Overland Launch Overnight January 12th. /13th.1899

It was early evening on January 12th 1899 and a violent force eight gale had been raging in the Bristol Channel since morning. Coinciding with an unexpected high tide, some Lynmouth properties were flooded to a depth of three feet as waves drove over its rocky beach and settled in the dark streets. Window shutters were closed against the howling wind and nervous children buried themselves deeper under their bedclothes. Nobody would venture out on such a night.

Earlier that day the steam tug Jane Joliffe had left Bristol docks bound for Liverpool towing the Forrest Hall, a large three-mast barque of 1,900 tons. As the vessels passed Ilfracombe in heavy seas, the towline broke and the tug sustained damage when both ships collided. The Jane Joliffe was forced to return to South Wales for repair leaving the barque helplessly tethered to her sea anchors in the squalling sea.

Countisbury Hill climbed precariously along the cliff edge from Lynmouth to the open moor 1000-ft above. The hill remains the same today.

It was at 7.00 p.m. when a telegraph message came through to Lynmouth Post Office from Mr Goddard who owned the Anchor Hotel at Porlock Weir. Edward Pedder, the Lynmouth postmaster read the message. It reported, ...a vessel is in distress off Gore Point near Porlock – impossible to launch the Watchet lifeboat because of gale conditions – can the Lynmouth lifeboat help? Edward quickly donned his weatherproofs and lost no time taking the telegram to the honorary lifeboat secretary Rev. A.R. Hockley. A few minutes later a maroon to summon the lifeboat crew snaked from the quayside into the black sky as the gale blew it around. Almost immediately, villagers and crew emerged from cottage doorways. With heads bowed against the wind and pouring rain, oilskins were buttoned as they hurried to the lifeboat house near the harbour.

The large doors of the building were swung back to reveal the 3½-ton lifeboat Louisa silhouetted above them in the half-light. George Richards the second coxswain, made straight for a wooden box that held twenty-four numbered armbands. These were issued to villagers who helped launch and recover the Louisa on her return. As a payment of 5/- (25p) was made only to those with armbands, it was usual for arguments to break out amongst those who had and those who did not have armbands. There were no squabbles amongst villagers tonight. Arriving quickly from his house on Tors Road, the coxswain Jack Crocombe took charge as the crew donned their oilskins and cork lifejackets. Hurricane lamps were lit, and preparation made to launch Louisa at nearby Esplanade beach.

Jack glanced again at the raging sea and realised that it was futile to attempt a launch at Lynmouth. His thoughts turned to those aboard the helpless vessel - only the Lynmouth crew could save them. He knew the Exmoor coast well and recognised there was no other place from which to launch – except one. Slowly he turned to the crowd and above the noise of the gale, he shouted a command that has become famous in the annals of lifeboat history. “We’ll launch from Porlock”.

By now, many villagers had assembled at the little harbour and all were amazed at his bidding. It would be impossible. The journey would mean hauling the lifeboat up Countisbury Hill that was one thousand feet (307 m) high and Porlock Weir was thirteen miles away across the high open ground of Exmoor. Folk shook their heads in disbelief at the suggestion, but with encouragement from the Rev. Hockley, a hundred Lynmouth villagers spoke as one, “We’ll try”.

Horses were fetched from the stables behind the Lyndale Hotel and Tom Willis brought twenty horses down from Tom Jones coach stable at Lynton. Extra horses were harnessed to the carriage for the steep climb to Countisbury. Oil lamps and flares (‘ducks’) were lit and extra hauling ropes were attached to the carriage. It was at 8 o’clock when men and women from the little community grasped the thick slippery cords and made ready for the long haul ahead of them.

Wind and rain beat down as villagers and sixteen horses slowly hauled the lifeboat up the steep two-mile hill to Countisbury. It was difficult to keep the ‘ducks’ lit in the gale and one man was kept busy re-lighting them. As the Blue Ball Inn (now the Exmoor Sandpiper Inn) was neared, the carriage collapsed when a wheel fell off after losing the axle lynch pin. Eventually the pin was found in the darkness and with great difficulty the 10-ton load was lifted and the wheel replaced.

