CAPTAIN WEBB’S ARRIVAL AT CALAIS.
When Webb returned to London he met with an enthusiastic reception. In the City he was welcomed by the same uproarious heartiness that Tom Sayers less deservedly received after his fight with Heenan. The cheering and hand-shaking of Webb began at the “Baltic,” increased in warmth at “Lloyds,” and culminated at the Stock Exchange, where “bulls” and “bears” were eclipsed by the lion of the day, and whence he had to beat a retreat to save his right hand from being wrung off.
The following will show the value of ingenuity in the midst of great danger. It occurred at a terrible wreck, which took place on the coast, in the sight of hundreds of powerless spectators:—“In the midst of these horrifying moments a man was observed to jump from the wreck into the sea. It was concluded by the watchers that he had voluntarily destroyed himself to avoid dying by inches and hunger. After all, who could blame him? It was a question of only an hour or so, for hope there appeared none. But the crowd was agreeably disappointed, for the man held his head up in the midst of the hissing surges boldly, and although he disappeared every moment, yet by the aid of good glasses his head was seen to bob up again, a conspicuous black object in the surrounding foam. Expectation stood on tip-toe. Would he reach the shore? was asked by a hundred voices in an instant, and everybody was anxious to do something to assist a man who so nobly tried to assist himself. The minutes that followed were intensely exciting; every movement of the swimmer was eagerly noticed, and it was with difficulty that several generous spirits were prevented from dashing, at all risks, into the sea to his assistance. Slowly, but surely, the poor fellow approached the shore—his head well up yet. He is just within the outer tier of the breakers—poor fellow! he will stand no chance now. See, he is caught by a monstrous wave—he rides upon its crest, and is urged rapidly towards the beach; the horrid wave curls and breaks; he is rolled head over heels; he is gone. No; he rights [pg 267]himself, and he is taken out to sea again by a retiring wave. Back he comes again—head over heels he goes once more; but this time fortune pitied misfortune, for he was flung by a wave within reach of a coast-guard, who, at the risk of his life, rushed into the sea and saved him. The secret of his buoyancy soon appeared. Under each arm he had lashed (as seamen only know how) an empty wine bottle, well corked, and he had stuffed several others under an elastic Guernsey shirt, and buttoned his trousers over all, and with these frail floats he came through a heavy belt of breakers in safety.”[68]
“That man has saved seventeen lives single-handed,” we heard a marine officer say one day at Lowestoft, pointing to a fine handsome young fellow who sat on the beach smoking his pipe. “He ought to be well off,” said a bystander. “He is well off,” was the answer. “He has the satisfaction of knowing that men, women, and children thank God for his bravery every day.”[69]
Before the establishment of a floating light off Happisburg, wrecks were very numerous on the Cromer coast. One of the greatest philanthropists who ever lived, Thomas Fowell Buxton, the great anti-slavery leader, spent much of his time at Cromer Hall, and was constantly on the shore during bad weather, urging and directing the efforts of others, and often “giving a hand” himself. In the storm of the 31st October, 1823, still vividly remembered on that coast, Mr. Buxton performed an act of heroic bravery. About noon, a collier, the Duchess of Cumberland, ran upon the rocks off the Cromer lighthouse. The life-boatmen could not be induced to venture out, so terrific was the sea and surf. Once a wave ran up the beach and floated the wreck. Buxton sprang into the water, hoping that others might be induced to follow, but in vain. Captain Manby’s gun was fired several times, but the line fell short of the ill-fated brig, on which nine poor sailors were seen lashed to the shrouds. At length a huge sea completely broke her up, the water being blackened by the bursting coal. The helpless spectators looked on, horror-stricken. “Poor dear hearts! they’re all gone now,” exclaimed an old fisherman; but at that instant a body—was it alive or dead?—was seen on the crest of a wave. Without waiting for a rope, Mr. Buxton dashed into the surf, caught the exhausted sailor, flung himself upon him, and struggled against the strong reflux of the surf, until others could reach him. He, with his living burden, was dragged to land, both at that moment more dead than alive. Buxton said afterwards that he felt the waves play with him as he could play with an orange.[70]
The record of a man in humbler life, John Ellerthorpe, foreman of the Humber Dock gates, Hull, who deservedly earned for himself the title of “Hero of the Humber” is very interesting. During a period of forty years he saved thirty-nine individuals, most of whom were difficult cases, as they fell into the Humber through intoxication.
His services were honourably recognised. Medals and other acknowledgments from the Royal Humane Society and the Board of Trade were showered on him; he received a donation from the Royal Bounty, a purse of a hundred guineas from his townsmen, and other valuable testimonials. Turn we now to the case of another hero, who saved one life more than Ellerthorpe, and until very late in his career received no recognition whatever. A hero of the Clyde now appears on the scene.
It is to Mr. Charles Reade, the distinguished novelist, poet, and playwright, that we owe a “true and accurate account of the heroic feats and sad calamity of James Lambert, a living man.”[71] Mr. Reade had read in the Glasgow Times of October 2nd, 1856, how, when a little boy was drowning in the Clyde, an elderly blind man would have dived in but for his granddaughter, who with a girl’s affection and unreasoning fears, had clung to his knees and utterly spoiled his good intentions. The boy was drowned. The poor blind hero went home crying like a child, saying, “It was a laddie flung away; clean flung away.”
Mr. Reade, after long and weary searching, found Lambert in a wretched lodging in Calton, a suburb of Glasgow, and easily extracted from him a fund of anecdote, a part only of which can be presented here.