 | Ballads of Brave Deeds |  |
Tried in the Fire
THE STEWARDESS OF THE IONA
Early in the morning of Monday, 16th September 1895, when the passenger steam-ship “Iona,” Captain G. Thomson, was on her voyage from Leith to London and was just off Clackton on Sea, a fire broke out on board, it is believed in the lamp room, which swiftly communicated itself to the ladies' cabin.
Edith Mary Ledingham, a native of Gateshead, who had been a lover of the sea from her girlhood, had joined the ship as stewardess in June, and was making one of her first few voyages to London. She had won all hearts, we are told, by her kindness and capability.
She was awaked from sleep, and after rousing the ladies in her cabin and warning them to escape at once to a place of safety she was seen to run up on deck. Then remembering that a little child—Lily Mowall Stewart, who had been put in her charge—was still in the cabin, she was heard to say, “Oh! how terrible!” and without a moment's hesitation she rushed back into the very jaws of a fiery doom to rescue the child. When the fire was got under and the cabin was sufficiently cooled to allow of exploration, the sailors found seven bodies on the floor, reduced to ashes. One of them, though charred beyond recognition at first sight, was the body of the brave stewardess, still holding the little child by the hand. Her mother writes me as follows:—
“She and her brothers, who are both of them stewards, have always had a great liking for the sea, since I brought them up to London from Newcastle by steamer nine years ago.
“My daughter's character was of the noblest. Always ready to run in a case of emergency. Twice to my knowledge she ran for a doctor in the middle of the night, half clad. And when her father was dying, it was she I telegraphed for to come and help me. I may well say I have lost my right-hand supporter in the home. She had been a great reader, and was very much touched by the history of Grace Darling, her prize from school.”
Just heaps of ash on the burning floor;
They were caught by the flames as they fled for the door,
The fire has left of them nothing human;
So shrivelled and charred you may scarce descry
Which was the little child—which the woman.
With blood-red tongue and with golden hair,
Though it maimed the bodies that once were fair,
Has left us a sign we may understand;
See here are the bones that are safe from its rage,
They are locked together, are hand in hand.
As we cleared Leith Harbour for London town,
The sun of the Sabbath went restfully down,
And the stars looked out of a quiet heaven
On seas as silent and silver calm
As ever to mariner's feet were given.
And our engines humming a drowsy tone;
The sleepers below into dreamland gone,
With their “hails” and their “farewells” mingling close,
When, out of a room where the deck-lamps be,
Flame broke, and the cry “Ship's afire!” arose.
“Rouse ye and run ye! God help us, and save!”
There was fear in her heart, but her words were brave,
She dashed through the smoke, waked the women from sleeping,
Heedless of hurricane breath of flame,
And called, “Where's the child that was left in my keeping?”
The heroine sprang. How the forkéd tongues
Of the fierce flame-serpents leapt and stung,
Struck at her bosom and blinded her eye!
But One went with her whose word to men
Is, “Life for the least, though the strongest die.”
Angel of help, she has turned for the door—
This eloquent heap of ash on the floor
Is seal of her will and is sign of her doom,
But her feet so swift for the purpose planned
Are set, God knows, in a larger room.
Her last last voyage of earthly care,
She has touched the haven of hearts that dare;
And, over the sea that is mingled with fire,
The harpers bring her the palm and the crown
For life through death and for love's desire.
Whose blood is salt with the Northern sea!
From the savour of Death, is a salt of flame,
Salt of self-sacrifice, salt divine,
That is sprinkled on all, as we name her name.
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