Stories
8th-17th November 1912
SVITZER Salvage Contractors Ltd
When the Edmond Gustave went aground, steam ships from the professional salvaging company, SVITZER, were quickly on the scene. The reason for this was that the local salvage guild had made a contract with SVITZER and informed the company whenever a stranding occurred in their area.
This contract ensured that SVITZER had access to salvage work and also maintained good co-operation with the local inhabitants. But the contract was also advantageous for the local salvage guilds. As ships were becoming bigger and heavier over time, the salvage guilds found it was getting impossible to undertake large-scale salvage operations without professional assistance. By working together with SVITZER, they could be guaranteed income from all salvage work. Payment for the co-operation was a fixed percentage of the salvage reward.
SVITZER's job was to investigate the ship, repair and refloat it. Salvage vessels, like the Ægir and Viking therefore had divers on board, whose job it was to seal any holes and mount towlines so the ship could be dragged free.
Jens Kristian Ruby remembers
Edmond Gustave's crew were brought ashore by the men from Tuskær Rescue Station. Twelve-year-old Jens Kristian Ruby from Fjaltring was among the onlookers on the beach:
”A number of those who were rescued were catholic, and I was witness to something I'd never seen before. While the lifeboat was on its way in, many of them fell to their knees in prayer for those who were battling against the sea. They made the sign of the cross and prayed while kneeling on the beach. None of us expected any of them to survive. But by dint of their knowledge of the sea, their boat, and incredible seamanship, they managed it. The rescuers knew how to make the sea anchor work in their favour. As they came riding high on the last wave, we could clearly hear the skipper shout ‘row away!’. This meant that the men had to put their backs into it, and they did. The boat almost flew up onto the beach. Once again, a rescue mission had been completed, the likes of which had never previously been seen on the west coast of Jutland.
The dour folk of West Jutland don't usually give free reign to their feelings, but for a few moments, they forgot their usual reserve. Everyone rushed toward the lifeboat. They did not embrace those on board, but stood close by – wanting to congratulate them, perhaps. I don't know. I ran home to tell my mother the news. She didn't know how serious it was – or maybe she did? – but soon after, Ole Harboesgård came. He was a quiet sort of man, but this was too much for him. He couldn't help but fling his arms open wide and say, tears in his eyes: ”Anna – this was the greatest thing I've ever seen in my life.”
Among the men in the lifeboat were Jens Kristian Ruby’s father, oarsman Peder Chr. Jensen Ruby, and two of his uncles. His father's cousin, Peder Jensen Kjærsgård, was the skipper, and one of his cousins was responsible for the lifeboat's sea anchor.
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