THE GUARDIANS OF THE COAST
Stories of Coastguards and Lighthousemen
ALTHOUGH the coastguard and lighthouseman live their lives on land, they are inalienably a part of the sea and its story. Day by day, night by night, they are on guard along the coasts, and never know what may happen; but, whatever it is, they are ready.
And they are always modest of their achievements, as the letters I have received from some of them testify. It’s the hardest thing in the world to get them to talk about themselves; but, by dint of judicious questioning, I managed to get some of them to give me the plain stories of what really did happen.
The first concerns Lighthouseman William Hunter, of Flamborough Head, who, standing outside the lighthouse on a fine morning, talking with his superior officer, saw a gallant little band of boys of the Lads’ Brigade coming along. Presently there was a sharp command, and the lookers-on saw the boys disperse, and in a few minutes the laddies were scattered here, there, and everywhere, enjoying themselves to the full.
But suddenly there was the blare of bugles, the cries of boys, the hoarse shouts of men, and Hunter turned quickly to his officer and said:
“There’s something wrong!”
“Go and have a look,” was the reply; and off went the lighthouse-keeper. Following the sounds, he found himself down on the beach, just below the lighthouse. What a sight met his eyes! Before him was a group of boys staring up the cliff, fear writ large upon their faces as they saw one of their comrades clinging frenziedly to a shrub, able neither to go up nor to come down, while down on the beach, amongst the boulders, lay the huddled form of another boy.
The two boys had been engaged in a wild scramble up the cliff, seeing which could reach the top first. Half-way up the foremost boy had displaced a large stone, which hurtled down, hit his comrade, and sent him tumbling down to the beach, where he now lay with a broken arm.
As soon as the boy above realised what had happened, fear took possession of him; his wits left him, and he, finding that he had reached a position where it was impossible to move with safety either way, he sent up haunting screams for help! As though the call had been necessary! The boys on the beach had seen the accident, and instantly the bugles had blared out their calls for help. And so Hunter had arrived on the scene.
Like lightning he dashed across an intervening gut of water, slipping over seaweed as he went, and stumbling over rocks till he reached the foot of the cliff. Then, hand over hand, gingerly but quickly, Hunter made his way up the cliff, seizing anything that seemed likely to afford a handhold to help him up; now making a fierce grab for a shrub as the earth gave way beneath him. And at last, after a feverish few minutes, during which the watchers down below held their breath and the folk above sent for further help, he came almost within reach of the boy.
“Hold on, sonny!” he cried. “I’m coming!”
“Come quickly!” cried the boy, shaking with fear. “I can’t hold out much longer!”
Spurred on by the evident terror of the lad, Hunter covered the last few feet quickly, and came alongside him just in the nick of time, for the youth was almost exhausted. His hands were bruised and cut from clutching at stones, and the lighthouseman’s were little better.
“You’re all right now, sonny,” he said. “We’ll soon have you down.”
But, though he said the comforting words, there was a little thought at the back of his mind that it might be some time before they reached safety, for he, too, found that the position was none too safe a one; that while he himself might have been able to get away alone, he could not hope to carry the unfortunate boy without further help. There was no use in looking down; help could not come that way. But it might come from above, and, glancing up, his heart gave a great bound as he saw that the coastguards, under Chief Officer Young, had arrived on the scene, bringing with them the one thing that was necessary—a rope! It was a very lifeline to Hunter.
Down the rope fell; and then the lighthouseman saw that, owing to the projecting edge of the cliff, it hung more than an arm’s length away from him. He would have to move carefully away in order to reach it. The boy seemed to realise this, and before Hunter moved an inch he called out in fear:
“Don’t leave me, sir. I can’t hold on!”
“Now, see here, laddie,” was the reply. “You’re all right. I won’t let go of you. But I’ve got to get that rope. Keep still.” And, holding on to the boy with one hand, he moved gingerly away, digging his heels deep in the cliffside as he did so to get a purchase. Once, twice, nay, thrice he tried to catch the rope, and at last did so; but the strain of holding the boy at the same time that he reached out for it was terrible, and the soft earth gave way more than once, threatening to send the pair of them hurtling below.
So far, so good. The next task was to fasten the boy on the rope. Once again footholds had to be dug in the cliff—deep holes that would not give way beneath his weight as he laboured. Adept at knotting, accustomed to work of this kind, Hunter soon had the boy fast in the rope. And then:
“Lower away!” he cried; and the coastguards let the rope out inch by inch, while the rescuer steadied it, and kept it from swinging round and round.
