The Lifeboat

  CHAPTER SIX.

  HEROES OF THE KENTISH COAST--THE LIFEBOAT--THE RESCUE.

  Deal beach is peculiar in more respects than one. There are a varietyof contradictory appearances about it which somewhat puzzle a visitor,especially if he be accustomed to sea-coast towns and villages in otherparts of the country.

  For one thing, all the boats seem hopelessly high and dry on the beach,without the chance, and apparently without any intention, of ever beinggot off again. Then there is, at certain seasons of the year, nothingwhatever doing. Great hard-fisted fellows, with nautical garments andbronzed faces, are seen lounging about with their hands in theirpockets, and with a heavy slowness in their gait, which seems to implythat they are elephantine creatures, fit only to be looked at andwondered at as monuments of strength and laziness.

  If the day happens to be fine and calm when the stranger visits thebeach, he will probably be impressed with the idea that here is anaccumulation of splendid sea-going _materiel_, which has somehow gothopelessly stranded and become useless.

  Of course, in the height of summer, there will be found bustle enoughamong the visitants to distract attention from the fact to which Iallude; but in spring, before these migratory individuals arrive, thereis marvellously little doing on Deal beach in fine weather. The pilotsand boatmen lounge about, apparently amusing themselves with pipes andtelescopes; they appear to have no object in life but to kill time; theyseem a set of idle hulking fellows;--nevertheless, I should say,speaking roughly, that at least the half of these men are heroes!

  The sturdy oak, in fine weather, bends only its topmost branches to thelight wind, and its leaves and twigs alone are troubled by the summerbreeze; but when the gale lays low the trees of the forest and whirlsthe leaves about like ocean spray, then the oak is stirred to wildaction; tosses its gnarled limbs in the air, and moves the very earth onwhich it stands. So the heroes on Deal beach are sluggish and quiescentwhile the sun shines and the butterflies are abroad; but let the stormburst upon the sea; let the waves hiss and thunder on that steep pebblyshore; let the breakers gleam on the horizon just over the fatal GoodwinSands, or let the night descend in horrid blackness, and shroud beachand breakers alike from mortal view, then the man of Deal bestirs hispowerful frame, girds up his active loins, and claps on his sou'-wester;launches his huge boat that seemed before so hopelessly high and dry;hauls off through the raging breakers, and speeds forth on his errand ofmercy over the black and stormy sea with as much hearty satisfaction asif he were hasting to his bridal, instead of, as is too often the case,to his doom.

  Near the north end of Deal beach, not very far from the ruins of SandownCastle, there stood an upturned boat, which served its owner as a hut orshelter whence he could sit and scan the sea. This hut or hovel was aroomy and snug enough place even in rough weather, and although intendedchiefly as a place of out-look, it nevertheless had sundry convenienceswhich made it little short of a veritable habitation. Among these werea small stove and a swinging oil lamp which, when lighted, filled theinterior with a ruddy glow that quite warmed one to look at. A low doorat one end of the hovel faced the sea, and there was a small square holeor window beside it, through which the end of a telescope generallyprotruded, for the owners of the hovel spent most of their idle time intaking observations of the sea. There was a bench on either side of thehut which was lumbered with a confused mass of spars, sails,sou'westers, oil-skin coats and trousers; buoys, sea-chests, rudders,tar-barrels, and telescopes.

  This hovel belonged jointly to old Jeph and Captain Bluenose. Bax hadshared it with them before he was appointed to the command of the"Nancy." In the olden time the owners of these nautical huts dwelt inthem, hence the name of "hoveller" which is used at the present day.But with the progress of civilisation the hovellers have come to residein cottages, and only regard the hovels as their places of business.Hovellers, as a class, do little else than go off to ships in distressand to wrecks; in which dangerous occupation they are successful inannually saving much property and many human lives. Their livelihoodfrom salvage, as may be supposed, is very precarious. Sometimes theyare "flush of cash," at other times reduced to a low enough ebb. Insuch circumstances it almost invariably follows that men areimprovident.

