The Hero of the Humber; Or, The History of the Late Mr. John Ellerthorpe

There is another department of the art now under consideration, in which our friend greatly excelled, namely, that of diving. There are few divers who do not feel a kind of exultation in their power over the element, and in their ability to move under the surface of the water with ease and pleasure. Half a century ago, diving was a difficult and dangerous art, demanding great skill and endurance; but modern science has given the professional diver an almost perfect accoutrement, by means of which he can literally walk down to the bottom of the sea, and telegraph for as much air as he requires. Hence, it has been utterly deprived of all dramatic element. Properly managed, the thing is as easy as going up in a balloon, or going down a coal pit; but our friend excelled in 'real naked diving.'

His first attempt at fetching anything from under water took place when he was about sixteen years of age. The vessel in which he then sailed was being painted at 'Clark's Bit,' Castleford, when John accidentally let his brush fall overboard, and it sank to the bottom. The Captain was furious for about an hour, when, having handed the lad another brush, he went into the town. John could not brook the hour's grumbling to which he had been subjected, and hence, scarcely had the Master left the vessel, when he threw off his clothes and dived to the bottom of the 'Bit,' a depth of twenty-six feet, and brought up the brush. He hastily put on his clothes, and when the Master returned, John held up the brush, and with that comical twinkle of the eye and humorous expression of the countenance, so common with sailors, said, 'Here's your brush. Sir.' 'What brush?' asked the Master. 'The brush I lost overboard an hour ago,' said John. 'That's a lie.' replied the Master, 'how could you get it?' 'I dived to the bottom and brought it up,' was the lad's response. Now Clark's Bit, in those days, was supposed to be of fabulous depth; indeed, the Master, using a common expression, said, 'You can't have fetched it up from the bottom, for there is no bottom to Clark's Bit.' John was unabashed by this charge of falsehood, and with honesty beaming in every feature of his face, he answered with untrembling tongue, as he handed the brush to the Master, 'Throw it in again. Sir, and I'll fetch it up.' The Master refused to test the lad's honesty at the risk of losing his brush. However, several witnesses came forward and declared they had seen him plunge into the water and bring up the brush. From that time John was famous in the neighbourhood, as a great diver.

'At the time of this occurrence,' he writes, 'a number of young gentlemen were being taught, at a school at Castleford, by the Rev. Mr. Barnes. They had plenty of money, and I had little enough, and they would often, for the sake of seeing me dive to the bottom of the "Bit," throw in a shilling, and sometimes half-a-crown. To gratify them, and for the sake of money, I often dived to the bottom, and never, that I remember, without bringing up the money. I got at last that I would not go down for less than a shilling, and I have sometimes got as much as five shillings a day. I have dived to the bottom of Clark's Bit hundreds of times, and there are numbers of people at Castleford, at the present day (1868), who recollect these youthful exploits, which took place upwards of forty years ago. And I may add that, I have often had the impression that but for that paint-brush I should never have been the diver I afterwards became. God overruled these foolish acts, for good, and what I did for mere pleasure and gain, prepared me to rescue property and human life in after years.'

We will mention one instance of his prowess in saving property, which is well worthy of being recorded. 'The barque "Mulgrave Castle," says the writer of the article in the Shipwrecked Mariners' Magazine, 'laden with timber from the Baltic, was waterlogged in the Humber; there was in the cabin of the vessel a small box containing money and papers which the captain was anxious, if possible, to secure. Ellerthorpe dived into the cabin, groped his way round it, and after two or three attempts succeeded in bringing up the box and its contents.' This was in the year 1835. The writer of this sketch received the fact from an eye witness.

CHAPTER VI.

For acts of pure, unselfish daring, in rescuing human life, the annals of our friend need not shun comparison with those of any other man within Her Majesty's dominion. It appears that, amid his wicked and wayward career, he had a 'deep and unaccountable impression' that one part of his mission into the world was to save human life. Beyond dispute, one of the best swimmers of his time, he was never, after his boyhood, satisfied with swimming as a mere art. It was naught to him if it did not help to make his fellow men better, safer, and braver. It will be seen that the first person he rescued from drowning was his own father, and that event ever afterwards nerved him to do his best to save his fellow-creatures. Indeed the desire to rescue the drowning burnt in his soul with all the ardour of an absorbing passion. It was the spring of his ready thoughts; it controlled his feelings and guided his actions; it prompted him to face the greatest difficulties without the least fear, and when in the midst of the most threatening dangers, it enabled him to summon up a calmness and resolution that never failed.

The writer in The Shipwrecked Mariners' Magazine says, 'Ellerthorpe's exploits in saving life date from the year 1820, and from that time to the present it may be safely asserted that he has never hesitated to risk his own life to save that of a fellow-creature. The danger incurred in jumping overboard to rescue a drowning person is very great. Many expert swimmers shrink from it. Ellerthorpe has encountered this risk under almost every variety of circumstance. He has followed the drowning, unseen in the darkness of the night, in the depth of winter, under rafts of timber, under vessels at anchor or in docks, from great heights, and often to the bottom in great depths of water, and what is very remarkable, never in vain. Fortuna fortes favet (fortune favours the brave), is an adage true in his case. He never risked his life to save another without success.'

Even to an experienced swimmer and diver, like our friend, the task of saving a drowning person is not easy, and the grip and grapple of some of those whom he rescued, had well nigh proved a fatal embrace, and it was only by the utmost coolness, skill, bravery, and self-control that he escaped.

But he shall tell his own simple, noble tale. 'During the last forty-eight years I have done all that lay in my power to rescue my fellow-creatures, when in drowning circumstances. By night and by day, in darkness or in light, in winter or in summer, I was always ready to obey the summons when the cry, "a man overboard," fell on my ears. And I have had to rescue the drowning in widely different ways. Sometimes I seized them tightly by the right arm, and then, hold them at arm's length, soon reached the land. In some instances they seized me by my shoulder or arm, when, leaving hold of them, and, throwing both my hands into the water, I managed to reach the shore. In other instances I found them so exhausted that they were incapable of taking hold of me, and in these cases, I had to carry them as a mother would carry her child. And in two or three instances, I thought they were dead, and, with feelings easier imagined than expressed, I bore them up in my arms; when suddenly, and with great strength, they sprang upon my head, and oftener than once, under these circumstances, I was on the point of being drowned. Some of those whom I saved were much heavier and stronger than myself, and when they got hold of me I found it difficult, and sometimes impossible, to shake them off. When I rescued Robert Brown, the night was pitchy dark, and for some time I could not see him; and when I got to him he clutched me in such a manner as to prevent my swimming. When I seized the young Woodman, I thought he was dead, but, after a few moments, he made a great spring at me, and clutched hold of my head in such a way as to prevent me swimming for some seconds. When pinioned closely, I generally adopted this plan, which proved to be the best under the circumstances:—I threw myself on my back and pushed the drowning person on before me, and in this way I managed to keep them up for a time, and with comparative ease to myself. I often said to persons in a drowning state, "Now, hold fast by me, and don't exert yourself, and I'll make you all right." It was not often I could persuade them to act thus, but whenever they could, they got upon me; for "a drowning person will catch at a straw." I believe I have fetched out of the water not fewer than fifty drowning persons, and, with scarce an exception, they tried to seize me, and thus rendered their deliverance a matter of great difficulty. In fact, it would be comparatively easy to fetch a drowning man out of water if he would just take hold of one's arm, and thus keep himself from sinking, and let one tow him ashore.

