BRAVE DEEDS OF RESCUE BY WOMEN

ALICE AYRES AND THE UNION STREET FIRE

‘Fire! Fire!’

It was two o’clock in the morning when this cry was heard in Union Street, Borough, London, and the people who ran to the spot saw an oil shop in flames, and at a window above it a servant girl, Alice Ayres, screaming for help. Some rushed off to summon the fire-brigade, but those who remained feared that before it could arrive the place would be gutted.

‘Jump! jump!’ they shouted, and stretched out their coats to break her fall. But instead of jumping Alice Ayres disappeared from the window. There were other people in the house, and she was determined not to seek safety for herself until she had made an attempt to save their lives.

Hurrying to the room where her master, mistress, and one child slept, she battered at the door, and awakening them warned them of their danger. Then through smoke and flames she sped back to her own room, where three children slept in her charge. She gave one look out of the window, but the firemen were not yet on the scene.

‘Jump! jump!’ the crowd shouted.

But Alice Ayres ignored the entreaties, for she had determined to save the children or die in the attempt. Her first idea was to tie two sheets together and lower the children one by one; but, finding that the sheets would not bear their weight, she dragged a feather bed to the window and dropped it into the street. Willing hands seized it and held it out, expecting her to jump; but she disappeared again, returning, however, a moment or two later, with a little white-robed child in her arms. Holding her at arms’ length out of the window, she glanced down at the bed, and seeing that it was ready, dropped her. A tremendous cheer from the crowd told her that the little one was safe.

Then she snatched up the second little girl, but the poor mite was terrified, and throwing her arms around Alice’s neck cried piteously, ‘Don’t throw me out of window!’ So tightly did the child cling to her that Alice had great difficulty in getting her into a proper position to drop her on to the bed, but she succeeded at last, and another loud cheer from the crowd announced that she had saved two lives.

Scarcely five minutes had elapsed since the fire broke out, but the contents of the shop were such that the flames spread at a fearful rate, and the onlookers knew that if Alice Ayres did not jump quickly she would be burned to death.

‘Jump! jump!’ they shouted excitedly.

But there was a baby lying in the cot, and back Alice Ayres went, brought it safely through fire and smoke to the window, and dropped it out. She had saved three lives!

Weakened by the heat and the smoke, Alice Ayres now decided to leap from the window, and the anxious people in the street watched her in silence as she climbed to the window sill. She jumped, but her body struck one of the large dummy jars above the front of the shop and caused her to fall head foremost on the bed, and then topple over on to the pavement with a sickening thud. Quickly and tenderly she was lifted on to a shutter and carried into a neighbouring shop, where medical aid was soon at hand.

In the meanwhile the firemen had arrived. They had come as soon as they were called, but they arrived too late to save the other three inmates of the house from perishing in the flames.

But the interest of the crowd was centred in the condition of Alice Ayres, and as she was being removed to Guy’s Hospital there was scarcely a man or a woman present whose eyes were not filled with tears. Many followed on to the hospital, in the hope of hearing the medical opinion of her condition, and before long it became known that she had fractured and dislocated her spine, and that there was no hope of her recovery.

Alice Ayres died at Guy’s Hospital on Sunday, April 26, 1885, aged 25, and at the inquest, when her coffin was covered with beautiful flowers sent from all parts of the land, the coroner declared that he should not be doing justice to the jury or the public, did he not give expression to the general feeling of admiration which her noble conduct had aroused. In the hurry and excitement of a fire there were few who had the presence of mind to act as she had done, or who would run the risks she had for the sake of saving others. He deeply regretted that so valuable a life, offered so generously, had been sacrificed.

In the Postmen’s Park, which adjoins the General Post Office, there is a cloister bearing the inscription, ’In Commemoration of Heroic Self-Sacrifice.’ Within it are tablets to the memory of heroes of humble life, and one of the most interesting of these is that on which is inscribed: ’Alice Ayres, daughter of a bricklayer’s labourer, who by intrepid conduct saved three children from a burning house in Union Street, Borough, at the cost of her own young life. April 24, 1885.’

GRACE BUSSELL AND THE WRECK OF THE GEORGETTE

The steamer Georgette had sprung a leak while on a voyage from Fremantle to Adelaide, and the captain knew that there was little hope of saving his ship. But there were forty-eight passengers, including women and children, and to save these and the crew was the great desire of the captain. The ship’s lifeboat was lowered, but this too was in a leaky condition, and the eight persons who put off in it were drowned before the eyes of their friends on the Georgette.

