LOST IN THE SEA
For a moment the crew of the _Iroquois_ stood as though petrified.
In the brilliant beam of the searchlight they could see the dark
forms of their comrades as they bobbed up above the smother of foam.
Down from the bridge and the rigging of the _Capitol City_, where
the members of her crew had taken refuge from the sweeping waves,
these men now came leaping fearlessly. To rope and life-buoy they
ran, and, seizing them, hurled them far out into the waves toward
the struggling men from the _Iroquois_. But the strong cross current
that had borne the floating keg so far to one side of the stranded
ship, now carried the struggling men rapidly away from the steamer
and the floating buoys. Desperately the men fought to reach the
_Capitol City_, but the rushing tide beat them back, sucked them
farther and farther away from the ship, and dragged them out toward
the deeper water.
Not long did the men on the _Iroquois_ remain idly watching their
comrades, helpless in the surf. One instant alone they stood as
though paralyzed. Then, as the captain began to bark his terse
commands, they leaped to action. In an instant the anchor-chain was
released, and as it paid out the _Iroquois_ began to move. Driven by
wind and wave, she bore farther into the breakers. A seaman with the
lead sounded and roared out the depths. Rapidly the water shoaled,
but the captain let the _Iroquois_ drive on. He meant to save his
men if it were humanly possible. Rapidly the tide was sweeping them
outward. The wind was pushing the cutter inward. Every second
brought the struggling men nearer to their comrades, who waited with
ropes and buoys, at the rail of the _Iroquois_.
Of a sudden the _Iroquois_ was jarred from stem to stern. Again and
again, as she rolled in the waves, came that pounding, jarring
sensation. She had struck bottom. She was on the shoals. The captain
signaled for full speed ahead, and shouted an order to the men at
the anchor-chain. The propeller began to revolve slowly, then
faster, then at full speed. The engine on the forward deck began to
heave in the anchor-chain. The _Iroquois_ seemed to pause and gather
herself for a leap. Almost imperceptibly at first, then faster, and
then with a rush, she moved through the water. An oncoming comber,
towering toward the skies, met her bow on, and again the little
cutter plunged headlong under water. A warning cry went up. The men
on deck grasped rope and rail and clung with all their might. The
great wave went sweeping aft like an avenging fury, but not a man
was swept away. Instantly the captain signaled to lessen speed. The
_Iroquois_ forged ahead more slowly, the leadsman sounding
continually and shouting the depth to the commander on the bridge.
Soon the cutter rode at a safe depth. The engines were stopped, the
anchor-chain was made fast, and once more the _Iroquois_ rode safe
at the edge of the breakers.
All the while the resistless tide was sweeping the struggling men in
the breakers out toward the _Iroquois_. One by one they were now
borne past the ship, struggling desperately to reach her side. With
trembling hands eager comrades flung ropes and buoys. All fell
short. One man alone came close, bravely fighting his way to the
starboard side of the cutter. A sailor climbed over the rail and
down a ladder, leaned down, and snatched his struggling comrade as
the latter shot upward on the crest of a wave. At that instant the
ship lurched violently to port, the sailor’s grasp was broken, his
comrade was torn from his grip, and the poor fellow was sucked away
by a wave, and, struggling desperately, was borne out to sea. All
about the _Iroquois_ men were fighting with the waves. In
desperation their comrades watched them.
To launch a boat seemed not humanly possible. No little craft could
live in such a sea. But the captain called for volunteers, and as
one man the crew sprang forward.
“Lower away the leeward lifeboat,” roared the captain.
Eager hands unbent the gripes, the falls were loosened, and the
lifeboat dropped level with the rail. Into her leaped the chosen
crew, with the executive officer in command. Down went the boat. For
a moment it rode the waves in safety, and pulled out toward the
struggling men in the sea. It had almost reached the nearest when a
swirling comber rose beside it, towered a second above it, and then
came crashing down on it, burying men and boat under tons of yeasty
water.
For a moment, boat and men were completely lost to sight. Far down
beneath the swirling seas the ill-fated crew of the lifeboat had
been thrust by the towering comber. The moving searchlight showed no
human form among the savage seas. Then suddenly the sea was full of
struggling men. Some fought their way to the overturned boats and
clung to them. Those whose grips had loosened were seized by their
comrades and dragged back to the pitiful security of a hold on a
floating boat. Some could not gain even this slender assistance.
At this instant the tide turned. Far to seaward the men from that
first ill-fated boat had now been swept, out into the blackness of
the night, past the possibility of assistance. But the struggling
crew of the other boat were now borne slowly shoreward. Now wave and
wind combined to wash them toward the distant sands. It did not seem
possible that they could safely pass through that seething caldron.
With incredible fury the waves beat down upon them. Like chips in a
mill race they were tossed helplessly this way and that. But every
man of them wore a life belt, and despite the buffeting of the seas
all remained afloat and alive. Bravely they continued to fight for
their lives.
Two boats had been swamped. Two crews were battling for life in the
waves, and one was irrevocably lost. But men still pressed forward
and begged to be allowed to try again. No boat could live in such an
awful sea, yet the men of the _Iroquois_ pleaded for a chance, a
last chance, to save their comrades. The captain ordered one more
boat lowered. Like its predecessors, it lived but a few minutes in
the awful sea.