'In many instances, as will be seen, I had to run a great distance, and when almost out of breath, I have plunged into the water, and in that state had to struggle with those on the point of drowning. I remember that, on one occasion, when staying at a public house in America, the landlord came running into the room, and cried out, "a man overboard." I ran 200 yards, and on reaching the spot I was out of breath, when in I plunged, but soon found I could not stay under the water for more than a few seconds. The water was clear and fresh, with long grass at the bottom; but alas! I could not find the young man, and he was drowned. I arrived too late to be of any service, for it was found afterwards that he had pulled himself on the bottom of the river with the long grass to a distance of fifty yards from the spot where he fell in.

'My first object, after I had plunged into the water, was to catch a sight of the drowning person, and if I could once do that, I always felt confident I should soon have him in my grasp. It is a most difficult thing to search for a drowning person, especially in muddy water. I had to make this attempt again and again, and sometimes the fear has crept over me that my exertions would be in vain, when I made the most prodigious and exhausting efforts. And that I have never failed, in a single instance, is to me a source of great gratitude to God, "in whose hand my breath is, and whose are all my ways."'

'I remember once I had my leg crushed between our packet and the pier, and for some days after I could not walk without the aid of crutches. One day I got down to the South End, but soon felt tired, and returned home; but after a short rest, I again went to the pier, when I was told that, during my short absence, a cabman, named Sharpe, had fallen into the harbour and was drowned. I was filled with indescribable distress at the news, and said, "If I had been here I would have saved him, despite my broken leg. At least I would have tried." A man, who professed to be a great swimmer, was present, and he answered, "O, I can swim as well as you can," when my muscles began to quiver, and my blood to throb, and I replied, in no very good temper, I assure you. "I dispute that, unless you mean now that I have my broken leg. Why did'nt you try to save him?" I always felt that I would much rather have the satisfaction of having tried to save a drowning person and fail, than have the miserable satisfaction of shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders and saying, "Oh, I knew it would be of no use trying to save him; it was foolish to try." "I could have done it," never saved a drowning man. "I will try," has enabled me, under God, to save fifty of my fellow creatures.

'I do not wish to intimate that every man who sees a fellow creature drowning, ought to plunge into the water to rescue that person. Indeed, I have seen two or three instances where men, who could not swim themselves, have jumped into the water to save the drowning, and in every instance the consequences have nearly been fatal. Before a person makes such an attempt, he should have tested his own ability to swim. If he can float himself and believes he can save the drowning person, he ought to make the attempt, and God will help him. This is not mere theory, but what I have felt again and again. Ever after my conversion to God, I used to pray, when plunging into the water, "Lord help me," and knowing as I did, that prayer melts the heart and moves the arm of Jehovah, I felt confident he would help me; and so he did; for I often, when in the water, felt a sweet consciousness that God was with me. He taught my hands to war with the waters, and my fingers to grasp my precious freight. When struggling with the boy Woodman, these words came forcibly into my mind, and I repeated them in the water:—

'I always felt it my duty, after rescuing a drowning person, to go to the house of God at night, and return public thanks to the Almighty. Ministers in the town, and especially the Wesleyan ministers, have often returned thanks to God from the pulpit, on the following Sabbath. On the morning following the deliverance, I generally went to see the rescued person, and sought to improve the event by impressing their mind with the uncertainty of life and with the importance of being prepared for death.

'In the following list I have given, as far as my memory and knowledge enabled me, a true and faithful account of the persons whom I have rescued from drowning. Extracts from newspapers, and letters from the parties themselves, and also from many who were eye-witnesses of their deliverance, have been freely used. There are several whom I have, at different times, saved from a watery grave, not included in this list, but as these events produced but little impression on my mind at the time of their occurrence, and as I am utterly unable to give either the names of the parties, or the time when I saved them, I can make no reliable mention of them at present, though I hope to be able to do so at some future time. I sincerely believe, however, that if I had kept a strict account of all these deliverances, instead of having to record thirty-nine cases, I should have been able to have recorded upwards of fifty. I regret now that I did not keep such a record. Every now and then I meet with persons who greet me as their deliverer. Two young men have done so within the last four months. And very pleasant to my mind it is to meet a fellow creature whom I have been the means, in the hands of a wonder-working Providence, of saving from a watery grave. But all the cases mentioned in the following chapter, except William Earnshaw and Captain Clegg, have been signed by living witnesses, and most of them were reported in the local newspapers, at the time of their occurrence. Many of these persons are still living; some of them I see almost daily, and they can speak for themselves. If I have made a mistake in spelling their names, or in relating the time when, or the circumstances under which, I saved them, I shall be glad to be corrected. And if I have offered an unkind reflection on any of my fellow creatures, or recorded a boastful sentence respecting what my fellow townsmen have been pleased to call my "deeds of daring," I hope to be forgiven by God, whose I am and whom I serve. Finally: as a large circle of my friends are anxious to have a true record of all the lives I have saved, I shall be highly pleased if any whom I have rescued, but whose names I have not recorded, will send me a few lines that may add to the interest of this little book, should a second edition be called for.'

CHAPTER VII.

First.—JOHN ELLERTHORPE.[1] (1820.)

