All through the long, dreadful night they remained thus, glad to have found even so bleak a haven, but wondering whether, after all, they would be rescued. Then their eyes were gladdened by the sight of a ship away out on the horizon. Rising and falling as the still boisterous seas kept up their see-saw motion, she was coming in their direction. Would she see them? They knew that at the distance the ship was away they could not be visible yet; yet, cold, drenched to the skin, almost exhausted by exposure, they stripped themselves of their shirts and waved—waved like madmen, fearing they would be passed by. Had they but known it, the officer of the watch of the coming boat—the United States revenue cutter, of Woodbury—thought he could see dark forms on the flat top of the storm-wracked Junk of Pork in a state of frantic activity. Levelling his glasses, he soon saw the forms of the six men waving the torn and tattered shirts; and he knew that some ship had been wrecked during the storm which the Woodbury herself had encountered and fought sternly against for hours on end since she left Portland.
It took but a few moments for everyone on the cutter to be made aware of the position of things.
“We’ll make her, boys” said Captain Fengar, who was in command. “We’ll have those chaps off the Junk of Pork!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” was the chorus; and, with engines pounding out every ounce of steam, the cutter pushed her nose through the water, fighting hard against the storm, which was raging as fiercely as ever. Nearer and nearer they drove, whistling anon to encourage the stranded mariners, who, weary and exhausted, cried for very joy as they realised that they had been seen and that help was coming. Help was coming! Their madness of anxiety gave way to a delirium of joy. Then their hearts sank into an abyss of despair.
The cutter was very near to them now, but the sea was too rough for her to venture close to the rocks; the reefs were one cauldron of boiling surf, and the stranded men knew that no boat from the cutter could hope to live in such a sea, or hope to escape destruction on the reefs if she ventured near.
Help had come—and had proved helpless!
They threw themselves down upon the rock and clutched at the bare surface. They were frenzied. They wondered how much longer they could withstand the gnawings of hunger, the agonies of thirst; how much longer, too, they could retain enough strength to keep their footing on the rock-top. They even thought of leaving their precious haven and trying to reach the wreck of their once proud little ship, where there was indeed food and water. But second thoughts showed them that certain death lay that way, while there was hope that the cutter might be able to get to them. They saw that she was hovering about, cruising here and there to keep headway with the storm, her whistle shrieking out encouragement, and letting them know that she was standing by, in the hope that the storm would abate and enable them to launch their boats.
Night came, but the gale still raged, and Captain Fengar decided that there was only one way to bring about the rescue he was determined to effect, and that was to put back to Portland and bring dories with which to land on the rock at dawn next day. He could not hope to do much good during the night, even if the storm eased off somewhat; the danger of the breakers was too great. So, whistling across to the wretched men on the rock, he let them know that he was going away, but would come back, and then save them.
The first shock of realising that they were to be left alone again wellnigh crazed the men; they felt that they would prefer to wait there for death with company than wait alone for salvation. But away went the cutter, whistling as she went in answer to the wavings of the sailors; and as the final scream died away the men sank down upon the rock in desolation of despair, with nothing but the howling of the wind and the roar of the breakers to keep them company.
The cutter sped through the night, passing Cape Elizabeth on her way, and giving the bearings of the wreck to the lifeboat station there. Reaching Portland, she took her dories and raced back to the Junk of Pork, arriving there an hour after daybreak. The feelings of the now almost dead mariners may be better imagined than described when they heard the siren of the cutter calling to them, telling them of the coming of hope and help. They forgot the raging storm, for they knew that these men who had come back had brought the wherewithal to save them.