Cheered by this readiness to lend a hand, the executive officer of the _Californian_, with sixteen volunteers from their crew, returned on board and a ten-inch manila hawser was passed from the _Corsair_. Because the bow of the stricken ship had filled so fast and was almost buried in the sea, the hawser was made fast astern and the _Corsair_ tried to tow her wrong end to, as offering the least resistance. The sluggish mass moved very slowly, perhaps two knots, but it was impossible to steer it. The plucky _Corsair_ dug her toes in, as one might say, and pulled like a thoroughbred horse harnessed to a wagonload of stone. When this first attempt proved futile, it was decided to try towing by the bow, but while they were dragging the hawser forward the engine-room bulkheads collapsed with a roar and the sea rushed in to fill the dying ship. She went down by the head, the stern rearing higher and higher in air, until the great hull towered in a vertical position, and there it hung for an amazingly long time. It was surmised that the bow had struck the bottom of the sea. Then the stern slowly dropped and vanished while the crew of the _Corsair_ watched and wondered and felt very sad at heart. No lives were lost; this was the redeeming feature, and the eighty-five officers and men of the _Californian_ were all safely aboard the yacht where they were as hospitably cared for as the crowded quarters permitted. On the decks of the lost steamer were hundreds of Army motor-trucks, and one of the _Corsair’s_ men, for lack of anything better to say, was heard to murmur as the sea swallowed them up: “There’s some water in your carbureters this trip, and that’s no foolish jest.” The dog rescued from the _Californian_ remained aboard the _Corsair_ as a souvenir and mascot, but the life in the Bay of Biscay was not to his taste, in spite of the efforts of the crew to make him feel at home. He was therefore detached and assigned to the U.S.S. (Auxiliary) _Balti_ and sent to the United States, but fell down a hatch at Hoboken and was a total loss. For an epitaph, Kipling’s line seems apt, “We’re safer at sea again.” Commander Porter’s official account of the loss of the ship reads as follows: _June 22, 1918_ From: Commanding Officer, To: Commander U.S. Naval Forces in France, Via District Commander, Rochefort. At 4.50 A.M. observed the U.S.S. _Californian_ stop, turn to the eastward, and abandon ship. The _Corsair_ immediately went about and closed on the _Californian_. At 5.15 A.M. two boats from the _Californian_ were alongside and survivors came on board. I informed their Executive Officer that we were close to land and suggested that it might be possible to get the ship into port. He immediately ordered his firemen into a boat and returned to the _Californian_. The _Corsair_ circled about the ship.