Seeing, soon, that there was absolutely no hope of saving his vessel, the captain decided to run her ashore, hoping by that means to be able to save all aboard her. The vessel grounded some 180 miles south of Fremantle on December 2, 1876; but she was some distance from the shore, and it seemed to the captain that no boat could pass through the surf which would have to be crossed to reach land. He swept the coast through his glass, but not a house or human being could he see, and he gave up all hope of receiving help from the shore.

A boat was launched, but it had scarcely quitted the steamer’s side when it capsized, and before the crew could right it and bring it back to the ship an hour had elapsed. Once again it was lowered, but it capsized again in two and a half fathoms of water, and the women and children who escaped drowning clung to the overturned boat, and called to those aboard the steamer to save them. But help did not come from that quarter.

Grace Bussell, the sixteen years old daughter of an English settler who lived some twelve miles from the point opposite to which the Georgette had gone ashore, was riding through the bush, accompanied by a native stockman, and coming out towards the edge of the cliff saw the steamer in distress, and witnessed the overturning of the small boat. Horrified at the position of the poor people on the upturned boat, she moved her horse forward and descended the steep cliff.

It was a terribly dangerous act, for had the horse slipped both beast and rider would have fallen to certain death. Behind her, on his own horse, rode the stockman, which of course made the danger greater.

But Grace Bussell made nothing of the danger she was undergoing, her sole thought being to reach the drowning people as quickly as possible. The passengers and crew of the Georgette, watching her with a strange fascination, expected every minute to see her fall and be killed. To their astonishment she reached the beach in safety, and rode straight into the boiling surf. The waves broke over her, and it seemed impossible that she would ever reach the upturned boat and rescue the exhausted people clinging to it. Once the horse stumbled, but Grace was a skilful rider and pulled him up quickly.

As she drew near to the boat, closely followed by the stockman, hope revived in the hearts of the shivering women and children clinging to it, and when at last she was alongside every mother besought her to take her child. Quickly she placed two little ones before her on the saddle, and grasping hold of a third she started for the shore. The stockman, with as many children as he could hold, rode close behind her.

The journey outward had been difficult and dangerous, but now that her horse was carrying an extra load it was infinitely more so. However, she proceeded slowly, and although on one or two occasions they were nearly swept away they reached the beach in safety.

Having carefully placed her living load on dry land, she rode again into the raging sea. Her progress was slower this time, but she returned to shore with children on her saddle and women clinging to her skirt on each side.

Drenched to the skin and exhausted by the buffeting of the surf, Grace Bussell might have pleaded that she had not the strength to make another journey, but again and again, accompanied by the stockman, she rode out into the dangerous sea, and not until four hours had passed, and the last passenger was brought ashore, did she take a rest.

Hungry, tired, and shivering with cold, she sank to the ground; but she soon noticed that many of those whom she had saved were more exhausted than she, and that unless food and warm clothing were given them quickly they would probably die.

So, rising from the ground, she mounted her dripping horse and galloped off towards home. The twelve miles were covered quickly, but on dismounting at her home Grace fainted, and it was some time before her anxious parents could discover what had caused her to be in such a drenched and exhausted condition.

When at last she told the story of the shipwreck her sister got together blankets and food and rode off to the sufferers, whom she carefully tended throughout the night. At daybreak Mr. Bussell arrived with his wagon, and conveyed the whole party to his home, where they remained tenderly nursed by mother and daughters for several days. Mrs. Bussell, it is sad to say, died from brain fever brought on by her anxiety concerning the shipwrecked people whom she had taken into her house.

Grace Bussell’s bravery was not allowed to pass unnoticed. The Royal Humane Society presented her with its medal, and a medal was also bestowed upon the stockman who had accompanied his mistress down the steep cliff and on her many journeys to and from the upturned boat.

CATHERINE VASSEUR, THE HEROINE OF NOYEN

A terrible accident had occurred in one of the streets of Noyen. The men engaged in repairing a sewer had, on finishing their day’s work, neglected to take proper precautions for the safety of the public. They had placed some thin planks across the opening, but omitted to erect a barrier or to fix warning lights near the hole, with the result that four workingmen, homeward bound, stepped on the planks and fell through into the loathsome sewer.

An excited crowd of French men and women gathered round the hole, but no one made any effort to rescue the poor fellows. Soon the wives of the imperilled men, hearing of the accident, ran to the spot, and with tears in their eyes begged the men who were standing round the opening to descend and rescue their husbands.

But not a man in the crowd was brave enough to risk his life for his fellow-men. They would be suffocated and eaten by rats, was their excuse, and the frantic entreaties of the poor wives failed to stir them to act like men. Women were crying and fainting, men were gesticulating and talking volubly, but nothing was being done to rescue the poor fellows from the poisonous sewer.