He was my father, and I was not more than fourteen years of age when I saved him. At the time he managed the ferry boat from Hessle to Barton. It required two persons to conduct the boat across the Humber, and as it cost my father a shilling each time he employed a man to assist him across, he often took me with him instead of a man, and thus saved the shilling. One morning, he took Mr. Thompson, corn miller, to Barton, and engaged to fetch him back at night; and there was this agreement between them, that my father was to receive the fare whether Mr. T—— returned or not. He did not return that night, though we waited for him until nine o'clock. The snow was then thick on the ground, the wind was blowing strong, and the waves were beginning to rise high in the Humber, and I was sitting, half-asleep, at the corner of a comfortable hearth, before a bright fire, when my father called out, 'Come, my boy, we'll be off.' We were soon in the boat, but had not got many yards, when my father fell overboard. I remember crying out most piteously, 'Oh, my father is overboard,' when I instantly plunged into the water and soon had fast hold of him. He had sunk to the bottom, a depth of sixteen feet, for when he came up he was covered with mud. We came up close to the boat's side, and, making a tremendous spring, I got hold of the boat's gunnel, and after a few moments my father also got hold of it with both his hands. He was a heavy man, weighing about fifteen stones, and could not swim. I said to him, 'Now, father, can you keep hold while I fetch the Hull horse-boatmen?' whom we had left at the water-side house, when he replied, 'Yes, but be very sharp, my lad.' I then swam to the house, and called out, 'My father is overboard;' and when I returned with the men, I was glad to hear him shout, 'I'm here.' John Thrush, captain of the horse-boat, and Luke Dixon, soon got him into the boat, while Mr. Wood, the landlord, brought him a glass of brandy, which he drank. We could not persuade him to leave the boat, so we again started for home, and as a brisk wind was blowing at the time, in about fifteen minutes, we were safe in Hessle harbour. My mother met us there, and I said, 'Mother, my father has been overboard, fetch somebody to help him out of the boat.' He was stiff and cold, but with the aid of Mr. Wright we got him ashore. Mr. W. brought him some mulled ale and a glass of rum, which I then thought very good. We then wrapped him in several thicknesses of warm clothing. I was much perished at the time, but soon felt all right. Not long before this, my mother had given me a severe flogging for bathing so often; so I looked into her face and said, 'Mother, I think you won't flog me for bathing again, will you?' to which she replied, 'Oh, my lad, it was a good job that thou was there;'[2] when my father faintly added, 'Yes, if he had not been there I should never have come to the top of the water.' And if he had he would have been drowned, for he could not swim a yard; and had he shouted, no one was near to render him assistance. But, thank God, I was there, and answered the end of a gracious Providence, and that was enough. Now, my father never liked to have this circumstance named, though I have often heard him say, 'That lad saved my life.' Afterwards, my mother never liked him to cross the Humber after dark, unless I was with him; so I often had to accompany him when I would much rather have been at a warm fireside, or asleep in bed. Witnesses—John Thrush, Luke Dixon.

Second.—WILLIAM EARNSHAW.* (1820.)

There were two brothers, Robert and William, sons of Mr. Earnshaw, of Hessle. They were about my own age, and, like myself, they were very fond of bathing. Their mother used to blame me for taking them into the water so often; but it was less my fault than theirs, for they used to fetch me from school—and I have known them give the schoolmaster a shilling to let me go with them. One day, we went to bathe in the drain, and fearing our parents might see us, we went a long way up the bank and then began to swim; at length I heard some one call out 'William Earnshaw is drowning!' I was then a hundred yards from him, but I hastened to the bank and ran as fast as I could, until I got opposite him, when I again plunged into the drain and swam to my young friend's rescue. His brother was weeping, and said, 'All is over with him,' and I thought so too. I could but just see the hair of his head, when I darted at him and gave him a great push, but he was too far gone to take hold of me, so I shoved him on and on, until his brother could reach him, when we put him on the bank and thought he was dead; but he soon began to breathe, and, after a while, came round. At that time I was in great disgrace with Mrs. Earnshaw, and afraid lest, if we told of William's narrow escape, she would never let us go together again, we vowed to keep the affair a profound secret. Soon after this the two brothers were taken ill, and poor William died, and the doctor said this illness was brought on by their too frequent bathing. They didn't bathe half so often as I did, but it was evident their constitution could not bear the water so well as mine. Mr. Earnshaw was a rich man and very liberal, and, I believe, if he had known the real nature of the case, as I have described it, so far from blaming me, he would have rewarded me for what I did for his son. I kept the promise I made to William for upwards of forty years; but as Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw and their sons are dead, and as a large circle of my friends are wishful to have a list of the lives I have saved, I think I am not doing wrong in recording William's deliverance in this history of my life.

Third.—ROBERT PINCHBECK.* (1822.)

This case was very similar to the one I have just described. Robert, who was about fifteen years old, was a companion and schoolfellow of mine, and was fond of imitating my exploits in the water. One day he told some boys that he could swim across Hessle Harbour; but, in making the attempt, he nearly lost his life. I was about forty yards ahead of him, when I heard some boys cry 'Bob Pinchbeck is drowning.' He had gone down thrice, and was quite exhausted when I got to him, and he was saved, as it were, by the skin of his teeth. I feared he might seize me, and, therefore, I did not take hold of him, but pushed him before until he reached the long grass on the harbour bank. He could not use his limbs, and I thought he was dead, but he soon revived a little. We took him to my father's house and sent for his mother and a doctor; but when they arrived, he was breathing nicely, and after a few hours, he walked home. His father, though vexed by his son's disaster, said to me, 'You must teach him to swim.' I tried hard to do so, but the water always frightened him, and he never made much out at swimming. A few years after this he died of the typhus fever, and I believe his soul went to heaven. Witnesses—John Campbell, Francis Pinchbeck.

Fourth.—HENRY IBOTSON.* (1824.)

Henry, myself, and others had been bathing in Hessle Harbour, and I had just left the water and dressed, when a cry was raised, 'Ibotson is drowning.' I sprang to him, when he seized me so tightly and closely, that we had a narrow escape from being drowned together. At length I got myself clear, and took him to the bank, amid the shouts and cheers of a great many spectators. We had great difficulty in walking home, and when we got there we had to be put to bed. Mr. Booth, gardener, of Hessle, and who was the next person I rescued, says: 'You may have forgotten, but I well remember, that a few days previous to your saving my life, you saved the life of H. Ibotson. It had well-nigh cost you your life, as he closed in upon you, and took you to the bottom.' A few days after Henry came and thanked me most sincerely for what I had done, and wished me to teach him to swim. I began at once, and he soon got that he could swim across the drain; but it was a long time before he durst venture to swim across the harbour, in which he had so nearly been drowned.... Now, I would ask, why did not some of these spectators render help in this time of need? Could nothing have been done when they saw us sink together, again and again? Within fifty yards there was a boat, with boat-hooks and staves, and could no use have been made of these, to lessen, the peril in which myself and the drowning youth were placed? I am convinced that great numbers of people are drowned through spectators not making a little effort at the time. Witnesses—George Twiddle, Robert Riplington.

Fifth.—GEORGE BOOTH. (1825.)

