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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 6 (September 1, 1938)

A Superhuman Struggle

A Superhuman Struggle.

As if in wrath at being baulked of its prey, the white-headed seas roared in again. Up one of these great combers the lifeboat rushed, firmly held by the steersmen, till lost to view in the water's boiling crest. Onward, relentlessly onward, the wave swirled, disclosing to horror-stricken watchers on shore the drama of an upturned boat tossed about in the midst of a disorder of heads and upthrown arms. By some miracle the boat was righted and her half-drowned occupants scrambled on board. Quickly taking their positions in the boat, they prepared once more to fight for their lives. No sooner were they ready when another wave catapulted them into the seething foam. Yet again the boat was righted—yet again the men got to their oars—yet again they were tossed into the sea. Those on shore with nerve enough to watch this awesome rhythm of catastrophe following catastrophe, sickened in the watching.

Bravely the crew fought a seemingly hopeless fight. Each time they were hurtled into the water they righted their boat and set about to pick up those of their comrades who could be found. Doggedly they stuck to their task till they could see no more men. Then began a slow and anxious return to the shore. Time and again they were in imminent peril, but luck and good oarsmanship finally brought them to safety.

When they reached the shelter of the breakwater, cheers broke forth from the crowds massed on the shore—such cheers as Timaru has never before heard. As the boat drew near the jetty, it could be seen that of that forlorn remnant of a crew, some were lying prostrate in the bottom of the boat; some naked; some barely alive. Others, dazed and bleeding, sat as men who had been as dead and had, by some superhuman agency, been grappled back to life. Willing hands were waiting to give all possible aid.

The first flush of the joy of their return passed … then was the apprehensive question whispered on everyone's lips—“Who's missing?”

May 14th. Each year, on the morning of that day, wreaths adorn the base of the Benvenue Monument. Fifty-six years have glided past, yet Timaru still remembers the most tragic day in her history. They are not forgotten—those nine brave men who willingly went to death to save their fellows.

“Greater love hath no man than this—that a man lay down his life for a friend.”