It was plain that we were in the very center of the typhoon, and that
our most severe battle with the elements was just ahead. Some time
around 4 A.M. the wind again arose suddenly, and the fight was on. It
soon became terrific and well over 100 miles an hour--estimated by the
First Officer as between 125 and 130 miles--the worst thus far we had
experienced.
Now ensued a time of desperate peril that even a landlubber could
appreciate. Many a prayer went up that night from lips that had not
uttered one since the days of "Now I lay me down to sleep" at a
mother's knee. Many a rough nature felt stirring within him thoughts
and feelings that had been strangers many a year.
The awful force and roar of the wind, the violent pitching and rolling,
the absolute darkness outside, the puny efforts of the big, powerful
ship and its apparent helplessness, added to the fact that we knew
we were in an unknown position in a sea in many places uncharted and
dotted with coral reefs and islands,--all convinced us that we were
in the immediate presence of the Great Adventure and that only the
guidance of the Divine Hand could succor us.
The immediate scenes were enough to inspire terror. The big steam
whistle could be but faintly heard above the wind, when it was blown to
call deck hands to clear away wreckage caused by the fall of the top of
the front mast with the wireless antennae. In the galley, right outside
my door, pots and pans and dishes and glassware were thrown about in
continuous din and confusion. In staterooms, trunks, water bowls, and
other loose articles were flying around. It was dangerous to be about.
The thick glass of a port hole was broken to bits by a wave, and a
woman so cut by the glass as to require many stitches for her wounds.
In the troop decks many bunks were broken and fell to the floor.
Several soldiers suffered broken legs, arms, or collar bones. The
ship's doctor in his palmiest day in civil life I venture, never saw
things coming his way half so thick and fast. The only way to remain in
a bunk was by bracing and hanging to rail and hooks. The first streak
of dawn showed about 5:30 A.M., Sunday the 19th, and, though welcome,
revealed an awful sea and driving sheets of rain. This violence kept
up most of the day, until late in the afternoon it appeared that wind
and sea were somewhat abating. The barometer was slowly but steadily
rising, and it was plain that we were running out of the typhoon. But
night was upon us, and the Master had not had an observation of the sun
for more than three days--since Thursday noon, August 16. The situation
was perilous. A temporary respite only had been given.
The behavior of passengers, crew, and all during this time was
remarkable. There was not a trace of panic or alarm. Some passengers,
gathered in the main saloon, seated about tables, talked it over
conversationally. Others remained in the social hall, in the
passageways, or in staterooms awaiting quietly the expected call.
Some officers were fully dressed in uniform, either khaki or white,
others in swimming clothes of pajamas with bathrobe or raincoat over.
The women also were in various degrees of preparation. There was no
hysteria, weeping, or raising of voices.
And so the long Sunday night wore on with the three of us in our bunks,
the little boy asleep and ---- and I attempting to doze. We were
destined for our third successive sleepless night. The wind and sea
were still high. Some time before midnight I was brought to my feet
in the middle of the cabin with a bounce, by a severe metallic blow
against the ship's side. I turned on the light and the little boy awoke
startled to get into bed with his mother on the couch and doze off
again immediately. To this date I have not satisfactorily settled what
caused that blow. It may have been the violent impact of one of four
lost lifeboats against the hull or one of the parts of a broken davit
hitting the side. Weak and dizzy and vomiting continuously I thought it
best to remain up.
From some reason or other--misery or what not--the next event of which
I write was unknown to me until after the happening. I therefore relate
what I have heard from others, whose remembrances tally very well. I
was conscious only that the ship was listing at a severe angle, with
our trunks sliding across the room.
At about 11 P.M., it seems, the ship hit something twice, and in turn
was struck on the starboard side by two big waves. The vessel remained
rigid for several minutes (estimates vary from 5 to 25 minutes), not
rolling in wave action, but taking the seas over the forecastle.
During this time a soldier was swept overboard and his cries for help
were heard by passengers as he was swept past. A life preserver was
thrown towards him in the darkness,--all that could be done for the
poor fellow. About this time the lookout up ahead saw a steep, black
shape close at hand, but thought it was a low-hanging cloud. The First
Officer saw it from the bridge and immediately sent an emergency signal
to the engine room. We were merely drifting, so the engines were
immediately reversed. The ship drew away carefully. After some time, I
should say about half an hour, we appeared again to have reached the
wind and rough water.
I have neglected to state that some time previously I had myself
noticed (my stomach being a delicate instrument) a sudden lull in the
chop of the water and a longer, smoother roll and a drop in the wind
to almost nothing. As the barometer was rising we could not have been
in the heart of the typhoon, and I remarked to an officer that we must
be in the lee of some land. All this occurred between 10:30 P.M. and
midnight. It is the universal belief that the black shape just ahead
was in reality a high cliff. The further inference is--although not
acknowledged by ship's officers--that while drifting under little or no
headway the ship struck a sandbar as she dropped deep into the trough
of the big waves, close to the cliff, and while there took two big
waves on the starboard side. Then, when the engines were reversed, she
pulled off and made away.