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The Harvest of Courage
A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON DEEPS—August 1895
The following is an extract from a letter which appeared in the Daily Chronicle of 30th Aug. 1895 from the Sec. of the Hunstanton Branch of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution.
“Sir,—May I call the attention of your readers to the disaster which befell the “Princess,” one of our pleasure-boats, through a whirlwind squall off Skegness at the beginning of this week, an account of which they will have seen in your columns?
“In this accident five lives were lost, and it was only through the splendid heroism of the skipper, A. Riches, that the remainder, numbering eleven, were saved.
“Immediately upon the boat foundering, when all were thrown into the water, he, with rare presence of mind, helped a boy into the small boat attached to the yawl, and gave him his open knife to cut the line connecting it, and swimming in a rough sea he saved in all by his own individual exertions nine of the party, of whom not one was able to swim. He had at one time no less than five persons clinging to him at once, all of whom he ultimately rescued.”
Has courage scattered a golden seed,
Her harvests there are the hearts of men
That are swift to succour in time of need.
The waves had written their fiercest name,
The mills were whirling up on the land
And the sea-mews over the cornfields came.
And the plovers flashed, and the rooks flew low,
Mad and merrily came the crowd,
For the Sea-god's breath and the Wind-god's blow.
The white wave-horses following free,
Let the child mound castles and gather the shell,
But the men will away to the wondrous sea.
The thunder-bastions piled o'erhead;
But the “Princess” Skipper he nothing spoke,
Blow fair or foul he must needs eat bread.
Swift with the sail, and strong with the oar;
His boat is filled, with a “heave and away,”
He has set his prow for the Lincoln shore.
The boat like a cockle-shell dances after,
They are bound for a frolic, that shall not fail,
Till the dreadful drench of the sea stop laughter.
Cry “Well; farewell!” to their friends on land,
For five of the crew shall return no more,
Till they lie dumb drift on the silent sand.
And the Skipper's face is a face of pain,
For, threshing the breakers flat with its flail,
There bursts with a roar the hurricane.
Man, he may strive, but the winds decree,
And ere ever a single voice has cried
There are sixteen sinking down thro' the sea.
The sudden strength of an angel's mind,
With a heart of hope no hurricanes tame,
Tho' he sink, tho' he swim, he will succour his kind.
He rose thro' the water, knife in hand,
Caught the “dingy” there by the head,
Grasped the “painter” and severed the strand.
Swam to the midst of the drowning throng,
Fought the wild fear that would clutch at his throat,
Calmed men and cheered them and oared them along.
Hero of heroes, wherever they be,
The love of God in a man's heart shrined!
The Hope of Life in a hungry sea.
The lives of eleven were kept that day,
Men call him “Riches;” with hearts as brave,
Our Island treasure shall never decay.
The Huns'ton cliffs they are burnished gold,
The Norfolk fields are ablaze with corn,
The red wheat gleams on the Lincoln wold,
Where Courage has scattered her golden seed;
And the Harvest-joy of the Norfolk men
Is praise for the “Princess” Skipper's deed.
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