GREAT SAMOAN HURRICANE.
“Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue Ocean, roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain.
Man marks the earth with ruin: his control
Stops with thy shores: upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed; nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.”
During the fall of 1888, no little interest centered in one of the
little inland groups of the Pacific. In 1887, German officers in the
Samoan group conceived that the king, Malietoa, was so prejudiced toward
their interests that he should be deposed. So without much ceremony they
laid hands upon and carried him into exile, placing him on an island
some thousands of miles distant.
There seems no reason to doubt that Germany’s ultimate design was to
formally occupy the islands. It is the old story of the civilized man’s
dealings with the savage; of the man who has ten talents, obtaining the
property of the man with one.
Methods have changed somewhat, however, since the day when our pilgrim
fathers kindly relieved the Red man of such encumbrances as he had in
the way of real estate, and established quit-claim deeds and perfect
titles in their flint-lock muskets. It is not now considered “good
form,” as it was in the days of olden Spanish America, to declare one’s
self Marquis of this or Duke de that, with several thousands of Indians
as slaves or tributaries, without consulting them. The modern method is
that of the European guide who attaches himself to your person
willy-nilly, in order that he rifle your pockets as the need of his
divers imaginary services. It is a less expensive method, and none the
less sure. So the colonizers of our day kindly establish a
“protectorate” over Naboth’s vineyard. Naboth, however, fully
understands the process, as some civilized races have found to their
cost.
The Samoans were in high dudgeon at the action of Germany: and when the
foreigners coolly proceeded, without consulting the wishes of the
natives, to select and establish a new king, whom they thought would be
favorable to their own interests, open hostility resulted.
The Samoans had no way to bring back their former king, Malietoa; but
they promptly deposed the creature of the Germans, Tamasese, and chose
instead Mataafa, a relative and personal representative of their exiled
king. The few American residents and frequenters of the islands approved
this, deeming the act of the Germans one of unjustifiable aggression.
Civil war resulted. At the outset, Tamasese’s strong personal following,
and the fear of German interference, gave him a very large party. But in
the half-dozen fierce battles that were fought he was decidedly worsted,
and, forced to flee from the capital, Apia, he shut himself up in a
native fortress eight miles distant.
The Germans had in the meantime actively espoused his cause, and went so
far as to bombard several native villages. Still they did not come into
direct personal collision with the natives until December, 1888. A body
of Germans landed a few miles from Apia, and assaulted Mataafa’s forces.
The island blood was up. The battle was stubbornly contested. The
Germans were utterly routed and driven back to their vessels with a loss
of fifty killed and wounded.
This is precisely the sort of pretext a “protecting” power desires. In
great indignation at the pesky people who had failed to allow themselves
to be thrashed, the Germans formally declared war, and began a series of
high-handed seizures and aggressions. The interests of other nations in
Samoa were endangered. There was but one American man-of-war in the
harbor.
As soon as the War Department learned of the state of affairs,
reinforcements were sent out, and it seemed highly probable that a
collision between America and Germany might be precipitated at any
moment. Thus, there were collected in the harbor the American warship
_Trenton_, the flag-ship of Rear-Admiral Kimberly, and one of the
largest vessels in the navy, N. H. Farquhar, Commander: the _Nipsic_,
Commander D. W. Mullan; and the _Vandalia_, Commander C. M. Schoonmaker.
The Germans were represented by the warship _Olga_, and the cruisers
_Eber_ and _Adler_. England had sent the man-of-war _Calliope_. In
addition, there were in the harbor ten or twelve schooners and trading
vessels. Such was the force assembled at Apia, March 15, 1889.
The news does not travel rapidly from that portion of the world. During
the spring a report reached America that the looked-for collision
between the assembled forces had occurred, and that the _Nipsic_ had
been sunk by the _Olga_. There was much suppressed excitement; but as
the report was not officially confirmed, this soon ceased.
No one was prepared for the actual occurrence, or the magnitude of the
calamity.
The town of Apia, the Samoan capital, lies around a small circular bay.
