Water Rushes in Hole.
But the pounding sea soon separated the vessels, and as they backed away the water
rushed into the gaping hole in the steamer with a velocity that could only mean the swift doom of the passenger vessel.

There were no water-tight compartments to be closed, and therefore the flood could not be confined to the damaged section, and it poured in over the cargo and down into the hold. As the water struck the boiler room clouds of steam arose and panic-stricken passengers, all of whom had been thrown from their bunks when the collision occcurred [sic], were at first under the impression that a fire had broken out on board.

Unfortunately, the point of collision was in that part of the steamer where was located the signaling apparatus connecting the engineroom with the pilothouse. Capt. McVey, standing in the pilothouse could not communicate with his subordinate officers below decks, and therefore was unable to determine the extent of the damage. The quartermaster was hurried below to make an investigation.

Passengers Rush to Decks.
The passengers meanwhile rushed to the decks. Few of them had waited to clothe
themselves. Their fear was so great that the first penetrating blast of the zero temperature was disregarded, but the suffering from the cold and water soon became so intense that personal was forgotten in a genral [sic] effort to keep the blood in circulation. Those who had not stopped to clothe themselves now found it impossible to return below and do so.

Their rooms were flooded soon after they had been deserted, and the steamer, floundering around in the high seas that are feared by all Sound navigators, was sinking with a repidity that sent terror to the hearts of the officers and crew. Those men were prompt in answering Capt. McVey's call to quarters. While some of the seamen held back the frantic passengers by brute strength, others were proparing to lower the lifeboats and rafts. There was no time to think of the comfort of any one. Even before the boats were cut away, Capt. McVey knew that the list of victims would be greater than those who survived.

There was a physical impossibility for any but the most hardened to withstand the cold, which turned the ears and noses white with the frost, and which so benumbed the feet that both the passengers and members of the crew stumbled rather than walked to the small craft in which they were to leave the sinking ship.

Suffering Ones Cry Out.
Shrieks of agonized pain drowned the roar of the inrushing water. Pandemonium reigned supreme, but in spite of it, the women on board, suffering more intensely than the men, were placed in lifeboats, the male passengers and members of the crew selecting the unprotected rafts as their vehicle of escape.

Capt. McVey remained on the upper deck directing his officers and crew until every one [sic] on board appeared to have been cared for. He ordered all lifeboats and rafts cut away, and before he stepped into his own boat he stood on the upper deck a moment to see that his order was executed. Then he ordered that his boat, the largest on board, be cleared away. Before the men had an opportunity to loosen the tackles, the bottom of the boat rested on top of the surging sea, which was [illegible] over the hurricane deck and for [illegible] it seemed as though the lifeboat would be dragged down, before she could be freed from the doomed steamer.

Every hand on the boat was too cold to handle a knife and cut the ropes, which, however, slipped through the tackles, and set the boat adrift just as the vessel became submerged. The pitiable condition of the passengers and crew was increased a hundredfold the moment they had launched their boats. Every wave sent its dash of spray over the boats and their contents.

Soon a thin coating of ice enveloped every one. Those who were fully clothed suffered from frozen faces and numbed feet, but there were many who had on only their night clothes.

One Man Kills Himself.
One man in the captain's boat, although dressed warmer than many others, was suddenly driven insane by his intense suffering. He pulled a big clasp knife from his pocket and gashed his throat. On one stayed his hand, and again he plunged his knife into his throat. Those who sat near him either were too dazed to interfere or looked up the act of self-destruction as justified. The man's body fell to the bottom of the boat, where it remained unheeded.

Fishers Point, the nearest point of landing, was not quite five miles to the westward of the point where the steamer went down, and every boat immediately headed for that place. But the boats were heavy, and the men at the oars were weak. A fifty-mile gale blew on their backs as the men strained at the ice-covered oars in a hopeless endeavor to overcome the handicap against which they were struggle in. The boats and rafts soon became separated, and the only details of the terrible disaster which could be learned here were given when Capt. McVey's boat came ashore. Not a man on board was able to walk. Their feet were frozen so badly that the life-savers [sic] carried the survivors bodily to the life-saving station.

Ship's Captain Overcome.
Capt. McVey was so overcome by the enormity of the disaster that for a time he was unable to give a lucid account of what had happened after the ship had gone down. Shortly after his arrival here the captain said that he had on board his ship between 150 and 200 passengers and a crew of 50.

Later he said there were between fifty and seventy-five passengers on board the steamer when the vessel went down. The latter figure, however, is far below the estimate made by the officials of the Joy Line at Providence, who estimated that the number of passengers were not less than 150. The exact number of passengers was given in a list which was handed the purser just before the Larchmont started on her fateful journey, but it is believed that it was lost when the ship went down.

Capt. McVey said that had his crew been able to make progress against the northwest gale, they would have landed at Fishers Island between 12 and 1 o'clock. The wind, however, was too strong to be overcome, and there was nothing left for the suffering seamen but turn around and head for Block Island, fifteen miles away. It was shortly after 11 o'clock when the captain of the boat cut away from the sinking steamer, and it was not until 6:30 o'clock in the morning that it arrived at Block Island. It seemed, the captain said, as through the sever hours' struggle against the elements occupied an eternity, and not a soul in the boat expected to survive the excruciating suffering to which they were subjected.

The Washington Post, Washington, DC 13 Feb 1907

continued in part 3, below