Three boats had now been capsized, and three crews were struggling
in the sea. Many were clinging to the overturned boats, while others
had gained some of the buoys thrown to the crew of the first
overturned boat. Numbers were swimming unaided. The sea was full of
boats and floating men. Impotent, heartsick, torn with anguish, the
men remaining on the _Iroquois_ stood watching the awful sight. They
had done their best. They had done all that human beings could
possibly do, but it was not enough. There was nothing else they
could do but pray, and many an agonized seaman, rough as a barnacle,
stood with tears streaming down his rugged face and prayed for his
comrades struggling for their lives in that awful sea.
Perhaps those prayers were heard. With every minute the incoming
tide ran stronger, washing the struggling men toward shore, where
now were burning the welcome beacons of the crews from landward
Coast Guard stations. Again and again they tried to launch their
surfboats, and as often were beaten back. Now they stood at the edge
of the waves, waiting to assist their comrades from the ship.
Ceaselessly the searchlight of the _Iroquois_ played upon the
breakers, and on her bridge officers stood with glasses and watched
the awful fight. Miraculously the struggling men drove steadily
toward the shore. Soon they were in shallow water. They touched
bottom. And now, fighting their way upward on the sand, they
struggled through the breakers. Again and again inward-rushing waves
beat them down, but always they were flung forward, tossed landward,
driven farther toward the sandy beach and safety. The flaming fires
before them heartened them, encouraged them. New strength came to
them, and singly, in pairs, and even in little groups, they battled
their way onward. The strong helped the weak, and one or two were
seen dragging comrades who were wholly helpless. Out into the
breakers rushed the waiting guards from the shore. Strong arms were
thrown around weak and fainting forms, and limp bodies were carried
bodily through the waves. Again and again the sturdy guardsmen from
the shore rushed back into the waves and aided more men ashore,
while others toiled to resuscitate the few who had all but
succumbed.
Around the fires now pressed the rescued seamen, increasing in
number as man after man gained the sands, until they formed a great
ring about the flames. Their numbers brought joy to the watchers on
the _Iroquois_. Now the rescued men were seen to be leaving the fire
and trooping off into the darkness.
The commander was talking to the quartermaster, who had been kept at
his post during all the struggle. “We must be a little farther along
the coast than I thought,” said the captain. “They must be taking
our men to a Coast Guard station. Tell Sparks to get in touch with
the station and find how many men were saved.”
The quartermaster climbed down the ladder and made his way to the
radio shack. Young Belford was on duty. “Where is Mr. Sharp?”
demanded the quartermaster.
“Gone,” said the young wireless man, and there were tears in his
eyes.
“Gone! You don’t mean he went in a boat?”
The radio man nodded. For a moment he could not speak, then he
managed to say, “I saw him leap into the last boat.” And a great sob
broke from him.
“He may be safe,” said the quartermaster. “Most of the men got
ashore. We could see them with the glasses.”
“Oh, I hope so!” cried the lad.
The quartermaster ran up on the bridge again. “The chief radio man
is gone,” he said. “He pulled an oar in the last boat.”
“Find young Harper,” said the captain.
“I saw him on deck helping the sailors.”
“Send him to me.”
When the quartermaster had summoned Henry, the commander said to
him, his voice quivering with emotion, “Lad, Mr. Sharp is gone. He
was in the last boat. Are you sure you can operate our wireless? We
need it now as we never needed it before.”
“I can,” said Henry quietly.
“Then try to get in touch with this land station. I don’t know which
one it is. I thought that we were opposite Truro. We’re somewhere in
that neighborhood. Find which station it is, and ask how many men
got ashore.”
“But what about Belford?” asked Henry. “He’s the regular assistant.
Oughtn’t he to do it?”
The captain glared angrily at Henry. Then he comprehended what was
in the boy’s mind. “Send Belford to me,” he said. “It’s no time for
etiquette now. I want action.”
“You shall have it,” said Henry, and he hastened to the radio shack.
“Belford,” he said, as he closed the door to shut out the howl of
the wind, “the captain has asked me to send a message. He wants you
to report to the bridge.”
Henry sat down at the desk, hastily searched through the list of
Coast Guard station calls, and began combing the air with the
wireless to carry out the captain’s wishes. Meantime young Belford
mounted to the bridge and stood before his commander.
“Young man,” said the captain, “Mr. Harper is going to take charge
of the wireless. He’s a former government operator and has had much
experience. I am sorry to go over your head, but we must all do our
best. It’s a trying time.”
“I will help all I can,” said the assistant operator loyally.
“Very good,” said the commander. “Go back to the wireless house.
Tell Mr. Harper to come to me the instant he gets word from shore.”
“Yes, sir,” said the radio man, and he hurried back to his post.
Meantime Henry had been flashing abroad call after call. He had just
got his station when young Belford came back. A moment more and his
great question was answered. He turned from his key, his face aglow.
“The captain wants to see you the minute you’re done,” said young
Belford.
Henry rose and sought the bridge. “Captain Hardwick,” he cried,
“every man except the crew of the first boat is accounted for. They
are all safe at the station.”
“Thank God!” cried the commander. For a moment he could not speak.
Then, in husky tones, he said, “Henry, I’ve told young Belford that
you are in charge of the radio. Don’t feel any hesitation about
taking charge. There is now a vacancy in our radio staff. You are
regularly appointed to the vacancy and detailed to act as chief.”