Produced by Jeannie Howse and Friend, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SAGINAW
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER MONTGOMERY SICARD]
THE LAST CRUISE OF
THE SAGINAW
BY
GEORGE H. READ
PAY INSPECTOR, U.S.N. (RETIRED)
_With Illustrations from Sketches by Lieutenant
Commander (afterwards Rear-Admiral)
Sicard and from Contemporary
Photographs_
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY GEORGE H. READ
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published February 1912_
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF
THIS FIRST EDITION PRINTED AND
BOUND UNCUT WITH PAPER LABEL
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF THE NOBLE
MEN WHO LOST THEIR LIVES IN THE
EFFORT TO OBTAIN RELIEF FOR
THEIR SHIPWRECKED
COMRADES
PREFACE
Dear Mr. Read:--
I am greatly obliged to you for letting me read your deeply
interesting account of the wreck of the poor Saginaw and the loss of
Lieutenant Talbot. With General Cutter's approval I shall take the
manuscript with me to Boston, but I will return it carefully.
I leave the two photographs, but I have the curious drawing and
newspaper scraps, which I will safely return.
Very truly yours,
EDWARD E. HALE.
Dec. 21, 1880.
WASHINGTON.
A recent re-reading of the above old letter from a friend who in his
lifetime stood so high in the literary world, has, together with the
suggestions of other friends and shipmates, decided me to launch my
narrative of the cruise and wreck of the Saginaw on the sea of
publicity.
The story itself may be lost in the immense current of literature
constantly pouring forth, but some good friends advise me to the
contrary.
The fact that stories of sea life and adventure have ever possessed
the power to attract the interest and stir the imagination, adds to
the courage given me to set forth my plain unadorned story without any
pretensions to literary excellence.
Some of the first instructions given to a newly fledged naval officer
enjoin upon him the necessity for brevity and directness in his
official communications, both oral and written, and eventually he
becomes addicted to formal expressions that pervade his entire
correspondence. Eloquence or sentiment would probably be crushed with
a reprimand. I trust, therefore, that the reader will consider the
above conditions as they have surrounded me throughout my service,
should he or she find a lack of decorative language in my narrative.
To my mind, as a participant in the related events, there is material
in the story to rival the fictions of Fenimore Cooper or Marryat, and
I think that the heroes who gave up their lives in the effort to save
their shipmates should stand as high on the roll of fame as do those
lost amid battle smoke and carnage.
G.H.R.
August 16, 1911.
CONTENTS
I. THE BEGINNING OF THE CRUISE 1
II. THE WRECK 12
III. ON THE ISLAND 31
IV. THE SAILING OF THE GIG 58
V. WAITING 72
VI. RESCUED 85
VII. THE FATE OF THE GIG 96
APPENDIX 121
ILLUSTRATIONS
LIEUT.-COMMANDER MONTGOMERY SICARD _Frontispiece_
U.S. STEAMER SAGINAW, FOURTH-RATE 2
THE LANDING AT MIDWAY ISLANDS, SHOWING SEALS AND ALBATROSS 8
_From a sketch by Captain Sicard_
THE MIDWAY ISLANDS AS WE LEFT THEM 8
OCEAN ISLAND AND REEF 14
VIEW OF OCEAN ISLAND, REEF AND LAGOON AS SEEN FROM THE
SOUTH 16
(The island is at the lower edge of the circle)
OCEAN ISLAND AS VIEWED FROM THE NORTH 16
(The arrow shows where the Saginaw struck)
THE SAGINAW IN THE GRIP OF THE BREAKERS 24
THE CONDENSER MADE FROM A SMALL BOILER AND SPEAKING-TUBES 36
_From a sketch by Captain Sicard_
GATHERING TIMBERS FROM THE WRECK 36
_From a sketch by Captain Sicard_
THE CAPTAIN'S TENT 42
_From a sketch by Captain Sicard_
THE STOREHOUSE--ELEVATED TO AVOID THE RATS 42
_From a sketch by Captain Sicard_
LIEUTENANT JOHN G. TALBOT 46
(Who volunteered and navigated the Saginaw's gig a distance
of fourteen hundred miles to the Sandwich Islands and was
drowned when the boat was in sight of land)
THE GIG BEFORE LAUNCHING, WITH SAILS MADE ON THE ISLAND 54
PASSED ASSISTANT ENGINEER JAMES BUTTERWORTH 62
(Who, standing waist deep in the water, put the finishing
touches to the gig)
RIPPING TIMBERS FOR THE SCHOONER 74
_From a sketch by Captain Sicard_
THE FRAME OF THE SCHOONER AS WE LEFT IT 74
_From a sketch by Captain Sicard_
THE FLAGSTAFF FROM WHICH THE KILAUEA WAS SIGHTED 86
CAMP SAGINAW ON THE DAY OF RESCUE 86
_Taken from the masthead of the Kilauea_
CAPTAIN LONG, COMMANDER OF THE HAWAIIAN STEAMER THE
KILAUEA 90
MR. JOHN PATY'S BUNGALOW AT HONOLULU 98
STARBOARD SIDE OF THE GIG AFTER HER EVENTFUL JOURNEY 102
DECK VIEW OF THE GIG AFTER HER EVENTFUL JOURNEY 102
WILLIAM HALFORD, COXSWAIN, THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF THE GIG'S
CREW 110
(He is now a retired chief gunner in the Navy)
THE TABLET NOW ON THE WALLS OF THE CHAPEL AT THE UNITED
STATES NAVAL ACADEMY AT ANNAPOLIS 119
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SAGINAW
I
THE BEGINNING OF THE CRUISE
During the winter of 1869-70 the United States Steamer Saginaw was
being repaired at the Mare Island Navy Yard, and her officers and crew
were recuperating after a cruise on the west coast of Mexico,--a
trying one for all hands on board as well as for the vessel itself.