The thousand-foot climb in atrocious conditions had been too much for some villagers. When the inn was eventually reached, many reluctantly turned back to Lynmouth leaving a resolute party of twenty to continue the journey. Arriving at Ashton Lane four miles further on, it was found that the carriage was too wide to pass, as the lane was only seven feet wide (2.15m) in places. George Richards had anticipated this problem and had arranged for a horse and cart loaded with wooden skids to follow the lifeboat. The Louisa was removed from the carriage and lowered onto the skids, which were placed roughly six feet apart along the lane. Reminiscing in 1953, George remembered the difficulty they had faced.

“We could only drag the boat a little way and then stop while the skids behind were picked up, carried forward and laid down in front of her. The road was so narrow that we had a job passing between the boat and the wall”

Meanwhile the stronger horses in the charge of Tom Willis and Richard Moore hauled the carriage across the rough open moor to County Gate. Here the two parties eventually met and somehow managed to replace the heavy Louisa back on its carriage. Soaked to the skin with the gale still howling around them, the men had to remove a gatepost from the roadside before they could continue their journey. When the brave souls reached Hawkcombe Head, they were exposed to the full fury of the weather for they were now in open country 1400-ft (430 m) above sea level. Meanwhile, to ensure a free passage for the carriage a small party led by Richard Moore went ahead with spades to widen the banks of the narrow lane at Culbone.

All the courage of weary men and horses were mustered when they started to descend the notorious Porlock Hill. They had been labouring for eight hours in appalling conditions. Horses were tethered and drag chains attached to the back of the carriage to help restrain it on the three-mile descent. Men and animals strained to hold the heaviest load that had ever journeyed down the long steep muddy lane. Turning a sharp corner at the bottom of the hill, they were faced with a garden wall, which blocked their path. Without hesitating, a start was made to demolish the wall but an irate woman was soon woken by the noise. It was her first sight of a lifeboat and when the reason for her damaged wall was realised, she not only encouraged the demolition but also insisted on helping the men on the journey to Porlock.

The corner of a shop roof was removed at the bottom of the hill to allow the Louisa to pass. As the exhausted company turned into the coast lane, they were told that the route was impassable, as the storm had washed part of it away. There was no end to the trials facing the brave souls on this terrible night. A detour was made along Ashley Combe road where a large laburnum tree was felled to allow passage. The end of the journey to the beach at Porlock Weir was eventually reached at 6 o’clock in the morning. It had taken 10 hours for men and horses to travel from their village 13 miles away. Although tired and hungry, the valiant crew refused offers of food and took their stations on the Louisa. Willing helpers struggled as they hauled and pushed the boat over a pebble beach into the angry sea. With grim determination overcoming their fatigue, the ten oarsmen battled with waves the like of which they had never experienced. Each man constantly peered through the driving rain looking with half closed eyes for the ailing ship. After an hour of searching, the large ghostly shape of the Forrest Hall suddenly loomed above them. Although her rudder was damaged and she was dragging her sea anchors, there appeared no immediate danger to the vessel. Captain James Aliss and his crew of eighteen including five frightened apprentices cried with relief when the Louisa appeared. However, Jack Crocombe thought it perilous to attempt assistance in these conditions especially as the ship was being held by her sea anchors and was not immediately threatened. He shouted to the captain that a tug was due at daybreak and the Louisa would stand by. At dawn, the Forrest Hall was drifting dangerously close to Porlock Beach but the Jane Joliffe returned from her repair just in time. With great difficulty, some members of the lifeboat crew boarded the stricken ship to make a line fast to the tug and haul the sea anchors in. With her damaged rudder it was found difficult to steer the Forrest Hall and she could only be towed broadside.

Jack decided to accompany the vessels to a safe refuge on the Welsh coast in case the towline broke. Progress was slow and by early afternoon they were all drifting dangerously near to Nash sands. Good fortune was due to the rescuers and came when the tug Sarah Joliffe from Cardiff suddenly appeared. The lifeboat crew secured another line to the Forrest Hall and the small fleet were able to steadily make way to the Welsh coal port of Barry where they arrived at 5 o’clock in the evening. The valiant crew of the Louisa had been away from the warmth of their Devon cottages for twenty-two hours. On shore, the exhausted men were looked after by the Shipwrecked Mariners Society and taken to the Dolphin Restaurant. After a change of clothes, a hearty meal and exited discussion of the adventure they turned to bed and slept soundly.