Across the mouth of the harbor, two miles in width, extends a coral
reef, which is visible at low water. A break in the reef a quarter of a
mile in width forms the entrance to the harbor. Only a small portion of
the latter is available for anchorage, as the eastern part is quite
shallow, and on the west the bay has a small fringing reef well out from
the shore. It will be seen that the crowded condition of the harbor
rendered it peculiarly perilous. The war vessels were anchored in the
deep water, the _Eber_ and _Nipsic_ being nearest the shore. The
schooners and lighter craft were in the shoal water next to the fringing
reef on the west side of the harbor.
The town is composed of cottages, built after the native pattern: low,
of elastic materials, and bound well together; so that the low houses,
swaying easily with the wind, are not so easily blown away as structures
of stiffer and more pretentious build. The American consulate, facing
the harbor, lies about the center of the town, with a long strip of
sandy beach before it.
For some weeks the weather had been gloomy and capricious. The time of
the vernal equinox was at hand, and a low area storm of unusual violence
might be expected at any time. During the afternoon of March 15, the
wind began to increase: the war ships lowered their topmasts and secured
their spars; one or two prepared storm-sails for emergencies. The
anchors were all out, and steam was raised lest the anchors should not
hold.
The wind increased steadily, blowing from the same quarter continuously.
Though the only recorded observations are at this one point, its
proximity to the equator, the steadiness of the wind and the length of
time it blew indicate a cyclonic tempest of unusual violence.
By 11 P.M. the wind was a strong gale: not too strong in the harbor for
small boats, however; for the crews of nearly all the schooners,
divining what was coming, put out their spare anchors and went ashore,
leaving the vessels to their fate. Mayhap the anchors would hold; but on
their lives they would take no risks.
An hour later immense rollers were coming in from the ocean, finding the
coral reef only a partial check. Ordinarily a reef insures a harbor from
the force of the waves, and leaves only the direct fury of the winds to
be encountered. But the reef at Apia is a lower barrier than such
harbors usually possess, and may not be seen at high tide.
At midnight, rain was falling. The wind still increased. The vessels
were pitching fearfully. At this time the _Eber_, nearest the shore,
began dragging her anchors, and was compelled to aid them with her
engines. At one o’clock the _Vandalia_, also, was compelled to use her
engines. Should the wind increase, their case was truly desperate.
The rain poured in torrents; fiercer grew the gale. By three o’clock
every vessel in the harbor was dragging her anchors. There might be a
collision, or a wreck, at any time. Every able-bodied man was required,
that any emergency might be met. Neither officer nor private could think
of sleep.
Those on shore realized the peril of the situation. Accustomed to heavy
gales, the natives slept soundly for a time in their low huts. At
length, the crash of falling trees and the tearing away of roofs began
to be heard in the storm. Little knots of people crept about in the
darkness, seeking shelter from the tempest. Sand and pebbles, gathered
up from the beach, were hurled by the wind with cutting force. The tide
was rising, and the gale brought it into the streets, a hundred feet
above the usual high water mark. The spray from the dashing surf sprang
high in the air, and beat into the windows of houses nearest the shore.
It was a memorable night.
Long before dawn the natives were huddled in little groups about the
shore, gazing at the shifting lights of the tossing vessels. Their
houses were being wrecked, their crops and trees destroyed, but they
themselves were measurably safe. But those in the harbor!
There was little need of conversation; and, indeed, did one wish to
speak to his neighbor, he was compelled to shout in his ear. As each
peered into his fellow’s face in the uncertain light, he saw the shadow
of a terrible fear and a desperate resolve that spoke plainer than any
words. Explanations were useless; that tacit understanding was enough.
For the time, thrones, principalities, feuds and hostilities were
forgotten. The followers of Tamasese and Mataafa were shoulder to
shoulder. No longer was there thought of the foeman who had exiled their
chief and bombarded their villages. Out in that seething caldron were
scores of human beings, battling for life with wind and wave. That was
enough.
As the day drew near, the white men on the shore began to join the
little groups of natives. Through the gloom could be seen the lights of
the plunging ships, and ever and anon there came on the gale the sound
of shouted orders, like a distant echo. The wavering of the lights
showed that, despite steam and anchor, the vessels were slowly dragging
about, crossing and re-crossing each others’ paths. The breathless
watchers on the beach listened for the crash of collision that would be
the death-knell of scores of gallant marines. Some shielded their faces
with bits of tile, and endeavored to distinguish the position of the
respective ships. Less hopeful than the whites, the natives saw no
chance of escape. Which vessel would strike first? Would any be saved?