The "Alta-Californian" of San Francisco published the following soon
after our return from the Mexican coast. It is all that need be said
of the cruise. We were all very glad to have it behind us and forget
it.
The Saginaw, lately returned from the Mexican coast, had a
pretty severe experience during her short cruise. At Manzanillo
she contracted the coast fever, a form of remittent, and at one
time had twenty-five cases, but a single death, however,
occurring.
On the way up, most of the time under sail, the machinery being
disabled, the voyage was so prolonged that when she arrived at
San Francisco there was not a half-day's allowance of provisions
on board and for many days the officers had been on "ship's
grub."
Our repairs and refitting were but preliminary to another (and the
last) departure of the Saginaw from her native land. Our captain,
Lieutenant-Commander Montgomery Sicard, had received orders to proceed
to the Midway Islands, _via_ Honolulu, and to comply with instructions
that will appear later in these pages. (I should explain here that the
commanding officer of a single vessel is usually addressed as
"Captain," whatever his real rank may be, and I shall use that term
throughout my narrative.)
[Illustration: U.S. STEAMER SAGINAW--FOURTH-RATE
Built at the Navy Yard, Mare Island, California, in 1859]
In a northwesterly direction from the Sandwich Islands there stretches
for over a thousand miles a succession of coral reefs and shoals, with
here and there a sandy islet thrown up by the winds and waves. They
are mostly bare of vegetation beyond a stunted growth of bushes. These
islets are called "atolls" by geographers, and their foundations are
created by the mysterious "polyps" or coral insects.
These atolls abound in the Pacific Ocean, and rising but a few feet
above the surface, surrounded by uncertain and uncharted currents, are
the dread of navigators.
Near the centre of the North Pacific and near the western end of the
chain of atolls above mentioned, are two small sand islands in the
usual lagoon, with a coral reef enclosing both. They were discovered
by an American captain, N.C. Brooks, of the Hawaiian bark Gambia, and
by him reported; were subsequently visited by the United States
Steamer Lackawanna and surveyed for charting.
No importance other than the danger to navigation was at that time
attached to these mere sandbanks. Now, however, the trans-Pacific
railroads, girdling the continent and making valuable so many hitherto
insignificant places, have cast their influence three thousand miles
across the waters to these obscure islets. The expected increase of
commerce between the United States and the Orient has induced the
Pacific Mail Steamship Company to look for a halfway station as a
coaling-depot, and these, the Midway Islands, are expected to answer
the purpose when the proposed improvements are made. To do the work of
deepening a now shallow channel through the reef, a contract has been
awarded to an experienced submarine engineer and the Saginaw has been
brought into service to transport men and material. Our captain is to
superintend and to report monthly on the progress made. Thus, with the
voyages out and return, coupled with the several trips between the
Midways and Honolulu, we have the prospect of a year's deep-water
cruising to our credit.
_February 22, 1870._ Once more separated from home and friends, with
the Golden Gate dissolving astern in a California fog (than which none
can be more dense). Old Neptune gives us a boisterous welcome to his
dominions, and the howling of wind through the rigging, with the
rolling and pitching of the ship as we steam out to sea, where we meet
the full force of a stiff "southeaster," remind us that we are once
more his subjects.
On the fourteenth day out we heard the welcome cry of "Land ho!" at
sunrise from the masthead. It proved to be the island of Molokai, and
the next day, March 9, we passed into the harbor of Honolulu on the
island of Oahu. We found that our arrival was expected, and the ship
was soon surrounded by canoes of natives, while crowds of people were
on the wharves.
After six days spent in refitting and obtaining fresh food and
ship-stores, we took up our westward course with memories of pleasant
and hospitable treatment, both officially and socially, from the
native and foreign people. Nothing happened outside of the usual
routine of sea life until March 24, when we sighted the Midway
Islands, and at 8 P.M. were anchored in Welles's Harbor, so called,
although there is barely room in it to swing the ship. The island is a
desolate-looking place--the eastern end of it covered with brown
albatross and a few seal apparently asleep on the beach. We can see
the white sand drifting about with the wind like snow. The next day a
schooner arrived with the contractor's supplies and lumber for a
dwelling and a scow, the latter to be used by the divers in their
outside work. There also arrived, towards night, a strong gale. It
blew so hard that with both anchors down the engines had to be worked
constantly to prevent drifting either on the island or the reef.