  Not many years ago the hovellers were notorious smugglers. Many a bolddeed and wild reckless venture was made on Deal beach in days of old bythese fellows, in their efforts to supply the country with French lace,and brandy, and tobacco, at a low price! Most of the old houses in Dealare full of mysterious cellars, and invisible places of concealment inwalls, and beams, and chimneys; showing the extent to which contrabandtrade was carried on in the days of our fathers. Rumour says that thereis a considerable amount of business done in that way even in our owndays; but everybody knows what a story-teller Rumour is.

  The only thing that gives any colour to the report is the fact thatthere is still a pretty strong coast-guard force in that region; and onemay observe that whenever a boat comes to the beach a stout fellow inthe costume of a man-of-war's man, goes up to it and pries into all itsholes and corners, pulling about the ballast-bags and examining the samein a cool matter-of-course manner that must be extremely irritating, onewould imagine, to the owner of the boat!

  At night, too, if one chances to saunter along Deal beach by moonlight,he will be sure to meet, ere long, with a portly personage of enormousbreadth, enveloped in many and heavy garments, with a brace of pistolssticking out of his breast pockets, and a short cutlass by his side.But whatever these sights and symptoms may imply, there can be noquestion that smuggling now is not, by any means, what it was thirty orforty years ago.

  On the night of the storm, described in the last chapter, the onlyindividual in old Jeph's hovel was old Jeph himself. He was seated atthe inner end of it on a low chest near the stove, the light of whichshone brightly on his thin old face and long white locks, and threw agigantic black shadow on the wall behind. The old man was busilyengaged in forming a model boat out of a piece of wood with a claspknife. He muttered to himself as he went on with his work, occasionallypausing to glance towards the door, the upper half of which was open andrevealed the dark storm raging without.

  On one of these occasions old Jeph's eyes encountered those of a mangazing in upon him.

  "Is that you, Long Orrick? Come in; it's a cold night to stand out i'the gale."

  He said this heartily, and then resumed his work, as if he had forgottenthe presence of the other in an instant. It is not improbable that hehad, for Jeph was very old. He could not have been far short of ninetyyears of age.

  Long Orrick entered the hovel, and sat down on a bench opposite the oldman. He was a very tall, raw-boned, ill-favoured fellow, of greatmuscular strength, and with a most forbidding countenance. He was cladin oiled, rough-weather garments.

  "You seem busy, old man," said he abruptly.

  "Ay, I had need be busy," said old Jeph without looking up; "there aremany lives to save; many lives bein' lost this very night, and no meansof savin' 'em; leastwise not sufficient."

  "Humph! ye're eternally at that bit o' humbug. It's bam, old man, allbam; bosh and gammon," said Orrick. "It'll never come to no good, _I_tell ye."

  "Who knows?" replied the old man meekly, but going on with his work notthe less diligently because of these remarks.

  "Jeph," said Orrick, leaning forward until his sharp features werewithin a few inches of his companion's face, "Jeph, will ye tell mewhere the `hide' is in yer old house?"

  "No, Long Orrick, I won't," replied the old man with an amount of energyof which he seemed, a few seconds before, quite incapable.

  The reply did not seem to please Long Orrick, neither did the steadygaze with which it was accompanied.

  "You won't?" said Orrick between his set teeth.

  "No," replied the old man, dropping his eyes on the little boat andresuming his work.

  "Why not," continued the other after a pause, "you don't require thehide, why won't you lend it to a chum
as is hard up?"

  "Because I won't encourage smugglin'," said Jeph. "You've smuggledenough in yer young days yerself, you old villain; you might help afriend a bit; it won't be you as does it."

  "It's because I have smuggled w'en I was young that I won't do it nowthat I'm old, nor help anyone else to," retorted Jeph; "besides, you'reno friend o' mine."

  "What if I turn out to be an enemy?" cried Orrick, fiercely; "see here,"said he, drawing out a long knife, and holding it up so that the lightof the stove glittered on its keen blade, "what if I give you a taste ofthis, old man?"

