# The Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Coast Guard/Chapter 22

CHAPTER XXII
Victory
FOR two weeks the Iroquois herded the floes of ice. Then the Oneida relieved her and the Iroquois sailed to Halifax, where she renewed her supplies and equipment preparatory to another two weeks of struggle with the army of the ice king. So it went for long months, but finally the last of the bergs disappeared. The Oneida had already gone back to Boston. Now the Iroquois bade farewell to the fogs and storms of the Grand Banks and gleefully headed for her home anchorage in the shelter of old St. George.
But ere she reached her longed-for haven, duty once more turned her prow away from home. The little cutter, driving as fast as steam and the eagerness of her crew could send her, was far off the New England coast when, shortly after evening mess one foggy day, Henry picked out of the air that ever-startling call, “QST—QST—QST—QRT—QRT—QRT—SOS—SOS—SOS—SOS—SOS: Steamers Wilmington and Hiawatha in collision. Position sixty-four ten west, forty-three north.”
It was the Wilmington’s operator who was sending. The instant he signed off, Henry’s key ​was sounding. He flashed the Wilmington’s call, KGD, and asked, “Do you require assistance?”
“Yes,” came the answer. “Require assistance immediately.”
Henry called a sailor and sent the message to the commander. Then he returned to his key, and again signaled the Wilmington. “How badly are you hurt?” he queried.
“Wilmington’s bow crushed. Number one hold full of water. Hiawatha’s stern damaged. Propeller broken. Hiawatha in tow. Making for Halifax. Speed three knots an hour.”
The sailor came hurrying back with a message to the Wilmington. Henry handed him the communication he had just received, and flashed out the message the sailor had brought, “Cutter Iroquois to your assistance. Hardwick, Commander.”’
With. all the speed he could muster, Captain Hardwick was coming, too. On through the fog and the dark the little cutter went rushing as fast as steam and muscle would drive her. In the engine-room grimy oilers tended their machines as carefully as a mother watches her babe. Like demons the firemen fed the furnaces, and the coal-passers worked unceasingly. Through mist and fog and surging billow the Iroquois drove on and on. At ten minutes of nine Henry caught ​another call, “Same course. Going about on account bad steering. Call first fifteen minutes each hour.”
An hour later came the cry, “We have stopped now. Unable to proceed. When can we expect you?”
By every means at his command the captain of the Iroquois tried to hasten the little cutter, but already every soul on board was working at top capacity. Under forced draught, in heat almost unbearable, the men in the fireroom fed and stoked the fires with an energy well-nigh superhuman. From stem to stern the little cutter trembled and shook with the intensity of her efforts. Never had she traveled faster, yet hours must elapse before she could reach the injured steamers. Reluctantly Henry sent the discouraging word. And hardly had he finished, before there came to him the startling call, “Have you anything for me? Antenne may soon carry away.”
It was just ten o’clock. Both Mr. Sharp and Jimmy had joined Henry in the wireless shack. They looked at one another with questioning, fearful eyes.
“She must be damaged more than we thought,” said Mr. Sharp. “God grant she stays afloat till we get there.”
At ten thirty-five came a reassuring flash from ​the Wilmington: “Have cast loose from the Hiawatha. Cannot steer. Heading into wind. Will proceed as wind abates. Water not gaining. Antennæ will carry away soon. Will answer your light by rockets. Will fire rockets every half hour.”
Jimmy rushed the message to the commander on the bridge. Mr. Sharp began to look very sober. “She must be worse than we think,” he repeated. “I can’t understand why her antennæ should be about to carry away. It must be blowing hard. A storm is coming where she is. I’m afraid of that wind. Her forward bulkhead is all that keeps her from sinking; it confines the water to her number one hold. But if the sea makes up, the pressure will smash that bulkhead, sure. The Hiawatha’s helpless now. She’ll drift fast before the wind. We've certainly got our work cut out for us.”
Grave, indeed, was the face of the commander, when he learned what had occurred. “Tell Mr. Sharp to get into communication with the Hiawatha at once,” he directed, “and have her keep in touch with us. The Wilmington is evidently much more badly injured. We must go to her first and get her men. We’ll steam for the Hiawatha the minute we have rescued them.”
On rushed the cutter. Through fog and dark ​she drove, fighting with every ounce of her power to win her way to the side of her crippled sister. Without, the night was black as pitch. From the sea came that ominous, moaning sound that betokens a storm. Aloft the cordage shrieked and wailed. As the ship rushed on, the wind rose steadily higher.
