Never was a moment of greater peril. Away in the rush of the wave the boat is carried straight for the wreck; the cable is payed out and is slack; they haul it in as fast as they can, but on they are carried swiftly, apparently to certain destruction. Let them hit the wreck full, and the next wave must throw the boat bodily upon it, and all her crew will be swept at once into the sea; let them but touch the wreck, and the risk is fearful; on they are carried, the stem of the boat just grazes the bow of the vessel, they must be capsized by the bowsprit and entangled in the wreckage; some of the crew are ready for a spring into the bowsprit to prolong their lives a few minutes, the others are all steadily, eagerly, quietly, hauling in upon the cable might and main, as the only chance of safety to the boat and crew; one moment more and all are gone, one more haul upon the cable, a fathom or so comes in by the run, and at that moment it mercifully taughtens and holds; all may yet be safe, another yard or two and the boat would have been dashed to pieces.
They again haul in the cable, and draw the boat away as rapidly as they can from the wreck, but they do it with a terrible dread, for they remember the cut strand of the rope. Will the remaining two strands hold? The strain is fearful, each time that the boat lifts to a wave, the cable tightens and jerks, and they think it breaking; but it still holds, and a thrill of joy passes through the heart of all, as they hear that the cut part of the rope is safely in the boat.
But the danger is not even yet over: all this time the mast and sail have been dragging over the side of the boat; it is with great difficulty that they get them on board.
The mast had been broken short off about three feet from the heel.
They chop a new heel to it, and rig it up as speedily as they can, but it takes long to do so; for the boat is lying in the trough of the sea, and the waves are constantly breaking over her; moreover, she is so crowded that the men can scarcely move, and the gale is blowing as hard as ever.
For the poor Spaniards, as they cling to each other, the terrors of death seem scarcely passed away; they know nothing of the properties of the life-boat, and cannot believe that it will live long in such a sea. As the waves beat over the boat and fill it, they imagine that she will founder, and each time that the great rolling seas launch themselves at her they cling to each other, expecting that she will capsize; besides, the poor fellows' nerves are not in a very good state; for eight hours they have been in great danger, for a large portion of that time in momentary expectation of death, during the four hours they were lashed to the rigging of the wreck, with the life nearly beaten and frozen out of them by the constant rush of sea and of spray, and by the bitter wind.
One of the Spaniards seeing a life-belt lying down, which one of the crew had thrown off in the hurry of his work, sits upon it by way of making himself doubly safe. But the work goes on. At last the mast is fitted and raised. No unnecessary word is spoken all this time, for the life and death struggle is not yet over; nor, indeed, can it be before they are well away from the neighbourhood of the wreck. Now, as they hoist the sail, the boat gradually draws away; the cable is again payed out little by little; as soon as they are well clear of the vessel they cut it, and away they sail. The terrible suspense is over when each moment was a moment of fearful risk. It had lasted from the time when they let go the anchor to the time when they got clear of the vessel—about one hour. The men could now breathe freely, their faces brighten, and from one and all there arises spontaneously a pealing cheer. They are no longer face to face with death, and thankfully and joyfully they sail away from the sands, the breakers, and the wreck.
The gale was still at its height, but the peril they were in then seemed nothing to what they had gone through, and had happily left behind. In the great reaction of feeling, the freezing cold and sleet, the driving wind, and foam, and sea, were all forgotten; and they felt as light-hearted as if they were out on a pleasant summer's cruize. They could at last look round and see who they had in the boat, speak hearty words of congratulation to the Margate and Whitstable men, some of whom they knew, and strive by a good deal of broken English, and slaps on the back, and shaking of hands, to cheer up the Spanish sailors, and to let them know how glad they are to have saved them. They then proceeded in search of the steamer, which, after casting the life-boat adrift, made for shelter to the back of the Hook Sand, not far from the Reculvers, and there waited, her crew anxiously on the look-out for the return of the life-boat.
As they were making for the steamer, the lugger Eclipse came in chase to hear whether they had succeeded in saving all hands, and especially, whether all the men of her crew were saved. They welcomed the glad tidings with three cheers for the life-boat crew, and made in for the land. Soon after, the Whitstable smack made towards them upon a similar errand, and her crew were equally rejoiced to hear that their ship-mates with all hands were safe. It was too rough, a great deal, for the men to be taken on board the smack; and so she, after speaking them, tacked in for the land.