'I always felt it my duty, after rescuing a drowning person, to go to the house of God at night, and return public thanks to the Almighty. Ministers in the town, and especially the Wesleyan ministers, have often returned thanks to God from the pulpit, on the following Sabbath. On the morning following the deliverance, I generally went to see the rescued person, and sought to improve the event by impressing their mind with the uncertainty of life and with the importance of being prepared for death.
JOHN'S STATEMENT.
'In the following list I have given, as far as my memory and knowledge enabled me, a true and faithful account of the persons whom I have rescued from drowning. Extracts from newspapers, and letters from the parties themselves, and also from many who were eye-witnesses of their deliverance, have been freely used. There are several whom I have, at different times, saved from a watery grave, not included in this list, but as these events produced but little impression on my mind at the time of their occurrence, and as I am utterly unable to give either the names of the parties, or the time when I saved them, I can make no reliable mention of them at present, though I hope to be able to do so at some future time. I sincerely believe, however, that if I had kept a strict account of all these deliverances, instead of having to record thirty-nine cases, I should have been able to have recorded upwards of fifty. I regret now that I did not keep such a record. Every now and then I meet with persons who greet me as their deliverer. Two young men have done so within the last four months. And very pleasant to my mind it is to meet a fellow creature whom I have been the means, in the hands of a wonder-working Providence, of saving from a watery grave. But all the cases mentioned in the following chapter, except William Earnshaw and Captain Clegg, have been signed by living witnesses, and most of them were reported in the local newspapers, at the time of their occurrence. Many of these persons are still living; some of them I see almost daily, and they can speak for themselves. If I have made a mistake in spelling their names, or in relating the time when, or the circumstances under which, I saved them, I shall be glad to be corrected. And if I have offered an unkind reflection on any of my fellow creatures, or recorded a boastful sentence respecting what my fellow townsmen have been pleased to call my "deeds of daring," I hope to be forgiven by God, whose I am and whom I serve. Finally: as a large circle of my friends are anxious to have a true record of all the lives I have saved, I shall be highly pleased if any whom I have rescued, but whose names I have not recorded, will send me a few lines that may add to the interest of this little book, should a second edition be called for.'
CHAPTER VII.
HIS GALLANT AND HUMANE CONDUCT IN RESCUING THE DROWNING.
First.—JOHN ELLERTHORPE.[1] (1820.)
He was my father, and I was not more than fourteen years of age when I saved him. At the time he managed the ferry boat from Hessle to Barton. It required two persons to conduct the boat across the Humber, and as it cost my father a shilling each time he employed a man to assist him across, he often took me with him instead of a man, and thus saved the shilling. One morning, he took Mr. Thompson, corn miller, to Barton, and engaged to fetch him back at night; and there was this agreement between them, that my father was to receive the fare whether Mr. T—— returned or not. He did not return that night, though we waited for him until nine o'clock. The snow was then thick on the ground, the wind was blowing strong, and the waves were beginning to rise high in the Humber, and I was sitting, half-asleep, at the corner of a comfortable hearth, before a bright fire, when my father called out, 'Come, my boy, we'll be off.' We were soon in the boat, but had not got many yards, when my father fell overboard. I remember crying out most piteously, 'Oh, my father is overboard,' when I instantly plunged into the water and soon had fast hold of him. He had sunk to the bottom, a depth of sixteen feet, for when he came up he was covered with mud. We came up close to the boat's side, and, making a tremendous spring, I got hold of the boat's gunnel, and after a few moments my father also got hold of it with both his hands. He was a heavy man, weighing about fifteen stones, and could not swim. I said to him, 'Now, father, can you keep hold while I fetch the Hull horse-boatmen?' whom we had left at the water-side house, when he replied, 'Yes, but be very sharp, my lad.' I then swam to the house, and called out, 'My father is overboard;' and when I returned with the men, I was glad to hear him shout, 'I'm here.' John Thrush, captain of the horse-boat, and Luke Dixon, soon got him into the boat, while Mr. Wood, the landlord, brought him a glass of brandy, which he drank. We could not persuade him to leave the boat, so we again started for home, and as a brisk wind was blowing at the time, in about fifteen minutes, we were safe in Hessle harbour. My mother met us there, and I said, 'Mother, my father has been overboard, fetch somebody to help him out of the boat.' He was stiff and cold, but with the aid of Mr. Wright we got him ashore. Mr. W. brought him some mulled ale and a glass of rum, which I then thought very good. We then wrapped him in several thicknesses of warm clothing. I was much perished at the time, but soon felt all right. Not long before this, my mother had given me a severe flogging for bathing so often; so I looked into her face and said, 'Mother, I think you won't flog me for bathing again, will you?' to which she replied, 'Oh, my lad, it was a good job that thou was there;'[2] when my father faintly added, 'Yes, if he had not been there I should never have come to the top of the water.' And if he had he would have been drowned, for he could not swim a yard; and had he shouted, no one was near to render him assistance. But, thank God, I was there, and answered the end of a gracious Providence, and that was enough. Now, my father never liked to have this circumstance named, though I have often heard him say, 'That lad saved my life.' Afterwards, my mother never liked him to cross the Humber after dark, unless I was with him; so I often had to accompany him when I would much rather have been at a warm fireside, or asleep in bed. Witnesses—John Thrush, Luke Dixon.