CHAPTER XX.

SHIPS THAT “PASS BY ON THE OTHER SIDE.”

Captains and Owners—Reasons for apparent Inhumanity—A Case in Point—The Wreck of the _Northfleet_—Run down by the _Murillo_—A Noble Captain—The Vessel Lost, with a Hundred Ships near her—One within Three Hundred Yards—Official Inquiry—Loss of the _Schiller_—Two Hundred Drowned in one heavy Sea—Life-saving Apparatus of little use—Lessons of the Disaster—Wreck of the _Deutschland_—Harwich blamed unjustly—The good Tug-boat _Liverpool_ and her Work—Necessity of proper Communication with Light-houses and Light-ships—The new Signal Code and old Semaphores.

From time to time there appear in the public journals accounts given by sailors who have been saved from imminent peril from drowning by passing ships. Many and many an honourable case could be cited; but there are, alas! ships that “pass by on the other side.” An article in the journal(79) issued quarterly by that grand society the National Life-boat Institution explains some of the reasons for this sad state of affairs. The writer generally denies that the majority of the masters of ships who would pass another vessel in distress are brutal or callous, and thinks that were many of them brought face to face with an isolated case of probable drowning, they would not hesitate to expose their own lives to preserve the one endangered. There must be some strong causes operating on the minds of the men who act in the inhuman manner indicated. Among them are the following:—

“1st. That the loss of time which the most trifling service of this kind causes would possibly represent a very considerable money loss to the owners, by the delay in the arrival in port of the ship and cargo.

“2nd. That the cost of maintenance of the persons saved is insufficiently repaid by the Government.

“3rd. That in all but the largest kind of ships the amount of food and water habitually kept on board is rarely sufficient to meet the strain of, say double, or, it may be quadruple, the number of men they were intended for; and if a ship of the smaller class, towards the end of her voyage, has to take on board the crew of a vessel greater in number than her own, she is, from shortness of provisions and water, in nine cases out of ten, compelled to make for the nearest port, which may be a cause of incalculable loss, unless it chances to be the one she is bound for.

“4th. Every captain knows that all owners are more or less inimical to their ships rendering either salvage service or life-saving service. Not, as we suppose, that any owner deliberately sets to himself the axiom that no ship of his shall save life, but that they, not unnaturally, view with suspicion salvage service, because they can receive nothing from it but loss in time and money; and cases are not infrequent in which pretence of saving life is made a source of real loss to the owners.”

One case among the many which could be presented is here given. It appeared before the magistrates of Falmouth in 1873, in consequence of the refusal of a crew to proceed to sea. The ship had come from a Chinese port to _a port in Europe_: it being uncertain, from the fluctuating state of the market, which it would be. The vessel fell in with a distressed ship, from which she took seventeen persons. When in the entrance to the English Channel, the captain found himself short of provisions and water, and put into Falmouth, to land the shipwrecked crew and replenish his provisions. His own crew thereupon claimed their discharge, as having arrived “_at a port in Europe_.” The Bench ruled the men’s claim to be just, and it took the captain a fortnight to obtain a fresh crew, to whom higher wages had to be paid. “The actual and immediate loss to the owners, by this act of humanity of their captain, was stated at £270. The only reimbursement was the usual State grant for feeding so many men so many days, amounting altogether to £16 and a few shillings.” The delay in delivering cargo entailed a heavy loss, and having put into a port not named, she had, it was said, vitiated her policy. How might the owners feel towards that captain in future? And again, how might he feel next time, when duty called him one way and interest the other? In an indirect way, this and foreign Governments recognise humane services of the kind indicated by presents of telescopes or binocular glasses. Such recognition is undoubtedly valued by the sort of men who would do their duty under any adverse circumstances, and whether they were to be thanked or no; but it is to be feared that captains who were as unfortunate as the one at Falmouth might think twice before they performed that which their consciences could only approve as right.

The owner of the relieving vessel should have the right of being recouped to the full extent of the loss incurred by delay and service—though many would never accept it; and a ship’s insurance should never be vitiated by its calling at a port on a matter of any such necessity as landing a shipwrecked crew or obtaining provisions. It is certain that we should do all that is possible to reduce that annual list of ships whose only record is “Not since heard of.”

A successful mail-steamer passage or quick run, the first clipper from China with the season’s tea, make not only a certain stir in a pretty wide circle, but represent a considerable increase of actual wealth. The despairing cry of those few poor seamen—who, in their sinking craft, or who, perishing from hunger or thirst, see fading away on the distant horizon the white royals of some lofty ship which they had watched with such agonising alternation of hope and despair—is heard by God alone.

