By L. H. Shelvey, Honorary Secretary of the Walmer Station AT ten past three on the afternoon of Friday the 2nd of January, the coastguard telephoned to me that a vessel appeared to be aground on the Goodwin Sands, one and a half miles west-southwest of the East Goodwin Lightvessel.

I rang up the coxswain at once and nine minutes later the motor life-boat, Charles Dibdin—Civil Service No. 2, was on her way. The tide was high and the wind was blowing from the south-west. It was then not more than a moderate wind, with, inshore, a moderate sea running. There was mist and rain. The coxswain took the life-boat right across the sands which were covered with a confused sea. He said that it was like going through boiling water. It took him just under an hour to reach the vessel, and he found that she was the Italian steamer Silvia Onorato, bound from the Adriatic to Rotterdam. She was on the eastern or outer edge of the Goodwins.

Heavy seas were breaking right over her and her bows were swinging about.

A Critical Moment The coxswain tried to get alongside, but a huge sea from astern lifted the life-boat right above the steamer's deck.

There, riding on the crest of the sea, the life-boatmen looked down on the hatches of the steamer. The coxswain at once went full speed astern, but it was a fearful moment, for every man of the crew knew that if the life-boat struck the gunwhale as the sea fell she would be tipped over and they would all be flung into the sea.

She cleared the gunwale—but only just.

Dropping into the trough she actually grazed the steamer's side. Then the coxswain took her round the stern and along the other side. Here the captain had lowered a Jacob's ladder, and one of the life-boatmen. Ginger Thomas, scrambled up it. At the top the captain welcomed him with open arms.

He was desperately anxious, and eager for advice. Thomas took a bearing on the North Foreland, and told him to go full steam ahead with his helm hard to starboard. He hoped in this way to drive the steamer back over the ridge of sand which she had originally crossed. She did actually move, but with a force which visibly made her shudder from stem to stern she struck again, and stopped. She could not muster enough power to surmount the bank, and there she remained, in the depression on the sands into which she first had been driven. She drew from 18 to 20 feet of water.

The tide was falling and now only 14 feet of water covered the sands.

Not only was the tide falling but the wind and sea were increasing. Thomas told the captain that nothing more could be done until the tide rose; that in those seas the life-boat could not remain alongside; that it would be wise to let the life-boat take him and his crew off at once. He refused.

Thomas then told him that the lifeboat would have to lie off in deeper water. If, during the night, he wanted help he was to fire a rocket and she would come as quickly as she could.

The First Night's Vigil The life-boat came alongside close enough for Thomas to jump and then went back across the sands and anchored in deeper water a mile away, with the steamer well in sight. A tot of rum was issued. Then the crew settled down to keep close watch, ready at any moment to go to the rescue should the steamer break up.

At 1.30 on the Saturday morning anchor was raised and the life-boat went within hailing distance. It was too rough to go alongside, and for the next five hours she moved round near the steamer. The tide had risen but the steamer had not floated off, and at seven o'clock, when the tide was falling again, the coxswain spoke to her captain on the loud hailer, and asked if he and his crew would come ashore. He still refused, and the coxswain told him that the life-boat must return to her Station to re-fuel, but would come back to him later and again stand by.

The life-boat reached Walmer just before eight o'clock; the crew went ashore to get into dry clothes and to have some breakfast; the helpers, many of whom had stood by all night, re-fuelled the boat; and soon after half-past eight she set off for the sands again. At 9.30 she was in sight of the steamer. She anchored about half a mile away and once more waited until the tide began to flow. A dense fog came up and at times she could not see the steamer. So the morning passed, and early in the afternoon she weighed anchor and, when the tide had risen enough, went alongside. The captain called out that the ship was all right and that he and his crew would remain on board. It was then two o'clock and tugs had arrived, but the water was too shallow for them to get near the steamer and too rough for the life-boat to take wires to them* from her.