“Easy!” he yelled, as clods of earth and great stones, dislodged by the rope as it slid over the edge, came tumbling about his ears, threatening to knock him from his perch, threatening, too, to smash into the boy being lowered to safety. And “easy” it was! Those coastguards knew their work.
At last it was done; the boy was on the beach, thoroughly shaken, dreadfully scared, but safe, thanks to the pluck of the lighthouseman, who was soon hauled to the top, and, as he told me, “went indoors and forgot all about it” until later he received a letter from the secretary to the Carnegie Hero Fund Trustees, commending him on his bravery and suitably rewarding him, though it goes without saying that his best reward was the knowledge that he had been able to save the life of the unfortunate youth.
EVEN when the sun is shining in a blue sky overhead there is an awesome splendour in the majestic ruggedness of the coast about Land’s End; but when the grey fingers of the dawn are creeping into the heavens, and the elements are waging a tumultuous war, when waves dash with tremendous force upon the rocks, to break upon them with a resounding roar, and when some unfortunate ship has been caught in the grip of the storm, then the scene is sufficient to strike terror into strong hearts.
Such was the scene on the morning of March 15, 1914, at five o’clock, when the coastguard at Sennen Cove was alarmed to see signals of a vessel in distress. Away along the coast could be seen the dark hull of a ship, stationary, except when great seas beat upon her and shook her from end to end. Ever and anon the rockets whizzed into the air, brilliant appeals for help. Instantly all was activity; the life-saving apparatus and the lifeboat were summoned, and the work of rescue had begun.
Coastguard A. Oddy, of Sennen, was in charge of the life-saving apparatus. There was no time to be wasted, for the scene of the wreck was four miles away, and every minute was precious, for it could not be long before the vessel broke in two, hurling her human freight to an awful death.
The wagon was got ready, the horses put in, and away went the wagon at top speed. Just as daylight was breaking the coastguards reached the point of the coast off which the unfortunate ship lay. What a sight met their eyes! The ship, the Swedish barque Trifolium, had been taken up by the waves and hurled ashore as though she had been but a shuttlecock. She was held fast by the rocks, with a boiling sea around her, with mountainous waves rearing angry heads, which dropped with a staggering shock and a thunderous roar upon the deck, long since deserted by the crew. To have remained there would have been to court death, for no man could keep a footing on that sloping deck, swept every minute by heavy seas.
“To the rigging they fled, scrambling up in frenzied haste”
So to the rigging they fled, scrambling up in frenzied haste, and hanging on like grim death, watching, waiting for some answer out of the darkness to their appeals for help. As they saw the life-savers pull up upon the shore they raised a faint cheer. They were numbed, wet to the skin; they had been staring death in the face for what had seemed an eternity; and now help was at hand. Men would cheer then, even if it were with their last breath!
Oddy and his companions immediately set to work to rescue those seven luckless men. The tackle was got out, the rocket apparatus fixed up, and the next instant a rocket went speeding away across the tumult of the waters, carrying a lifeline. It went right over the vessel, as also did a second one that was fired; but, though the lines were across their ship, the men in the rigging dared not leave their hold, precarious though it was, to fix the lifelines, by means of which they could have been hauled ashore. To have left the rigging for the deck would have been fatal. The avalanche of water that fell upon the ship, and swirled away every loosened thing, was too terrifying to face; certain and awful death lay that way.
So, with help so near, the sailors clung to the rigging, wide-eyed, anxious-faced, wondering what could be done, what would happen. Very soon they realised that whether they jumped or not, there was nothing but death before them, for the ship, buffeted by the waves, rolled dangerously on the rocks, and seemed as if about to heel over.
One man, taking his fate in his hands, watched his opportunity, and, fully dressed in oilskins as he was, suddenly let go of the rigging and jumped. Luckily he jumped wide enough, and plunged into the boiling surf below; had he fallen on to the deck he would have been smashed to pieces. His friends in the rigging gasped, staggered at the risk he took; the watchers on the shore shuddered as they saw him disappear beneath the waters; but all heaved a sigh of relief when they saw him reappear and begin to battle with the seas. He was making for one of the lifelines.
