Again, on the 1st of November, the screw-steamer Shamrock, of Dublin, ran on shore on the Holme Sand during a heavy gale from the south-west. As soon as the position of the unfortunate vessel was discovered, the lifeboat was launched, and proceeded under sail to the spot. The sea was breaking fearfully over the mast-head of the steamer, repeatedly filling the lifeboat. To increase the danger, an expanse of shoal-water lay close to leeward of the wreck, so that had the lifeboat’s cable parted, her destruction and that of her crew might have followed. Fully aware of the risk they ran, they persevered, as brave men will, in spite of danger to themselves; and, sending lines on board the wreck, the whole crew, not without considerable difficulty, were hauled on board.
Bravery of Joseph Rogers, a Maltese seaman—25th October 1859.
No one will forget the dreadful loss of the Royal Charter on the Welsh coast, when, out of 490 souls on board, not more than 25 persons came on shore alive; but many may not recollect that it was owing, under Providence, to the bravery, presence of mind, and strength of one man that even these few were saved. When the ship struck on the rocks, the sea instantly broke over her with fearful violence, filling the intermediate space between her and the shore with broken spars and fragments of the wreck; while the waves burst with fury on the hard rocks, and then rushed back again, to hurl with redoubled force on the iron shore the objects which they had gathered up in their forward course. Pitchy darkness added to the horror of the scene and the danger to be encountered by the hapless passengers and crew of the ill-fated ship. Among the ship’s company was a Maltese, Joseph Rogers—a first-rate swimmer, as are many of the inhabitants of the island in which he was born. To attempt to swim on shore in that boiling caldron was full of danger, though he might have felt that he could accomplish it; but the difficulty and danger would be far greater should the swimmer’s progress be impeded by a rope. In spite of that, thinking only how he might save the lives of those on board the ship to which he belonged, taking a line in hand, he plunged boldly into the foaming sea. On he swam; the darkness prevented him from being seen, but those on board felt the rope gradually hauled out. Anxiously all watched the progress of that line, for on the success of that bold swimmer the lives of all might depend. If he failed, who could hope to succeed? At length they felt it tightened, and they knew that it was being hauled up by many strong hands on shore. Now a stout rope was fastened to the line, and that being hauled on shore was secured, and a cradle was placed on it. No time was to be lost. The large ship was striking with terrible violence on the rocks, it appearing that every instant would be her last. One after the other, the people on board hastened into the cradle—as many as dared to make the hazardous passage. Ten, fifteen, twenty landed—the twenty-fifth person had just reached the shore, when, with a horrible crash, the ship parted, breaking into fragments, and 454 persons were hurried in a moment into eternity. Even Rogers, brave swimmer as he was, could not have survived had he attempted to swim among those wreck-covered waves. For his heroic courage the National Lifeboat Institution awarded the gold medal to Rogers and a gratuity of 5 pounds.
Remarkable instance of endurance of a crew of British Seamen.
A small fishing smack, with a crew of five people, was wrecked off Bacton, near Great Yarmouth, on the 27th of November 1859. The poor men were in the rigging, without food or drink, for 60 hours before they were rescued from the mast of their sunken vessel, to which they had been clinging for more than 60 hours. For three nights and two days they held on to this uncertain support, about 8 feet above the raging sea, without food, and almost without clothing. One of the men took off his shirt and held it out as a signal of distress, till it was blown from his feeble grasp. The vessel struck upon the Harborough Sand on Friday evening at nine o’clock, and they were not rescued till ten o’clock on Monday morning—a case of most remarkable endurance. The vessel was but a small one, a smack with four hands. The fourth hand, a boy, climbed the mast with the others, and held on till the Saturday, when he became exhausted, and, relaxing his hold, slipped down into the sea. One of the men went down after him, seized him, and dragged him up the mast again; but there was nothing to which to lash him, and no crosstrees or spars on which to rest; so that during the night, when almost senseless with cold and fatigue, the poor boy slipped down again, and was lost in the darkness. On Sunday they were tantalised with the hope of immediate succour. A vessel saw their signals and heard their cries, and sent a boat to their relief; but after buffeting with the wind and tide, they had the mortification to see her give up the attempt, and return to the vessel. Then it was that black despair took possession of them, and they gave themselves up for lost; but clinging to their frail support for an hour or two longer, they heard a gun fire. This gave them fresh courage, for they took it to be a signal, as in fact it was, that their case was known, and an attempt would be made to save them. The vessel stood in and communicated with the shore, and a boat put off to search for them; but they were such a speck on the ocean, that, night coming on, they could not be seen, and the boat returned to shore. For the third night, therefore, they had still to cling on, expecting every moment that the mast would go over and bury them in the deep. On the Monday morning the Bacton boat made another attempt, fell in with them at ten o’clock, and landed them at Palling, more dead than alive, whence, as soon as they could be moved, they were brought to the Yarmouth Sailors’ Home, their swollen limbs, benumbed frames, and ghastly countenances testifying to the sufferings they had undergone. At this Home the poor men remained several weeks, receiving every attention from the officers of the establishment.
To conclude our short account of the services of lifeboats, we may state that in the year 1860 the lives of no less than 326 persons were saved by those stationed on the British coast, every one of which would have been lost.
We will give another example, to exhibit more clearly the nature of the work the brave crews undertake.
In the early part of that year, as the day closed, it was blowing a heavy gale off Lyme-Regis. About eight o’clock at night the alarm was given that a vessel was in distress in the offing. It was pitchy dark; indeed, the intense darkness, the strong gale, and the heavy surf on shore were enough to appal any man entering the lifeboat. After some short delay, however, the boat was manned by a gallant crew—her coxswain, Thomas Bradley, being early at his post. Tar barrels were lighted up on shore, and the boat proceeded on her mission of mercy. So truly awful was the night, that nearly everyone on shore believed she would never return again. However, after battling with the fury of the storm, and after an absence of about an hour and a half, the lifeboat did return, laden with the shipwrecked crew of three men of the smack Elizabeth Ann, of Lyme-Regis.