Light and Shade in Lifeboat Work.
But victory does not always crown the efforts of our lifeboats. Sometimes we have to tell of partial failure or defeat, and it is due to the lifeboat cause to show that our coast heroes are to the full as daring, self-sacrificing, and noble, in the time of disaster as they are in the day of victory.
A splendid instance of persevering effort in the face of absolutely insurmountable difficulty was afforded by the action of the Constance lifeboat, belonging to Tynemouth, on the night of the 24th November, 1864.
On that night the coast of Northumberland was visited by one of the severest gales that had been experienced for many years, and a tremendous sea was dashing and roaring among the rocks at the mouth of the Tyne. Many ships had sought refuge in the harbour during the day, but, as the shades of evening began to descend, the risk of attempting an entrance became very great. At last, as the night was closing in, the schooner Friendship ran on the rocks named the Black Middens.
Shortly afterwards a large steamer, the Stanley, of Aberdeen, with thirty passengers (most of whom were women), thirty of a crew, a cargo of merchandise, and a deckload of cattle, attempted to take the river. On approaching she sent up rockets for a pilot, but none dared venture out to her. The danger of putting out again to sea was too great. The captain therefore resolved to attempt the passage himself. He did so. Three heavy seas struck the steamer so severely as to divert her from her course, and she ran on the rocks close to the Friendship, so close that the cries of her crew could be heard above the whistling winds and thundering waves. As soon as she struck, the indescribable circumstances of a dread disaster began. The huge billows that had hitherto passed onward, heaving her upwards, now burst over her with inconceivable violence and crushed her down, sweeping the decks continuously—they rocked her fiercely to and fro; they ground her sides upon the cruel rocks; they lifted her on their powerful crests, let her fall bodily on the rocks, stove in her bottom, and, rushing into the hold, extinguished the engine fires. The sound of her rending planks and timbers was mingled with the piercing cries of the female passengers and the gruff shouting of the men, as they staggered to and fro, vainly attempting to do something, they knew not what, to avert their doom.
It was pitch dark by this time, yet not so dark but that the sharp eyes of earnest daring men on shore had noted the catastrophe. The men of the coastguard, under Mr Lawrence Byrne, their chief officer, got out the rocket apparatus and succeeded in sending a line over the wreck. Unfortunately, however, owing to mismanagement of those on board the steamer, it proved ineffective. They had fastened the hawser of the apparatus to the forecastle instead of high up on the mast, so that the ropes became hopelessly entangled on the rocks. Before this entanglement occurred, however, two men had been hauled ashore to show the possibility of escape and to give the ladies courage. Then a lady ventured into the sling-lifebuoy, or cradle, with a sailor, but they stuck fast during the transit, and while being hauled back to the wreck, fell out and were drowned. A fireman then made the attempt. Again the cradle stuck, but the man was strong and went hand over hand along the hawser to the shore, where Mr Byrne rushed into the surf and caught hold of him. The rescuer nearly lost his life in the attempt. He was overtaken by a huge wave, and was on the point of being washed away when he caught hold of a gentleman who ran into the surf to save him.
The rocket apparatus having thus failed, owing to the simple mistake of those in the wreck having fastened the hawser too low on their vessel, the crew attempted to lower a boat with four seamen and four ladies in it. One of the davits gave way, the other swung round, and the boat was swamped. Three of the men were hauled back into the steamer, but the others perished. The men would not now launch the other boats. Indeed it would have been useless, for no ordinary boat could have lived in such a sea. Soon afterwards all the boats were washed away and destroyed, and the destruction of the steamer itself seemed about to take place every moment.
While this terrible fight for dear life was going on, the lifeboat-men were not idle. They ran out their good boat, the Constance, and launched her. And what a fearful launching that was! This boat belonged to the Institution, and her crew were justly proud of her.
According to the account given by her gallant coxswain, James Gilbert, they could see nothing whatever at the time of starting but the white flash of the seas as they passed over boat and crew, without intermission, twelve or thirteen times. Yet, as quickly as the boat was filled, she emptied herself through her discharging-tubes. Of these tubes I shall treat hereafter. Gilbert could not even see his own men, except the second coxswain, who, I presume, was close to him. Sometimes the boat was “driven to an angle of forty or forty-five degrees in clearing the rocks.” When they were in a position to make for the steamer, the order was given to “back all oars and keep her end-on to the sea.” The men obeyed; they seemed to be inspired with fresh vigour as they neared the wreck. Let Gilbert himself tell the rest of the story as follows.