But help came from an unexpected quarter. Catherine Vasseur, a delicate-looking servant girl, seventeen years of age, pushed her way to the front, and said quietly, ‘I’ll go down and try to save them.’

It seemed impossible that this slightly built young girl could rescue the men, but her willingness to make the attempt did not shame any of the strong fellows standing by into taking her place. All they did was to lower her into the dark, loathsome hole. On arriving at the bottom she quickly found the four unconscious men, and tying the ropes round two of them gave the signal for them to be hauled up.

The few minutes’ work on the poisonous atmosphere was already telling upon her, and finding herself gasping for breath she tied a rope around her waist, and was drawn to the surface. The women whose husbands she had saved showered blessings upon her, and the other two implored her to rescue theirs. She replied that she would do so if possible, and having regained her breath she again descended.

A third man was rescued, but before she could attend to the fourth she felt herself becoming dazed. She decided to go to the surface again, and return for the fourth man when the fresh air had revived her. It was necessary that she should be drawn up quickly, but the rope which had been tied around her waist had become unfastened, and it was some minutes before she found it. When she did find it she was too exhausted to draw it down to tie around her. For a few moments she tugged at the heavy rope, but could not draw it lower than her head.

There seemed to be no escape for her, when suddenly a bright idea occurred to her she undid her long hair and tied it to the rope. Then she gave the signal to haul up.

Cries of horror and pity burst from the onlookers when they caught sight of the brave girl hanging by her hair, and apparently dead. Quickly untying her, they carried her into the fresh air, where she was promptly attended to by a doctor, who eventually succeeded in restoring her to consciousness. She received the praise bestowed upon her with the modesty of a genuine heroine, and was greatly distressed at having been unable to save the fourth man. The poor fellow was dead long before his body was recovered by the sewermen, for none of the men who had witnessed Catherine Vasseur’s heroism had been brave enough to follow her example.

MARY ROGERS AND THE WRECK OF THE STELLA

It was at 11.25 on the morning of Thursday, March 30, 1899, that the steamship Stella left Southampton for Guernsey with 140 passengers and 42 crew aboard. Most of the passengers were looking forward to spending a pleasant Easter holiday at Guernsey or Jersey, but a few were natives of the Channel Islands returning from a visit to England.

For the first two hours the voyage was uneventful, but at about 1.30 the Stella ran into a dense fog. The ship’s speed was not reduced, but the fog-horn was kept going. There is nothing more depressing at sea than the dismal hooting of the fog-horn, and it is not surprising that some of the ladies aboard the Stella became nervous. These Mrs. Rogers, the stewardess, in a bright, cheery manner endeavoured to reassure.

Mary Rogers’ life had been one of hard work and self-denial. Eighteen years previous to the Stella making her last trip Mary Rogers’ husband had been drowned at sea, and the young widow was left with a little girl two years old to support; and a few weeks later a boy was born. To bring her children up carefully and have them properly educated became Mrs. Rogers’ chief object in life, and to enable her to do this she obtained her position as stewardess.

Her experience of the sea had been slight, and for five years after becoming stewardess she scarcely ever made a trip without being sea-sick. Many women would have resigned the appointment in despair, but Mary Rogers stuck to her post for the sake of her children. Ill though she might herself be, she always managed to appear happy, and to attend promptly to the requirements of the lady passengers. When at last she was able to make a voyage without feeling sea-sick, her kindness to the ladies in her care became still more noticeable. In foggy or rough weather her bright, sympathetic manner cheered the drooping spirits of all who might be ill or nervous. At night she would go round, uncalled, and if she found any lady too nervous to sleep she would stay and talk to her for a time.

Only a few months before the Stella’s fatal trip, a lady passenger assured Mrs. Rogers that her bright, cheery sympathy had done much to make her trip pleasant. ‘Well, you see, ma’am,’ Mrs. Rogers replied, ’I don’t believe in going about with a sad face, and it is such a pleasure when one can help others.’

At this time Mrs. Rogers’ prospects were very bright. Her children, whom she declared ‘any mother might be proud of, they are so good,’ had grown up, and her daughter was to be married in the summer. In three years her son would finish his apprenticeship to a ship-builder, and it was settled that then she was to retire from sea-life and live with her daughter, continuing, as she had done for several years, to support her aged father. But the days to which she was looking forward with pleasure she was never to see.

For two hours the Stella ran through the dense fog on this fatal March 30, and at about ten minutes to four the captain was under the impression that the Casquets lay eight miles to the east. But suddenly they loomed out of the darkness, and almost immediately the Stella struck one of the dreaded rocks. Instantly the captain saw that there was no hope of saving his ship.

