In his hand Mr. Harris held a long-barreled flash-light for signaling, with a patent contact strip about the handle. Now through the blackness of the night he was sending flashes of light, to direct the oncoming cutter. Astonished, Henry saw that his commander was sending a message just as he himself had learned to do through the cutter’s blinkers, with dots and dashes of light. He stood motionless and read the message, “Please hurry. My men are in the water.”
A feeling of inexpressible admiration came over Henry. Here was a man voluntarily risking his life to save his men. As calmly as though he were safe ashore, instead of standing on the threshold of death, the executive officer continued to flash his directing signals. Then another thought came to Henry. “He’s a Coast Guard officer. So am I. I’ll try to act like one.” He became calm. And as he watched his big superior, so quiet and unafraid, fearful only lest the Iroquois should be too late to save his men, something of the same feeling of strength and courage came to Henry.
“I’ll stay by him to the end,” he muttered.
He had not long to wait for the end. The Wilmington suddenly began to settle rapidly by the head. Her bulkhead had given way and the sea was rushing in. As the freighter settled, she likewise turned. The executive officer crawled aft, out over the taffrail, and continued his signaling. A sweep of his torch, as he crawled to the rail, revealed his feet. He was still clad in his heavy boots.
“You haven’t taken your boots off, Mr. Harris,” said Henry, quietly; and whipping out his knife, he knelt once more at the feet of this man who was above fear, cut the laces, and dragged off the heavy boots. Before he had time to remove his own shoes there was a terrific crash as the boiler exploded, and the stern of the Wilmington suddenly rose high in air.
“Jump!” shouted the commander; “and swim as far away as you can.”
He clutched Henry’s hand. Together they leaped far out from the ship. In another second they were deep under the chilling water, and Henry was fighting to reach the surface.
He came up gasping for breath. The ship was just plunging beneath the waves. Above the roar of the winds Henry could distinguish the sucking noise as she disappeared. He felt himself pulled toward the spot where the ship had been. With all his might he strove against the suction. Presently he felt that he had struggled free from it. He swam about, calling for Mr. Harris. After a few minutes he heard an answering call in the darkness. It was his commander. Rejoiced, he swam toward the sound. Presently he bumped into something. It proved to be one of the life rafts. He got up on it and called to Mr. Harris. The latter swam to the raft and got on. No one else was to be seen. From time to time they heard shouts.
The Iroquois was now near at hand. On she came at full speed. With her searchlight she was sweeping the waves. When she came to the first of the men in the water, she hove to. One after another her boats were lowered until all were afloat. In the bow of each rode a sailor, armed with a powerful light. Over the waves coursed the little boats, calling, searching, rescuing, for man after man was plucked from the foaming waters and lifted to safety. Finally one of the boats came toward the executive officer and Henry. The two shouted in unison. Their cries were heard, and the boat came rapidly toward them, but long before it reached them a sudden wave came crashing over the raft and Henry lost his grip and was swept off into the tumultuous sea.
He struggled to fight his way back, but he was almost paralyzed with cold and worn out and exhausted. He feared he could never make it. Suddenly he found himself in a grip of iron. The executive officer had swum after him. They regained the raft. Desperately now Henry clung to the planks, while his superior officer held fast to him with his legs, all the while clinging to the planks with his hands. The small boat came up and the two were lifted aboard.