“When abreast of the port bow, two men told us they had a rope ready on the starboard bow. We said we would be there in a moment. I then ordered the bow-man to be ready to receive the rope. As soon as we were ready we made two dashing strokes, and were under the bowsprit, expecting to receive the rope, when we heard a dreadful noise, and the next instant the sea fell over the bows of the Stanley, and buried the lifeboat. Every oar was broken at the gunwale of the boat, and the outer ends were swept away. The men made a grasp for the spare oars. Three were gone; two only remained. We were then left with the rudder and two oars. The next sea struck the boat almost over end on board the Friendship, the boat at the time being nearly perpendicular. We then had the misfortune to lose four of our crew. As the boat made a most fearful crash, and fell alongside the vessel, James Grant was, I believe, killed on the spot, betwixt the ship and the boat; Edmund Robson and James Blackburn were thrown out, Joseph Bell jumped as the boat fell. My own impression is that the men all jumped from the boat on to the vessel. We saw them no more. There were four men standing in a group before the mainmast of the schooner. We implored them to come into the boat, but no one answered.”
Little wonder at that, James Gilbert! The massive wreck must have seemed—at least to men who did not know the qualities of a lifeboat—a surer foothold than the tossed cockleshell with “only two oars and a rudder,” out of which four of her own gallant crew had just been lost. Even landsmen can perceive that it must have required much faith to trust a lifeboat in the circumstances.
“The next sea that struck the lifeboat,” continues the coxswain, “landed her within six feet of the foundation-stone of Tynemouth Dock, with a quickness seldom witnessed. The crew plied the remaining two oars to leeward against the rudder and boathook. We never saw anything till coming near the three Shields lifeboats. We asked them for oars to proceed back to the Friendship, but they had none to spare.”
Thus the brave Constance was baffled, and had to retire, severely wounded, from the fight. She drove, in her disabled and unmanageable condition, into the harbour. Of the four men thrown out of her, Grant and Robson, who had found temporary refuge in the wrecked schooner, perished. The other two, Bell and Blackburn, were buoyed up by their cork lifebelts, washed ashore, and saved. The schooner itself was afterwards destroyed, and her crew of four men and a boy were lost.
Meanwhile the screams of those on board of her and the Stanley were borne on the gale to the vast crowds who, despite darkness and tempest, lined the neighbouring cliffs, and the Shields lifeboats just referred to made gallant attempts to approach the wrecks, but failed. Indeed, it seemed to have been a rash attempt on the part of the noble fellows of the Constance to have made the venture at all.
The second cabin of the Stanley was on deck, and formed the bridge, or outlook. On this a number of the passengers and crew had taken refuge, but a tremendous sea carried it, and all its occupants, bodily away. After this the fury of the sea increased, and about an hour before midnight the steamer, with a hideous crash, broke in two amidships. The after part remained fast; the fore part swung round. All the people who remained on the after part were swept away and drowned. The new position into which the fore part of the wreck had been forced was so far an advantage to those who still clung to it, that the bows broke the first violence of the waves, and thus partially protected the exhausted people, thirty-five of whom still remained alive out of the sixty souls originally on board. Ten of these were passengers—two being ladies.
Meanwhile fresh preparations were being made by the rocket-men. Messengers had been sent in hot haste to Cullercoats for more rockets, those at Tynemouth having been exhausted. They arrived at five o’clock in the morning. By that time the tide had fallen considerably, admitting of a nearer approach to the wreck, and once more a gleam of hope cheered the hearts of the perishing as they beheld the fiery messenger of mercy rush fiercely towards them from the shore. But hope was still delayed. Four of the rockets missed. The fifth passed right over them, dropping the lifeline on the wreck, and drawing from the poor sufferers a feeble cheer, which was replied to lustily from the shore. This time, fortunately, no mistakes were made by those on board. The blocks and tackle were drawn out, the hawser on which the sling-lifebuoy traversed was fastened high up on the foremast to prevent the ropes fouling the rocks, as they had done on the first attempt; then the lifebuoy was run out, and, eventually, every soul was drawn in safety to the shore.
Thus did that battle end, with much of disaster and death to regret, indeed, but with upwards of thirty-five rescued lives to rejoice over.
I have now shown the action and bearing of our coast heroes, both in circumstances of triumphant victory and of partial success. Before proceeding to other matters it is well to add that, when intelligence of this disaster was telegraphed to the Lifeboat Institution, a new lifeboat was immediately forwarded to Tynemouth, temporarily to replace the damaged Constance. Instructions were given for the relief of the widows and children of the two lifebo............