The wreck of the _Northfleet_, and loss of life to over 300 souls, on January 22nd, 1873, will illustrate some of the above remarks.(80) The _Northfleet_ was a fine old ship of 940 tons, built at Northfleet, near Gravesend, and so named. After various vicissitudes in the service of Dent’s China and other lines, she had become the property of Messrs. John Patton and Co., of Liverpool and London, and was at the time of which we are about to speak chartered by the contractors of the Tasmanian Line Railway to convey 350 labourers and a few women and children to Hobart Town. The vessel left the East India Docks on Friday, the 17th December, 1872, with a living freight of about 400 persons. The cargo consisted principally of railway material. At the very last moment of leaving the docks, her commander for the previous five years, Captain Oates, was subpoenaed by a Treasury warrant to attend the Tichborne trial, and the command was given to his chief officer, Mr. Knowles. He was allowed to take on board the lady to whom he had been married about a month.

After leaving Gravesend the _Northfleet_ encountered very stormy weather, and Captain Knowles felt it prudent to anchor under the North Foreland, where the vessel remained until the following Tuesday, when, the weather having moderated, she sailed down Channel, and was reported at Lloyd’s as having passed Deal, “All well” being the signal. On the Wednesday, at sunset, she came to an anchor off Dungeness, about two miles from shore, in eleven fathoms of water. She was then almost opposite the coastguard station. About ten o’clock the ship was taut and comfortable for the night; almost all the passengers had turned in, and none but the usual officers and men of the watch were on deck. Just as the bells were striking the half-hour past ten the watch observed a large steamer, outward-bound, coming directly towards them. She appeared to be going at full speed, and the shouts of the men on watch who called upon her to alter her course roused Captain Knowles, who was on the after deck. But in another moment the steamer came on to the _Northfleet_, striking her broadside almost amidships, making a breach in her timbers beneath the water-line, and crushing the massive timbers traversing the main deck.

“’Midst the thick darkness, Death, The dread, inexorable monarch, stalked; And, lo! his icy breath Encircled the devoted barque, where talked, Or laughed, or watched, or slept, The doomed three hundred of her living freight, Unconscious that there crept Through the still air the stealthy steps of Fate.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“Oh God, that fearful crash! The stout ship reels, her planks disrupted wide; Fast through the yawning gash The green sea pours its dark, resistless tide. What followed then, O heart, Thou scarce may’st realise! ’Tis well for thee: Ne’er would that sight depart From gentle mind that had been there to see.

“For maddening terror reigned; Honour, and manhood, and calm reason fled, And brutal instincts gained The mastery; and even shame was dead. Each one, to save his life Would give to death the lives of all beside; Nor cared in that fell strife What awful end his fellows might betide.(81)

“Yet ’mid that wild despair Nobility of soul found room to stand, And lustre bright and rare Enfolds the memory of Knowles and Brand; Who, face to face with death, Save of dishonour, showed no coward dread, Brave hearts to the last breath, They joined the galaxy of Britain’s dead.”

The shock was described by the survivors as like the concussion of a very powerful cannon. The reader will here make his own reflections. Immediately after the collision the steamer cleared the ship, and before many of the terrified people below could reach the deck she was out of sight. Most of the passengers were awakened by the shock, and a fearful panic ensued. Captain Knowles acted with singular calmness, promptitude, and decision. He caused rockets to be sent up, bells to be rung, and other signals of distress; but the gun to be fired would not go off, the touch-hole being clogged. Meantime he directed the boats to be launched, giving orders that the safety of the women and children should be first secured. There was a disposition to set these orders at defiance, and, on some of the crew crowding to the davits, with a view of effecting their own safety, Captain Knowles drew a revolver, and declared he would shoot the first man who attempted to save himself in the boats before the women were cared for. Most of the crew seemed to understand that the captain was not to be trifled with; but one man, Thomas Biddle, refused to obey the order, and the captain fired at him in a boat alongside the ship. The bullet entered the man’s leg just above the knee.

Meantime the pumps were set to work, but with little or no effect, the water pouring in through the opening in the ship’s side. The scene on deck was frightful. Many of the passengers were in their night-dresses; others had only such scanty clothing as they could secure on quitting their berths. Children were screaming for their parents, and parents searching in vain for their children; husbands and wives were hopelessly separated. The horror was increased by the darkness of night. The captain’s wife was placed with other women in the long-boat, under the charge of the boatswain; but the tackle being too suddenly set adrift, the boat was stove in.

By this time the _City of London_ steam-tug, having perceived the signals of distress, reached the spot, and succeeded in rescuing nearly the whole of the occupants of the boat, as well as several others of the passengers and crew, to the number of thirty-four. She remained cruising about the spot till early next morning, picking up such of the passengers as could get clear of the wreck, and in the last hope, which proved vain, of rendering assistance to those who might have floated on fragments of the ship after she settled down. The Kingsdown lugger _Mary_ was likewise attracted by the signals of distress, and succeeded in rescuing thirty passengers. The London pilot-cutter No. 3, and the _Princess_, stationed at Dover, also got to the spot, and succeeded in rescuing twenty-one, ten of them from the rigging. The total number thus rescued was eighty-five persons.

The ship went down about three-quarters of an hour after she was struck, the captain remaining at his post till she sank. One of the survivors states that he was standing close to the captain when she went down. The former managed to lay hold of some floating plank, and was borne to the surface. The captain, however, was not again seen. The pilot and ten others had taken to the mizen-mast, from which they were rescued. The whole of the officers perished.

It must seem remarkable that while the _Northfleet_ showed lights and other signals of distress within two miles of shore during twenty minutes or half an hour no notice was taken of them. When a ship is in difficulties in the night, it is usual for her either to fire guns or to exhibit a flare of light. But here, even the vessels close at hand thought that the ship was only signalling for a pilot; and at the time there were nearly a hundred vessels at anchor in the roadstead, with their lights burning brilliantly. Those on board the three ships nearest the wreck would have instantly sent help had they imagined there was a vessel in distress, and they could have got to the ship in a few minutes, for, though the night was dark and squally, it was clear at intervals, and any boat could live, the sea not being rough. It appears that the _Corona_, an Australian clipper, was lying at anchor within 300 yards of the _Northfleet_ when the disaster occurred, but neither the terrible shock of the collision, the subsequent cries for aid, nor the rockets continuously fired from the deck of the sinking ship, could arouse the man who was the only watch on deck to call up either his comrades or the officers of his ship. Various reports were at first current as to the name of the vessel which ran the _Northfleet_ down, and which passed straight on her way, without taking any heed of the disaster she had caused, though it must have been clearly known on board of her, if not—it is to be hoped—to the full extent of the calamity. Suspicion attached to the _Murillo_, a Spanish steamer, bound for Lisbon from Antwerp. The _Murillo_ arrived at Cadiz on the evening of Thursday, the 30th, having stopped at Belem, the entrance to the port of Lisbon, on the day before, and having then been warned by a telegram to go on to Cadiz without landing her Lisbon cargo. Upon her arrival at Cadiz an official inquiry was commenced, at the instance of the British Consul. From the report of Mr. Macpherson, Lloyd’s agent at Cadiz, it appeared that her starboard bow had been newly painted black and red to the water line, and her port bow showed marks of a slight indentation near the anchor davit. It was stated, however, on behalf of her owners, that the painting was done in London or Antwerp, before she started on her present journey, and that the indentation had been made on entering the port of Havre two years before. An inquiry was instituted in the Spanish Courts, and the committee appointed for that purpose declared that the _Murillo_ was not the vessel which ran down the _Northfleet_. The _Murillo_ was therefore released. But some time afterwards justice was avenged.

The official report of the inquiry made—at the instigation of the English Government—by Mr. Daniel Maude, stipendiary magistrate, assisted by Captains Harris and Hight acting as assessors, stated that there was no doubt that the ship which came into collision with the _Northfleet_ was the Spanish iron screw-steamer _Murillo_, trading between London and Cadiz, which left London on the 12th of January, proceeded to Antwerp, and, after leaving that port, arrived off Dungeness on the night of January 22nd. The _Northfleet_ was anchored in an apparently most safe position, a mile and a half or more inside the usual fair course for vessels outward-bound. The _Murillo_ came down inside the _Northfleet_, and struck her nearly amidships. It would appear, both from observation on board the _Northfleet_ and also from the evidence given by the chief engineer of the _Murillo_, that the latter had slackened her speed some little time before the collision, or probably both ships would have sunk. There is no doubt the shock was a slight one; but the sharp stem of the iron steamer having struck the weakest part of the wooden ship will account for the mischief done. The master of the _Murillo_, in his log, stated that the reason for not laying by to inquire as to the injury sustained by the shock was that a boat had immediately left the ship and examined the damage, and that the boat and crew having returned again, he concluded nothing of moment had happened. The Court was satisfied that no such incident had occurred, nor was it mentioned by the witnesses who had previously been examined by the Court. The survivors of the collision were unanimously of opinion that if the _Murillo_ had lain by, the whole of the _Northfleet_ people could have been saved. They thoroughly believed that the _Murillo_ steamed away, and left them to perish, in defiance of their signals, rockets, blue lights, and the shouts and screams of the whole ship’s company, which must have been noticed. On the other hand, it appears that Captain Knowles did not apprehend immediately the damage his ship had suffered, and that no rockets were fired for a quarter of an hour after the collision. During this time the _Murillo_ was steaming away at half-speed, and was probably two miles off. Upon this evidence the Court felt they ought not to impute to the captain of the _Murillo_ the full apparent brutality of his offence in not staying by the injured ship. The Court added a strong expression of opinion that no master of a ship should be allowed to take his wife to sea with him.

On Friday, the 7th of May, 1875, one of those sad events occurred which show the imperfection of many of the most carefully-devised schemes for life-saving at sea. Although it occurred in British waters, neither the ship nor the larger part of the passengers were British subjects. The _Schiller_ was a fine iron steamship of 3,600 tons, belonging to the Eagle line of Hamburg; she was nearly a new vessel, having been built at Glasgow in 1873. She left New York on the 27th of April, having on board at the time 264 passengers, while the officers and crew numbered 120 souls. All went well till the 7th of May, on which day she was due at Plymouth, when, in the afternoon, a fog set in; nevertheless, the vessel was kept at full speed until 8.30 p.m., when the density of the fog having greatly increased, she was put at half-speed, and an hour after she struck on the Retarrier Rocks, off the Scilly Islands, and within two-thirds of a mile of the lighthouse on the Bishop’s Rock. Although going at slow speed at the time, and although the engines were immediately reversed, the unyielding rocks had done their work: the ship was immovable, and immediately filled. All was at once confusion, and a panic ensued, cries of terror rising from every lip. Orders were given by the captain to lower the boats, and until he was himself washed off the bridge, at about 4 a.m., and drowned, he did his best to preserve some order, even threatening the frantic crowd with his pistol. All the boats, however, except two, were swept away by the sea before they could be lowered, many perishing with them, and one was crushed by the funnel falling on it. The ship held together for several hours, and had there been any means of making their hopeless condition known at St. Mary’s, the chief of the Scilly Islands, a steamer, and a first-class lifeboat(82) belonging to the National Lifeboat Institution, might have arrived in time to save a large number of lives. Such, however, was not to be, and when the morning dawned all that remained of the crew and passengers who, a few hours before, had been looking forward to happy meetings in the Fatherland with fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, and friends at home, were those who had succeeded in mounting the rigging of the fore and main masts, and a few others in the half-swamped boat, the only one which had been safely lowered. The women and children who had crowded the deck-houses and saloon, and the male passengers and those of the crew who were on the upper deck or the bridge, had perished. Alarm-guns were fired and signal lights thrown up continually, until the seas breaking over the ship prevented such efforts attracting attention; and some of the former were heard on the islands, but as steamers from America had been in the habit of firing guns to mark their arrival off the islands, they were not supposed to be danger signals. It is said, however, that at St. Agnes, the nearest island to the wreck, the guns were believed to be from a vessel in distress, but the fog was so thick that boats were afraid to venture out.

The mainmast fell at about seven o’clock in the morning, and the foremast an hour later, when most of those who remained in their rigging were lost. Just before the foremast had fallen, four boats from the shore arrived, and picked up several persons from the water, but finding the sea too heavy to allow them to go alongside the ship, one of them went to St. Mary’s, to convey intelligence of the disaster and to procure the aid of the steam-tug and lifeboat. As soon as possible the latter arrived in tow of the steamer, but all, alas! was then over, and they only picked up twenty-three bags of mail matter and a few bodies. Out of 384 souls only 53 were saved.

It was about ten o’clock in the evening when the ship struck. A little festive party had been given in honour of the birthday of one of the officers, but there is no evidence to show that the working of the ship was thereby neglected. The majority of the passengers were on deck, on the look-out for land, which they knew was near. Nearly all the women and children and a few men were in their berths; others were sitting about, talking, smoking, playing cards or dominoes, and thinking little of the fate which was so soon to befall them. There was not the slightest premonition of the disaster, and the shock appears to have been so slight that few were at first aware that the ship had struck on a rock. But in a few minutes the sea which ran over her forced her on her broadside, where she lay constantly washed over by the breakers. Let the reader imagine, if he can, the sudden change from the gaiety and hopefulness on board, the anticipations of soon reaching shore and home, to that scene of wild terror and dismay!

About midnight the funnel fell overboard and smashed two of the starboard boats. Soon after the fog cleared away, and a gleam of hope arose when the bright clear light of the Bishop Rock Lighthouse shone out. But it was only momentary, and dense darkness soon surrounded them. When the deck-house was swept away by a sea so heavy that it ran up to the top of the mainmast, a heartrending cry, mingled with shrieks and groans, rent the air. Nearly two hundred perished by this one catastrophe. Then the captain gathered for safety some people on the bridgeway, the highest place, in the vain hope of saving them. Every one, including the captain, engineers, and doctor, were swept off. The riggings of both masts were now crowded with people. With every lurch the steamer careened over to the starboard side until the yards touched the water, and the cargo began to float about on all sides. Bales of wool and cotton, feathers, trunks, boxes, and woodwork of all kinds, strewed the waves.

A survivor—one of seven who left the ship in a boat and was afterwards instrumental in picking up others—said that they cruised about the greater part of the night near the vessel, and that the screaming all the time was heartrending, and lasted almost from the commencement of the disaster to four o’clock in the morning, when it ceased. Alas! by that time nearly all had gone to their long account. The last screams he heard, and which he could never forget, were from a little child. Mingled with all was the cracking of the ship’s timbers as wave after wave broke over her. One by one the lights disappeared, till, at three o’clock, not one was left but the masthead light.

A proportion of the bodies only were recovered, among them those of several ladies wearing valuable jewellery; one had £200 in money upon her, which she had endeavoured to save. That with 1,200 life-belts on board so few should have escaped seems nearly incredible; but the panic and other circumstances help to account for the sad fact. The second mate stated that he had much trouble in getting the passengers to understand the importance of wearing them well under the armpits, and that if the belt got below the waist it would at once force the head under water. From the position of some of the corpses recovered, it is evident that many must have perished in this manner. In a number of cases the lower strings of the life-belts had broken. The larger part of the dead were buried on the various islands of the Scilly group.(83)

The main features of this disaster teach some important lessons. “We find,” says a writer in _The Lifeboat_, “in this instance, a noble ship, under full control of steam and sail; the captain(84) an able, experienced, and careful officer, whose devotion to his duty and sense of the responsibility thrown on him were shown by the fact of his not having had his clothes off for five nights previous to the loss of his ship; and the weather fine, with the exception of the prevalence of a dense fog.

“If we further inquire whether the owners of the ship had done their duty in providing their passengers with all available means of safety, we find that she had an ample and competent crew, had eight boats, six of them being life-boats, and that life-belts more than sufficient for every one on board were provided, and were to a large extent used, since all, or nearly all, the bodies that were picked up had life-belts on them. The latter may, however, have been of inferior quality—indeed, are said to have been so. With so many elements of safety, what then caused them to be of no avail?

“The immediate causes of the loss of the ship were apparently the dense fog and an insufficient allowance for the set of the well-known current which sets out of the Bay of Biscay to the northward, across the entrance of the British Channel, which has sometimes considerable strength.

“A secondary cause was the old offence, so general in the merchant service, despite all the warnings of experience—neglect of sounding, the lead not having been used during the day or night, nor on the two previous days.

“Lastly, the chief cause of so few lives being saved, there can be little doubt, was the same as that which led to such fearful results in the case of the _Northfleet_, viz., the custom of making use of night signals of distress for other objects, such as to call for pilots, to signify arrival, &c., a folly admonished in advance in the old fable of the boy raising the alarm of ‘Wolf, wolf!’ when there was no wolf, and then receiving no succour from his neighbours when the wolf came.

“It appears to be customary for the German steamers to make the Scilly Islands to enable their agents there to telegraph to Plymouth the approach of their steamers, in order that the necessary preparations should be made for a prompt disembarkation of their passengers for England on their arrival at that port.

“The saving of time, which, looking to the great daily expense of such vessels, with their hundreds of mouths to be fed, and their immense consumption of coal, is the saving of money to the shareholders, and is, of course, the motive for communicating by signal with Scilly, just as the maintenance of high speed in all weathers, and by night as by day at all hazards, is so, and which leads to so many disasters.

“All that we would suggest, in the interest of humanity, is that such communication should be left discretionary with the captain of every ship in the case of fogs, when it should be optional for him to proceed directly for Plymouth, or to heave to, or to feel his way at greatly diminished speed by frequent sounding, which would be a certain guide to him for a distance of many miles round the islands.” The writer suggests that, in view of the too common neglect of sounding, such neglect, when discovered, should be punishable by heavy penalties. It was proved in evidence that the Eagle line of steamers were expressly prohibited from firing guns, or exhibiting other distress signals, to make themselves known, but that other German steamers had done so, of which those on board this unfortunate ship now reaped the evil consequences.

