In recognition of the devotion to duty and self-sacrifice shown by the lifeboatmen in the work of rescue, the Emperor of Germany presented each of the coxswains of the three lifeboats with a gold watch bearing His Majesty's portrait and initials. The institution also awarded the second-service clasp to the coxswain of the Atherfield lifeboat, the silver medal to the coxswain of the Brighstone Grange lifeboat, and the third-service clasp to the coxswain of the Brooke lifeboat.
We reproduce the following poem on the stranding of the Eider, by special permission, from The Star:--
The Eider rode on the open sea
With her safety in God's own hand
For a thousand miles--ay, two, and three,
With never a sight of land.
A shell of steel on the world of waves
That severs the hemispheres,
That covers the depths of a thousand graves
And the wrecks of a hundred years.
She bore, unhurt, through the storm-god's din,
Through shower, and shade, and sheen,
With the death without and her lives within,
And her inch of steel between.
From the port behind, to the port beyond,
With never a help or guide,
Save the needle's point and the chart he conned,
The master has fought the tide.
On the bridge, in the Sunday twilight dim,
He has taken his watchful stand;
And he hears the sound of a German hymn,
And the boom of a brazen band.
He looks for the lights of the royal isle,
Ahead, to left, and to right;
Below there is music and mirthful smile,
For land must be soon in sight.
In sight? Not yet! for a fog creeps round
And the night is doubly dark.
"Slow speed! Hush! is it the fog-bell's sound,
Or the shriek of the siren? Hark!"
The fog-bell clangs from its seaward tower,
And the siren shrills in fear;
But the vapours thicken from hour to hour,
And the master cannot hear!
On the seaward headland, the beacon's blaze
Like a midday sun would seem,
But its warning rays are lost in the haze,
And the master sees no gleam!
"How goes the line? There is time to save!"
"It is ten fathom deep by the log."
"We have not tarried for wind or wave,
We cannot wait for the fog."
On, on! through the dark of a double night;
On, on--to the lurking rock!
No sound, no gleam of a saving light
Till the Eider leaps to the shock.
All night she bides where the sea death hides,
And her passengers crowd her deck;
While the leaping tides laugh over her sides
And sink from the stranded wreck.
The Eider has gold, she has human lives;
But these can assist no more.
Pray, pray, ye German children and wives,
For help from the English shore!
A signal is sent, and a signal is seen,
And a lifeboat--ay, two, and three,
From the shore to the vessel their crews row between,
And fight with the stormy sea.
They fight day and night, as true Englishmen can,
'Mid the roar of the storm-lash'd waves;
And the Eider's four hundred are saved to a man
From the terror of sea-bed graves.
The Eider bides, all broken and bent;
With the tide she shivers and starts,
And stands--for a time--as a monument
Of the courage of English hearts.
But longer lasting, the memoried grace
Of a noble deed and grand
Will knit the hearts of the English race
To the hearts of the Fatherland!
CHAPTER XV.
THE WRECK OF THE "NORTHERN BELLE."
uring a dreadful storm which swept over the British Isles several years ago, the American ship Northern Belle, from New York to London, came to anchor off Kingsgate, near Broadstairs, about a mile from the shore. The sea made great breaches over her, and, in order to lighten the vessel and help her to ride out the storm, the crew cut away two of the masts. With the flood-tide, however, the gale increased, and it was feared that the vessel would drag her anchors and come ashore. A swift-footed messenger was accordingly despatched to summon the Broadstairs lifeboat.
Without delay the crew were mustered, and the boat, on her carriage, was dragged overland to Kingsgate, a distance of two miles. It was nine o'clock when the Mary White arrived, and by that time the cliffs were lined with crowds of people. Shortly afterwards two luggers were seen bearing down upon the unfortunate vessel. One of these crafts, when trying to take out one of the ship's anchors, was overwhelmed by a heavy sea, and sank. Not one of her crew of nine men were ever seen again. The other was more successful, and five of her crew managed to get on board the Northern Belle. Every moment the multitude of spectators expected to see the vessel run ashore and be dashed to pieces on the rocks at the foot of the cliff; but as the day wore on and the anchors still held, it was thought that she would yet be safe. Heedless of the heavy snow and bitter cold, the people watched her till darkness came on and shut out the vessel from their gaze.
THEY BENT THEIR BACKS TO THE OARS.