  "You won't," said Jeph, calmly.

  "No! why not?"

  "Because you're a coward," replied Jeph, with a quiet chuckle; "you knowthat you wouldn't like to be hanged, ha! ha! and you know that Bax wouldbe down on you if you touched my old carcase."

  Long Orrick uttered a savage oath, and said, "I'm brave enough, anyhow,to let you taste the cold steel to-night--or desperate enough if yeprefer it."

  He seized Jeph by the throat as he spoke, and pressed the blade of theknife against his breast. The old man did not shrink, neither did hestruggle. He knew that he was in the hands of one whose type is but toocommon in this world, a bully and a coward, and, knowing this, felt thathe was safe.

  It seemed, however, as if the very elements scorned the man who couldthus raise his hand against unprotected age, for the wind shriekedlouder than usual in its fury, and a blinding flash of lightning,accompanied by a deep crash of thunder, added to the horror of thescene.

  Just then an exclamation was heard at the door of the hovel. LongOrrick released his hold hastily, and turning round, observed a roundruddy visage scowling at him, and the glittering barrel of a pistollevelled at his head.

  "Ha! ha!" he laughed hoarsely, endeavouring to pass it off as a jest,"so you've caught us jokin', Coleman,--actin' a bit--and took it forarnest, eh?"

  "Well, if it _is_ actin', it's oncommon ugly actin', _I_ tell ye; a dealtoo nat'ral for my tastes, so I'd advise ye to drop it here, an' carryyer talents to a theaytre, where you'll be paid according to yourdesarts, Long Orrick."

  "Ah! the night air don't agree with ye, Coleman, so I'll bid yegood-bye," said the other, rising and quitting the hut.

  "Wot's he bin' a doin' of, old man?" inquired Coleman, who was a huge,ruddy, good-humoured coast-guardsman, with the aspect of a lion and theheart of a lamb; whose garments were of the roughest and largest kind,and who was, to adopt a time-honoured phrase, armed to the teeth,--thatis to say, provided with a brace of pistols, a cutlass, and a port-fire,which last could, on being struck against a rock, burst into flame, andilluminate the region for many yards around him.

  "Oh, he's bin' actin'," replied the old man, with a quiet chuckle, as heresumed his work on the boat; "he's bin' actin', that's all."

  At this moment the boom of a gun fired by the Gull lightship broke onthe ears of the men of Deal, and a moment later the bright flash of arocket was seen. It was the well-known signal that there was a ship indistress on the sands.

  Instantly the hardy boatmen were at work. One of their largest boatswas launched through the wild surf, as if by magic, and its stout crewwere straining at the oars as if their lives depended on the result.

  The boat happened to be the one belonging to Captain Bluenose and hiscomrades, and the first man who leaped into her, as she was driven downinto the sea, was Long Orrick; for, bad man though he was, he was notwithout his redeeming points, and, coward though he was before the faceof man, he was brave enough in facing the dangers of the sea.

  It was a fearful struggle in which the Deal lugger engaged that night.The sea threatened to bury her altogether as she pushed off through thebreakers, and some of the men seemed to think it would be too much forthem. A man named Davis took the helm; he had saved many a life on thatcoast in his day.

  The intense darkness of the night, coupled with the fury of the windsand waves, were such that no men, save those who were used to suchscenes, would have believed it possible that any boat could live in sowild a storm. In addition to this the cold was excessive, and the spraybroke over them so continuously that the pump had to be kept going inorder to prevent their getting filled altogether.

  It was a long weary pull to the Gull light-ship. When they reached itthey hailed those on board, and asked where away the wreck was.

  "Right down to leeward, on the Sand-head," was the reply.

  Away went the lugger before the gale with just a corner of the foresailhoisted. It was not long before they came in sight of the breakers onthe Sands. Here they were obliged to put out the oars and exercise theutmost caution, lest they should incur the fate from which they had comeout to rescue others. Davis knew the shoals and channels well, anddropped down as far as he dared, but no wreck of any kind was to beseen.