On the morning of the 6th December, 1875, one of those sad disasters occurred which ever and again remind us of the dangerous nature of our shores. But a few months before the _Schiller_ had been wrecked, with the loss of 331 lives, and now an emigrant steamship, of the same nationality, was to share the same terrible fate off the Essex coast. Happily, the loss was not so serious, and led to the establishment of a life-boat station where one had not existed before.

Few maritime disasters of modern times have excited more general interest than the wreck of the _Deutschland_: partly from the fact that it occurred so near the mouth of the Thames, and partly because a part of the German press, in a strange and reckless manner, advanced serious charges against the town of Harwich and the boatmen of that port, accusing them of allowing the unfortunate emigrants to perish before their eyes, and refusing them succour. The circumstances are as follows:—In the first place, the spot where the _Deutschland_ was wrecked—on the Kentish Knock—is twenty-four miles from Harwich, and, therefore, at too great a distance for the vessel herself, and far less for any signals of distress or national flag to be seen from that place, even in clear weather. “Accordingly, the only modes by which intelligence of the disaster could be conveyed to Harwich would have been by the different light-vessels repeating the signals from one to another, and finally to that town, or by some vessel or boat proceeding there. Now it so happened that all the hovelling smacks belonging to that and adjacent places had themselves been driven into port by the violence of the gale and the heavy sea, and that the only available means of communication was, therefore, by signals from the light-ships. It appears from the evidence of the officers in charge of those vessels at the Board of Trade inquiry, although the _Deutschland_ had been on shore since five and six o’clock in the morning on Monday, the 6th of December, and had immediately commenced to throw up rockets, and continued to do so until daylight, none of them were seen even from the nearest light-ship—the Kentish Knock—no doubt, owing to the thickness of the weather and almost continuous snow-storms, the master of that vessel first perceiving the unfortunate steamer at 9.30 a.m. He then fired guns, sounded the fog-horn, and continued to do so at half-hour intervals during the day, and at 4.30 p.m. commenced to throw up rockets, which were answered by the steamer.

“At 5.20 the mate of the Sunk light-ship first saw two rockets, which he supposed to be from a vessel on the Long Sand, whereupon he fired guns and sent up rockets throughout the night, but did not see the wrecked ship until 7.30 on the morning of Tuesday, the 7th. His first rockets had, however, been seen by the look-out on board the Cork light-ship, from which vessel rockets were then immediately discharged; and at 7.30 these were replied to from Harwich, they having given the first intimation to the good people of that town that anything was amiss at sea; and even then not that a German emigrant steamer was ashore on the Kentish Knock, but merely that some vessel was in danger somewhere on one of the numerous sandbanks which lie in all directions off that port. We have thus accounted for the circumstance of these unfortunate shipwrecked persons being allowed to remain for fourteen hours in their perilous position without succour from the shore, from the simple cause that no one knew of their danger; and we have arrived at another stage of our inquiry: viz., Were the means then adopted all that could be reasonably expected from humane people, who would gladly afford succour, if in their power, to any one in distress, to whatever country they might belong?”