He was bathing in the drain at Hessle, when a large tide was being taken in, and he began to sink fast. I was at a great distance when the alarm was given, but I ran to his assistance, plunged into the water, and soon brought him safe to land. Mr. Booth's gratitude has given me the greatest satisfaction. I had not seen him for many years, and had forgotten the circumstance altogether, until I met him at the funeral of R. Pease, Esq., when he said, 'I'm glad to see you once more, Mr. Ellerthorpe. Don't you remember when you leaped into the drain forty years ago, and saved my life?' And in a note I got from him, dated July 31st, 1867, he says, 'Under the blessing of Divine Providence you were instrumental in saving my life. I was sixteen years of age, and in July, 1825, I was bathing in Hessle drain, when a very large tide was being taken in. I shall ever have cause to thank you, as the instrument in God's hands, of saving me from a watery grave.'—George Booth.

Sixth.—ROBERT CLEGG. (1825.)

He was both owner and captain of the keel 'Ann Scarborough,' the vessel from which I lost the brush at Clark's Bit. He went one dark night to Moreton, and as he did not return at the time expected, I felt very uneasy about him, and at last I went on the bank of the Trent, in search of him. When I got near Moreton-bite, I thought I heard a groan; and after a long search I found my captain, drunk, half in the water and half on the bank. The tide was half flood, and was then rapidly rising, and had it risen a foot and a half higher, he must have been drowned, as nothing could have saved him. I struggled with him for three quarters of an hour, and after great exertions, I got him fairly on the bank. We were then a mile and a half from our vessel, and did not get on board until three o'clock next morning. A doctor had to be got, and soon the captain began to recover. But the keel was delayed two days. He was afraid lest his wife should get to know the cause of this delay, and he bound me to keep the affair a profound secret. But he often said, afterwards, 'Jack saved my life.' And I am quite sure I did, as no one came near us, and there was no other chance of his being rescued. I never allowed this case to be put in the list of those whom I have saved, but having given a true statement of the case, I think I shall be pardoned for giving it a permanent record here.

Seventh.—NAME NOT KNOWN.* (1826.)

He was a coachman, but his name I never knew. He was conducting some ladies on board the 'Sir Walter Scott,' when, being drunk, he fell overboard, between the smack and the wharf, Irongate, London. There were but seven feet depth of water, and I had to leap from a height of at least sixteen feet; but I succeeded in preserving him from what seemed certain death. He was covered with mud, but was soon washed, and got on some dry clothes. After I had changed my clothes, and drank a glass of whisky, I returned to the vessel, and the ladies and gentlemen gave me a thousand thanks. The captain's name was Nisbet, and ever afterwards he would have given me almost anything; whenever I met him in London, he used to call the attention of his passengers to me, and tell them what I had done. Many a time has he sent for me on board his vessel, and given me as much drink as I would take, and he used to say to the passengers, 'See! this young man jumped over our ship's rail, when there was not more than seven feet of water, and made a rope fast to a man when there was no other way of his being saved. If I had not seen it I could not have believed that any man could have done it.' He often said, 'Whenever you want a berth come to me and I will give you one.' Witnesses—Thomas Macha, Richard Boras.

Eighth.—CHARLES HIMSWORTH.* (1828.)

At this time, Himsworth and myself belonged to the brig 'Jubilee,' of Hull. We were bosom friends, and very fond of spreeing about, and spent much of our time when ashore in dancing parties and in ballrooms. Whether at Hull or in London, if we could but find a place where there was plenty of noise and a fiddle going, that was the place for us. We have often spent many days' hard earnings in a few hours, amid such scenes. On this occasion he fell from the bows of the 'Jubilee' while a strong ebb tide was running. I jumped in after him, and we both went under a tier of vessels that were hung at the buoy, Battle Bridge, London. We came to the surface, but were soon carried under another tier of vessels, and had not the mate have come to our assistance we should have gone under a third tier, but he came at the last extremity and saved us. Charles belonged to a very respectable family living at Snaith, where I once called to see his mother, who was a widow. Her son Thomas and I became intimate friends, after I had rescued Charles, and he often said he thought as much of me as he did of his own brother. Alas! the two brothers met with untimely deaths. On the morning of January the 25th, 18—, I saw Thomas put out to sea, and in about half an hour the boat capsized, and he and five other men were drowned. Charles got married, and became master of a vessel, but alas! he and the crew were drowned. Witnesses—William Howarth, Joseph Johnson.

Ninth.—JOHN KENT.* (1828.)

He was a native of Hull, and a shipmate of mine on board the 'Westmoreland.' While in a state of intoxication he jumped overboard into the Diamond Harbour, Quebec, intending to swim to land, but sank at a distance from the vessel. A boat, manned with foreigners, was passing at the time, and Captain Knill called to them to pick up Kent. They pulled the boat towards him, but Kent, in trying to lay hold of it, missed his grasp, and the next moment he was under the boat. The captain then called to us on the stage, and said, 'Be sharp with your boat, or the man will be drowned.' We did not then know who the man was, but, with the quickness of true sailors, we were in the boat in a minute. By this time he had been carried to a great distance from the ship, as the ebb tide was running strong and fast. I was forward in the boat, and on reaching the spot where he was last seen, I plunged under the water, and in a moment I saw the man, and was surprised to find it was my friend, John Kent. I dived to a depth of twenty-five feet, and had him right above me; I soon had hold of him, and though I had to swim against the ebb tide, we were soon at the boat's side, when I said to the men, 'Never mind me, pull him into the boat,' but he had such fast hold of my arm that they had to pull us in together, and even then it was with great difficulty they broke his hold of me. He was so far gone that for a long time we did not know whether he was living or dead. At length he showed signs of life, but recovered slowly, and did not work for several days. After twenty-five years' separation, I met Kent in the streets of Hull, and he remembered, with every mark of gratitude, his wonderful deliverance. My arm was much bruised, and almost as black as a coal. I could not lift it as high as my head, and I said to the captain, 'I am afraid I shall not be able to work to-day,' when he kindly said, 'Never mind the work, surely thou's done enough for one day; take care of thy arm,' and he gave me something with which to rub it. It remained stiff for a long time, and gave me great pain. I hope to be pardoned for adding that, I was a great favourite with Captain Knill, and spent many hours with him ashore when I ought to have been aboard taking in timber. He was a kind man and a good captain, and often, after my drunken sprees, he would call me down to the cabin and there talk to me as a father would talk to his son. And these friendly counsels produced a deep impression upon my mind, and did me far more good than a 'blowing up' would have done. Through respect for him, I used to guard against drink, but alas! I was often overcome. I cherish an undying respect for the memory of my dear Captain Knill. Witnesses—Captain J. Knill, John Hickson.

Tenth.—GEORGE WILLIAMS.* (1830.)