‘Serve out the life-belts!’ ‘Out with the boats!’ ’Women and children first!’ were the orders he shouted from the bridge.

Mrs. Rogers did not for a moment lose her presence of mind, and by her activity many women were saved who would in all probability never have reached the deck. The ladies’ saloon was long, but the door was somewhat narrow, and being round an awkward corner there would have been a fearful struggle to get through it, had a panic arisen. But Mrs. Rogers, by her calmness and promptitude, prevented anything approaching a panic, and got her passengers quickly on deck.

To all who had not provided themselves with them she gave life-belts, and then assisted them into the boats. The last boat was nearly full there was room for only one more and the sailors in charge of it called to Mrs. Rogers to come into it.

Before attempting to do so she took a last look round, to see that all the ladies were gone, and saw that there was one still there, and without a life-belt. Instantly Mrs. Rogers took off her own, placed it upon her, led her to the boat, and gave up her last chance of escape. But the sailors who had witnessed her heroism did not wish to pull away without her.

‘Jump, Mrs. Rogers, jump!’ they shouted.

‘No, no,’ she replied, ’if I get in, the boat will sink. Good-bye, good-bye.’

Then raising her hands to heaven she cried, ‘Lord, have me!’ and almost immediately the ship sank beneath her.

Seventy lives were lost in the wreck of the Stella, and the news of the terrible calamity cast a gloom over the Easter holidays. An inquiry was held to determine the cause of the ship getting out of her course, but the result need not be mentioned here. One thing that soon came to light was the story of Mary Rogers’ heroism, which sent a thrill of admiration through all who heard it.

Her well-spent life had been crowned with an act of heroism, and her memory is deserving of more than the tablet which has been placed in the Postmen’s Park.

MADELEINE BLANCHET

THE HEROINE OF BUZANCAIS

The Red Republicans had risen. The factories and private residences of the wealthy inhabitants of Buzancais were in flames, and owners of property, irrespective of age and sex, were being dragged from their hiding-places and murdered.

For some months it had been rumoured that the Red Republicans, aggrieved at the high price of bread, intended to rise and kill all who possessed wealth; but the people of Buzancais paid no attention to these rumours, and were consequently unprepared to defend themselves when, on January 14, 1853, the rising occurred. Had they banded themselves together, they could have quelled the riot, but, taken by the surprise, the majority sought safety in hiding.

Meeting with no resistance, the Red Republicans pushed through the town, leaving behind them a trail of fire and blood, and came at last to a big house where lived Madame Chambert and her son.

Madame Chambert was a kind old lady, and generous to the poor; but the Red Republicans, inflamed by wine which they had stolen from various houses, forgot her good deeds, and remembered only that she was wealthy. And because she was wealthy they were determined to kill both her and her son.

Madame Chambert and her son were in the drawing-room when the infuriated mob burst into the house. It was useless to attempt to drive them out, as all the servants, with the exception of Madeleine Blanchet and a man, had deserted them. At last the armed mob, their blouses stained with blood and wine, rushed into the drawing-room hurling insults at the poor old lady, and charging her with crimes which she had never committed.

Madeleine Blanchet fainted on hearing her mistress so grossly insulted, but the man-servant rushed at the ringleader and knocked him down. The half-drunk murderers were eager to kill the Chamberts at once, plunder the house, set light to it, and pass on; but as they stepped forward to kill the old lady her son fired his gun and killed one of them.

The whole mob now rushed at Monsieur Chambert, who escaped from the room, but was caught before he could find a hiding-place, and hacked to death.

In the meanwhile Madeleine Blanchet had recovered consciousness, and going to her mistress, whom she had served for nine years, she hurried her from the room to seek a place of safety. But in the hall they came face to face with the murderers returning from committing their latest crime. ‘Death! death!’ they shouted, and attempted to strike the old lady, but Madeleine Blanchet, with one arm around her waist, received the blows intended for her.

‘Go, go, my poor girl!’ Madame Chambert murmured. ’I must die here. Go away.’

But Madeleine Blanchet refused to leave her, and shouted to the cowardly ruffians, ’You shall not kill my mistress until you have killed me!’

Still parrying the blows aimed at her mistress, she implored the men not to be such cowards as to kill a helpless old lady. This appeal and her devotion to her mistress touched the hearts of two of the Red Republicans, who declared that the old lady should not be killed while they could strike a blow in her defence. Guarded by these two men, Madeleine Blanchet carried her mistress to a neighbour’s house, where a hiding-place was found for her.

Assured that her mistress was safe from further molestation, Madeleine Blanchet hurried back to the house, which the rioters were looting, and saved many treasures from falling into their hands. This dangerous self-imposed task she performed several times.