  "D'ye see anything?" shouted Davis to Long Orrick, who was in the bow.

  Orrick's reply was inaudible, for the shrieking of the gale, and theroar of breakers drowned his voice.

  At that moment a huge wave broke at a considerable distance ahead ofthem, and against its white crest something like the mast of a vesselwas discerned for an instant.

  "God help them!" muttered Davis to himself; "if they're as far as thaton the sands there's no chance for them, unless, indeed, the Broadstairsor Ramsgate lifeboat finds 'em out. Let go the anchors!" he shouted;"look sharp, lads!"

  The anchor was let go, and the lugger was veered down by its cable asfar in the direction of the wreck as possible, but the boat was so largeand drew so much water that they could not even get within sight of thewreck. In these circumstances the men nestled as they best might underthe lee of the boat's sides, and prepared to ride out the storm, or atleast to remain at anchor there until day-light should enable them toact with more precision and safety.

  Fortunately for all parties concerned, other eyes and ears had been onthe watch that night. At Broadstairs, which lies a little to the northof Deal, the crew of the lifeboat had been on the look-out, and nosooner did they see the rocket and hear the gun, than they launchedtheir boat and put off to the rescue.

  It is generally found that there are more men to man the lifeboats onmany parts of our coasts than are required, and this is specially thecase on the Kentish coast. Hence, when the signal-rocket goes up on astormy night, many eager eyes are on the watch, and there is a rush tothe boat in order to secure a place. On this occasion there were one ortwo men who, rather than wait to pull on their oilskin coats andpantaloons, had run down just as they happened to be clothed at thetime, and in a very unfit state to face the inclemency of a night whichmight involve hours of unremitting and exhaustive labour. These jumpedinto their places, however, and their less fortunate comrades, whoarrived too late, supplied them with garments. In five minutes thelifeboat was flying under sail towards the Goodwin Sands.

  Seldom had the Broadstairs boat faced so wild a storm as that which blewon this occasion. The sea broke over her in cataracts. Again and againshe was more than half-filled with water, but this was speedily got ridof, and in the course of an hour she was beside the lugger.

  "Where away?" shouted the coxswain of the lifeboat as they passed.

  "Right ahead, not two cables' lengths," roared Davis.

  The sails of the lifeboat had already been lowered, and the oars wereout in a second. Gradually and slowly they dropped down towards thebreakers, and soon caught sight of the mast of the "Nancy," stilltowering up in the midst of the angry waters.

  The danger to the lifeboat was now very great, for there was such a wildchopping sea on the sands that it ran great risk of being upset. Theboat was one of the old-fashioned stamp, which, although incapable ofbeing sunk, was not secure against being overturned, and it did notpossess that power of righting itself which characterises the lifeboatsof the present day.

  In a few minutes they were near enough to see the mast of the "Nancy"dimly in the dark. The coxswain immediately gave the order to let gothe anchor and veer down towards the wreck.
Just as he did so, aterrific sea came rolling towards them like a black mountain.

  "Look out, men!" he shouted.

  Every man let go his oar, and, throwing himself on the thwart, embracedit with all his might. The wave went right over them, sweeping the boatfrom stem to stern; but as it had met the sea stern-on it was notoverturned. It was completely filled however, and some time wasnecessarily lost in freeing it of water. The oars, being attached tothe sides of the boat by lanyards, were not carried away.

  In a few minutes they had veered down under the lee of the wreck.

  The crew and passengers of the "Nancy" were still clinging to thecross-trees, benumbed and almost unable to speak or move when thelifeboat approached. With the exception of Bax and Bluenose, they wereall so thoroughly exhausted as to have become comparatively indifferentto, and therefore ignorant of, all that was going on around them. Alltheir energies were required to enable them simply to retain theirposition on the rigging. At first the sight of the rockets from thelight-ship, and her lanterns gleaming in the far distance, had arousedfeelings of hope, but as hour after hour passed away the most of theunhappy people fell into a sort of stupor or indifference, and thelights were no longer regarded with hopeful looks.