He was a sailor on board the ship 'Rankin,' belonging, I think, to Gilmore and Rankin. He fell overboard with a timber chain round his neck, and went under a raft of timber. Some men saw him fall overboard, and called for me. I ran as fast as I could, and had to step from one piece of floating timber to another; however, I soon reached him, and brought him up with the chain round his neck. He was completely exhausted, and it was half an hour before he could walk. This man's captain sent for me to give me some money for rescuing one of his crew; but fearing he might stop the sum out of the man's wages, I refused to go; for I did not want anything for what I had done. He was offended, and when ashore told Captain Knill of my refusal. So to please my captain, I went on board the 'Rankin,' when the captain shook hands with me, and said, 'Captain Knill tells me you won't take any money for saving one of my crew. I think you ought. Had you saved my life I would have given you twenty pounds, and I think you ought to take a sovereign for what you have done. Now take it, and I will make him pay me back.' He then sent for the man, who looked wretched and seemed to think I had gone for money; and when his captain said, 'Now, what are you going to give this man for saving your life,' he replied, 'I have nothing to give him.' I didn't want the poor man's money, nor would I have taken any if he had had his pockets full. I then went forward to the crew, when the captain sent us what sailors call 'a mess pot.' I drank a great deal of rum that night, for I had to sup first with one and then with another, and each drank to my good health, and when I left they gave me a good hearty 'English cheer'—such a cheer as only 'jolly sailors' can give. Captain Knill was pleased that I had been so firm in refusing to take any money from the poor man, and it was enough for me that he was pleased. And I can declare, most solemnly, that hitherto I have not received so much as a halfpenny from any of those whom I have saved. I have got many a glass of grog, but never any money. Witnesses—Captain J. Knill, John Hickson.

Eleventh.—MARY ANN DAY.* (1833.)

She was a little girl, a native of Ulceby, in Lincolnshire, and fell from the 'Magna Charter' steamer into New Holland harbour. I sprang in after her while the paddle-wheels of the steamer were in motion, and brought her ashore, though at a great risk of losing my own life. The noise of the paddle-wheels, the screams of the girl's mother, and the confusion and shouts of the passengers, made this a very exciting scene, but it was very soon over, and the little girl, having got some dry clothes on, her mother brought her to me, and said to her, 'Now what will you give this gentleman for saving your life?' when she held out her little chin and, with a full heart, said, 'A kiss.' She gave me a kiss, and O, what a kiss it was. I felt myself well paid for my trouble; indeed, I made the remark at the time, that I was never better satisfied than when that child kissed me. 'It is said that Cicero had two courtiers on whom he wished to bestow favours. To one he gave a golden cup, and to the other a kiss. But the one that got the cup was very dissatisfied. He said, 'In the kiss I see something more than the cup, though that is valuable, but in the kiss there is affection, and it betokens better things.' And I am sure I felt a greater sense of delight, and higher satisfaction at the moment when that grateful child kissed me, than I did when my fellow townsmen, with their wonted generosity, presented me with one hundred and thirty guineas, and other mementoes of my doings; all of which I prize most highly, and which I trust will be preserved as heirlooms in my family, as long as the name of Ellerthorpe shall continue. I have been told that this girl is married and has a large family, and that she is now living between Beverly and Hull. Whether this is true I cannot say, but I know she has never paid me a visit, which I think she might have done, supposing the above statement to be correct. Should this meet her eye, it may refresh her memory, and I assure her she would meet with a hearty welcome from her former deliverer, now living at the Humber Dock-gate, Hull. Witness—Captain Oswald James Teny.

Twelfth.—HENRICH JENSON.* (1833.)

He was a foreigner, about forty years of age, and fell into the Humber Dock basin, one dark night, in the month of November. I was walking on the dock side at the time, when I heard a splash in the water, and in less time than it takes to write these few lines, I plunged in after him, and found him in a drowning state; I seized him, and with the assistance of some bystanders, soon had him safe on land. He rapidly recovered and I heard no more of him for years, when a man, a foreigner, called at my house and gave me the man's name and thanked me for saving his life. He said, 'If ever Jenson comes to Hull again, you may rest assured he will call and see you, and give you personal thanks.' I said I should be glad to see him, but that I should not take anything from him for the little service I had done him. This case was fully reported in the local papers at the time, and gave rise to a great deal of talk in the town of Hull, and its vicinity, as many well remember. John Barkworth, Esq., timber merchant, of Hull (who had known me from a boy), in company with some other gentlemen, met me one day, and said, 'Well John, you have saved another man,' and turning to those with him, he said, 'Here is a man that never stops, whatever kind of weather blows, but in he plunges and fetches the drowning person out. Look at his last case! On a dark cold night in November, he hears a splash, and in he goes and saves a man. Gentlemen, the town ought to do something handsome for him.' He gave me half-a-crown, and each of the other gentlemen gave me the same sum. As these gentlemen had plenty of money, and as none of them had any connection with the man I had saved, I accepted their gifts, and felt pleased that my services had been acknowledged in the manner I have described. Witness—James Smith.

Thirteenth.—ASHLEY TAYLOR.* (1833.)

He was seventy-five years of age, and fell from the landing place of the Grimsby packet, opposite ——street, Hull. At that time I belonged to the New Holland steamer, and having lost my tide at four o'clock, p.m., I went down to meet the packet which arrived at seven o'clock at night. Mr. R. Curtis, Mr. Lundie, and myself, were walking near where the boat was expected to land, when we heard a great splash in the water, but could not see anything. We ran to the corner of Pier-street, and there we saw something in the water, but nothing stirred. At length Mr. Lundie said, 'I believe it is a man overboard.' I then looked more closely, and sure enough it was a man. He had on one of those old fashioned great coats, with three or four capes, and which were worn by gentlemen's coachmen and boots, forty years ago; and as the capes were blowing about in all directions, it was with great difficulty I found his head. I had to turn him up and down, to the right and left, topsy-turvey, before I could get his head clear. I took him to the 'Piles,' and held him there, until a young man, who now drives a cab in Hull, came to our assistance with a boat. We took the old man to the Humber dock watch-house, and sent for Dr. Buchan, who used the Royal Humane Society's apparatus, and also gave the old man a steam or vapour bath. I stayed with him in my wet clothes till he spoke, and then I went home and got on some dry raiment. During my absence, they took this old man to Mr. Hudson's lodging house, in Humber-street. The night was cold, and the old man had had a warm bath, and to expose him to the night air under such circumstances was enough to kill him. When I arrived from New Holland, at nine o'clock next morning, a person met me and said, 'The old man is dead.' Witnesses—Richard Curtis, Richard Lundie.

Fourteenth.—RICHARD CHAPMAN.* (1834.)

