A gale had been blowing all day and had already flooded several houses and a shop in Lynmouth, and it was clear that the boat could not be launched at Lynmouth. Not to be beaten, the coxswain proposed to take the boat by road to Porlock's sheltered harbour, and launch it from there.
This meant using whatever horses and men could be obtained to haul the boat and its carriage (which together weighed about 10 tons) the distance of 13 miles, including climbing up the 1 in 4½ Countisbury Hill, reaching a height of 1,423 feet above sea level, and later taking it down the 1 in 4 Porlock Hill.
20 horses were brought from the local coach proprietor, and six men were sent ahead with shovels and pickaxes to widen the road. The combined efforts of the horses and 100 local men eventually brought the boat to the top of Countisbury Hill, where a wheel came off the carriage and had to be put back on.
Most of the helpers gave up at this point, leaving only 20 to help the crew for the rest of the journey. At one stage the road was too narrow for the carriage and could not be widened, so the boat was dragged on skids while the carriage was taken off-road over the moor to get round the obstacle.
Porlock Hill was especially dangerous, but with the horses, and all the men using ropes, to hold the carriage back they managed to get down safely, only to meet another obstacle. Here a garden wall blocked the road. The old lady who owned the property was not pleased to be woken in the early hours by the noise of her wall being demolished, but when she discovered the cause agreed to a corner of her cottage being removed as well to let the carriage through.
The next problem was finding the road to the coast was impassable as a result of a sea wall having been washed away. During the diversion onto a higher road they had to fell a large tree, but they eventually reached Porlock Weir at 6:30a.m.
The crew were, of course, soaked, hungry and exhausted, but immediately launched the boat. It took an hour to reach the ship, which had drifted dangerously close to Hurlstone Point. It was the Forrest Hall, a 1,900 ton ship with a crew of 13 men and 5 apprentices, on its way from Bristol to Liverpool. The ship had been under tow down the Bristol Channel because of the headwind when the cable snapped and the rudder was washed away.
Since the ship was safe as long as the anchors held, the lifeboat stood by until daybreak, when the original tug appeared. The lifeboat was used to get a line from ship to ship, and some of the lifeboat crew even went aboard the ship to raise the anchors because the ship's crew were too exhausted to do it.
A second tug was needed to avoid drifting into Nash Sands, but eventually the ship was towed safely to Barry, accompanied by the lifeboat in case the cable snapped again. Darkness had fallen by the time they docked at Barry.
The crew of the lifeboat were:
Four of the horses used died as a result of their labours on the journey.
Please see a fuller account given by John Travis in his book "An Illustrated History of Lynton and Lynmouth" (ISBN 1 85983 023 4), to whom I am indebted.
The men of Lynton and Lynmouth re-enacted the land journey, in similar weather conditions but in daylight and on today's far better roads, to celebrate the one hundredth aniversary of the event on 12th January 1999. In the re-enactment, Edward Pedder's grandson John Pedder played the part of his ancestor in delivering the telegram, and my son-in-law Barry Coleman was among the team who hauled the boat this time.
Kindly written and supplied by E.J. (Jim) Fisher, 24th May 1999
On the 12th of January ’99, a horrible gale blew and our lifeboat went to Porlock to save a helpless crew. Never had a storm so cruel swept our village by the sea for the waves roll in like thunder and the hills shook violently Brave men crept to their firesides and barred their doors that night children drew close together and women trembled with fright For hours the storm was raging no sound of life was heard it hushed all human voices with a silence still and weird But hark from out of the darkness a signal rocket fired A call for the Lynmouth lifeboat the lifeboat men required And barred doors were unbolted and timid hearts grew brave A ship in distress they murmur to save from a watery grave And soon the deserted village was thronged with hurrying feet and willing hands pressed forward the lifeboat down the street To the waters edge they brought her manned by her faithful crew But the waves rolled in like thunder and the wind more violently For and hour or more they battled with each high and awful wave oh! can they never launch her and the sinking vessel save? Stout hands grew sick and fearful and hands were rung in pain As the men were driven backwoods they tried and tried in vain Then a voice was heard, and strangely the crew strained ears to hear. Carry the boat up yonder, she’ll launch from there ne’er fear. Up yonder? A thousand feet above? And then 10 miles or more, before we get her to the sea to launch her from the shore. Nay; Nay; our lifeboat crew are brave and Englishmen are strong. But they cannot risk that journey, so perilous and long. Then through the crowd all hurriedly, a women pressed her way, And when the crew saw her white face, they knew what she would say. Oh lads, we fair would keep you, we need our husbands sore but on that wreck out yonder they surely need you more. On and save the fathers, that perish but for you, And mothers may be on that ship, And little children too. Can you leave them to perish, and seek your homes again. Must it be said tomorrow our crew; was called in vain? No never, never cried the crew we’ll go, cost what it may. And ‘ere another hour was passed and the boat was on her way That strange and awful journey when fifteen horses drew The village lifeboat up that hill manned by her faithful crew Can never be forgotten for old and young were there And each man took a lantern and all the work did share On and on and upwards and then the bleak, bleak moor Is reached without a murmur with footsteps firm and sure. No thought of cold and hunger could stay those men that night Only a lamp rekindled or a loose wrap drawn up tight And then a moments halting for as they climbed before They now descend for three long miles before they reach the shore The horses are growing weary Ah! Can they take the bend Where the hill is steep and narrow and safely reach the end. Words cannot tell the anguish ‘tis better veiled from sight What men and horses suffered during that awful night Only this, hour of hardship and then the sea at last The lifeboat launched in safety peril and danger passed What of the wreck the drowning? They saved them everyone They saved the children’s father they saved the mothers son. Me thinks the heart eternal throbbed with compassion then And bestowed a benediction on our brave lifeboat men. 30 September 1938
Kindly supplied by Robert E. Webb. He copied this one holiday in Lynmouth.
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