The shipwrecked sailors have become very feeble, and some of them are scarcely able to drag their limbs along, and require to be held up on both sides as they wade through the shallow channels of water, many of which they have to cross on their way to the boat.
They hurry on as fast as they can, for the weather is very uncertain, and a mist or snow-squall coming on would put them in the greatest possible peril, for they would in that case very speedily be lost among the gullies, which are half filled with water, and which stretch in all directions across the Sands at low water; and the boatmen know what it would be to be lost there; with the sand getting soft and quick beneath their feet as the tide rose, and with the narrowing belt of surf each moment drawing nearer and nearer, there to wander hopelessly for a short time, then to be scarcely able to move as the sands grew quick, and then to fall an easy prey to the fierce sweep of the first breaker that rolled in upon them. It is no wonder that the boatmen look with dread upon the increasing gloom of the morning, and hurry the men on as much as possible; they make out the life-boat, and with much difficulty and exertion they get to the edge of the Sands.
The life-boat is at anchor with ten fathoms of chain out; the heavy breakers are rolling in and lifting her with such violence as they sweep on, that at each lift she drags her anchor, and beats further and further over the spit of sand upon which the waves are expending their first fury. The surf flies over the boat, fills her, and then rages on in clouds of foam. The men on board are anxiously looking for the return of their comrades with the shipwrecked crew, and greatly rejoice as they see the groups of men struggling across the Sands to the boat. They soon make out how exhausted the shipwrecked men are, and feel that it will be very hard work for them to wade through the surf to the boat. Some of the boatmen get life lines ready to throw to any that may be overpowered and thrown down by the wind and tide, others jump overboard to go to the assistance of the enfeebled sailors. It is bitterly cold, and the water, as they wade through it, feels as if it would freeze them through and through; they bring off the shipwrecked crew one by one, the more exhausted of them being supported on both sides between two life-boat men; at last all are on board, but they cannot yet leave the sands; they must wait until the water is high enough to float the life-boat over the ridge which surrounds her. All are shivering with cold and wet; they crouch in the boat and protect themselves as well as they can from the flying surf; a long weary hour is thus passed; the tide rises sufficiently, sail is set, and the life-boat makes for the steam-boat, and is greeted with cheers—cheers that are heartily answered. The shipwrecked sailors, who had had during the night no hope of again giving a cry of joy on earth, join in as lustily as they can, in that cry which, sounding over the wild seas, tells of noble deeds in struggling to save life, and of happy and most blessed results. That although the storm still swept furiously by, and although the waves still rushed madly around the shipwrecked, that they were now safe in the safety afforded by the noble life-boat. So safe, indeed, that it was not too soon for the poor sailors to rejoice in their rescue, and to express with heartfelt cheer their gratitude to the brave men who had rescued them from their position of deadly peril.
The steamer does not take long in towing the boat to Ramsgate, where all receive the usual warm greeting, and the shipwrecked the needful care.
The crew of the wrecked vessel, the Amoor of Elswick, are Germans; their consul takes care of them, and sends them to the Sailors' Home.
They proved so thankful for the rescue effected, that they wrote to their home authorities, and the life-boat men soon received from the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg Schwerin an expression of gratitude and admiration for their conduct, accompanied by a Silver Medal, a Certificate of Merit, and ten shillings each man.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE RESCUE OF THE CREW OF THE "EFFORT"—THE DANGERS OF HOVELLING.
"All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam,