The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands, Robert Michael Ballantyne [ebook pc reader txt] 📗

to be gained, daring spirits--chiefly in the shape of small boys--took it by storm, in absolute contempt of the police. "Jacob's Ladder"--the cliff staircase--was crowded from top to bottom. The west pier was rendered invisible to its outer extremity by human beings. The east pier, as far as it was dry, was covered by the fashion and beauty--as well as by the fishy and tarry--of the town. Beyond the point of dryness it was more or less besieged by those who were reckless, riotous, and ridiculously fond of salt-water spray. The yards and shrouds of the crowded and much damaged shipping in the harbour were manned, and the windows of the town that commanded the sea were filled with human faces. An absolute battery of telescopes, like small artillery, was levelled at the approaching tug. Everywhere were to be seen and heard evidences of excitement, anxiety, and expectation.

It was not long before it was announced that flags were seen flying at the mast-heads of the tug and lifeboat--a sure evidence that a rescue had been successfully accomplished. This caused many a burst of cheering from the crowds, as the fact and its import became gradually known. But these were as nothing compared with the cheers that arose when the steamer, with the lifeboat and the schooner in tow, drew near, and it could be seen that there were many people on board--among them women and children. When they finally surged past the pier-head on the crest of a tremendous billow, and swept into the harbour under a vast shower of spray that burst over the pier and rose above the mast-heads of the shipping within--as if to pour a libation on the gallant crews-- then a succession of cheers, that cannot be described, welcomed the victors and re-echoed from the chalk-cliffs, to be caught up and sent out again and again in thrilling cadence on the mad sea, which had thus been plundered of its booty and disappointed of its prey!

Scarfs and hats and kerchiefs and hands were waved in wild enthusiasm, strangely mingled with tender pity, when the exhausted women and children and the worn-out and battered lifeboat-men were landed. Many cheered, no doubt, to think of the strong hearts and invincible courage that dwelt in the breasts of Britain's sons; while others,--tracing things at once to their true source,--cheered in broken tones, or were incompetent to cheer at all, when they thought with thankfulness of Britain's faith in the Word of God, which, directly or indirectly, had given that courage its inspiration, and filled those hearts with fire.

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Note 1. The coxswain--Mr Isaac Jarman--who has rendered heroic service in the Ramsgate Lifeboat during the last ten years, has been personally instrumental in saving between four and five hundred lives.

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Note 2. If the reader should desire to know something more of the history of the celebrated Ramsgate lifeboat, which, owing to its position, opportunities, and advantages, has had the most stirring career of all the lifeboat fleet, we advise the perusal of a work (at present in the press, if it be not already published) named _Storm Warriors, or the Ramsgate Lifeboat and the Goodwin Sands_, by the Reverend John Gilmore, whose able and thrilling articles on the lifeboat-service in _Macmillan's Magazine_ are well known.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.


SHOWS THAT THERE ARE NO EFFECTS WITHOUT ADEQUATE CAUSES.

There were not a few surprising and unexpected meetings that day on Ramsgate pier. Foremost among the hundreds who pressed forward to shake the lifeboat-men by the hand, and to sympathise with and congratulate the wrecked and rescued people, was Mr George Durant. It mattered nothing to that stout enthusiast that his hat had been swept away into hopeless destruction during his frantic efforts to get to the front, leaving his polished head exposed to the still considerable fury of the blast and the intermittent violence of the sun; and it mattered, if possible, still less that the wreck turned out to be one of his own vessels; but it was a matter of the greatest interest and amazement to him to find that the first man he should meet in the crowd and seize in a hearty embrace, was his young friend, Stanley Hall.

"What, Stanney!" he exclaimed in unmitigated surprise; "is it--can it be? Prodigious sight!"

The old gentleman could say no more, but continued for a few seconds to wring the hands of his young friend, gaze in his face, and vent himself in gusts of surprise and bursts of tearful laughter, to the great interest and amusement of the bystanders.

Mr Durant's inconsistent conduct may be partly accounted for and excused by the fact that Stanley had stepped on the pier with no other garments on than a pair of trousers and a shirt, the former having a large rent on the right knee, and the latter being torn open at the breast, in consequence of the violent removal of all the buttons when its owner was dragged into the lifeboat. As, in addition to this, the young man's dishevelled hair did duty for a cap, and his face and hands were smeared with oil and tar from the flare-lights which he had assisted to keep up so energetically, it is not surprising that the first sight of him had a powerful effect on Mr Durant.

"Why, Stanney," he said at length, "you look as if you were some strange sea-monster just broke loose from Neptune's menagerie!"

Perhaps this idea had been suggested by the rope round Stanley's waist, the cut end of which still dangled at his side, for Mr Durant took hold of it inquiringly.