At eleven thirty-five came the message, “We are firing rockets now.”
At midnight the Wilmington sent her position. In all her hours of struggle she had won but pitifully few miles toward safety. When Henry had copied down this message, he laid aside the head-phones and surrendered his place to Jimmy. He had worked two hours overtime, but no one in the radio shack had given a thought to time. They were tense with anxiety about the Wilmington. Now Henry took his message to the captain. Mr. Sharp told him he had better get some sleep, but sleep was impossible. Every minute the wind was coming stronger, and the sea was getting up. The thought of those wretched sailors, waiting helplessly for the Iroquois, their vessel likely to sink at any moment, moved Henry powerfully. Never could he forget the sight of those poor fellows from the Iroquois that he had seen struggle so hard for their lives in the sea off Cape Cod. The men of the Wilmington might at any moment be ​in the same situation. With such thoughts surging through his excited brain he could not sleep, so he returned to the radio shack.
At half-past three in the morning a rocket was seen. Long before this the Iroquois had broken out her searchlight, shooting a great finger of light through the darkness ahead, then pointing the beam upward toward the heavens, so that it could be seen afar. The cutter rushed on, crew and commander heartened by the streaks of fire that now shot heavenward at intervals in the darkness ahead. By four o’clock the Wilmington herself could be seen plainly, and a little while later the Iroquois lay close alongside, her searchlight playing on the injured ship.
The freighter’s prow was bent, and she had settled a little forward, but otherwise she appeared to be in good condition. On the far side of her was a gaping hole in her nose that was not visible from the Iroquois. She looked as though she were still good for a struggle.
But the crew of the cutter had not long to speculate about the condition of the disabled ship. Down from her davits dropped the huge lifeboat full of men. A moment it paused alongside, while the sailors who had manned the falls slid down them into the boat. Then the little craft was shoved clear of the crippled ship and pulled over to the Iroquois. Up the side of the cutter ​the frightened sailors scrambled like terrified sheep. Plainly they were foreigners. And the commander of the Iroquois opened his eyes wide, when he noted that many of them were Englishmen. He was not surprised that the others were panic-stricken.
The captain of the Wilmington was the last man to come aboard. His expression was pitiful. “I could have saved my ship,” he cried, “if it had not been for this cowardly crew. The forward hold is full of water, but the bulkhead is holding well. We could have made Halifax in a few hours.”
The executive officer was standing by. “Captain Hardwick,” he said, “will you allow me to take a volunteer crew and work the Wilmington into Halifax? It’s a crime to abandon a ship like that.”
“You may try it, Mr. Harris, if you wish.”
The executive officer turned and faced the crew of the Iroquois, who were gathered forward of the ladder. “How many of you are willing to help me work the Wilmington into Halifax?” he cried.
The crew sprang forward as one man. The commander of the Wilmington strode over to Mr. Harris. “I’m going back with you,” he said. Half a dozen of the Englishmen followed. “We're with you, Captain,” they said.
​The executive officer chose twenty men from the crew of the Iroquois. They climbed down the ladder into the Wilmington’s waiting boat, the Englishmen following. The executive officer, who had been below all the evening, drew off his low shoes and began to pull on high laced boots.
Henry ran out of the radio shack. “Please, may I go?”’ he cried. “No,” said the executive officer. “This is no place for boys.”
Henry fell on his knees and began to lace up the executive officer’s boots. “Please, Mr. Harris,” he pleaded. “You can’t get along without a radio man.”
“The Wilmington’s own radio man is going back,” said the executive officer shortly.
“But he will need a relief.”
“Not before we reach Halifax.”
“Then let me go and sling chow. You haven’t any mess boy. I can do other jobs between meals.”
By this time the executive officer was almost in the boat. He took a last look upward.
“Please, Mr. Harris,’ pleaded Henry, “please let me go.”
“Come on, then,” growled the executive officer. “But it’s no place for boys.”
Eagerly Henry followed his leader into the waiting boat. The craft was pushed away from ​the cutter and strong arms soon carried her alongside the Wilmington. In a few moments more the lifeboat swung at her davits, and the volunteer crew had scattered to their respective posts. Slowly the crippled ship got under way. She seemed to ride safely, and the prospects for saving her were excellent. For a little while the Iroquois lay motionless, while her commander studied the movements of the Willmington. Then, satisfied that she could make her goal, Captain Hardwick signaled the men in the engine-room, the cutter began to move, and soon was steaming steadily away from the Wilmington, to begin her search for the Hiawatha. But Captain Hardwick had not seen the gaping hole in the far side of the Wilmington’s nose.