[Illustration: BOW OF THE EBER, CAST ASHORE.]
Between five and six o’clock, it began to grow light. The position of
the vessels was completely altered. Forced from their moorings, they
were drifting toward the inner reef. Each contended stubbornly with the
storm. Volumes of black smoke poured from the furnaces of the quivering
hulls. A number of the sailing vessels were already on the reef.
Fragments of wreckage began to be tossed ashore. The _Trenton_ and
_Vandalia_, being farthest out in the harbor, were scarcely visible
through the mist and spray. The large iron hulls were tossed about like
corks. Wave after wave dashed over their decks. The men swarmed about
the masts and the lower rigging, clinging to anything they could grasp.
The _Eber_, _Adler_ and _Nipsic_ were within a few yards of each other
and close on the fatal reef. Each vessel seemed as though endowed with a
life of its own. They struggled like wild creatures; as the stag might
struggle in the clutch of a panther.
The _Eber_ slowly retreated toward the reef, contesting every inch.
Suddenly she paused, recovered, and dashed forward into the teeth of the
furious storm.
It was her last desperate sally. The current bore her to the right. In a
moment she collided with the _Nipsic_, her bow carrying away a boat and
several feet of the post-quarter rail. Falling back, she fouled with the
_Olga_, and her rudder was carried away. This left her helpless.
Swinging broadside to the wind, she lay a few moments rolling heavily in
the trough of the sea. Over her deck the surf foamed and roared.
At length, a gigantic wave lifted her up and hurled her with awful force
upon the reef. Striking fairly on her keel, she heeled over toward the
sea. No further trace of her was seen. Every timber must have been
shattered. Doubtless more of her crew were crushed than were drowned.
The horror-stricken natives, accustomed to the sea from infancy, dashed
into the surf, struggling with death for the lives of their late
oppressors. They were but savages; they knew no better.
For a few moments, not a hand was raised from the site of the wreck. At
length, a few faintly struggling forms appeared in the surf. They were
grasped by eager hands, and safely reached the shore. Another was seen
clinging to the piling of a small wharf, beaten half senseless by the
furious waves. He was drawn ashore. It was a handsome boyish-faced
lieutenant, the sole surviving officer. Out of a total force of
seventy-six men and officers on the _Eber_, five only were saved. The
young lieutenant was the officer of the watch at the time of the wreck.
The others were all below, and must have been crushed to death. This
occurred about six o’clock in the morning.
Finding no other survivors, those on shore turned to the remaining
vessels once more. Their position had changed again. The situation
rapidly grew more perilous.
The _Adler_ had fouled with the _Olga_, and was close on the reef, some
two hundred yards from where the _Eber_ struck, and like it, was
approaching the shore broadside on. The suspense was prolonged and
painful. For nearly half an hour she lay thus swept by the waves.
Finally, a huge roller tossed her on top of the reef and turned her over
on her side, throwing those on deck into the water. They struggled to
regain the vessel; those who succeeded clung to guns, tackling, spars
and masts; but twenty were drowned. The vessel lay with her keel to the
sea and nearly her entire hull out of water; so those who clung to the
rigging were fairly protected.
During the day the natives succeeded in getting a line to the wreck, and
a number of the sailors escaped. But the line parted while some were
still on the vessel, and could not be replaced. The remainder of the
crew clung to the wreck through all that terrible day and night, and
were finally gotten off when at the verge of exhaustion.
While the _Adler_ was drifting toward the reef, the _Nipsic_ was
battling with fearful odds. Facing the wind, she was
[Illustration: THE ADLER ON THE REEF.]
nevertheless dragging her three anchors, and receding toward the reef.
But her chief danger lay in another source. The gigantic _Olga_, which
had crippled the two vessels already wrecked, threatened to crush her
also. While the _Nipsic_ endeavored by skillful use of steam and rudder
to avoid the _Olga_, a little schooner, the _Lily_, fell in her way and
was cut down in an instant. There were but three men on board; two of
whom succeeded in reaching the _Olga_.
