About midnight, the men on watch make out, in the lift of the mist, a fine brig not far from them, driving before the gale, and making straight for the Sands; the alarm is given, and a gun at once fired to give the unfortunate crew warning of their danger.
The look-out men fancy, by the changing of the position of the brig's lights, that the crew are making an effort to alter the vessel's course, and to weather the Sands; but it is too late! nothing can save her! The crew of the light-ship lose sight of her in the darkness, and make all ready to signal for the life-boat to come to the rescue of her crew; they wait a minute or two, watching, in the direction they think the brig must strike, for the usual signals of distress, and almost immediately see the bright flare of a tar-barrel; they fire a signal-gun from the light-ship, and its warning voice booms loudly above the storm; then they send up rockets; the shipwrecked are thus encouraged to hope, while the ready boatmen on shore are called to action.
The signals are seen at the Walmer life-boat station, one mile from Deal; and at the Kingsdown station, three miles from Deal; at both places the call is promptly and eagerly obeyed; the life-boats are got ready with all haste; they are speedily manned and launched, and struggle their way through the boiling surf, which is rolling upon the beach. They spread all the canvas they can stagger under, and the two boats fly before the gale straight for the light-ship; there they learn the position in which the signals of distress were seen, and cruise round the edge of the Goodwin in all the fierce tumble of sea, and skirt the ring of surf which marks where the rollers are breaking with terrible force upon the Sands; but they can obtain no guide, no clue to where the wreck is; no signal light shines out of that drear darkness pleading for help, and no sound can the men hear, listen as they will, other than the ceaseless roar of the storm. Still the brave boatmen will not abandon the search, and for some hours the boats continue their vain efforts.
The crew of the Kingsdown boat determine at last that further search is useless, and as it is not possible for them to beat back to their distant station in the teeth of the gale, they run for Ramsgate, arriving there just before dawn. The Walmer boat continues cruising in the neighbourhood of the Sands until after daylight, when her crew, seeing no signs of the wreck, also determine to make for the shore.
The seas have been steadily increasing in violence, and are now running very high, and as they curl and break, the crest of each wave is caught by the fierce wind, and dispersed in a cloud of spray.
Bravely the boat sails on through the troubled seas; she is constantly overrun by the waves, and filled with water, but each time she speedily regains all her buoyancy, and bounds on over the seas. The men have almost too much confidence in her, as if no amount of sea and wind could possibly capsize her; they carry on a press of canvas, until the stout masts bend and the ropes strain again, and they make the sheet fast; but now a fierce huge wave comes rushing along, catches the boat broadside on, lifts the boat high on its crest, and then completely curls her over and passes, leaving the boat capsized, and all the men struggling in the water.
But it is however only a passing victory, after all, that the sea can boast over the life-boat; at once she rights herself, gets rid of the water that fills her, and rides upon the seas as bravely as ever.
Happily all the men have on their cork jackets, and in them they float breast high; never was there such a wild dance as they now seem to dance; tossed high and poised for a moment on the cone of a leaping wave, again engulfed in the hollow trough of a sea, with a wall of tumbling water all around; rising and falling in quick succession, their arms beating broken time as they struggle to swim towards the boat, which begins to drift fast away; it is fortunate that some of the men have retained hold of the life-lines, the ends of which are fastened to the boat, by these they haul themselves alongside her, and all soon succeed in getting on board.
Away again through the Downs, across the high rolling seas, making for the shore, but their troubles are not yet at an end; a blast of wind, fiercer than its fellows, strikes the sail, the boat careens over; at that moment a huge wave leaps on the boat, strikes it with such force and so high, that it fills the sail with water and drives the boat bodily over, and the second time she is capsized, and the men, before they have recovered from the exhaustion caused by their former struggle, are the second time plunged into the sea, to find themselves battling for their lives with the waves. The cork jackets keep them afloat as before, but the waves run over them, and they are almost smothered in clouds of foam, until they are thoroughly worn out by the rush and beat of the seas which break over their heads. Up and down, tumbling here and there in the turmoil of the seas, pale and gasping for breath, almost too faint to make any struggle to regain the boat, becoming rapidly unconscious; this time the wild dance mid the raging seas becomes truly too much like a dance of death.