Next morning the weather had calmed and the Bristol Channel was at peace with the elements. The Louisa and her crew were kindly offered a tow back to Lynmouth by the captain of the London steamship Lasenbury. The 35-mile voyage to the little Devon harbour passed without incident and the gallant men returned at 11 o’clock to a tumultuous welcome from a small crowd that had gathered on the quay.

So ended the most famous launch in the history of British lifeboats.
Crewmembers that took part in the launch were:

Jack Crocombe (coxswain)
George Richards (second coxswain)
Richard Ridler (bowman)
Richard Moore (signalman)
Richard Burgess
Charles Crick
David Crocombe
William Jarvis
Bertram Pennicott
Thomas PugsleyA
George Rawle
William Richards
John Ridler
John Ward

That night was the first call-out for George Richards’s young brother William – he was just sixteen. Although not a crewmember, the Lynmouth Postmaster Edward Pedder accompanied the mission and bravely sailed on the rescue.

Sadly, four noble horses weakened by the demands made of them died during the trek across Exmoor. Members of the crew were awarded £5 from local funds and Mr R.H.Fry who lived at the Manor House in Lynmouth presented each of them with a silver watch. The cost of the launch including repairs to properties, gateposts and roads amounted to £118 17s 9d (£118.79p). Although the RNLI station at Lynmouth was liable for this damage, the owners of the Liverpool registered Forrest Hall made a £75 contribution to the bill.

Footnote:

The first Lynmouth lifeboat was the Henry that served from 1869 until the Louisa replaced her in 1887. She was stationed at Lynmouth until 1906 when the redundant Ruby class boat was sailed to Watchet poignantly past the scene of her famous rescue. Here, the Louisa was loaded on a train, taken to London, and broken up. All that remains of the famous lifeboat are two of her rowlocks and a volunteer’s armband used that day.

The Prichard Frederick Gainer succeeded the Louisa and was in service until the Lynmouth lifeboat station was closed in 1944. With easier launching facilities at Ilfracombe and Minehead it was considered these stations were adequate to cover the Exmoor coast. The Prichard Frederick Gainer was converted into a domestic craft after the war and sails today on the Norfolk Broads.

On 27th February 1909, the Forrest Hall was sailing from Australia to Chile via the Cook Strait. On a bright day and in a calm sea the schooner mysteriously ran aground on Ninety Mile Beach at the top of New Zealand’s North Island. An enquiry blamed the captain for his negligence. Today the skeletal remains of the vessel are exposed above the sands at low tide and the ship’s bell summons children to school at Kaitaia, North Island. With a length of 277 ft, the Forrest Hall remains the longest sailing ship to be wrecked in New Zealand waters. Sadly the 1952 flood destroyed the Lynmouth lifeboat house where the epic story had begun. A Memorial Hall commemorating the flood disaster was erected on the site in 1958. Here, the launch of the Louisa is listed on the original service board of the three lifeboats stationed at Lynmouth from 1866 – 1944.

The centenary of the launch was commemorated on January 12th 1999 when thousands of people attended a re-enactment of the launch. A similar lifeboat to the Louisa was hauled over the same route to Porlock by five shire horses and fifty local volunteers. For safety reasons a tractor was used to tow the carriage on the steep Countisbury and Porlock hills.

In the shelter at the end of the Manor promenade in Lynmouth, a mosaic created by the local community in 2004 displays the epic story.

A replica of the Louisa stands in Lynmouth at the Glen Lyn Gorge. This self-righting lifeboat similar to the Louisa was built in 1911 and named the Docea Chapman. Stationed on the North Cornwall coast at Padstow in 1938-39 she was converted into a fishing boat and re-named the Girl Maureen when made redundant. The Old Lynmouth Lifeboat Association eventually bought her in 1982 and she was rebuilt in her original form as the Louisa.

A late 19th century painting of the Forrest Hall under full sail.

This is an Excerpt form A Notable History by kind permission of Tim Prosser who has many more interesting and informative publications for sale in the local shops and TIC
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