Distress signals were flying from her foremast—the only spar left standing. The others hung over the side, their weight helping to careen the vessel at a dangerous angle, besides pounding against her like battering-rams every time she rolled. Six men could be seen, one of whom stood apart waving a flag, while most of the others ran about in the most frantic transports; now falling upon their knees, then rising and extending their arms toward the _Sagamore_. The wreck was apparently full of water, so there was no time to be lost. Nothing short of a case like this could have induced Captain Meade to launch a boat off Cape Horn, for the huge waves and the liability to sudden squalls make it a perilous proceeding at all times. Mr. Marsh took command of the gig with a carefully selected crew, but it required half an hours’ maneuvering to launch her. At length a successful start was made, and the gig went racing up the side of a big sea, was poised giddily on its crest, and then darted down the incline as though bound for the bottom. On she went, her crew rowing like demons, while two men bailed out the water that constantly threatened to swamp her. As the rescuers neared the sinking vessel, the mate bawled “Wreck ahoy! what bark is that?” “The Dundee, of Liverpool, bound from Buenos Ayres to Valparaiso. We are foundering.” “We are the American ship _Sagamore_, from New York for San Francisco. Heave us a rope and we’re ready for you.” The gig was now on the lee side of the bark, and as near the stern as prudence would allow; so the men rested on their oars while Mr. Marsh deftly caught the rope flung from the wreck by her captain. In order to enter the boat it was necessary for those on the _Dundee_ to slide down the rope, and then be hauled aboard when the end was reached. The steward and three seamen constituted the first load; descending in safety, one by one, though most of them were submerged twice before they were at length pulled into the boat. Two seamen, an apprentice and the captain remained on the wreck, the latter declaring his intention of standing by his craft to the last, though he well knew she was about to take the final plunge. Already that uncanny moaning sound heard only on a foundering vessel was ascending from the black depths of the hold, as the rising waters forced out the sustaining air through every crevice.