Unlike the last case, Richard was a fine boy, only seven years old: he was the son of the late Mr. Chapman, pilot, and also brother of Mr. Chapman, painter, of Hull. He fell into the water from the Hull Dock Pier. At the time, I was on the deck of my packet, smoking a pipe, when I heard some one call out, 'A boy overboard.' I sprang from the deck, ran to the spot, plunged into the water, and in a few moments I had the boy safe ashore. I then hastened home, got on some dry clothes, and in less than half an hour I had started with the packet for New Holland. When I returned, Mr. Chapman met me and said, 'John, was it you who saved my boy?' 'I can't say, but I know I saved somebody's boy, is he yours?' I replied. 'Yes,' said the rejoicing father, 'I'm glad you were there, what am I in your debt?' 'Nothing, Mr. Chapman. I am as pleased as you are, and you are quite welcome to what I have done,' was my reply. He then said, 'Come in here and have something to drink,' when we went to the Minerva Hotel. Mr. Chapman pulled a handful of sovereigns from his purse and said, 'Now do take something for saving my boy,' but I again refused, though I believe to this day he would gladly have given me £10 if I would have taken that sum; but I never did take anything from anyone whom I have rescued, though often urged to do so. I think it was on this occasion that I received £1 from the Hull Royal Humane Society. Mr. Collinson, a gentleman, was on the pier when I saved Master Chapman, and he came and asked me what was my name, to what ship I belonged, where I lived, &c. Soon after, I was called by some gentlemen into the Minerva Hotel, where Dr. Wallis shook me by the hand and said, 'I have often heard of you, and it gives me great pleasure to see your face and hear your voice.' He gave me a note to take to the Trinity House for £1, which I got, and another which I took to Watson and Harrison's bank, where I got another sovereign. I felt pleased with these acknowledgments of my services, and oftener than once after this I was sent to the same places, and got £1 each time, after I had rescued a human life. The funds of the Trinity House were soon exhausted, and several gentlemen requested me to prepare a list of the persons I had saved from drowning at Hull, New Holland, Barton, and Hessle, and to get it signed by living witnesses. The persons saved by me, for which I had received no public acknowledgment, numbered five, and they gave me £5. Altogether I have received eleven sovereigns from the Hull Humane Society for those I rescued in the Humber, and at Hull. Witnesses—William Collinson, Thomas Spence.

Fifteenth.—ROBERT LEESON.* (1834.)

He was a young gentleman returning from a musical festival, at York. He fell into New Holland harbour; some said he was in a state of intoxication. I swam to his assistance and soon saved him. He was very ill, and I believe a doctor was fetched from Barrow. When I returned, next morning, he had gone, but had left me sixpence with which to get a glass of rum, which I hastily swallowed. My captain was provoked by (what he thought) this man's niggardly gift, and said, 'John, why did you drink it? I would have given you a glass of rum without your being indebted to him.' I am told that this gentleman is often in Hull; if he is, I am sorry he has never had gratitude enough to give me a call. I saved his life and he must know it. I may add that a man who could not swim, jumped overboard to rescue this gentleman, and I had almost as much trouble in saving him as I had in saving Leeson. Witnesses—James Oswald, James Sorry.

Sixteenth.—JOSEPH CRABTREE. (1834.)

At this time I belonged to the 'Magna Charter' steamer, and was watchman for the night. When I went on board I was not quite sober, and I lay down on the forecastle. After a while I thought I heard something fall overboard, when I ran on to the deck, but could not see anything. I listened with bated breath, but not a sound could I hear; at length I shouted, but there was no answer. A plank had been put from the 'Ann Scarborough,' into our 'Taffelrail,' and as this plank had fallen down, I thought it was its fall I had heard and nothing else. I got a boat hook and pulled the plank on board our vessel. But after a few moments I thought I heard something stir, and on taking a light I saw Crabtree, who was engineer of the 'Ann Scarborough,' stuck in the mud, for the vessels were dry. I put down a ladder and went to help him, but he was so fast in the mud that I could do nothing with him. So I ran to Lawson's tap-room and got, I think, Robert Hollowman and two other men, to help to get C. out of the mud. He was dead drunk, but we soon got him ashore, gave him some brandy, and he was very little worse. The case was kept a profound secret at the time, and for this reason—Crabtree was afraid that if his master should get to know of the affair, he would lose his situation, and as we all thought the same, we promised not to tell any one of it.

Seventeenth.—WILSON.* (1835.)

This boy fell into the Humber Dock basin, and sank between the 'Calder' steamer and the wall. It was about three o'clock one Sabbath afternoon, and hundreds of people were passing to and fro in search of pleasure. I was one hundred yards from the boy when the alarm was given, but I ran as fast as I could, and when I got to the spot, I found great difficulty in getting near because of the press of the people who were anxious to see the drowning youth. Some one said, 'He went down just here,' and in I went, but I had a task to find him because of the thickness of the water. At last I saw him, and brought him up on one side of the packet, and caught hold of the paddle-wheels, when the people, who crowded the deck, rushed to see us, and gave the packet such a 'lurch over' that we were again dipped overhead in the water. I was never nearer being drowned than at this moment; but 'mercy to my rescue flew,' for the captain, who had been asleep in the cabin, rushed on deck, and seeing our peril, called out, 'You are drowning them,' and got them to stand on the other side of the vessel, which lifted us right out of the water. A man then came into the paddle-wheel and took us both out. I was then completely exhausted and quite insensible. When I came to myself I was in the watch-house of the Humber Dock Company, and a doctor was watching over me and administering suitable medical treatment. I cannot tell how long I was in this state, but I had all my clothes pulled or cut off, and I was dangerously ill for several days. The boy was thought to be worse than I was, and in his case they used the Royal Humane Society's apparatus for restoring animation to drowning persons. He soon recovered, but who he was or where he came from I never knew. I remember the doctor told me his name was Wilson. This was regarded by the public as an act of great skill and bravery, and was much talked of at the time. Mrs. Daniel Sykes sent me, through the medium of the editor of the Rockingham newspaper, £1 10s., and I think one of the clubs subscribed threepence. Witnesses—Isaac Johnson, S. Bromley.

Eighteenth.—SARAH HARLAND.* (1835.)

Mrs. H. was a person of great strength and bulk of frame, weighing fourteen stones; she fell from the pier into the water. Our packet had just arrived from New Holland, and I was forward making the ... rope fast, when our engineer called out 'Jack, Jack, there is a woman overboard.' He ran aft as fast as he could, and when he got there, he saw me overboard. He often used to say, 'I don't know how that little fellow got past me, for I ran as fast as I could, and yet when I got there he was overboard.' I seized this woman with a firm grip, and bore her to the pier, amid the applause of crowds of people who witnessed the whole occurrence. Some of them said I swam as fast with this big woman in my arms as I did when I went towards her; this I think was impossible, seeing I was but a little man, and that she was such a big heavy woman. Isaac Whittaker, Esq., who saw me rescue her, gave me half-a-crown to get some grog with. But what pleased me far better was, the gratitude of Mrs. H. She resided, if I remember rightly, in Blanket Row, and on going to see her, next morning, I found her ill in bed. She seemed full of gratitude, and that gave me great pleasure. I have often seen her since, and she always acknowledges me as saving her life. Witness—Robert Todd.

