On the wreck comes straight for them; the boats mizen sail is hauled flat to help the boat sheer out of the ship's way; they must manage skilfully or she will drive right over the life-boat; the helm is put hard up; the mizen catches the wind; the boat sheers, the wreck just misses her; the boat is close to her starboard quarter. Down helm, and the boat sheers in close alongside, the men in the bow pay out the cable quickly to let the boat float alongside the ship, "Jump when we near!" they cry to the crew; "jump for it! be steady, but do not lose a chance!" a sea throws the boat within a yard of the wreck, three men spring on board; a moment, and the next rush of sea sweeps the boat away and buries them all in foam. As the sea overruns the boat, the boatmen cling to the sailors who have sprung on board, to prevent their being washed out of her. "Have we got all?" "No, only three, one is left!" "Look out, then, my men; in we go again! the lee-tide is running very strongly—the cable is paying out fast."—"There is only about ten fathom of cable left," the men in the bow shout to the coxswain; he sheers the boat in, they can just make out the figure of a man at the stern of the vessel; they cry out to him: "Be ready; 'tis your last chance; you must jump for your life; we shall hardly have time to come in again;" they close in alongside; a heavy sea knocks down the men in the bow who are paying out the rope; at that moment the man on the wreck makes a desperate leap for the boat, he falls among the men; the end of the cable runs out into the sea. "Rope gone!" is the cry, but the man is saved; the ship is on the point of sinking, and they at once lose sight of her in the dark night. It is the captain who is last on board the boat; he looks round with thankfulness upon the life-boatmen and upon his saved crew: "But where is Fullarton?" he asks. "The man who jumped for the boat when the ropes parted."
"He fell short of the boat, and we could not save him," is the sad answer.
"Poor fellow, poor fellow! he was so terribly anxious, he could not wait. Oh! that he had only waited with us! but he was almost in despair before the boat came, and seeing you break away the second time was too much for him." And afterwards he told them the drowned sailors piteous story—what a good fellow he was, and that it was because he was to be married upon his return home that he was so anxious, and felt life to be doubly dear to him.
It is about seven o'clock in the morning; the day breaks wild and cold, and dismal as weather can well be. The faint light of the dawn scarcely makes its way through the thick clouds of flying spray and foam and half-frozen snow that drive fiercely along.
A dread suggestive picture as witnessed from the cliffs on shore is that of the Goodwin Sands in a storm—the raging mountains of white surf springing high in the air, and breaking into clouds of spray, and the waves racing along the Sands in foaming rollers, strong to sweep anything before them: to watch this from the shore at a distance of six miles is enough to make one shudder, so terrible a picture does it give of wild, hungry, irresistible power and rage, but what must it be for those who have to encounter this turbulent sea in the very thick of its strife; in a boat almost buried by the waves, clinging to the thwarts, the life half beaten out of them; and yet, hour after hour enduring all hardship, and sternly battling with all resistance—and all this the men in the life-boat have yet to endure.
The boat is on the top of the south end of the Sand, and in the fiercest strife of the wild sea, a foaming wilderness of water all around them; the waves seem mad in the very fury of their contest; they rear up and clash together with a roar and hiss; rush swiftly on; recoil as swiftly back; now meet others in their full onward swoop and contend for mastery; leap high in angry curling crests, then fall with thunder tones, but only to form in serried ranks, and rush swiftly again into the wild race and conflict.
No ordinary boat could endure this for a minute, the first of these mad curling waves would engulf her at once; the life-boat alone can contend with such broken battling seas, and come out a victor from the strife.
The men crowd aft that the boat may run better before the gale; they put oars out on each quarter to help the boat steer, and to prevent her broaching to, for if she does, the curl of the wave is so strong that she will be rolled over, and probably many of her crew and passengers lost, for although she would right again directly, all could not expect to get back to her in such a sea; she is full of water; the seas break over her in such quick succession, that she has no time to free herself, but she bounds on, and on, and soon, but not without much danger, the men escape from the broken water and reach the outer part of the Sand.
The boat is now put under fore-sail and mizen, both close reefed, hauled to the wind and pressed through the seas, to be certain of making the land, from which the gale is blowing so strongly.
The boat heels over under the pressure of her canvas, one gunwale is buried in the seas; the rescued men have never been in a life-boat before, and feel much alarmed.