels, having one strong mast amidships, with a ball at the top, about six feet in diameter, made of light laths. This ball is a very conspicuous object, and clearly indicates a lightship to the passing vessel during the day. At night a huge lantern traverses on, and is hoisted to nearly the top of, the same mast. It is lighted by a number of argand lamps with powerful reflectors. Some lightships have two masts, and some three, with a ball and a lantern on each. Some of these lanterns contain fixed, others revolving lights--these differences being for the purpose of indicating to seamen the particular light which they happen to be passing.

Thus, the Goodwin Sands, which are upwards of ten miles in length, are marked by three lightships. The one on the north has three masts and three _fixed_ lights. The one on the south has two masts and two _fixed_ lights. The one that lies between the two--off Ramsgate, and named the Gull--has one mast and one _revolving_ light.

The crew of a lightship consists of about nine or ten men, each of whom does duty for two months on board, and one month on shore, taking their turn by rotation; so that the number of men always on board is about seven. While on shore, they attend to the buoys, anchors, chain-cables, and other stores of the Trinity House, which has charge of all the lights, buoys, and beacons in England. They also assist in laying down new buoys and sinkers, and removing old ones, etcetera.

Lightships run considerable risk, for besides being exposed at all times to all the storms that rage on our shores, they are sometimes run into by ships in foggy weather.

The _Gull_ lightship, above referred to, occupies a peculiar and interesting position. Being in the very centre of all the shipping which passes through the Downs, she has frequent narrow escapes, and has several times been damaged by collisions. The marvel is that, considering her position, she does not oftener "come to grief." She also signals for the Ramsgate lifeboat, by means of guns and rockets, when a ship is observed by her crew to have got upon the dreaded Goodwin Sands.

We had the pleasure of spending a week on board of the _Gull_ lightship not long ago, and one night witnessed a very stirring scene of calling out the lifeboat. We shall conclude this subject by quoting the following letter, which we wrote at the time, giving a detailed account of it.

RAMSGATE, MARCH 26, 1870. The eye-witness of a battle from an unusual point of view may, without presumption, believe that he has something interesting to tell. I therefore send you an account of what I saw in the _Gull_ lightship, off the Goodwin Sands, on the night of Thursday last, when the _Germania_, of Bremen, was wrecked on the South-Sand-Head. Having been an inhabitant of the _Gull_ lightship for a week, and cut off from communication with the shore for several days, I have been unable to write sooner.

Our never-ending warfare with the storm is well known. Here is one specimen of the manner in which it is carried on.

A little before midnight on Thursday last (the 24th), while I was rolling uneasily in my "bunk," contending with sleep and sea-sickness, and moralising on the madness of those who choose "the sea" for a profession, I was roused--and sickness instantly cured--by the watch on deck suddenly shouting down the hatchway to the mate, "_South-Sand-Head_ light is firing, sir, and sending up rockets." The mate sprang from his "bunk," and was on the cabin floor before the sentence was well finished. I followed suit, and pulled on coat, nether garments, and shoes, as if my life depended on my own speed. There was unusual need for clothing, for the night was bitterly cold. A coat of ice had formed even on the salt-water spray which had blown into the boats. On gaining the deck, we found the two men on duty actively at work, the one loading