Just then it occurred to the commander of the _Nipsic_ to reinforce the
anchors by attaching a hawser to one of the heavy eight-inch rifles and
casting it overboard. Ere this was accomplished the _Olga_ struck her a
terrible blow directly amidships. Her smoke-stack was overturned and
fell on the deck with a terrible crash. One of her boats was carried
away and the rail splintered. No one at first knew the extent of the
damage. The frightened crew clambered into the rigging, thinking the
ship was sinking. The lumbering smoke-stack dashed from side to side
with the roll of the ship.
It was a frightful moment. Only a few yards away the _Eber_ had
disappeared. The _Nipsic_ had swung around and was rapidly nearing the
spot. Only promptness and most skillful management saved her officers
and crew from the fate of the _Eber_.
Captain Mullane was on the bridge at the time, and took in the situation
in an instant. With the smoke-stack gone it would be impossible to keep
up steam; without steam the reef could not be avoided. At once the
smoke-stack was chocked to prevent its rolling about the deck, and
orders were given to beach the ship while a small head of steam was
still available. Two hundred yards away lay the sandy beach before the
American consulate.
A great throng awaited anxiously the result of this manœuvre. The
vessel’s course was parallel to the terrible reef, and but a few feet
from it. Her crew were gathered about the bow, and those on shore
recognized many a familiar face or personal friend in the driving spray,
on whom they might be looking for the last time. One or two of the crew
had been on shore during the night, and now stood watching the fate of
their comrades.
Barely escaping the reef, the steamer plunged into the sand a few yards
from the shore, and swung around diagonally to the storm. The breakers
dashed furiously upon her stern, and it seemed as though she would be
beaten to pieces in an instant. Those who escaped must do so at once.
Five sailors dashed into a boat; but the falls did not work properly,
and one end of the boat dropped. The men fell into the sea and were
drowned. The surgeon and five sick men were placed in another boat: no
sooner launched than capsized. But the natives had formed a chain by
grasping each others hands; and dashing into surf where a white man
would have perished at once, they seized the men and passed them to the
shore. Several of those on the _Nipsic_ took advantage of the
opportunity and sprang overboard. But two of these were lost.
Meanwhile, all those remaining on board had crowded into the forecastle.
The natives in the surf, under the direction of two of their chiefs,
Seumanu Tafa and Salu Anae, had succeeded in getting lines to the
vessels, and double hawsers were quickly stretched to the shore. Scores
of eager hands were outstretched to assist in the work. The waves broke
high on the beach, and the undertow was so strong that even the natives
narrowly escaped being carried out into the bay. The white men on shore
scarcely dared venture into the surf. The rain poured more heavily. The
clouds of flying sand grew thicker and more
[Illustration: SAMOANS SAVING THE LIVES OF AMERICAN SAILORS.]
cutting. The hoarse shouts of the officers mingled with the roar of the
storm, and the stricken vessel quivered in every fibre. Fragments of
wreckage were ever and anon hurled amongst those in the surf. The gloom
of the awful tempest combined with all these things to produce a tableau
of chaos itself.
Yet, throughout the whole fearful scene, the natives never faltered, but
sang and shouted words of encouragement to each other as they stood at
their chosen posts. The white men on shore rendered all the aid in their
power; but the posts of danger and need were filled by the natives. An
eye-witness of the scene says:
“To one who saw the noble work of those men during the storm, it is a
cause of wonder that they should be called savages by more enlightened
races. There seemed to be no instinct of the savage in a man who could
rush into that boiling torrent of water that broke upon the reef, and
place his own life in peril to save the helpless drowning men of a
foreign country.
“While the Americans and Germans were treated alike, it was plain that
their sympathies were with the Americans, and they redoubled their
efforts when they saw an opportunity to aid the men who represented a
country which had insisted that their native government should not be
interfered with by a foreign power.”
The coolness of Captain Mullane had mastered the frightened crew. There
was no longer confusion. The officers stood by the rail and directed the
movements of the men. Time after time the rolling billows dashed the men
from the hawser; but the gallant natives succeeded in saving all. By
eight o’clock the _Nipsic_ was deserted. The three smallest of the war
ships were wrecked.