Cumbered with his oilskins, weighed down by his heavy sea-boots, the man struck out boldly for the line. Yard by yard he drew nearer to it, and it seemed that he would reach it; then he was caught upon the crest of a wave, was flung high, dropped low, and the line was as far away as ever! Yet once again he made for it, and, after a terrific fight, he managed to grasp the line. Staying awhile to take breath and gather his strength for the final struggle, he turned towards the shore, and began to haul himself along by means of the rope. The men in the rigging watched and waited; it meant much to them, this fight with the sea, for if their comrade won through, they might do so as well. The rescuers on shore stood to their work, waiting for the man to come nearer in, and ready to plunge to his assistance, if necessary.
Yard by yard he drew nearer, and the coastguard could see that he was almost at the last gasp; it was a case of going to his help. Instantly Coastguard Oddy answered the call of duty. With neither lifeline nor lifebuoy he went into the boiling sea. By a stroke of luck he missed the hidden rocks, on which he might have been pounded to death, and in a few moments reached the now drowning man, whom he seized with a strong hand, and snatched from the maw of the sea in the very nick of time. Then he set out to the shore with his burden. It was, indeed, a fight for life, the struggle of a brave man with the force of a mighty sea, which, as though taunting him, let him get within an ace of safety, and then flung him back into the angry cauldron of the deep. Foiled, but by no means beaten, Oddy once more set his teeth and struck out for the shore, still holding his precious burden. On and on he went, and then back again, only to push forward with more determination; and the coastguard fought his fight to such good purpose that at last he was again near the shore, found a footing, drew himself up, and proceeded to drag the helpless man after him.
But in the moment of his victory the angry foe, as if to rob him of this life won from the jaws of death, returned to the fray; a mighty wave swooped down upon him, there was a noise as though heaven and earth had met as the wave fell in a thunderous roar upon the rocks, the sailor was wrenched from Oddy’s grasp, and he himself flung heavily on to the rocks.
He had tried valiantly—but he had failed! So said the men who watched him in his fight for a fellow-man’s life. They saw him now, unable to move, his legs jammed between rocks so that he could not free them. It seemed but a matter of minutes ere he should be sacrificed on the altar of heroism.
Oddy strained every effort to free himself. Even in that moment of peril he wondered what had happened to the sailor, and realised that unless something almost miraculous happened the end had come. There was no fear of death, only the thought of having failed in what he had so bravely set out to do. And for it all to end like this!
Then the miracle happened. The very sea that had conquered him set him free! Wave after wave had broken over him, and presently one of greater volume than any of the others hit him with such force that it did for him what he himself had tried so vainly to do; it lifted him out of the imprisoning rocks. He was free! Flung face downwards on the rocks, Oddy felt the sea rushing over him, and as the force of it spent itself he got upon his feet, and, counting not the danger, went back for the drowning man.
He found him—whether alive or dead he knew not—but without loss of time struck out with him for the shore, and, after another stern fight, succeeded in getting him into safety—alive. It had all been worth while!
Meanwhile, the men on the Trifolium had been watching anxiously and hopelessly, for it seemed to them that it was useless to expect to be saved. But as soon as they saw their comrade safely ashore they took heart. If it were possible to save him, then they might all be saved. A second man plunged boldly into the surf, seized a lifeline, and hauled himself within reach of the shore. Several of the coastguards pluckily went to his assistance and got him out.
Before the other five men on the vessel had time to follow the example of their comrades the sea had completed its fell work. It pounded upon the hapless ship, wrenched her plates apart, battered her sides and tore great holes in her. Held fast as she was by the cruel rocks, there was but one end to her—she broke her back. The great iron vessel parted amidships as though she had been a toy, and in that instant, with death all around them, the five men in the rigging jumped. They were in the nick of time; another minute, and they would have been crashed to death with the wreck of what was once a proud vessel. Three of them found lifelines, and were hauled towards the shore; and once again Oddy plunged into the surf and succeeded in bringing one of them to safety, while in the case of the others, Oddy and two other life-savers joined efforts and managed to rescue them. The remaining two men who had been on the ship unfortunately died; one was killed by a falling mast, the other was drowned, and though he was got ashore, and artificial respiration was used for nearly four hours, it was all in vain; death had claimed him.
For seven hours the rescuers had watched and worked, and had not worked in vain; and when Lieutenant A. S. Chambers, R.N., the divisional officer, arrived on the scene, he had the gratification of knowing that, although he had not been present, his men had done their duty nobly.