On board the Wilmington every one was working at top speed. Men who had never passed coal before, now hustled fuel for the furnaces. The few experienced firemen in the volunteer crew were supplemented by inexperienced men. The engines were tended, the pumps were kept running, the ship was navigated, and all was done with heroic determination. Even the firemen, like everybody else, worked double shifts. The man who was to cook passed coal for hours, then washed and made hot coffee and sandwiches, which Henry passed to the men to munch while they labored. Then Henry went below to pass ​coal. Everybody on board was working with dogged determination. They were going to get the Wilmington into Halifax if it was humanly possible.
Nobly the crippled freighter responded. She forged through the waves faster and faster until she was making seven and a half knots an hour. With satisfaction Mr. Harris sent the good news to the commander of the Iroquois. But even at seven and a half knots an hour, the Wilmington had a long journey before her, and all the while the sea was rising.
Dawn came, but no sun followed to light the day. The mists and fogs increased. The wind bellowed with ever-increasing force. The seas mounted upward, higher and higher, and with every passing hour the storm grew worse. Viciously the waves crashed against the broken nose of the Wilmington. Slower rode the crippled steamer, and slower still. Both wind and seas held her back, and her commander dared not drive her with the full power of his engines. The strain on the bulkhead was terrific.
Noon came. The Wilmington was still moving, though slowly. The Iroquois had found the Hiawatha and taken her in tow. The Oneida was rushing out from Boston to help. At regular intervals the Wilmington’s wireless man sent some message to the Iroquois. By early after-​noon these became alarming. The pumps were no longer holding their own, and water was gaining in the hold of the Wilmington. By two o’clock the disabled ship was down by the head. She could no longer buck the seas.
A little later her commander wired to Captain Hardwick, “Am trying to steam backward.”
When he got the message, Captain Hardwick was worried, indeed. “They’ll never make it,” he declared to Mr. Sharp. “Ask the Oneida to hurry. We shall likely have to abandon the Hiawatha and go back to the Wilmington.”
On board the Wilmington, the volunteer crew was making a superhuman effort to carry on. The attempt to steam backward was unsuccessful. Lower settled the nose of the ship. It was desirable to make a sea anchor, to hold the ship’s head to the waves. But now the combers were crashing over the settling bow of the steamer, and water was pouring into her hold through hatchways. It was impossible for men to go below and get the materials necessary to make the sea anchor. Disabled, sinking steadily lower in the bow, the crippled vessel now rolled helplessly in the sea. It was merely a question of time until she should go under.
At three o’clock the Wilmington flashed a message to the Iroquois. Mr. Sharp went white when he read it. “We are rolling helplessly ​and settling fast. Vessel is doomed. Am preparing to abandon ship. Will remain till last minute. Need help immediately.”
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.
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 thou-​sand 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.
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; “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.
What happened after that Henry hardly knew, but presently he found himself in the engine-room of the cutter. He was being stripped and rubbed. Some one was giving him hot coffee to drink.
When he was able to get about the ship, he inquired for the others who had been in the sea. The lifeboat, so clumsily manned, had capsized, and one of the English sailors had been drowned. Every other man who had gone to the Wilmington had been rescued. He learned that the Oneida had found the Hiawatha and that both boats were safely on their way to Boston.
Two days later the Iroquois lay peacefully at her anchor off St. George. Rollin came to the wireless shack looking for Henry, who had entirely recovered from his hard experience.
“The captain wants to see you, Mr. Harper,” he said, ​Henry rose and made his way to the cabin, wondering what the commander wanted now.
“I suppose you will be going to see your friends at your first opportunity, Henry,” said the captain.
“Indeed I shall, sir.”
“You’ll have a lot to tell them,” smiled the commander.
“Won’t they be surprised when they hear all I’ve got to say!”
“Mr. Harris has been telling me about the last moments of the Wilmington,” continued Captain Hardwick. “Of course your probationary period was up long ago, as you know, Henry, but you haven’t had a chance to see your friends since then. It occurred to me that when you tell them you have passed your probationary period satisfactorily, you might like to add that Captain Hardwick says you have qualified for the Coast Guard in every way. Do you understand, sir? In every way.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Henry. “Thank you very much;” and with heart beating high he marched from the cabin and made ready to go over to Manhattan to tell Willie and Roy the news of his permanent appointment as third-class radio man on the good ship Iroquois.