A yawl and a smaller boat were swept away, and the crew sought refuge in the rigging. Capt. RANDALL and his wife, with seven of the crew, climbed into the fore rigging, while the other clambered into the main rigging. All were drenched, for the heavy seas broke half way up the mast. They climbed to the crosstrees then. The pieces of timber were only four inches wide, and formed a very slender support for those who sought shelter there.

MRS. RANDALL was thoroughly convinced that all would drown, and would not climb further. She was apathetic, but her husband tied a rope around her waist, and lifted her to the top mast rigging. The signal lights of the patrolmen on shore, nearly a third of a mile away, could be plainly seen by the wrecked crew, and shortly after daybreak they could discern the life savers shooting projectiles in the direction of the sunken schooner. Some of these passed over the vessel, and others, parted from the line, fell into the water.

All were benumbed and cold, and to save themselves from falling from sheer exhaustion they lashed themselves to the cross trees. To shield themselves as much as possible from the cutting wind, the top sail was cut, and a sort of tent was made, but the protection it afforded was slight.

None had eaten a morsel of food since Monday.

During the morning the heavy surf prevented the life savers from launching a boat, and the shipwrecked crew watched vainly for help. In the afternoon matters became worse, for the foremast had loosened and was swinging and swaying, threatening every minute to go over the side and precipitate those in the cross trees of the fore mast into the sea below.

The upper deck was beginning to break up, and, to add to the horror of the situation, sunset was coming on, and a prospect of a night in the cross trees was appalling. At sundown nothing of the shore but a faint streak of sand could be made out, and soon that faded away.

MRS. RANDALL had been as brave as the rest, although several times she said she knew there was no hope and she was ready to die.

At 9 o’clock Tuesday evening Capt. RANDALL made out the lights of a steamer that was hovering around the wreck. This was the Merritt tug. All of the crew tried to hail her but could hear no response.

At 11 o’clock the bright moonlight showed him a life boat being put out by the steamer, and shortly after, the small boat, carrying a big torch in her bow, came near the wreck. The men in the small boat were evidently trying to hail the shipwrecked crew, and when it put back to the steamer at midnight the men in the rigging felt that they had been deserted and were doomed to be drowned.

“Not one of the party head eaten a morsel or closed an eye since Monday afternoon,” said Capt. RANDALL (in telling the story. “We had given up in despair when the lifeboat went back to the steamer at midnight, but as dawn broke we could see that a boat was being lowered. The boat was manned by seven men, and when it reached the side of our vessel we dropped into her on at a time. It was not an easy thing to take us on board, for the sea was rough and the boat did not dare come to near, for fear of being thrown against the mast.

“The rescue was none too soon, for almost as we were leaving the scene of the wreck, the schooner began to break up.”

MRS. RANDALL is a pleasant-faced woman about forty years old, with brown hair and hazel eyes. She did not seem to be much the worse for her thrilling experience, except that her foot was slightly bruised.

The New York Times, New York, NY 30 Nov 1893