But we did.
"Stand by!" cried the coxswain, when at last a great dim black outline appeared on our starboard.
Instantly the men were in their seats; oars were put out; the mast and sail came down, and the clank of the anchor being got ready for use fell on our ears from the bows.
The wreck was now right between us and the shore, we being some distance to the windward of it.

My knowledge of the story of the wreck of the "Wolf King" gave me a pretty good notion of what was going on, and even in the midst of our peril I found myself whispering to Jack-- "They're going to drop the anchor, you know, and blow down on to her--" "Hope they've got rope enough," said Jack.

For in the case of the "Wolf King" it took three attempts to get within the right distance.

The coxswain of the "Dreadnought" was evidently determined not to fall into his old error this time, and, with her head to the wind and the oars holding the water, he allowed her to drift to within about eighty yards of the wreck.

Then he shouted-- "Pay away, there!" and instantly we heard the cable grinding over the gunwale.
Would it hold?
Even to inexperienced boys like Jack and me the suspense was dreadful as the cable ran out, and the rowers kept the boat's head carefully up.
The grinding ceased.