"It’s no joke, I can tell you," he continued, "being out in the lifeboat. In a ship you can walk about and do something to keep yourself warm, but in the boat you’ve got to sit still and hold on to the thwart if you don’t want to be washed overboard. Like enough you get wet to the skin before you start, and each wave that breaks over the boat seems to freeze the very blood in your veins. Then, when you reach the wreck, it is low tide, and there you’ve got to wait till the water rises, for in some places the sands stand as high as seven feet out of the sea when the tide is down. Then, when the lifeboat gets alongside the wreck, every man requires to have his wits about him, watching for big waves, keeping clear of the wreckage, and getting the men on board. Many a time have I gone home, after being out for six or eight hours, and taken off my waterproof, and it has stood upright on the floor as if it had been made of tin. Perfectly true, sir, it was frozen. In a day or two we forget all about the hardships we have suffered, and are as ready as ever to go out when the summons comes. We never stop to ask whether the shipwrecked men are Germans, Frenchmen, or Italians. They must be saved, and we are the men to do it. We get used to the danger in time, and think very little about it." [Illustration: AN OLD WRECK.] We talked for some time longer about the treacherous nature of the Goodwin Sands, and he told me that vessels are sometimes swallowed up in a few days after they are wrecked, but occasionally they remain visible for a longer period. One large iron vessel, laden with grain, which went ashore nearly four years ago is still standing, and in calm weather the tops of her iron masts may be seen sticking out of the water. My informant was now wanted to take charge of a party of ladies who were going out for a row, so I said "Good-bye," and came away deeply impressed with the simple heroism of the lifeboatmen, of whom this man is but a type. CHAPTER V. THE BOATMEN OF THE DOWNS. There’s fury in the tempest, And there’s madness in the waves; The lightning snake coils round the foam, The headlong thunder raves; Yet a boat is on the waters, Filled with Britain’s daring sons, Who pull like lions out to sea, And count the minute guns. ’Tis Mercy calls them to the work-- A ship is in distress! Away they speed with timely help That many a heart shall bless: And braver deeds than ever turned The fate of kings and crowns Are done for England’s glory, By her Boatmen of the Downs. We thank the friend who gives us aid Upon the quiet land; We love him for his kindly word, And prize his helping hand; But louder praise shall dwell around The gallant ones who go, In face of death, to seek and save The stranger or the foe.