  When the lugger came towards them and anchored outside the Sands, it wasso dark that none but sharp eyes could make her out through the blindingspray. Bax and Bluenose descried her, but both of them were so wellaware of the impossibility of a large boat venturing among the shoalsand breakers that they tacitly resolved not to acquaint their comradeswith its presence, lest they should raise false hopes, which, whendisappointed, might plunge them into still deeper despair.

  Very different, however, were the feelings with which they beheld theapproach of the lifeboat, which the practised eye of Bax discerned longbefore she came alongside.

  "The lifeboat!" said Bax sharply in the ear of Bluenose, who was closebeside him. "Look! am I right?"

  "So 'tis, I _do_ believe," cried the captain, staring intently in thedirection indicated by his friend's outstretched hand.

  "Lifeboat ahoy!" shouted Bax, in a voice that rang loud and strong abovethe whistling winds, like the blast of a brazen trumpet.

  "Wreck ahoy!" cried the coxswain of the boat, and the cry, borne towardsthem by the gale, fell upon the ears of those on the mast like the voiceof Hope shouting "Victory!" over the demon Despair.

  "Cheer up, Lucy! Ho! comrades, look alive, here comes the lifeboat!"

  Bax accompanied these words with active preparations for heaving a ropeand otherwise facilitating their anticipated escape. Guy was the firstto respond to the cry. Having placed himself in a very exposed positionin order that his person might shelter Lucy Burton, he had been benumbedmore thoroughly than his comrades, but his blood was young, and it onlywanted the call to action to restore him to the full use of his powersand faculties. Not so with the missionary. He had become almostinsensible, and, but for the effort to protect his child which animatedand sustained him, must certainly have fallen into the sea. Some of themen, too, were utterly helpless. Their stiffened hands, indeed,maintained a death-like gripe of the ropes, but otherwise they werequite incapable of helping themselves.

  As for Lucy, she had been so well cared for and protected from thebitter fury of the wind, that, although much exhausted, terrified, andshaken, she was neither so be-numbed nor so helpless as some of her lessfortunate companions.

  Presently the lifeboat was close on the lee side of the mast, and acheer burst from her crew when they saw the number of survivors on thecross-trees.

  "Look out!" cried the man in the bow of the boat, as he swung aheavily-loaded stick round his head, and flung it over the mast. Thelight line attached to this was caught by Bax, and by means of it astout rope was drawn from the boat to the mast of the "Nancy" and madefast.

  And now came the most dangerous and difficult part of the service.Besides the danger of the mast being broken by the violence of theincreasing storm and hurled upon the lifeboat, an event which would haveinsured its destruction, there was the risk of the boat herself beingstove against the mast by the lashing waves which spun her on theirwhite crests or engulfed her in their black hollows, as if she had beena cork. The greatest care was therefore requisite in approaching thewreck, and when this was accomplished there still remained thedifficulty of getting the exhausted crew into the boat.

  Had they all been young and strong like Bax or Guy, they could have sliddown the rope at the risk of nothing worse than a few bruises; but withseveral of them this method of escape was impossible;--with Lucy and herfather it was, in any circumstances, out of the question. A block andtackle was therefore quickly rigged up by Bluenose, by which they werelowered.

  Poor Lucy had not the courage to make the attempt until one or two ofthe seamen had preceded her, it seemed so appalling to be swung off themast into the black raging chaos beneath her feet, where the lifeboat,shrouded partially in darkness and covered with driving spray, appearedto her more like a phantom than a reality.

  "Come, Miss Lucy," said Bax, tenderly, "I'll fasten the rope roundmyself and be swung down with you in my arms."

  Lucy would not hear of this. "No," said she, firmly, "I will conquer mysilly fears; here, put the rope round me."

