One wintry evening in March, 1869, came the rescue that made Ida famous throughout the land.
She was nursing a severe cold, and sat toasting her stockinged feet in the oven of the kitchen stove. Around her shoulders her mother had thrown a towel for added warmth.
Outside the lighthouse a winter blizzard was blowing, churning the waters of the harbor and sending heavy rollers crashing against the rock.
Suddenly above the roar of the tempest, Ida heard a familiar sound—the cry of men in distress.
Even a strong man might have thought twice before risking his life on such a night—but not Ida Lewis.
Without shoes or hat, she threw open the kitchen door and ran for the boat.
“Oh, don’t go!” called her mother; “it is too great a risk!”
“I must go, mother!” cried the brave girl, running faster.
“Here’s your coat,” called her mother again.
“I haven’t a moment to spare if I am to reach them in time!” cried Ida, pulling away at the oars.