The Red Republicans’ reign at Buzancais was terrible, but it was short. Scores of them were arrested, and Madeleine Blanchet was one of the witnesses for the prosecution. She told of the attack upon her mistress’s house and the murder of her young master, but not a word did she say concerning her own bravery. The President of the Court had, however, heard of it, and was determined that her heroism should not be unknown because of her modesty.

‘We have been told,’ he said to her, ’that you defended your mistress with your body from the blows of the murderers, and that you declared that they should kill you before they killed your mistress. Is that true?’

Madeleine replied that it was, and the President, after commending her for her bravery and devotion to her mistress, declared that if there had been twenty men in Buzancais with the courage she had shown, the rioters would have been quickly dispersed and the terrible crimes averted. The story of Madeleine Blanchet’s heroism spread rapidly throughout France, and the Academy made a popular award, when it presented her with a gold medal and five thousand francs.

HANNAH ROSBOTHAM AND THE CHILDREN OF SUTTON SCHOOL

On October 14, 1881, a gale raged throughout England, and in all parts of the country there was a terrible destruction of lives and property. Round our coasts ships were wrecked, and the number of lives lost at sea on that day was appalling, while on shore many people were killed by the falling of trees, chimney-pots and tiles.

In Sutton, Lancashire, the gale raged with tremendous fury, and the children in the local National School, frightened by the roaring and shrieking of the wind, could pay little attention to their lessons. Hannah Rosbotham, the assistant mistress, was in charge of the school, the head mistress being absent through ill-health. She was very popular among her pupils, and knew them all intimately, having herself lived all her life in the village, and having been educated at the school in which she was now a teacher. She calmed the more timid of her pupils, and endeavoured to carry on the school as if nothing unusual were happening outside.

While she was teaching the bigger children, the infants (little tots of three and four) were sitting in the gallery at the further end of the room in the care of a pupil teacher. Over this gallery was the belfry, a large stone structure. It had weathered many a storm, but none had equalled this gale. Suddenly about 11 o’clock Hannah Rosbotham was startled by a loud rumbling, grinding noise, and almost at the same moment a portion of the belfry crashed through the roof and fell in pieces upon the poor little children in the gallery.

Immediately there was a stampede. The pupils and the pupil teachers rushed terror-stricken into the wind-swept playground, every one anxious for her own safety. But Hannah Rosbotham did not fly from the danger; she thought only of the little children in the gallery. The air was filled with dust, but she groped her way to the gallery staircase, which was littered with stone, wood and slates. Hurrying up she found, to her great joy, that many of the little ones had escaped injury. Some were crying, but others sat silent and terror-stricken, gazing at the spot where several of their little friends lay buried in the ruins.

Having hurried out the children who had so wonderfully escaped injury, she set to work to rescue those who lay injured. And the magnitude of the task which lay before her may be realised from the fact that sixteen-hundredweight of belfry-ruins had fallen through into the gallery. Quickly and unaided Hannah Rosbotham tore away the timber, stone and slate that were crushing the little sufferers, whose pale faces and pleading voices filled her heart with anguish, but gave strength to her arms. As she knelt tearing away with her bare hands the mass of ruins, fragments of stone and slate fell continuously around her, and she knew that at any moment she might be struck dead. The gale was still raging, and as she glanced up through the hole in the roof she saw the part of the belfry which had not yet given way. A continuous shower of fragments fell from it, but if the remaining portion were blown down simultaneously, she and her infant pupils would be crushed to death.

Working with tremendous energy she set free one by one the terrified young prisoners. Some were very little hurt, and were able to hurry away into the playground, but there were others who had been severely injured, and these she had to carry away.

At last her task was done, and happily without any serious results to herself. Although she had been throughout her brave work surrounded by danger she escaped with nothing more serious than a few scratches.

When she came into the playground with the last of the children she had rescued, she found that the villagers had arrived on the scene. They had heard of the accident, and had come to seek their children, and having found them alive they joined in showering praise and blessings upon Hannah Rosbotham. Now that all danger was over the brave young schoolmistress she was only twenty years of age broke down and cried hysterically, but before long she was calm again, and started out to visit at their homes the little ones whom she had saved.

Such bravery as Hannah Rosbotham had shown could not of course escape recognition. The Albert Medal was presented to her on January 11, 1882, and later the Managers of the Sutton National School gave her a gold watch, on which was inscribed their appreciation ’of her courageous behaviour in rescuing the school-children during the gale of October 14, 1881, that destroyed the roof of the school, and for which act of bravery she has been awarded the Albert Medal by Her Majesty.’