The writer of the critical article from which the above quotations are taken(85) shows, firstly, that there was not at that time a life-boat station at Harwich. It had always been considered that the sands were too distant from that port for the successful employment of such a boat, and that, in the event of wrecks upon them, the numerous hovelling smacks would have anticipated its services. There was, however, a small but serviceable steam-tug—not, be it remembered, Government or town property, but that of a private individual. It is right that this should be fully understood. The circumstance of this tug, the _Liverpool_, not going off instantly on perceiving the rockets thrown up by the Cork light-ship was much criticised by some ignorant persons at the time. “Fortunately, she was commanded by an able and experienced seaman, Captain Carrington, who knew what he was about; who knew the difficulties of navigating in the intricate passages between the numerous shoals off the port on a dark night and gale of wind, and he could only do so at great risk of losing his owner’s vessel and the lives of those intrusted to him; that he might spend the whole night in vainly searching for the vessel in distress, and, even if he should find her, that, with the small tug’s boats, it would be quite impossible for him to render any assistance to a vessel surrounded by broken water, in a dark night and heavy sea; and, moreover, that if any mishap should disable his own vessel, the only chance of saving the wrecked persons might be destroyed.” He judiciously waited till shortly before daylight, and then proceeded, first, to the Cork light-ship, where he ascertained that the Sunk light-ship had been firing all night. He then steamed to the latter, and was misinformed (unintentionally) regarding the locality of the wreck. He, after searching in vain for some little time, steamed for the Kentish Knock, and when half-way to it saw the _Deutschland_ on that sandbank. He then went to the Knock light-ship, and hailed her, inquiring whether those on board knew anything about the wreck, or whether there were any people remaining on board her, but could get no information. He soon proceeded to the spot, and, finding there were a large number of persons on board her, anchored his vessel under her lee, at about sixty fathoms’ distance, and sent his boats to her. After taking off three boat-loads, he weighed his anchor, placed his vessel alongside the ship, and took off the remainder of the survivors—173 in all. In spite of the time which had elapsed and the great dangers to which the vessel had been exposed, the loss of life had not been so serious as might well have been anticipated. Fifty-seven poor men and women had, however, perished in the raging waves. The tug(86) had done her work of saving nobly and well, and had performed it at a time when the hovelling smacks could have done nothing at all. On the same occasion the Broadstairs life-boat proceeded as soon as possible to the scene of the wreck, twenty miles distant, but too late to be of service. In these days of nearly universal telegraphy, it would seem strange that our light-ships on dangerous sands, and our lighthouses on dangerous rocks, are almost entirely without the means of proper communication with the nearest shores. From the light-ship, indeed, rockets and guns are constantly fired, as we have seen in many preceding examples, but fogs and heavy weather often prevent either from being of service. The expense of connecting _all_ of them with the coasts by means of submarine cables might be sufficient to frighten any Government; but some such communication, however costly, should be made with many of those exposed and dangerous spots where shipwrecks are of constant occurrence.

Excellent authorities on maritime matters have strongly advocated the necessity for the establishment of a sound system of day and night signals from all outlying lighthouses, light-ships, and coastguard stations, and the laying of submarine cables to many of the more prominent stations. A formula of “signals of distress” was included in the new “Merchant Shipping Act of 1873,” which came into operation on the 1st of November of that year. Prior to that time such signals were too vague and too indiscriminately used to have much value, and sometimes were calculated to mislead. Thus, in the case of the _Northfleet_ already cited, 400 of those on board were drowned, “although she was surrounded by other ships, and the rockets which she discharged as signals of distress were seen by the coastguard and life-boat men ashore, but were unheeded, it being a common custom for homeward-bound ships to discharge rockets for pilots, or as _feux de joie_ on their safe return from distant lands.” The following signals of distress are now required. In _the daytime_ the following signals, when used together or separately, shall be deemed sufficient and proper. 1. A gun fired at intervals of about a minute. 2. The International Code signal of distress. This is a square flag with chess-board pattern, blue and white, having beneath it a long triangular white pennant, with a red ball in the centre. 3. The distant signal, consisting of a square flag, having above or below it a ball or anything resembling a ball. _At night_ the following signals:—1. A gun fired at intervals of about a minute. 2. Flames on the ship, as from a burning tar-barrel or oil-barrel, &c. 3. Rockets or shells, of any colour or description, fired, one at a time, at short intervals. And “any master of a vessel who uses or displays, or causes or permits any person under his authority to use or display, any of the said signals, except in the case of a vessel being in distress, shall be liable to pay compensation for any labour undertaken, risk incurred, or loss sustained, in consequence of such signal having been supposed to be a signal of distress, and such compensation may, without prejudice to any other remedy, be recovered in the same manner in which salvage is recoverable.”

The signals for pilots are also definitely fixed as follows:—_By day_, the “Jack” or other national colour usually worn by merchant ships, having round it a white border, is to be displayed at the fore; _or_ the International Code pilotage signal, this consists of two square flags, the upper of which is a blue flag with a white square in its centre, and the lower of which is a striped flag, red, white, and blue, similar to the French flag. _At night_, “blue lights,” or bright white lights, are to be flashed at frequent intervals, just above the bulwarks. If these signals are used for any purpose other than that for which they are intended, a penalty, not exceeding twenty pounds, is incurred. Residents at, and visitors to, seaports and sea-side resorts will, from the above description, be able to judge whether a vessel in the offing is in dire distress or simply requires the ordinary services of a pilot.

