The instant Captain Hardwick read the order, he cast loose from the Hiawatha and headed about to save his own men. He sent a reassuring message to the Wilmington, then another to the Hiawatha, telling her to make a sea anchor, and keep in touch with the Oneida, which would reach her in a few hours.
All the while wind and sea grew worse. But little did the commander of the Iroquois care. He had weathered many a storm that was worse than this. He thought of only one thing: he must get to his men. Relentlessly he pushed the cutter. He drove the crew. He was everywhere, thinking of every contingency, preparing for every emergency. He had the sick bay prepared. He got cots and medicines in readiness. He warned the cook to be ready with hot drinks and food. Men and ship alike responded to the dynamic influence of their commander and drove the ship at a pace incredible.
As the sturdy cutter tore her way through the seas to reach the Wilmington, that doomed vessel sank lower and lower in the head and rolled ever more helplessly in the waves. Yet she floated. The bulkhead still held. The pumps could still be operated, and the volunteers were working feverishly to keep up steam and keep the pumps at work. Even though the water gained, it gained but slowly.
Darkness came. The cutter was still far away. There were few rockets left to fire, but every half hour one was shot skyward. A great flare was made on deck, but with waves and spray dashing over the ship it was difficult to keep the beacon burning. All the while the wireless men kept in touch with the Iroquois. At times Henry relieved him.
“We are listing very badly,” he called. “We cannot stay afloat much longer. How long will it take you to reach us?”
Afar off, the watchers on the Wilmington could now discern the beam from the searchlight of the Iroquois, like a great pencil of light reaching from sea to sky. Slowly it grew more distinct, but, oh, so slowly. The efforts to keep the beacon burning were redoubled. Once more Henry sent flashing a cry for help: “We are sinking fast.”
Meantime, with some planks from one of the after holds, the men had made life rafts. These were placed close to the stern, ready to be pitched into the sea at a second’s warning. A single boat remained—the one that had brought the crew from the Iroquois. All the others had been lost, some in the collision, while others had been torn away by the waves as the Wilmington rolled in the trough of the sea.
On came the Iroquois, though she was yet far away. “We are leaving immediately,” Henry signaled at the direction of Mr. Harris. “We have made some life rafts. Stand by to pick us up.”
When he had sent the message, Henry rejoined his commander on the after deck of the Wilmington, where all the men were now gathered. The bow of the freighter had sunk alarmingly. The big lifeboat still swung at the Wilmington’s davits, but these were peculiar, and held the boat so that every roll of the ship threatened to submerge the little craft. To save it from destruction, it was necessary to get it into the sea.
“Stand by to lower the lifeboat,” shouted Mr. Harris.