Over the waves we toiled slowly, pulling for life.  The men stuffed their pea-jackets into the holes in her side, and bailed incessantly.  We neared the Rhode Island; but now a new peril appeared.  Right down upon our centre, borne by the might of rushing water, came the whale-boat sent to rescue others from the iron-clad.  We barely floated; if she struck us with her bows full on us, we must go to the bottom.  One sprang, and, as she neared, with outstretched arms, met and turned her course.  She passed against us, and his hand, caught between the two, was crushed, and the arm, wrenched from its socket, fell a helpless weight at his side; but life remained.  We were saved, and an arm was a small price to pay for life.

We reached the Rhode Island; ropes were flung over her side, and caught with a death-grip.  Some lost their hold, were washed away, and again dragged in by the boat’s crew.  What chance had one whose right arm hung a dead weight, when strong men with their two hands went down before him?  He caught at a rope, found it impossible to save himself alone, and then for the first time said,—­“I am injured; can any one aid me?” Ensign Taylor, at the risk of his own life, brought the rope around his shoulder in such a way it could not slip, and he was drawn up in safety.

In the mean time the whale-boat, nearly our destruction, had reached the side of the Monitor, and now the captain said,—­“It is madness to remain here longer; let each man save himself.”  For a moment he descended to the cabin for a coat, and his faithful servant followed to secure a jewel-box, containing the accumulated treasure of years.  A sad, sorry sight it was.  In the heavy air the lamps burned dimly, and the water, waist-deep, splashed sullenly against the wardroom’s sides.  One lingering look, and he left the Monitor’s cabin forever.

Time was precious; he hastened to the deck, where, in the midst of a terrible sea, Lieutenant Greene nobly held his post.  He seized the rope from the whale-boat, wound it about an iron stanchion, and then around his wrists, for days afterward swollen and useless from the strain.  His black body-servant stood near him.

“Can you swim, William?” he asked.

“No,” replied the man.

“Then keep by me, and I’ll save you.”

One by one, watching their time between the waves, the men filled in, the captain helping the poor black to a place, and at last, after all effort for others and none for themselves, Captain Bankhead and Lieutenant Greene took their places in the boat.  Two or three still remained, clinging to the turret; the captain had begged them to come down, but, paralyzed with fear, they sat immovable, and the gallant Brown, promising to return for them, pushed off, and soon had his boat-load safe upon the Rhode Island’s deck.

Here the heartiest and most tender reception met us.  Our drenched clothing was replaced by warm and dry garments, and all on board vied with each other in acts of kindness.  The only one who had received any injury, Surgeon Weeks, was carefully attended to, the dislocated arm set, and the crushed fingers amputated by the gentlest and most considerate of surgeons, Dr. Webber of the Rhode Island.