Stories of the Lifeboat. Frank Mundell
distress were observed in that quarter. Next morning the boat was found on the beach bottom up with three of her crew hanging to the thwarts--dead.
NEWS OF A WRECK ON THE COAST.
Such is the fate that even to-day overhangs the lifeboatman on the uncertain sea. Yet he is ever ready on the first signal of distress to imperil his life to rescue the stranger and the foreigner from a watery grave. "First come, first in," is the rule, and to see the gallant lifeboatmen rushing at the top of their speed in the direction of the boathouse, one would imagine that they were hurrying to some grand entertainment instead of into the very jaws of death. It is not for money that they thus risk their lives, as the pay they receive is very small for the work they have to perform. They are indeed heroes, in the truest sense of the word, and give to the world a glorious example of duty well and nobly done.
CHAPTER III.
THE WARRIORS OF THE SEA.
[On the night of the 9th of December 1886, the Lytham, Southport, and St. Anne's lifeboats put out to rescue the crew of the ship Mexico, which had run aground off the coast of Lancashire. The Southport and St. Anne's boats were lost, but the Lytham boat effected the rescue in safety.]
Up goes the Lytham signal!
St. Anne's has summoned hands!
Knee deep in surf the lifeboat's launched
Abreast of Southport sands!
Half deafened by the screaming wind,
Half blinded by the rain,
Three crews await their coxswains,
And face the hurricane!
The stakes are death or duty!
No man has answered "No"!
Lives must be saved out yonder
On the doomed ship Mexico!
Did ever night look blacker?
Did sea so hiss before?
Did ever women's voices wail
More piteous on the shore?
Out from three ports of Lancashire
That night went lifeboats three,
To fight a splendid battle, manned
By "Warriors of the Sea."
Along the sands of Southport
Brave women held their breath,
For they knew that those who loved them
Were fighting hard with death;
A cheer went out from Lytham!
The tempest tossed it back,
As the gallant lads of Lancashire
Bent to the waves' attack;
And girls who dwelt about St. Anne's,
With faces white with fright,
Prayed God would still the tempest
That dark December night.
Sons, husbands, lovers, brothers,
They'd given up their all,
These noble English women
Heartsick at duty's call;
But not a cheer, or tear, or prayer,
From those who bent the knee,
Came out across the waves to nerve
Those Warriors of the Sea.
Three boats went out from Lancashire,
But one came back to tell
The story of that hurricane,
The tale of ocean's hell!
All safely reached the Mexico,
Their trysting-place to keep;
For one there was the rescue,
The others in the deep
Fell in the arms of victory
Dropped to their lonely grave,
Their passing bell the tempest,
Their requiem the wave!
They clung to life like sailors,
They fell to death like men,--
Where, in our roll of heroes,
When in our story, when,
Have Englishmen been braver,
Or fought more loyally
With death that comes by duty
To the Warriors of the Sea?
One boat came back to Lytham
Its noble duty done;
But at St. Anne's and Southport
The prize of death was won!
Won by those gallant fellows
Who went men's lives to save,
And died there crowned with glory,
Enthroned upon the wave!
Within a rope's throw off the wreck
The English sailors fell,
A blessing on their faithful lips,
When ocean rang their knell.
Weep not for them, dear women!
Cease wringing of your hands!
Go out to meet your heroes
Across the Southport sands!
Grim death for them is stingless!
The grave has victory!
Cross oars and bear them nobly home,
Brave Warriors of the Sea!
When in dark nights of winter
Fierce storms of wind and rain
Howl round the cosy homestead,
And lash the window-pane--
When over hill and tree top
We hear the tempests roar,
And hurricanes go sweeping on
From valley to the shore--
When nature seems to stand at bay,
And silent terror comes,
And those we love on earth the best
Are gathered in our homes,--
Think of the sailors round the coast,
Who, braving sleet or snow,
Leave sweethearts, wives, and little ones
When duty bids them go!
Think of our sea-girt island!
A harbour, where alone
No Englishman to save