Who would be a fisherman – part 2
After the last story about Blyth’s unlucky day, I thought you’d like another story about life and death off our coast. About how 28 men lost their lives at sea because Blyth’s first lifeboat was not properly built. We’ve all heard stories about cowboy builders not building houses as they should, here’s what happens when you do it at sea.
Makes the life of a lightship man seem even more attractive.
On the morning of April 7th, 1810, the morning being fine and the sea smoother than it had been for several days, a number of Cullercoats fishermen launched their boats and went off to their great lines. Whilst employed at their fishing a sudden storm broke over them, and they had to hasten towards the shore to find shelter. They were seen off Hartley in great peril; the Blyth life-boat was sent for. The life-boat was manned by a crew of seventeen men, and she was gallantly rowed through the breakers, and reached the cobles where she took eleven men out of the cobles.
Having thus far succeeded the question arose among the crew was where they were to land. The majority were for landing where they launched from; others wished to run down to Blyth, which they could have easily and safely done in less than an hour; unhappily the former opinion prevailed, and they attempted to land on the beach.
On coming among the breakers a high and ridgy wave broke into the boat, severely injuring the steersman and stoving the boat almost to pieces; still she floated. Another heavy wave followed when she was nearing the shore, and being under no command she struck the ground, splitting nearly in two; the cork floated and the fragments were entirely dispersed.
In an instant twenty-eight men were struggling in the surf, in the sight, and within a few yards, of fully 2,000 people, many of whom saw a father, a husband, or a brother perishing before their eyes, without being able to render them the smallest aid. Thomas Brown, the son of a Hartley pilot, was so nearly saved that he obtained footing just opposite where his father was standing; they each recognised the other, and the father, crying, “O my son, Tom, come to me!” hastened to help him; when they had nearly met the back-sweep of a wave carried the young man to sea again, where he was overpowered, and ultimately perished.
In a few moments the death-struggle was over, only two men escaped with life, twenty-six having met a watery grave.
Henry Short, the commander of the boat, was the youngest of five brothers, at that time a pilot at Blyth. He had swam to the beach, but being too much exhausted to rise he expired before he was discovered. Duncan Stewart, an excellent swimmer, also reached the beach, but being driven with great violence against a rock he died. He managed to disencumber himself of his pea jacket, and after almost superhuman efforts he reached a place where he obtained footing; there he remained till a boat was sent to his rescue from the upper part of the harbour.
This disaster was generally attributed to the improper materials of which the life-boat was built. The subscribers had contracted with the builders to make her of wainscot, with copper bolts, but after she had gone to pieces it was discovered that she had been built of elm with iron fastenings. She was a large boat, and much more fragile in appearance than the life-boat built since. It cannot be doubted that if she had been as stoutly built as those we have now she would not have had her timbers overstrained and her joints loosened by the first sea that broke into her, nor have crumbled to pieces the first time she came to the ground.
From John Wallace, The History of Blyth (1869)
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