CHAPTER VII.

THE "BRADFORD" TO THE RESCUE.

Of the many heartrending scenes which have taken place on our coasts, there is perhaps none more calculated to move our sympathies for the imperilled crews, and our admiration for the devotion and unconquerable courage of our noble lifeboatmen, than the wreck of the _Indian Chief_, which took place on the 5th of January 1881. The vessel stranded at three o'clock in the morning, and the crew almost immediately took to the rigging, where they remained for thirty hours exposed to the raging elements, and in momentary expectation of death. During the night one of the masts fell overboard, and sixteen unfortunate men, who had lashed themselves to it, were drowned in sight of their comrades, who were powerless to afford them any aid.

Meanwhile, word had reached Ramsgate that a large ship had stranded on the Goodwins. The tug _Vulcan_, with the lifeboat _Bradford_ in tow, was accordingly sent out to render assistance. There was a strong south-easterly gale blowing, and the sea was running very high. As the boats left the harbour on their noble mission, volumes of water burst over them, and the lifeboat was frequently hidden from the gaze of the hundreds who thronged the pier to witness her departure.

The wind was piercing, and, as one of the crew afterwards declared, it was more like a flaying machine than a natural gale of wind; but it was not until they had got clear of the North Foreland that they experienced the full force of the tempest. The tug was only occasionally visible, and it seemed a perfect miracle that she did not founder. The lifeboat fared no better, for the heavy waves dashed into her as if they would have knocked her bottom out.

The short January day was now drawing rapidly to a close, and still the wreck was not in sight. What was to be done? The question was a serious one, and so the men began to talk the matter over. It was bitterly cold, and if they remained where they were their sufferings would be great; but then they would be on the spot to help their fellow-creatures as soon as another day gave them sufficient light to see where they were.

"We had better stop here and wait for daylight," said one.

"I'm for stopping," said another.

"We're here to fetch the wreck, and fetch it we will, if we wait a week," shouted a third.

Without a murmur of dissent or a moment's hesitation, the brave fellows prepared to pass the night in the open boat. But first they had to communicate with the tug. They hailed her, and when she came alongside they informed the captain of their intention. "All right," he shouted back, and then the steamer took up her position in front, keeping her paddles slowly revolving, so that she should not drift.

Throughout the night these gallant lifeboatmen lay huddled together for warmth in the bottom of the boat. In such weather it required vigorous exercise to keep the blood circulating, and before morning dawned several of the men were groaning with the cold, and pressing themselves against the thwarts to relieve the pain. But even these hardships were borne without complaint, as they thought of the sufferings of the shipwrecked crew, and jokes were not wanting to help to pass the time.

"Charlie Fish," said one of the boatmen, speaking to the coxswain, "what would some of them young gen'l'men as comes to Ramsgate in the summer, and says they'd like to go out in the lifeboat, think of this?" A general roar of laughter was the answer.

At length the cold grey light of early dawn proclaimed the advent of a new day. Keen eyes gazed anxiously towards the sands for a sight of the wreck. At first nothing was visible but tall columns of whirling spray, then after a time a mast was seen sticking up out of the water about three miles off. The scene was enough to make the stoutest heart quail, and the lifeboatmen held their breath as they looked at the water rushing in tall columns of foam more than half-way up the mast. The roar of the sea could be heard even above the whistling of the wind.

The feeling of fear, however, seems to have no place in the heart of the lifeboatman, and in a few minutes the _Bradford_ was cast loose from the tug, her foresail was hoisted, and away she sped into the surf on her errand of mercy, every man holding on to the thwarts for dear life. As they approached nearer the vessel they could see a number of men dressed in yellow oilskins lashed to the foretop. The sea was fearful, and the poor fellows, who had long since abandoned all hope, were afraid that the lifeboat would be unable to rescue them. Little did they know the heroic natures of the crew of the _Bradford_. Sooner would every man have gone down to a watery grave than abandon the wreck till all were saved!

The boat came to close quarters, and the anchor was thrown out. The sailors unlashed themselves and scrambled down the rigging to the shattered deck of their once noble ship. The boatmen shouted to them to throw a line. This was done, a rope was passed from the lifeboat to the wreck, and the work of rescue began.

Where the mast had fallen overboard there was a horrible muddle of wreckage and dead bodies. "Take in that poor fellow there," shouted the coxswain, pointing to the body of the captain, which, still lashed to the mizzenmast, with head stiff and fixed eyeballs, appeared to be struggling in the water. The coxswain thought he was alive, and when one of the sailors told him that the captain had been dead four hours, the shock was almost too great to be borne. Little wonder is it that these gallant fellows were haunted by that ghastly spectacle for many a day, and it was no uncommon thing for them to start up from sleep, thinking that these wide-open, sightless eyes were gazing upon them, and the dumb lips were calling for help.

The survivors were taken off the wreck with all speed, and the boat's course was shaped for Ramsgate harbour. Outside the sands the tug was in waiting, a rope was quickly passed on board, and away they steamed. Meanwhile, news had come to Ramsgate that three lifeboats along the coast had gone out and returned without being able to reach the wreck. This naturally caused great anxiety in the town, and it was feared that some accident had befallen the _Bradford_. From early morning on Thursday, anxious wives and sisters were on the lookout on the pierhead. About two o'clock the _Vulcan_ came in sight with the lifeboat astern. Almost immediately the pier was thronged with a crowd numbering about two thousand persons. At half-past two the tug steamed into the harbour, having been absent upwards of twenty-six hours.

"One by one," writes Clark Russell, "the survivors came along the pier, the most dismal procession it was ever my lot to behold, eleven live but scarcely living men, most of them clad in oilskins, and walking with bowed backs, drooping heads, and nerveless arms. There was blood on the faces of some, circled with a white encrustation of salt, and this same salt filled the hollows of their eyes and streaked their hair with lines which looked like snow. They were all saturated with brine; they were soaked with sea-water to the very marrow of their bones. Shivering, and with a stupefied rolling of the eyes, their teeth clenched, their chilled fingers pressed into the palms of their hands, they passed out of sight. I had often met men newly rescued from shipwreck, but never remember having beheld more mental anguish and physical suffering than was expressed in the countenances and movements of these eleven sailors."

They were taken to the Sailors' Home, and well cared for; the lifeboatmen were escorted home to their families amid the cheers of the spectators. Thus ended a splendid piece of service. "Nothing grander in its way was ever done before, even by Englishmen."

Five days later a most fitting and interesting ceremony took place on the lawn in front of the coastguard station at Ramsgate, when the medals and certificates of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution were awarded to those who had taken part in the rescue. The coxswain of the _Bradford_ received the gold medal, each of the crew of the lifeboat and the captain of the tug received silver medals, the engineer was presented with the second service clasp, and a certificate of thanks was handed to each of the _Vulcan's_ crew. The Duke of Edinburgh, himself a sailor, in distributing the honours, told the men that their heroic conduct had awakened the greatest possible interest and pride throughout England; and he declared his conviction that though they would prize the rewards greatly, they would most value the recollection of having by their pluck and determination saved so many lives.