The four large men-of-war were well out in the harbor, and for the time
measurably safe.
But near ten o’clock, the situation became alarming again. Masses of
floating wreckage struck the _Trenton_, as it was lifted by a heavy
wave, and carried away the rudder and propeller. Her anchors, unaided,
would not keep her from the reef, or from fouling with the other vessels
in the harbor.
The _Vandalia_ and the _Calliope_ were drifting toward the wreck of the
_Adler_. As the _Vandalia_ endeavored to steam away, the iron prow of
the Englishman arose high in the air and fell with full force upon the
_Vandalia’s_ port-quarter. The _Calliope_ lost her jib-boom, and the
heavy timbers of the _Vandalia_ were shivered. Every man near the point
of the collision was thrown from his feet by the shock. Water was
rushing through a great rent in the cabin. It seemed that the _Vandalia_
had received her death blow. The frightened men swarmed from the
hatches, but presently returned to their posts.
At this crisis the Englishman essayed a bold manœuvre. Seeing that to
remain where he was would be, in a few more moments, ruin to the
_Vandalia_, he resolved to take all risks himself, and letting go all
anchors, swung around to the wind and endeavored to put to sea. For a
moment the vessel seemed stationary. Then the tremendous power of the
propeller began to tell, and the vessel moved slowly forward in the
teeth of the storm. Volumes of smoke poured from her funnels, and the
ship groaned in every timber. Gradually it became clear that she could
escape from the harbor.
This is one of the most daring feats in the naval annals. It was the one
desperate chance to save the _Calliope_ and her crew from certain death.
An accident to the machinery at this moment, or a slight change in the
direction of the wind as she neared the narrow gate-way of the harbor,
would have been fatal. Down in the fire room, the men
[Illustration: THE CALLIOPE PUTTING TO SEA.]
worked as they never had before. The _Trenton_ lay close to the reef,
and the _Calliope_ was compelled to pass between the two. The flagship’s
fires were out, and she could do nothing to save herself. Every man felt
that a few moments longer would find him a grave in the coral reef.
Those on shore were watching with intensest anxiety.
Just then a strange sound came, borne on the wind; a wild ringing cry
from the four hundred and fifty on board the _Trenton_. The Americans
were cheering the _Calliope_. Expecting death for themselves, they
rejoiced that their friends might yet escape, and the heart of every
Englishman went out to the brave Americans who gave their parting
tribute to the Queen’s ship.
There is something peculiarly touching in this incident. It is far above
the _morituri te salutamus_ of the gladiator in the arena. It was an
expression of immortal courage; the dying saluting the victor; the
doomed saluting the saved; manhood distressed greeting manhood
triumphant. The English seamen returned the cry. The _Calliope_ safely
reached the sea. Her commander afterward said: “Those ringing cheers of
the American flagship pierced deep into my heart, and I will ever
remember that mighty outburst of fellow-feeling, which I felt came from
the bottom of the hearts of the gallant admiral and his crew. Every man
on board the _Calliope_ felt as I did; it made us work to win. I can
only say, God bless America and her noble sailors.”
Meanwhile the _Vandalia_, seeing her doom certain, endeavored to reach
the beach, but being a much larger vessel than the _Nipsic_, she could
not come so near the shore. A blow from a terrific wave in the night had
hurled the captain across his cabin and so injured him that he was
unable to control his vessel. His executive officer, Carlin, was in
command, but the captain stood by his side to the last. Carlin’s
coolness and nerve were wonderful. He had been on duty thirty
consecutive hours, and had not tasted food all that time.
In order to reach the beach, the _Vandalia_ was compelled to execute the
same perilous feat that had been performed three hours before by the
_Nipsic_. Slipping her anchors, she crowded on all steam and skirted the
edge of the reef, finally dashing into the soft sand two hundred yards
from the shore and eighty yards from the stern of the _Nipsic_. The
engines were stopped and the fires put out; all hands were ordered on
deck, and the vessel swung around broadside to the waves.
