The boat was made free and brought even with the rail. Every member of the Wilmington’s own crew now on the ship piled into it. One sailor from the Iroquois leaped after them.
“Lower away,” called the executive officer at a favorable moment, “but be sure not to cut the painter.”
Yet no sooner was the little craft afloat than one of the freighter’s panic-stricken men whipped out his knife and severed the line that held her to the steamer. Like a shot she was flung far from the side of the Wilmington. The men on the Iroquois, waiting to slide down into the lifeboat, were left stranded on the deck of the sinking vessel.
“Pull her back,” roared the executive officer.
The men in the lifeboat bent to their oars, but they were only merchant sailors, and knew little about handling oars. They were utterly unable to sweep the lifeboat up against the wind. Though they pulled hard, the craft was driven steadily farther and farther away in the darkness. In a moment it was lost to sight.
“Quick!” cried Mr. Harris. “Over with your life rafts.” The sailors leaped to the rafts and slid them over the rail into the sea.
“After them,” shouted the executive officer. “It’s your last chance. She’ll sink in a minute. Catch your rafts and swim away, or the suction will take you down.”
Into the sea went the sailors, leaping from the Wilmington’s rail far, far out into the heaving waters. In a moment only Henry and his commander were left.
“Over with you, Harper,” ordered the executive officer. “Try to get to one of the rafts.”
Henry looked out over the side of the ship. All was inky darkness. The Iroquois could be seen coming on apace, but she was still one thousand yards away. The winds were lashing the sea with fury. The tumult of the waters was terrifying to hear. Henry was frightened as he had never been before, but he did not lose his head. “I will go when you go,” he said.