THE LIFE-BOAT FLEET Motor Life-boats, 124 :: Pulling & Sailing Life-boats, 45 LIVES RESCUED from the foundation of the Institution in 1824 to August 31st, 1935 64,159 A Winter Passage in a Motor Life-boat.

By Mr. Frank G. G. Carr.1 ON Saturday, January 26th, it " snowed and it blowed " all day, as the barge- men express it, and in the evening I slipped my moorings at Chelsea and proceeded under power to Southend, where at the " Cornucopia," a snug beer-house on the front, I was told to report for duty to the coxswain of the Southend boat. There I was introduced to Coxswain A. Spurgeon, of the Lowestoft life-boat, and his crew of two who were to take the stand-by boat round to Lowestoft on the following day, that she might replace their own boat, which was due for her winter overhaul. A liking for beer 'and the coxswain's excellent tobacco was common among us all, and laid the foundations of what I sincerely hope will prove a lasting friendship. We presently retired to quarters for the night in a near-by lodg- ing-house, where " Jack " and I shared a room in an attic. It was too cold for sleep and the north-east wind howl- ing in the chimney was dreary music.

Daylight showed us a white world and driving snow above it, and when, at about 9.30 A.M., we boarded a train on the pier, visibility was nil in the squalls. We wore all the clothes we possessed, surrounded by oilskins, and looked as though we were bound for the North Pole. The life-boat City oj Bradford lay at moorings off the pier, and looked cold and lonely. We were here joined by three engineers, who were making the passage to watch over the engines, and at 10 A.M. we slipped from the buoy and started on our eighty-mile passage.

The Life-boat and Her Engine.

The young flood was then making, and we kept close in along the edge of the Maplin to cheat the tide as much as possible. While we were throbbing on our way at a speed that was an agree- able surprise to me, the snow having ceased for a time and the sun con- senting to shine, I had an opportunity to inspect the boat more carefully.

Her overall length was 45 ft. and her beam 12 ft. 6 ins., her displacement being 16 tons 19 cwts. She was an early Watson type boat, built in 1923, one" of the last designed without a cabin. A wooden dodger aft of the engine gave some degree of shelter, and a folding glass screen above it kept a little of the spray out of the helms- man's eyes if he was very lucky. The three engineers squatted under the dodger (which was big enough to make 1 Mr. Frank Carr is assistant librarian of the House of Lords and a member of the Little Ship Club. His article appeared In the Journal of the Little Ship Clvfi, and these extracts from it are reprinted here by his courtesy, and the editor's.

a small cabin, open at the after end) and kept warm, while they studied the behaviour of the engine. This was a D.E. developing 80 h.p. at 800 r.p.m.

on a fuel consumption of 60 pints per hour, giving a speed of 8.2 knots. It never hesitated all day, was extra- ordinarily obedient and responsive, and the absence of noise and vibration •was most marked. The boat had wheel steering, and was equipped with a mast mounted in a tabernacle and setting standing lug and jib. The mast we lowered and lashed on the top of the dodger soon after starting to lessen rolling, as the wind was too far ahead to enable us to use the sails to advantage.

The Scene in the West Swin.

The West Swin was full of anchored shipping; chiefly low-powered steam- ships waiting for the northerly breeze to ease and give them a chance to get to the Norrard. There was also a barge, with her mizen burst and mizen spreet carried away, that had brought up on the edge of the sand and dragged out into deeper water.

By 1 p.m. we were off the Maplin Spit buoy, and here met a couple of barges carrying on for " Lunnon River," with every stitch of canvas set and full almost to bursting. We watched them in amazement at the way they were carrying sail, and did not envy them the task of brailing in their mainsails when they brought the wind abeam a little later and a reduction of sail became imperative. They were a wonderful sight, and " going like trains." Presently we were looking out for the Swin Spitway bell-buoy that marks the southern end of the Spitway, and found its position clearly indicated by a big German tug keeping station just beside it. She was the salvage tug at Harwich, and then we saw, over in the Wallet, the hoped-for prey that she was watching. A disabled barge was being towed by two life-boats, those of Clacton and Walton, as we learnt afterwards, making obviously for the Colne. . . . The ketch-barge Record Reign had passed us an hour or so earlier under sail and power, making her last fatal voyage which finished a few days later on Exmouth beach, where she became, I believe, atotal loss.

We had so far been able to enjoy the comfort of smooth water in the lee of the sands or the land, and, in spite of the foul tide, the City of Bradford had shown herself possessed of such a fine turn of effortless speed that we were passing Orfordness at 5 P.M., just after dark. Conditions now changed, and for the next four hours we had a hard punch into a steep and ugly, confused sea, which was a dead-muzzier all the way. The wind increased and veered, so that we had no shelter from the shore, and I was able to see what a motor life-boat could do in such con- ditions. She astonished me. Her crew called her most of the names that a lady would not like to hear, and compared her unfavourably to- their own boat, which they said would " drown her." Her fine lines forward made her wet, and every sea burst in sheets of spray right over her.

Steering Blind.

Visibility was extremely bad, and as the violent motion of the boat made the compass useless to steer by, and the shore lights could not be seen at tunes, we were steering blind for a good part of the way. Crash . . . Swissh ...!...

Crash Swissh . . . ! Every sea sent a stinging shower of spray rattling aft, drowning everyone and every- thing. We soon had to ease her.

Then to ease her again, and yet again.

The ebb tide now running against the wind steeped the seas, and there was no seeing or avoiding them. Crash . . .

Swissh ! . . . Crash . . . Swissh . . . ! with monotonous regularity. But the boat was getting there. She was wet, yes ! But " where there is speed there is water," of necessity. She was un- comfortable. And never have I faced more acute cold, or more icy water.

She never faltered on her way, however.

There was none of that awful shud- dering jar as she hit a sea that knocks all the way off an ordinary boat. She simply went on and over and through —more through than over, it seemed to me at times. But never did she give one the least moment's doubt that she was travelling, and travelling extraordinarily fast in such conditions.

A small steam-boat rounding the Ness at the same time that we did was soon left far astern, and her lights showed how wild a course she was making.

The coxswain kept the helm most of the way. He was magnificent. His cheery leadership in depressingly damp circumstances made one realize what a tower of strength he would be in the most arduous service conditions. He seemed to have an inexhaustible fund of stories, with which he continually regaled us; and his hearty laughter shook the boat far more than the shocks of the seas or the vibration of the engine. . . .

At nine o'clock we entered Lowes- toft harbour, and the boat was run up to the head of the Old Fish Dock, where I was bundled ashore to try to catch the last train to town. It had gone five minutes when I reached the station. I was cold, soaked to the skin, my face was coated with salt, and I was tired. But I was very happy.

I had seen enough to believe that there is no weather a motor life-boat could not steam against and conquer. I had experienced the fellowship of some remarkably fine fellows, which is a joy to remember. If I had lost my train, I had gained an immense respect for the life-boat service. And I had thoroughly enjoyed myself.

As a postscript I might add a line of explanation from a letter that reached me from the coxswain a few days later. " The reason why she was so heady coming down that night," he wrote, " was because all round the fore end and whale deck was cased with ice.".