At first, her position being supposed safe, it was thought the two
hundred and forty men on board might well remain until the storm was
over. The men were scattered about the deck and forecastle, clinging to
the guns, the masts, rigging and sides of the ship. Within half an hour
her real danger became apparent; she wallowed lower and lower in the
yielding sand; more and more frequently the seas dashed over her,
flooding the hatchways with water. Her boats were dashed from the davits
and torn to pieces. It was attempted to fire lines to the shore, but all
her powder was ruined. The spray and mist arose in such masses from the
sides of the ship, that those on shore could hardly distinguish her
position.
At this moment a brave sailor volunteered to swim through the surf with
a line, in the hope that his comrades might be rescued. It was a
perilous task, as the water was filled with floating wreckage. Fastening
a cord to his body, he sprang overboard; an immense wave hurled him
against the side of the vessel and struck him senseless. He was drowned
almost within touch of his comrades. Gradually the men were driven from
the gun-deck. By noon it was under water. The heavy billows that swept
over the ship lifted the men from their feet and hurled them against the
sides. The salt water intensified the pain of their bruises. Soon all of
the men sought refuge in the rigging, and a few officers only remained
on the poop-deck. The waves grew more violent.
For once the bold men on shore were powerless. No boat could live in the
surf, and there was no firing apparatus on shore, that a line might be
conveyed to the vessel. The scores on the land were desperate, but the
_Vandalia’s_ doom was sealed.
Finally, they resolved on bolder efforts than had hitherto been made.
Three natives fastened a cord to their bodies, and, passing around the
side of the bay a quarter of a mile above the wrecked war ship,
endeavored to take advantage of the powerful current setting toward the
shore, and so reach the vessel. Powerful swimmers as they were, they
were hurled to the beach without being able to get within one hundred
yards of the vessel. Urged by their chief to try again, effort after
effort was made, but without success.
Seeing no other chance, those on the _Vandalia_ one by one dropped into
the sea, in the faint hope that they might yet reach the land in safety.
Some succeeded in reaching the wreck of the _Nipsic_, only a short
distance away, but many were too weak to draw themselves up to its deck.
As they clung to the ropes, the violence of the waves, in some cases,
tore the clothing from their bodies.
The captain, sick and feeble, was growing weaker every moment. The brave
Carlin stood by him endeavoring to hold him on, and speaking words of
encouragement. He had not sufficient strength left to clamber into the
rigging and refused a life preserver, insisting that it should be given
to some of the others. At length an immense roller plunged toward the
vessel, and the captain bent forward to receive the shock. A heavy
machine gun was torn from its fastening and hurled full upon the
captain. His body passed overboard and was never more seen.
[Illustration: THE BOW OF THE SUNKEN VANDALIA.]
One by one others of the officers were beaten from the deck. The
suffering was not only with those on the vessel. The brave fellows who
labored on the shore and in the surf were cut and bruised by flying
sand and the floating fragments. Exposure to the sea water was making
them stiff and sore. The natives sought occasional shelter and rest
behind an up-turned boat or the masses of drift, and then returned to
the battle.
Finally, as by common consent, nearly all of those left in the rigging
dropped into the sea. It was an easy matter to reach the _Nipsic_, and a
few succeeded in clambering to her deck; but many were too weak and
exhausted to hold on long enough to receive assistance from their
comrades, and too far off to be reached by the natives.
By three o’clock the hull of the _Vandalia_ had almost disappeared. A
few men were still in the rigging, lying exhausted on the small
platforms or clinging to the rat-lines or yards with the desperation of
dying men, expecting every moment to be their last. Their arms and limbs
were bruised and swollen and cut by holding on the rough ropes. For
twenty-four hours they had been without food, and cold and exposure were
doing their work. At this moment the rear of the _Nipsic_ swung to the
sea, so that but fifty yards separated the two vessels. A successful
effort was made to stretch a line between the two; but before all in the
fore-rigging could be rescued, the line parted and could not be
replaced.
Meanwhile the _Trenton_, without steam or rudder, lay with her head to
the wind, while volumes of water dashed through the hawse-pipes and
flooded the engine room. Had the vessel gone down suddenly, none below
could have escaped. They stood at their posts till waist deep in the
water and the fires were extinct. The berth-deck was flooded. Lieut.
Allen and a portion of the men made repeated efforts to close the
hawse-pipes, but the force of the waves tore away every plug. Still they
labored on, far beneath the decks, momentarily expecting the last.
