Once more she rushed into the fight and succeeded in dropping anchor a considerable distance to windward of the wreck, from which point she veered down under her lee, but so great was the mass of broken masts, spars, and wreckage—nothing being now left but parts of the mizzen and bowsprit—that the coxswain was obliged to pay out 117 fathoms of cable to keep clear of it all.
The difficulty and danger of getting the boat alongside now became apparent to the people on the wreck, many of whom had never dreamed of such impediments before, and their hopes sank unreasonably low, just as, before, they had been raised unduly high.
With great difficulty the boat got near to the port quarter of the ship, and Pike stood up ready in the bow with a line, to which was attached a loaded cane, something like a large life-preserver.
“Heave!” shouted the coxswain.
The bowman made a deliberate and splendid cast; the weighted cane fell on the deck of the ship, and was caught by Jim Welton, who attached a hawser to it. This was drawn into the boat, and in a few seconds she was alongside. But she was now in great danger! The wild waters that heaved, surged, and leaped under the vessel’s lee threatened to dash the boat in pieces against her every moment, and it was only by the unremitting and strenuous exertions of the men with boat-hooks, oars, and fenders that this was prevented. Now the boat surged up into the chains as if about to leap on board the ship; anon it sank into a gulf of spray, or sheered wildly to leeward, but by means of the hawser and cable, and a “spring” attached to the latter, she was so handled that one and another of the crew of the wreck were taken into her.
The first saved was a little child. It was too small and delicate to be swung over the side by a rope, so the captain asked Jim Welton, as being the most agile man in the ship and possessed of superabundant animal courage, to take it in his arms and leap on board. Jim agreed at once, handed over the care of his flare-lights to one of the men, and prepared for action. The poor child, which was about a year old, clung to its mother’s neck with terror, and the distracted woman—a soldier’s widow—could scarce be prevailed on to let the little one out of her arms.
“Oh, let me go with him,” she pleaded most earnestly, “he is all that is left to me.”
“You shall follow immediately; delay may be death,” said the captain, kindly, as he drew the child gently but firmly from her grasp.
It was securely bound to Jim’s broad bosom by means of a shawl. Watching his opportunity when the boat came surging up on the crest of a billow almost to his feet, and was about to drop far down into the trough of the sea, the young sailor sprang from the side and was caught in the outstretched arms of the lifeboat men.
It had occurred to Stanley Hall, just before this happened, that there was every probability of some of the passengers falling overboard during the process of being transferred to the boat. Stanley was of a somewhat eccentric turn of mind, and seldom allowed his thoughts to dissipate without taking action of some kind. He therefore got into the mizzen chains and quietly fastened a rope round his waist, the other end of which he tied to a stanchion.