Upon this day, so far as is known, there were just two vessels on Lake Superior, and fate decreed that they should meet off Whitefish Point. While the men of the _Sauber_ were waiting for death, the steamer _Yale_ was tearing her way through the gale toward the “Soo,” and as he passed Captain Jackson sighted the sinking ship. It was then that occurred that act which won him a gold medal and a purse contributed to by hundreds of sailors all over the Lakes. [Illustration: After a Fierce Night’s “Late Navigation” Run across Lake Superior.] Notwithstanding the peril of his own situation, Captain Jackson brought his vessel to. For hours it was buffeted in the trough of the sea, which was too heavy for small boats to attempt a rescue in. Night came, and the freighters drifted to within a stone’s throw of each other. At dawn, when the _Yale_ might have been safely in port, it was found that she, too, was gradually settling, and that the _Sauber_ could not live an hour longer. Captain Jackson at once called for volunteers willing to risk their lives in an attempt at rescue; he himself went out in the first boat. If bravery was ever rewarded it was then. Every member of the _Sauber’s_ crew, with the exception of the captain, was carried to the _Yale_. At the last moment Captain Morris attempted to lower himself into one of the boats--hesitated--then leaped back to the deck of the sinking ship. “Go on, boys!” he shouted through the gale. “Good luck to you, but I’m going to stay with the old boat!” This is heroism, sacrifice, faithfulness, as they are bred on the Inland Seas. Thirty minutes later the _Sauber_ went under, and immediately after the explosion of her deck, caused by the pressure of air and water, those who were still courageously waiting in a small boat heard the last cries of Captain Morris rising above the gale. These “last days of navigation”--the season when life and property are hazarded by crews and captains with a recklessness that thrills one’s blood--are justly dreaded, and I have been told by a hopeful few that the time is coming when proper legislation will send ships into winter quarters earlier than now. It is at this time that casualties multiply with alarming rapidity, the perils of Lake navigation becoming tenfold as great as those of the ocean. Heavy fogs hide the beacons that mark the danger lines. Blinding snowstorms blot out the most powerful lights. Driven by fierce gales, weighted by ice, with heaven and sea meeting in a pall that conceals the guiding stars ashore, scores of vessels continue to beat onward in the hope of adding one more successful trip to their season’s record.