The admiral and his officers stood on the bridge directing the movements
of the vessel. When almost on the eastern shoals a bold coup was
suggested by Lieut. Brown. Every man was ordered into the port-rigging,
and the compact mass of bodies was used as a sail. The vessel was
brought into the center of the bay again. Then she commenced to drift
back toward the _Olga_, which had been holding up in the gale more
successfully than any of the other vessels. The stars and stripes were
flung to the breeze. If she were doomed, she would go down with flying
colors. The _Olga_ endeavored to steam out of the way, but her bow
struck the starboard quarter of the flagship, shivering the heavy
timbers, carrying away several boats, and throwing the flag to the deck.
Again it was flung from the mast-head. The _Olga_ reached the mud-flat
on the east side of the harbor. Not a life was lost, and a few weeks
later the vessel was hauled off and saved.
The struggle of the _Trenton_ was almost ended. It was five o’clock and
daylight was fading as the immense war ship bore down upon the
_Vandalia_. When she struck the latter, all would be over.
That was a memorable scene. The night was coming on the wings of the
storm. Those in the _Vandalia’s_ main-top still clung, bruised and
bleeding. Their eyes were blinded by the salty spray. They looked on the
black waters below knowing they had no strength for further battle with
the waves. The final hour was upon them. The great black hull of the
_Trenton_ could be seen through the gloom, about to dash upon the
stranded vessel and grind her to atoms. Those on the beach ceased their
efforts in despair, and stood waiting the last act of the tragedy.
At this moment there came over the waves a renewal of the wild cheer of
the morning. Four hundred and fifty voices were heard above the roar of
the storm, “Three cheers for the _Vandalia_!” A cheer in the morning
had animated the British; perhaps another cheer now would encourage the
despairing seamen of the _Vandalia_ to hold on a little longer. A
response went up, feeble, quavering and uncertain, so faint it was
scarcely heard by those on shore. With death staring them in the face,
they sent up a cheer for the flagship; a cheer more pathetic than any
lamentation. That was the saddest cry ever heard. Every heart on shore
was melted to pity. “God help them!” they murmured.
Darkness hid the scene. The last cheer had died away. As those on shore
listened for the crash, another strange sound came up from the deep. It
was a wild burst of music in defiance of the storm. The _Trenton’s_ band
was playing the “Star Spangled Banner.” Never before had the thousand
men on sea and shore heard such strains at a time like that. The
feelings of the Americans on the beach were indescribable. The power of
the music vied with the howling of the storm.
Men who during that awful day had exhausted every means of rendering
some assistance to their comrades, now seemed inspired to greater
effort. They dashed at the surf like wild creatures; but they were
powerless. There was nothing left for them to do but wait; and, if they
dared, to hope.
The _Trenton_ proved the _Vandalia’s_ salvation. She bore lightly
against her without a shock, and swung around in the sand broadside to
the sunken ship. Those who remained quickly escaped to the _Trenton’s_
deck.
By ten o’clock the beach was deserted, and all that tempest or man could
do had been done. A few watchers patrolled the beach all night in hope
of rescuing some one who might not have escaped to the _Trenton_. But
one person was found--a young ensign.
One hundred and forty-four persons had perished. Ninety-one were from
the German vessels; fifty-one from the Americans; two from a little
trading schooner. Not more than one-third of the bodies were recovered.
[Illustration: AFTER THE STORM: TRENTON IN THE FOREGROUND; VANDALIA’S
BOW IN RIGHT CENTER; OLGA IN THE DISTANCE.]
The storm died away. It was a strange scene which the morning sun
beheld. The shore was strewn with drifted wreck. The shattered schooners
lay about the reef. The streets were crossed with fallen trees, and
roofless houses stood amid the groves. A fragment of the _Eber’s_ bow
was high upon the beach. Far up the western reef the _Adler_ lay. The
_Olga_ stood unharmed upon the eastern shoal. Before the consulate, the
_Nipsic_ was fast in the sand. Only the bow of the _Vandalia’s_ hull
could be seen. By her side was the _Trenton_, grand though in ruin. And
above the desolation floated the Star Spangled Banner, triumphant over
the storm.