Nineteenth.—ROBERT BROWN.* (1835.)

He was a sailor, from North Shields, and fell overboard, near the Victoria Hotel, Hull, while on watch. It was the first night of Dacrow's Circus appearing in Hull, and Brown's mates had gone ashore, either to see the performance inside, or to hear the music in the streets. I was watchman that night on board the 'Magna Charter' steamer. A heavy gale was blowing from the north, accompanied with sleet storms. While closing the cabin door for the night, I heard a splash, and running aft, I called out, 'Is anyone overboard?' But there was no answer, for the pier was deserted, the people having thronged to the circus. I could not see anything; but at last I thought I heard a voice, and plunging into the water, I soon found poor Brown; indeed he seized me before I was aware of him, and got upon me in such a way that I could not swim, and, I must confess, I was in a great passion. At length I got one arm at liberty, and made for the shore. I turned round and round a great many times, and, at last, after a desperate struggle, which I shall never forget, we reached the steps at the end of the pier. Brown took hold of the rail, walked up the steps, and seemed as if he didn't care about me; I was quite exhausted, and had to hold by the railings for several minutes before I could recover my breath. I then sat down on one of the steps and felt very ill, and I thought I should have died on the spot. I remember seeing the lights, and hearing the music from the shore, but there was no one near to render me any help. Bye-and-bye I recovered a little and crept to the top of the steps, where I found poor Brown, crying most piteously. Two men, Joseph Crabtree and John Young, came from Lawson's tap-room, and I asked them to get some drink for the youth, who was in a distressing state, and I would pay for it. They then took him to Mr. Lawson's, while I tried to make my way home; but scarcely had I started, when a great trouble stared me in the face, it was this: Around the circus were thousands of people, and I thought,—what shall I do? I cannot get through that crowd, and if I once fall, I shall never get up again, and I felt that I had not strength to walk round the other way, and I didn't know what to do. However, I had not gone far when, who should I meet, but Joseph Spyby, our engineer. I said, 'O Joe, do help me home, do; I have been overboard saving a young man, and I can scarcely stand. I feel very bad.' He replied, 'Yes, thou has to be drowned, and the sooner the better. There never was such a fool as thou art. Does thou think anybody but theeself would jump overboard a night like this? No! there is not another such a fool in England!' Now, Joe was a kind-hearted, humane man, and the first to help a poor fellow in distress; but such was the way in which he expressed himself as he helped me along the street that terrible night. He took hold of me and got me through the crowd as well as he could. We went to the Humber Tavern, where I got a glass of brandy, and then Spyby took me home. I got a change of raiment and a little rest, and strange to say, I soon felt well again. For this case I received the Royal Humane Society's silver medal, with their thanks on vellum. The case created considerable excitement in Hull, and the late Mr. Loft (father of our late mayor), offered to become one of twelve persons to allow me £2 per week to walk round the pier and docks, so as to be ready to rescue any who might fall into the water. Witness—Robert Todd.

Twentieth.—ROBERT TETHER. (1836.)

This young man, who is at present second engineer of the steam-ship, 'Dido,' belonging to Wilson and Sons, Hull, shall describe his own deliverance. He thus writes:—'About thirty years ago, and when I was about ten years of age, I was on board of a vessel whilst being launched from a ship-yard on the Humber bank. By some means or other a check rope belonging to the vessel broke, and dragged me into the water. There was no means of my being saved but by the noble "Hero," who immediately jumped into the water, with all his clothes on, and brought me to the shore, which was done at a great risk of his own life. I remember, also, that there was immense shouting and cheering, and that a band of musicians who had been playing at the 'launch,' when they saw Mr. Ellerthorpe bearing me ashore, began playing, "See the Conquering Hero comes."—Robert Tether, July 24th, 1867.'

Twenty-first and Twenty-second.—GEORGE EMERSON* AND ANN WISE* (1836.)

Emerson, a porter, was conducting Miss Wise, from the 'Magna Charter,' over a plank, when the plank slipped, and both were precipitated into the water. The wind was blowing very strong, and the river was extremely rough at the time. I had just gone into the cabin to change my clothes, when, hearing such a screaming as I had never before heard, I sprang upon the paddle-box, and saw Emerson, but knew nothing of the woman who had also fallen into the water, and whose mother was uttering the most heart-rending shrieks. I leaped from the paddle-box to save the man, when, to my surprise, I found I had thrown my legs right across the woman's shoulders! Of course my first object now, was to save her. I hastily dragged her to the side of the packet, and having put her hand round a piece of iron, I said to her, 'Now hold fast there, for you are safe.' I then went to a distance in search of Emerson, and having made a rope fast round him, I was able to hold him up with ease. But the shouting was as great as ever, and I thought,—surely there is some one else overboard! The fact was, the people could not see the woman holding by the iron, and in my efforts to save the man, they thought I had forgotten her; hence their wild shouts. The engineer came to the vessel's side and shouted, 'There is the woman yet,' when I replied, 'She's all right, come down to the paddle and take hold of her.' He came and took her out, when she had a basket on her arm and a pair of pattens in her hand, just as when she dropped into the water. She suddenly disappeared from the crowd, and I heard no more of her for seven years. Mr. G. Lee, editor of the 'Rockingham, advertised the case in his paper for several weeks, asking the woman, from sheer gratitude, to let him know her name; but there was no response. When I was master of the 'Ann Scarborough,' sailing between Barton and Hessle, I had to fetch (one Sunday afternoon) a gentleman's carriage from Barton to Hessle. We had scarcely started, when a young woman, who was a passenger, said to me, 'You don't know me, Sir, but I know you.' 'And for what do you know me, something good or bad?' 'O good, Sir; don't you remember jumping overboard and saving my life, at Hull? I shall never forget you, and I have come here on purpose to thank you.' I then told her how we had advertised for her name, but could never hear a word of her, when she said, 'My mother and I were strangers in Hull, and as soon as I had got some dry clothes on, we had to start by coach, for Bridlington.' This woman's brother was gardener for Mr. Graborn, solicitor, Barton, and we afterwards became very intimate friends. I have not heard from Ann Wise for many years, but if she is yet living in any part of England, it would gladden my heart to have one more acknowledgment from her. In relating this case at Temperance meetings, I have sometimes created a little mirth, by remarking, 'I went in search of a man, and lo! and behold, I found a woman.' Witness—Robert Todd.

Twenty-third.—JOHN BAILEY.* (1836.)