The Second Night: Bitter Cold By this time the fog had cleared, but the wind was rising, and at high water the seas were going clean over the steamer. The coxswain told the captain clearly that if he did not come out of the steamer then the life-boat could do nothing to help him until the following morning. Again he refused, and the life-boat continued to move about on her vigil until six at night, when once more she anchored about a mile away. It was now blowing a gale; heavy seas were running; the crew were very cold. So the second night passed.

At daybreak on Sunday the life-boat weighed anchor and went across the mile of sands through a very confused sea. Once more the coxswain called upon the captain to let the life-boat take him and his crew ashore. Again he refused, and the coxswain told him that the life-boat could not come within reach of him until the afternoon, when the tide was rising again. She would go ashore. If the captain wanted her he was to call the North Foreland Kadio Station. The tide was now falling and the coxswain took the life-boat back through that turbulent, rapidly-shallowing water over the sands, praying that she would not meet any submerged wreckage or the flukes of partly sunken anchors.

She reached Walmer safely just before nine o'clock that morning, the Sunday.

She was hauled up, put on the turntable and made ready to launch again.

Fresh supplies of rum, biscuits and chocolate were put on board in preparation for a third night's vigil, and the crew went home to get dry clothes, food and rest. They would have to set out again in the middle of the afternoon so as to reach the steamer before the light failed.

The Captain Still Refuses At ten minutes to three the life-boat was launched again and reached the steamer at a quarter past four. This time the coxswain decided to go on board her himself and advise the captain to abandon her. There he was met by the captain's Alsatian dog.

which, he said, gave him a bigger fright the captain what the Goodwins did to ships. He showed him wrecks which could be seen along the sands. He told him that if he did not come now it might be impossible to rescue him later.

Still the captain refused, and the coxcoxswain said: "All right, then we shall have to go in to anchor and stand by." than the sight of the steamer's hatches when the life-boat rode on the' sea above the deck on the Friday afternoon.

But the dog received him as a friend and, right up to the end of the service, when he was handed over to the Deal police, "behaved," the coxswain said, "like a perfect gentleman." The coxswain told the captain of the plight he was in and advised him to come ashore.

This time he hesitated and sent for his 'engineer. The engineer said the ship was still sound. He saw no reason why she should be abandoned. Once more the coxswain explained. He told Gale Warning The life-boat moved away to anchor, as before, for the third night of watching, but as she did so she received from Ramsgate a wireless message sent out by Lloyd's Shipping Agents at Dover to the captain of the steamer. The message said that a gale from the southsouth- west was imminent. It would be blowing with gusts of fifty miles an hour. The coxswain turned the lifeboat round at once, went back to the steamer and gave the captain this message through the loud hailer, At once he decided to leave his ship, and the life-boat went alongside. The seas were heavy; the life-boat was surging about; one by one the twenty-eight Italians, two German stowaways and the Alsatian dog jumped into her. The crew were ready to grab them as they fell. All went well. From the beginning to end the Italian crew behaved For the 'crew it was two days and two nights of almost continual exposure and strain.

For this fine service the Institution has made the following awards: To COXSWAIN FREDERICK UPTON, the silver medal for gallantry, a copy coolly, and by twenty minutes past five the rescue was complete and the lifeboat wirelessed that she was coming ashore. She arrived at a quarter past six. It was then fifty-one hours since she had first set out. Of those fiftyone hours the life-boat had been fortyfive at sea, in weather which all the time was getting worse, in heavy confused seas on the sands, in bitter cold.

The engines ran faultlessly all the time.

The wireless too worked without fault.

Of the vote of the medal inscribed on vellum and the ordinary scale reward of £12 15s.; To C. P. CAVELL, the motor mechanic, the bronze medal for gallantry, with a copy of the vote of the medal inscribed on vellum and, in addition to his fulltime pay, a special reward of £10; To each of the nine members of the crew the Institution's thanks inscribed on vellum and the ordinary scale reward of £12 15*. Total rewards, £191 4s. 6d..