A CENTURY AGO lifeboat crews were nearly all fishermen who spent most of their time working at sea and were well used to long periods of exposure in harsh conditions. Their lifeboats, although the best of their day, were simple open boats with no power but oars and sails and offering virtually no protection to the crews. Remarkable feats were achieved in these lifeboats and during January 1881 the determination and stamina of a number of lifeboat crews was tested most severely.

For the first 20 days of 1881 storms and blinding blizzards lashed England and Scotland and, up and down the east coast, brigs, smacks, schooners, barques and fishing vessels were driven ashore, dismasted and sunk. During those 20 days, 148 lives were saved in 25 successful services and seven lifeboatmen were lost.

Capsize The RNLI had suffered its worst disaster to date in October, 1880 when Wells lifeboat capsized with the loss of 11 of her crew of 13. The lifeboat was a self-righter but righting was delayed by the anchor fouling and the foremast hitting the sea bed.

Harwich lifeboat was also a selfrighter and on January 18, 1881, she put out in a strong gale and capsized half a mile from shore. All the crew regained the lifeboat but one man later died from cold and exhaustion. On the same morning Great Yarmouth lifeboat launched into the gale and heavy breaking seas to take four men off a French ketch which had run aground on the north beach. A few hours later a schooner was sighted, stranded on the south beach. Once again the lifeboat put out and took off the only man on board. She was then hauled towards the land by a rocket line worked by the people on the shore, but was capsized by a heavy sea. Six lifeboatmen and the survivor were lost.

Such was the faith of the Harwich crew in their lifeboat that three days after the capsize they performed an outstanding rescue, taking seven Dutch seamen from their wrecked steamer.

The men had been lashed to the rigging for four nights and three days in freezing conditions and to reach them the lifeboatmen were out for 16 hours, rowing continuously for eight hours.

Overland The blizzards caused a different problem at Whitby on January 19.A telegram was received stating that a ship had sunk in Robin Hood's Bay about six miles to the south but with the tremendous sea running, a northeasterly gale and the intense snow and hail, there was no chance of rowing the lifeboat to her aid. The only alternative was to take the boat the six miles overland, up a road which climbed steeply 500 feet above sea level, ran along the moor and then dropped sharply back into the bay.

The snow had drifted to seven feet deep in places and Captain Gibson, the honorary secretary, gathered a team of 60 men to cut through the snowdrifts.

As they worked, more joined them and eventually the lifeboat was being pulled by 18 horses with the way being cleared by some 200 men. A team from Robin Hood's Bay worked up the hill to meet the people of Whitby and, after a dangerous descent down the steep and narrow road into the bay, the lifeboat was launched little more than two hours after she had left her station.

The lifeboat crew had been working with everyone else to clear the snow but, although they were tired, they set out straight away, struggling for an hour to row to the casualty. They were nearly swamped several times and as they approached the ship's boat a huge wave struck the lifeboat and snapped the steer oar and six other oars. They had to put back to the shore and Coxswain Henry Freeman called for volunteers to replace the exhausted men while the second coxswain found new oars. The lifeboat set out again with a double crew of 18 men. This time they were successful and rescued the six shipwrecked sailors.

Further south, Ramsgate lifeboat had the advantage that she could be towed by a steam tug to the area of a casualty.

On the night of the Whitby rescue shewas out helping a collier which was dismasted. It was a rescue two weeks earlier, however, on January 5 and 6, which took the Ramsgate lifeboat Bradford and her coxswain, Charles Fish, into a particularly honoured place in lifeboat history.

Indian Chief The 1,238-ton ship Indian Chief had set out from Middlesborough on Sunday January 2 bound for Japan with a general cargo. On board were 28 seamen and a north country pilot. By 0230 on Wednesday she was in sight of Kentish Knock Light, about half way across the mouth of the Thames Estuary: an area later described by her mate as 'just a network of shoals'. Although heavy gales had been blowing from the north and east for two days, they had moderated and all appeared well. Then the wind shifted to the east, freshening quickly, and during a rain squall Indian Chief started drifting towards Long Sand. Her crew tried to put her about but before her sails could fill again she had struck the ground broadside on. A great flare was kindled and distress rockets fired; signals which were answered by both the Sunk and Knock Lightships.

'But all the while,' in the words of the mate, 'the wind was gradually sweeping up into a gale—and oh, the cold, good Lord! the bitter cold of that wind!' It was not until noon that the news reached the shore and lifeboats from Aldeburgh, Clacton and Harwich to the north of the Thames Estuary and Ramsgate to the south all set out. Long Sand is about 30 miles from Ramsgate and the tug Vulcan with the lifeboat Bradford in tow took almost five hours to reach the area. The seas were so rough that Coxswain Fish later said that Vulcan was thrown up like a ball, and her starboard paddle came clear of the water high enough for a coach to pass underneath. The tow was head to wind and within minutes the lifeboatmen were soaked and any shelter they tried to rig was immediately blown away. Coxswain Fish described the wind as the coldest he had known, more like a flaying machine than a natural gale of wind, giving a feeling in the face like being gnawed by a dog; he could only wonder that it did not freeze the tears it forced from his eyes. Themen in the tug were little better off as their wheelhouse provided only a meagre shelter.

By 1700, night was closing in and Kentish Knock Lightship was sighted.

The men gave a bearing for the wreck and then signals from Sunk Lightship were seen, but the wreck could not be found in the darkness. Although they were already cold, soaked and tired, the lifeboatmen and the crew of the tug resolved to stay by Long Sand until dawn.

For the next 14 hours the lifeboatmen sought what little comfort they could find as the waves swept over their open boat in the howling gale. As the lifeboat pitched and tossed, ten men would huddle together for warmth, while two, secured by lifelines, acted as lookouts. The night was a test of physical stamina as the crew, heaped on top of each other, gradually felt the pain of the cold creeping into their limbs. Their provisions, chocolate and biscuits, had been reduced to pulp and the only drink was a nip of rum.

As dawn rose, one of the crew spotted the wreck and the lifeboat immediately cast off her tow rope and hoisted her sails. The seas around Long Sand were a boiling fury and had carried away all but the foremast of Indian Chief. The master and 16 of his crew had perished during the night and their bodies were tangled in the wreckage of spars, rigging and torn canvas. With great difficulty the lifeboat came in close to the wreck and as seas sweptright over her the survivors were taken aboard, one by one. The lifeboat then set out to rejoin the tug through such fearful seas that some of the rescued men thought that perhaps they had been safer lashed to the rigging of the wreck.

Eventually, Vulcan and Bradford entered Ramsgate Harbour, 26 hours after setting out, to be met by a crowd who could hardly believe the physical suffering and anguish on the survivors' faces. Stirring accounts of the rescue appearing in The Daily Telegraph were an inspiration to the whole nation, and Coxswain Charles Fish's statement after the rescue surely reflects a sentiment which will always be with lifeboat crews: 7 know in my heart, and say it without fear, that from the hour of leaving Ramsgate Harbour to the moment when we sighted the wreck's mast, there was only one thought in all of us, and that was that the Almighty would give us the strength and direct us how to save the lives of the poor fellows to whose assistance we have been sent.' The gold medal of the Institution was awarded to Coxswain Charles Fish, while the silver medal was awarded to each of his crew as well as to the master, engineer and crew members of the tug Vulcan..