The sailor came hurrying back with a message to the Wilmington. Henry handed him the communication he had just received, and flashed out the message the sailor had brought, “Cutter Iroquois to your assistance. Hardwick, Commander.”
With all the speed he could muster, Captain Hardwick was coming, too. On through the fog and the dark the little cutter went rushing as fast as steam and muscle would drive her. In the engine-room grimy oilers tended their machines as carefully as a mother watches her babe. Like demons the firemen fed the furnaces, and the coal passers worked unceasingly. Through mist and fog and surging billow the Iroquois drove on and on. At ten minutes of nine Henry caught another call, “Same course. Going about on account bad steering. Call first fifteen minutes each hour.”
An hour later came the cry, “We have stopped now. Unable to proceed. When can we expect you?”
By every means at his command the captain of the Iroquois tried to hasten the little cutter, but already every soul on board was working at top capacity. Under forced draught, in heat almost unbearable, the men in the fireroom fed and stoked the fires with an energy well-nigh superhuman. From stem to stern the little cutter trembled and shook with the intensity of her efforts. Never had she traveled faster, yet hours must elapse before she could reach the injured steamers. Reluctantly Henry sent the discouraging word. And hardly had he finished, before there came to him the startling call, “Have you anything for me? Antennæ may soon carry away.”
It was just ten o’clock. Both Mr. Sharp and Jimmy had joined Henry in the wireless shack. They looked at one another with questioning, fearful eyes.
“She must be damaged more than we thought,” said Mr. Sharp. “God grant she stays afloat till we get there.”
At ten thirty-five came a reassuring flash from the Wilmington: “Have cast loose from the Hiawatha. Cannot steer. Heading into wind. Will proceed as wind abates. Water not gaining. Antennæ will carry away soon. Will answer your light by rockets. Will fire rockets every half hour.”
Jimmy rushed the message to the commander on the bridge. Mr. Sharp began to look very sober. “She must be worse than we think,” he repeated. “I can’t understand why her antennæ should be about to carry away. It must be blowing hard. A storm is coming where she is. I’m afraid of that wind. Her forward bulkhead is all that keeps her from sinking; it confines the water to her number one hold. But if the sea makes up, the pressure will smash that bulkhead, sure. The Hiawatha’s helpless now. She’ll drift fast before the wind. We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us.”
Grave, indeed, was the face of the commander, when he learned what had occurred. “Tell Mr. Sharp to get into communication with the Hiawatha at once,” he directed, “and have her keep in touch with us. The Wilmington is evidently much more badly injured. We must go to her first and get her men. We’ll steam for the Hiawatha the minute we have rescued them.”
On rushed the cutter. Through fog and dark she drove, fighting with every ounce of her power to win her way to the side of her crippled sister. Without, the night was black as pitch. From the sea came that ominous, moaning sound that betokens a storm. Aloft the cordage shrieked and wailed. As the ship rushed on, the wind rose steadily higher.