In the eighteenth century, the requirements of a maritime country constantly at war obliged the Government to establish a complete system of signals and signal stations all round our coasts. At the conclusion of our wars with France that system was in full force, and at that time the movements of nearly every vessel, friend or foe, were telegraphed from point to point with a facility which contributed in an important degree to the security of the country. “This Government telegraph system was also available for summoning such aids as then existed for the preservation of life from shipwreck. Accounts of wrecks at what may be called the life-boat era all tend to show that the system of coast telegraphy then in existence played an important part in most notable life-boat and other rescues from shipwreck. With the long peace the need for information on the part of the Government as to the movements of its own or other ships became less urgent, though the coast system of signals maintained a precarious existence for many years, to assist the coastguard in protecting the revenue. As smuggling decreased, the coastguard men were reduced in number, and the chain of signallers became broken into gaps, which widened year by year. The final blow was given by railways and electricity to the old line of semaphores stretching between Portsmouth and the Admiralty, and elsewhere, and from headland to headland. But while the Government, by the help of modern invention, enormously increased its facilities of communication with the great dockyards and arsenals, it, conceiving itself to be in no way concerned (we suppose) with the safety of merchant ships or saving life, failed to supply a substitute for the old semaphore system along the coast line; and year by year the evil has increased from the reduction of the coastguard, and the consequent lengthening of the interval on lines of coasts in which watch has ceased to be kept. The result is that during the last twenty-five years, and up to the present time, there has been greater difficulty in communicating along the coast and summoning aid to distressed vessels at all out-of-the-way parts of the coast than existed at the end of the last century.

“The First Lord of the Admiralty or the President of the Board of Trade can converse at leisure with Plymouth, Deal, Leith, or Liverpool, but the Eddystone has no means of letting the authorities at Plymouth know that a ship is slowly foundering before the eyes of the keepers, though the two points are in sight of each other. The light-keepers at the Bishop have no means of telling the people at St. Mary’s that a ship full of passengers is slowly but surely tearing to pieces on the Retarrier reef; and the hundreds of vessels that yearly are in deadly peril on the Goodwins, the Kentish Knock, the Norfolk Sands, and elsewhere, have no means of summoning prompt aid from the land, though they are only a few miles distant from it.”(87) The writer notes that the number of cases of shipwreck, where the vessels might have been saved, which reach the National Life-boat Institution is considerable. These come largely from obscure and detached parts of the coasts. A foreign barque was wrecked on the Ship-wash, a sandbank eight miles from land, the nearest port being Harwich, from which its southern end is distant ten miles. The wreck was discovered by several smacks soon after seven o’clock on the morning of January 7th, 1876, and the news of the disaster was in the possession of the coastguards at Walton, Harwich, and Aldborough, before ten o’clock that day. Yet the crew were not taken off the wreck till the following morning, after they had been more than twenty-four hours exposed to all the horrors of a pitiless easterly gale, and the momentary expectation of being swept into eternity. So ill-adapted was the system of sending information along the coast that the news did not reach Ramsgate till the next morning, and tug-boat and life-boat then started on a gallant but fruitless expedition, to find that they had only just been forestalled by the Harwich steamer. The Ramsgate men were thus needlessly exposed for fourteen hours in a storm, with the cold so intense that the salt water froze as it fell on the boat. “It is also significant,” says a writer in _The Lifeboat_, “that the Aldborough life-boat’s crew declined to launch their boat (they being fifteen miles from the wreck), mainly because there were no sure grounds for concluding that the crew were still on board it—information which could certainly have been conveyed by the Ship-wash lightship had it had an electric wire communication with the shore; or, failing that, by properly arranged ‘distant signals’ visible to the eye.” The writer shows that had the information been telegraphed from the point which it actually did reach about 10 a.m., either to the Admiralty or the Board of Trade, or any other public department, assistance could with ease have been sent to the wreck, by orders from London, not the day after, but on the forenoon of the same day. And what might not have been the sad consequences of delay, had the vessel been carrying a lot of helpless passengers instead of nine hardy seamen?

A case occurred shortly after the above occurrence, illustrating the necessity for prompt and suitable communication with land. The steamer _Vesper_, of Hartlepool, was lost on the Kish Bank, four miles south of the Kish light-ship. The crew of this wreck, which struck the bank at 5 a.m., though only _four_ miles from the light-ship, six of a coastguard station on shore, and seven of another point, received no assistance, nor did the light-ship pass the intelligence till 10 a.m., when a boatman at Kingstown saw masts sticking out of the water on the Kish Bank, with signals of distress flying from them. Promptly enough then the life-boat, towed by H.M. steam-tender _Amelie_, proceeded to the wreck, only to find, however, that on the steamer sinking the crew had taken to their own boats, and being unburdened with passengers, had escaped to land. The weather was moderate; had there been a gale, the story might have been far different. What a reproach to our system! first, that the light-ship had no means of signalling for assistance; and, second, that it had no means afterwards of indicating that all hands were happily saved.