It is on these ridges that the life-boat so continually grounds. As the tide rises she is swept from one to the other by the long sweeping waves; she is swung round and round in the swirl of the cross-seas and rapid tide, thumping and jerking heavily each time that she strands. All this is in the midst of darkness, of bitter cold, and of a raging wind, surf, and sea, until the hardship and peril are almost too much to be borne, and some of the men feel dying in the boat.
One old boatman afterwards thus described his feelings. "Well, sir, perhaps my friends were right when they said I hadn't ought to have gone out—that I was too old for that sort of work"—he was then about sixty years of age—"but, you see, when there is life to be saved, it makes one feel young again; and I've always felt I have had a call to save life when I could; and I wasn't going to hang back then; and I stood it better than some of them after all. I did my work on board the brig, and when she was so near falling over us, and when the Dreadnought life-boat seemed knocking our bottom out, I got on as well as any of them; but when we got to beating, and grubbing over the Sands, swinging round and round, and grounding every few yards with a jerk that bruised us sadly, and almost tore our arms out from the sockets—no sooner washed off one ridge, and beginning to hope that the boat was clear, than she thumped upon another harder than ever, and all the time the wash of the surf nearly carrying us out of the boat—it was truly almost too much for any man to stand. There was a young fellow holding on next to me; I saw his head begin to drop, and that he was getting faint, and going to give over; and when the boat filled with water, and the waves went over his head, he scarcely cared to struggle free. I tried to cheer him a bit, and keep his spirits up. He just clung to the thwart like a drowning man. Poor fellow, he never did a day's work after that night, and died in a few months.
"Well, I couldn't do anything with him, and I thought that it didn't matter much, for I felt it must soon all be over; that it couldn't be long before the boat would be knocked to pieces. So I took my life-belt off, that I might have it over all the quicker; for I knew that there would be no chance whatever of life if the boat once went, and I would have it over all the quicker, for I didn't want to be beating about those sands alive or dead longer than I could help; the sooner I went to the bottom, the better, I thought. When once all hope of life was over—and that time seemed close upon us every moment—some of us kept shouting, just cheering ourselves and one another up, as well as we could; but I had to give that up, and I remember hearing the captain crying out, 'We will see Ramsgate yet again, my men, if we steer clear of old wrecks,' And then I heard the Portuguese lad crying, and I remember that I began to think that it was a terrible dream, and pinched myself to see if I was really awake; and I began to feel very strange and insensible. I didn't feel afraid of death, for, you see, I hadn't left it to such times as that to prepare to meet my God. And if ever I spent hours in prayer, be sure I spent them in prayer that night. And I just seemed going off in a kind of dead faint, and felt very dream-like, and as if I couldn't hold on any longer; and as I felt this I thought, in a feeble sort of way, of my friends ashore, and bid them good-bye like, for I knew that I should be soon washed out of the boat, when I looked up, and the surf was curling up both sides of the boat, and I was going to throw myself down on the thwart, that the seas might beat upon my back, and I should never have lifted it up again, when I saw a bright star. The clouds had broken a little, and there was that blessed beautiful star shining out. Yes, truly it was a blessed beautiful star to me; as it caught my eye it seemed, in my weak state, to lay a strange hold upon me; to gather all my attention, and to call me back to life again. And I began to have a little thought about seeing my home again, and that I wasn't going to be called away just yet. And I straightened myself up a little, and laid a firmer hold upon the boat, and lifted my head to look for the star after each time the seas beat over us, and I kept my eye upon it whenever I could; and I cannot explain how it was, but looking for and watching that star kept me up, and when I got ashore, I seemed at first not much worse than the best of them. But for seven whole days after that I lost my speech, and lay like a log upon my bed; and I was ill a long time—indeed, have never been right since, and I suppose at my age I never shall get over it. But what is more, I believe something of the same sort may be said of most of those that were in the boat that night. One poor young fellow is dead, another has been subject to fits ever since, and not any of us quite the men we were before, and no wonder when you think what we passed through.
"I cannot describe it, and you cannot, neither can any one else; but when you say you've beat and thumped over those sands, almost yard by yard, in a fearful storm on a winter's night, and live to tell the tale, why it seems to me about the next thing to saying that you've been dead, and brought to life again."
The coxswain of the life-boat, brave Isaac Jarman, was chosen for that position for his fortitude, skill, and daring, and well did he sustain his character that night, never for one moment losing his presence of mind, and doing his utmost to cheer the men up. The crew consisted of hardy, daring fellows, ready to face any danger, to go out in any storm, and to do battle with the wildest seas; but the horrors of that night were almost too much for the most iron nerves.
The fierce freezing wind, the almost pitch darkness, the terrible surf, and beating waves, and the men unable to do anything for their safety; the boat driven, almost hurled, by the force of the waves from sand ridge to sand ridge, and apparently breaking up beneath them each time she lifted on the surf and crushed down again upon the Sands, besides the danger of her getting foul of any old wrecks—how all this was lived through seemed miraculous. Time after time there was a cry of "Now she breaks up! she can't stand this! all over at last!" Another such thump, and she is done for, and then the boat would writhe, almost on her beam ends, while the waves beat over, until she was again lifted and thrown forward to crash down and ground again; and all this lasted for about two hours, as almost yard by yard they beat from ridge to ridge over the sands.
Suddenly the swinging and beating of the boat cease; she is in a very heavy sea, but she answers her helm and keeps her head straight. At last they have got over the Sands and into deep water; the danger is passed, and they are saved. With new hopes comes new life. Some can scarcely realize their comparative safety, and still keep their firm hold upon the boat, expecting each second another terrible lurch and jerk upon the Sands, and the heavy rush and wash of the seas. No: that is all over, and the boat, in spite of her tremendous knocking about, is sound, and sails buoyantly and well.
The crew quickly get further sail upon her, and she makes way before the gale to the westward. The Portuguese sailors lift their heads. They have been clinging together and to the boat, crouching down under the lee of the foresail during the time of beating over the Sands; they notice the stir among the boatmen, and that the terrible jerking and thumping of the boat and the rush of sea over her have ceased; and they also learn that the worst is passed, and that the danger is at an end.
Long since did they despair of life; and their surprise and joy now know no bounds. Bravely on goes the life-boat, making for the westward. The Portuguese are very busy in earnest consultation. The poor fellows have lost their kit, and only possess the things they have on, and a few pounds that they have with them. Soon it becomes evident what the consultation has been about. "Coxswain!" one of the boatmen cries out, "they want to give us all their money!"
"Yes! yes!" said the interpreter, in broken English, "you have saved our lives! Thank you! thank you! but all we have is yours; it is not much, but you take it between you;" and he held out the money. It was about 17l.