On the mainland it was quickly observed that the Mexico was in a dangerous position, and about 3 P.M. the lifeboat Helen Blake shoved off to her assistance. The gallant lifeboatmen pulled their hardest, hoping to reach the spot in time to help the Mexico before the howling wind and the strong tide had finished the work begun; but, though they tugged as they had never tugged before, they were too late. The Mexico was picked up like an india-rubber ball and flung against the rock island. There was a grating sound as the hull crashed into the rocks; the ripping of her bottom seemed like a clap of thunder; and then the heavily laden ship, carrying tons of mahogany logs, bumped and bumped again upon the rocks, which held her fast.
The men in the lifeboat, now fifty yards away, held their breath for a moment as they saw the disaster; then on they went again, carried this time not of their own free will, but by the relentless elemental forces. A heavy breaker caught the boat, broke over her in a mighty volume of water, and filled her up to the thwarts.
“Let go the anchor!” was the cry; and instantly the anchor was flung overboard. But, before it could bring her up, three or four following seas, as though eager to ensure destruction, caught the boat, and with her freight of heroes, hurled her with a mighty crash against the rocks. She smashed to pieces as though she had been built of china.
Fourteen men she had carried; and in an instant fourteen men were struggling for dear life in the midst of a boiling sea. Pygmies fighting against the giant forces of Nature, children beating puny hands upon the leering face of death, striving to force the black angel back; such were these men who, seeking to save others, were in danger of losing themselves. And in the titanic struggle nine men were lost.
Five of them won. Buffeted against the rocks, clutching and loosing, they fought for handhold and foothold, and at last, scrambling over the slippery points, they managed to fight to safety.
Then, weary and half dead themselves, they thought of what they had come out to do. The Mexico was still bumping dangerously upon the rocks, men clinging to rigging, or to anything near at hand, lest the waves wash them away, or the lurching of the ship pitch them overboard—to death. And those heroes, who had felt the wings of the Angel of Death brush against them as he passed by, began the task of saving the men on the Mexico.
How they did it they never realised; but they knew they worked hard, and one by one, by means of ropes, they brought eight men off the wrecked ship on to the island. It is but a bald statement of the fact that, but with untellable heroism, indomitable determination, and sublime indifference to death and danger behind it.
With no boats, no food or water except what the Mexico men had managed to bring with them, and that all-insufficient, the thirteen men found themselves stranded on a barren island, with a raging tempest about them and no help in sight.
They passed the first night in shivering despair, huddling together to warm each other. Morning came, and brought no signs of succour, though during the night other lifeboatmen had sought to sally forth to their help, but had been beaten back by the anger of the gale.
The Wexford boat, James Stevens, and the Kilmore boat, The Sisters, had swept through the darkness towards them, their men fighting gallantly and the boats wrestling bravely with the waves and wind; but all to no avail. They had to put back, her mission unfulfilled.