"Ay, sir," put in the coxswain, who chanced to be near him, "that bit of rope is a scarf of honour. He saved the life of a soldier's widow with it."

There was a tendency to cheer on the part of the bystanders who heard this.

"God bless you, Stanney, my boy! Come and get dressed," said the old gentleman, suddenly seizing his friend's arm and pushing his way through the crowd, "come along; oh, don't talk to me of the ship. I know that it's lost; no matter--you are saved. And do _you_ come along with us Wel--Wel--what's the name of --? Ah! Welton--come; my daughter is here somewhere. I left her near the parapet. Never mind, she knows her way home."

Katie certainly was there, and when, over the heads of the people--for she had mounted with characteristic energy on the parapet, assisted by Queeker and accompanied by Fanny Hennings--she beheld Stanley Hall in such a plight, she felt a disposition to laugh and cry and faint all at once. She resisted the tendency, however, although the expression of her face and her rapid change of colour induced Queeker with anxious haste to throw out his arms to catch her.

"Ha!" exclaimed Queeker, "_I knew it_!"

What Queeker knew he never explained. It may have had reference to certain suspicions entertained in regard to the impression made by the young student on Katie the night of their first meeting; we cannot tell, but we know that he followed up the exclamation with the muttered remark, "It was fortunate that I pulled up in time."

Herein Queeker exhibited the innate tendency of the human heart to deceive itself. That furious little poetical fox-hunter had, by his own confession, felt the pangs of a guilty conscience in turning, just because he could not help it, from Katie to Fanny, yet here he was now basely and coolly taking credit to himself for having "pulled up in time!"

"Oh, look at the _dear_ little children!" exclaimed Fanny, pointing towards a part of the crowd where several seamen were carrying the rescued and still terrified little ones in their strong arms, while others assisted the women along, and wrapped dry shawls round them.

"How dreadful to think," said Katie, making a hard struggle to suppress her agitation, "that all these would have been lost but for the lifeboat; and how wonderful to think that some of our own friends should be among them!"

"Ay, there be many more besides these saved last night, miss," remarked a sturdy old boatman who chanced to be standing beside her. "All along the east coast the lifeboats has bin out, miss, you may be sure; and they don't often shove off without bringin' somethin' back to show for their pains, though they don't all 'ave steamers for to tug 'em out. There's the Broadstairs boat, now; I've jist heerd she was out all night an' saved fifteen lives; an' the Walmer and Deal boats has fetched in a lot, I believe, though we han't got particklers yet."

Besides those whom we have mentioned as gazing with the crowd at the arrival of the lifeboat, Morley Jones, and Nora, and Billy Towler were there. Jones and Billy had returned from London together the night before the storm, and, like nearly every one else in the town, had turned out to witness the arrival of the lifeboat.

Dick Moy also was there, and that huge lump of good-nature spent the time in making sagacious remarks and wise comments on wind and weather, wrecks and rescues, in a manner that commanded the intense admiration of a knot of visitors who happened to be near him, and who regarded him as a choice specimen--a sort of type--of the British son of Neptune.

"This is wot _I_ says," observed Dick, while the people were landing "so long as there's 'ope, 'old on. Never say die, and never give in; them's my sentiments. 'Cause why? no one never knows wot may turn up. If your ship goes down; w'y, wot then? Strike out, to be sure. P'r'aps you may be picked up afore long. If sharks is near, p'r'aps you may be picked down. You can never tell. If you gets on a shoal, wot then? w'y, stick to the ship till a lifeboat comes off to 'ee. Don't never go for to take to your own boats. If you do--capsize, an' Davy Jones's locker is the word. If the lifeboat can't git alongside; w'y, wait till it can. If it can't; w'y, it can only be said that it couldn't. No use cryin' over spilt milk, you know. Not that I cares for milk. It don't keep at sea, d'ye see; an's only fit for babbys. If the lifeboat capsizes; w'y, then, owin' to her parfection o' build, she rights again, an' you, 'avin' on cork jackets, p'r'aps, gits into 'er by the lifelines, all handy. If you 'aven't got no cork jackets on, w'y, them that has'll pick 'ee up. If not, it's like enough you'll go down. But no matter, you've did yer best, an' man, woman, or child can do no more. You can only die once, d'ye see?"

Whether the admiring audience did or did not see the full force of these remarks, they undoubtedly saw enough in the gigantic tar to esteem him a marvel of philosophic wisdom. Judging by their looks that he was highly appreciated, it is just possible that Dick Moy might have been tempted to extend his discourse, had not a move in the crowd showed a general tendency towards dispersion, the rescued people having been removed, some to the Sailor's Home, others to the residences of hospitable people in the town.

Now, it must not be imagined that all these characters in our tale have