  At that moment a wave tossed the boat so high that it came up almost tothe level of the mast-head, and an involuntary cry rose from some of themen, who thought she must infallibly be dashed against it and upset.One of the men on the mast, seeing the boat at his very feet, made asudden spring towards it, but it plunged into the hollow of the passingwave, and, missing his grasp, he fell with a wild shriek into the water.He was swept away instantly. This so unnerved Lucy that she almostfainted in her father's arms.

  "Come," cried Bax, putting the end of the rope round his waist, "we mustnot trifle thus."

  "The rope won't bear ye both," said Bluenose. "You're too heavy, lad."

  "True," interrupted Guy, "let me do it. I'm light, and strong enough."

  Bax, at once admitting the force of the argument, undid the rope withouthesitation, and fastened it quickly round Guy's waist. The latterseized Lucy in his arms, and in a moment they were both swinging in theair over the wild sea.

  Every incident in this thrilling scene now passed with the speed almostof thought. The boat rose under them. Bax at once let the rope run.Down they went, but a swirl in the treacherous waves swept the boat twoor three fathoms to leeward. Instantly they were both in the sea, butGuy did not loosen his hold or lose his presence of mind for a moment.Bax hauled on the rope and raised him half out of the water for a fewseconds; the boat made a wild sheer towards them, and the missionaryuttered a cry of agony as he fancied his child was about to be run down,perhaps killed, before his eyes; but the cry was transformed into ashout of joy and thanksgiving when he saw one of the lifeboat's crewseize Guy by the hair, and another catch his daughter by a portion ofher dress. They were quickly pulled into the boat.

  To save the remainder was now a matter of less difficulty. Themissionary was the only one left on the mast who was not able more orless to take care of himself; but the joy consequent on seeing hisdaughter saved infused new vigour into his frame. He and the otherswere finally got off--Bax being the last to quit the wreck--and then thelifeboat pulled away from the dangerous shoals and made for the land.

  Finding it impossible to reach Broadstairs, owing to the direction ofthe gale, they pulled in an oblique direction, and, after narrowlyescaping an upset more than once, gained Deal beach not far from SandownCastle, where the boat was run ashore.

  Here there was a large concourse of boatmen and others awaiting them.The men in the lugger,--seeing the lifeboat come up and feeling that thestorm was almost too much for them, and that their services were not nowrequired,--had returned to the shore and spread the news.

  The instant the lifeboat touched the shingle, a huge block and tacklewere hooked on to her, the capstan connected with these was alreadymanned, and the boat
was run up high and dry with the crew in her.

  The cheers and congratulations that followed were checked however, whenthe discovery was made that Guy Foster was lying in a state ofinsensibility!

  When the boat sheered towards him and Lucy, as already described, he hadseen the danger and warded it away from the girl by turning his ownperson towards it. No one knew that he had been hurt. Indeed, hehimself had scarcely felt the blow, but a deep cut had been made in hishead, which bled so copiously that he had lain down and gradually becameinsensible.

  His head was bandaged by Bluenose in a rough and ready fashion; a coupleof oars with a sail rolled round them were quickly procured, and on thishe was borne off the beach, followed by his friends and a crowd ofsympathisers.

  "Where to?" inquired one of the men who supported the litter.

  "To Sandhill Cottage," said Bax; "it's his mother's house, and about asnear as any other place. Step out, lads!"

  Before they were off the beach the dull report of a cannon-shot washeard. It came from the light-ship, and immediately after a rocket flewup, indicating by the direction in which it sloped that another vesselwas in distress on the shoals.

  All thought of those who had just been rescued was forgotten by the crewof the lifeboat. Those of them who had not been too much exhausted byprevious toil and exposure leaped into their seats. The places of thosewho were unable to go off again were instantly filled by eager boatmen.Dozens of stout arms thrust her--crew and all seated as they were--downinto the lashing surf. There was a short sharp struggle between thesturdy men and the heavy rollers, which threatened not only to swamp theboat but to hurl her back, stem over stern, upon the shingle, and in afew minutes more she was forcing her way through wind, and waves, andspray, on this her second errand of mercy that night to the GoodwinSands.