sea at once and take the oil tanker Rayolite in tow. Henry was going to have his desire fulfilled. The cutter was to go out and once more wrestle with the ocean. The Rayolite, an unfinished tanker, was being towed from Nova Scotia to New York. In the storm the towing tug had deserted her, and the ship was somewhere out on the ocean, driving helplessly before the wind. Her position was given in the despatch as approximately forty-one north, seventy-one west. There were some maps in the wireless shack, so after he had sent the message to the imperiled tanker Henry looked up her position. It seemed to be almost due east of the eastern end of Long Island. The wind was east of north, so that the helpless tanker would be blown along almost parallel with the coast line. Henry was glad of that. He did not want to see any more ships piled up on the shore.
Within a very few minutes after the receipt of this message, the Iroquois was once more heading out to sea. Clad in thick woolen garments and oilskins, the captain stood on the bridge, conning the cutter through the channel. He was needed there. The passage, so fair and easy on a clear day, now called for the utmost caution. Lowering clouds of fog were driving in from the sea, increasing in density with every minute. Snow had begun to fall, at first coming in gusty