He was fourteen years of age, and while playing at the Hull ferry-boat dock, he fell overboard and had a very narrow escape from being drowned. When I first heard the cry, 'A boy overboard,' I was near the Minerva Hotel, and I at once ran to the scene of the disaster. He had been down twice, when I got there, but in a few moments I had hold of him, and brought him ashore, amid the cheers and shouts of hundreds of spectators. I narrowly escaped being drowned. Bailey is now a labouring man in Hull, and I believe the father of a large family. I often meet him, and he always seems glad to see me.

I may here ask, Was it not strange that amongst the hundreds of people who saw this drowning youth, not one was found to render him the least assistance? I do not write boastingly when I say this:—If I could run from the Minerva Hotel to the pier, and save this youth, after he had sank in the water twice, surely those who were near him at the moment when he fell in, might have rendered him some assistance? Indeed some present said, 'We could have swam to him if we had tried.' Then I would ask, 'Why didn't they make a venture?' The conduct of these spectators I regard as being monstrous and unmanly. Englishmen are generally thought to have a fair share of personal courage, but it is nevertheless a fact, that scores of them watched the struggles of this drowning youth, but took care to watch them only from the shore. Can we wonder that hundreds are drowned every year along our coasts, if people act as these spectators did. Witnesses—Joseph Crabtree, John Young.

Twenty-fourth.—RICHARD LISON.* (1836.)

He was a boy, seven years of age, and fell into the Junction dock, Hull. When the alarm was given, I was at the other side of the present ... dock, a great distance from where the boy was, but I ran with all speed over the bridge, and when I got to the drowning child, I found he had sunk the third time, and I thought, O, what shall I do? I went in search of him; I dived here, and I dived there, and at length I found him. A cry of joy was raised by the spectators when they saw me fetch him from a great depth, and then carry him towards the shore, on reaching which, some of them received him, and took him to his mother. I heard no more of him until he had grown to manhood; since then he has manifested the warmest gratitude, and treated me with the utmost kindness and respect. For years he was in the employ of the Hull dock company; I had many opportunities of watching his conduct, and always found him a faithful and trusty servant, doing his duty as well in his master's absence as in his presence. This made me think much of him, and I always felt a deep interest in his welfare. He is now in the employ of Martin, Samuelson and Co., Hull. Witness—John Lundie.

Twenty-fifth.—GEORGE RICKERBY.* (1836.)

He was a youth, and while playing on the east pier, Hull, he fell overboard. I ran a great distance, and in an almost breathless state leaped from a height of fourteen feet, into seven feet depth of water. I had scarcely touched the water, when he clutched me firmly, and dragged me down, again and again, but I was eager to rescue him, and, thank God, I succeeded. He had fallen upon one of the buoys, and cut his head, which bled profusely, and before I got him ashore I thought he was dead. He continued to bleed for some time, and a doctor was sent for. There was great cheering by the spectators as they saw me bearing through the waters, this bleeding, but still living youth, and some ladies and gentlemen, who had been watching me from the Minerva Hotel, threw out of the window, several shillings and half-crown pieces. If my memory serves me rightly, I got £1 10s. I thought myself handsomely rewarded; but what pleased me more was the gratitude of the boy's mother; for I have always considered gratitude the richest reward I could receive: more than grateful thanks for what I had done, this poor woman would have found it difficult to have given me, but most grateful she was, and I felt both satisfied and delighted. But let me explain: On going to see the boy, next morning, I found him very ill in bed, and his mother, thinking I had gone for something for saving her child's life, said, 'I have no money to give you, Sir, but my husband's half-pay will be due in a few days, and I'm sure you shall have half of it.' I replied, 'I'm sure I have not come for anything you have, my good woman, for I never take money from those I save, or from their relatives.' She seemed overwhelmed with grateful feelings, and I had some difficulty in persuading her that I did not want money, and that I would not take it if offered me, and I believe, to this day, that if I had said to her, 'You must give me your eight-days' clock and your chest of drawers,' she would willingly have given them to me there and then. Witness.—Richard Curtis.

Twenty-sixth.—MISS HILL. (1836.)

This young woman, when landing at New Holland, ran down the plank, when her foot slipped and she fell into the water, at the low side of the jetty. I sprang to her assistance, but she was fast among some pieces of timber. We were both in great peril, the tide was coming in, and had it reached a foot higher, we should both have been drowned. We were so placed as to be compelled to dive under water before we could reach the shore. I told her that there was no other way of our being saved, and that the attempt must be made at once, and without waiting for her consent, I grasped her in my arm, and under the water we went. The people thought we should have been drowned, but we soon got clear of the jetty; some threw us one thing and some another; at length James Nicholson got into a boat, took us in, and landed us safe ashore. I went to a public house, where I got a glass of brandy, and borrowed the ostler's clothes, and I ailed nothing afterwards. The young woman remained at New Holland all night, and took her departure next morning, without leaving behind her even a single expression of verbal gratitude for what I had done for her. For some time it was reported that she was the daughter of Sir Rowland Hill, post-master general, but I wrote to that Knight, and found that she did not belong to his family. She made a fine appearance and was well dressed, but when I think of the shabby way in which she left the scene of her distress, I can't call her a lady. I am devoutly grateful that I was the means of saving her, but the case would not have been made thus prominent, had not several gentlemen of Hull, who were present on the occasion, refused to let the case slip. Witnesses—Robert Todd, Captain Thomas Oswell.

Twenty-seventh.—HANNAH WEBSTER.* (1837.)

This I regard as a most wonderful deliverance. Some said she fell, others that she jumped, from the Barton horse-boat into the Ferry-boat dock, Hull. Thomas Spencer, who was working at what was then called 'The knock-em-down jetty,' saw the woman drop into the water, and called out, 'A woman overboard.' I hastened to her and soon got her ashore, when she was completely exhausted, and we sent for a doctor. A gentleman came to me and said 'Did you fetch yon woman out of the water?' 'Yes, Sir,' was my reply, when he made this strange and unaccountable remark—'If you had let her stop in I would have given you half-a-crown, but as it is, I shall not give you anything.' 'Thank you, Sir, but I'm glad she's out, notwithstanding; and I would rather save that woman than I would have all the half-crowns in Hull,' was my indignant reply. I never stood to ask whether a drowning person was rich or poor, friend or foe, drunk or sober. If a person was overboard I did my best to rescue that person from drowning. We took this poor, despised woman to a house in Humber-street, and I gave my word that all expenses should be paid. She lodged in Mill-street, and was a widow, thirty seven years of age, and had two children. I went to see her next morning, but she had gone, so I had all expenses to pay. I have always thought this woman was one of those poor, unfortunate, and despairing ones, so touchingly described by Hood:—