During the month of April work both afloat and ashore was steadily
pushed. The contractor's house was set up and the divers' scow
completed and launched. In addition, a thorough survey of the entire
reef and bar was completed.
Our several trips between the Midways and Honolulu need but brief
mention. They were slow and monotonous, being made mostly under sail.
The Saginaw was not built for that purpose. On one occasion, on
account of head winds, we made but twenty miles on our course in two
days.
The last return to the Midways came on October 12, and the
appropriation of $50,000 having been expended, our captain proceeded
to carry out his orders directing him to take on board the
contractor's workmen with their tools and stores and transport them to
San Francisco.
We found the shore party all well and looking forward with pleasure to
the closing day of their contract. They certainly have had the
monotonous and irksome end of the business, although we have not been
able to derive much pleasure from our sailings to and fro.
A brief resume of the work performed during their seven months'
imprisonment I have compiled from the journal of Passed Assistant
Engineer Blye, who remained upon the island during our absences.
Their first attempt at dislodging the coral rock on the bar was made
by the diver with two canisters of powder, and about five tons of
rock were dislodged and well broken up. Thereafter the work was
intermittently carried on, as weather permitted. During September and
October there were frequent strong gales from the west, and on such
occasions the mouth of the harbor, being on that side, was dangerous
to approach.
[Illustration: THE LANDING AT MIDWAY ISLANDS]
[Illustration: THE MIDWAY ISLANDS AS WE LEFT THEM]
After toiling laboriously and constantly for six months, using large
quantities of powder and fuse, the result now is a passage through the
bar fifteen feet in width and four hundred feet in length, whereas one
hundred and seventy feet in width is estimated as essential. A proper
completion would call for a much larger appropriation.
During the month of April the thermometer ranged from 68 degrees at
sunrise to 86 degrees at noon and 80 degrees at sundown. The
prevailing winds during the summer months were the northeast trades,
varying from northeast to east southeast.
A cause of much annoyance has been the drifting of sand during high
winds, when it flies like driven snow, cutting the face and hands.
(This was so great an annoyance that on our first trip to Honolulu I
purchased for each person a pair of goggles to protect the eyes.)
Taking into consideration the dangers of navigation in a neighborhood
abounding with these coral reefs, the fact that they are visible but a
short distance only in clear weather, and that an entrance to the
lagoon could only be made in a smooth sea, it really seems a
questionable undertaking to attempt the formation of an anchorage here
for the large steamers of the Pacific Mail Company.
When the westerly gales blow, the mouth of the lagoon being, as in
most coral islands, on that side, the sea breaks heavily all over the
lagoon and no work can be done. On one occasion the workmen were
returning to the island from the entrance to the channel when one of
these gales came on and, as one of them told me, "It was a mighty big
conundrum at one time whether we would ever reach the shore."
II
THE WRECK
With the homeward-bound pennant flying from the mainmast head and with
the contractor's working party on board, we sailed from the Midway
Islands on Friday, October 29, at 4 P.M. for San Francisco. We had
dragged high up on the beach the scow from which the divers had
worked, secured the house doors, and taken a last look at the blinding
sand with thankful hearts for leaving it.
As Doctor Frank, our surgeon, and myself were walking down the beach
to the last boat off to the ship, there occurred an incident which I
will relate here for psychological students.
He remarked, as we loitered around the landing, that he felt greatly
depressed without being able to define any cause for it and that he
could not rid himself of the impression that some misfortune was
impending. I tried to cheer him up; told him that the "blues" were on
him, when he ought to be rejoicing instead; that we had a fair wind
and a smooth sea to start us on a speedy return to the old friends in
San Francisco. It was in vain, however; he expressed a firm belief
that we should meet with some disaster on our voyage and I dropped the
subject with a "pooh pooh."
As soon as we reached the open sea, the captain ordered the ship
headed to the westward and the pressure of steam to be reduced, as
with topsails set we sailed along to a light easterly breeze. It was
his intention, he stated, to come within sight of Ocean Island about
daylight and to verify its location by steaming around it before
heading away for San Francisco.
It should be noted that it is in the direct line of a naval
commander's duty, when he is in the neighborhood of such dangers to
navigation, to confirm by observation their position on the charts as
well as to rescue any unfortunate persons that fate may have cast away
upon them. Our own subsequent situation gives proof of the wisdom of
such a regulation.
Ocean Island is about fifty miles to the westward of the Midway
Islands, is of similar formation, and is the last one (so far as our
chart shows) in the chain of ocean dangers that I have referred to as
extending more than a thousand miles to the westward from the Sandwich
Islands. It was on this reef that the British ship Gledstanes was
wrecked in 1837, and the American ship Parker in September, 1842, the
crew of the latter vessel remaining there until May, 1843, when they
were taken off.
[Illustration: OCEAN ISLAND AND REEF]
The "Hawaiian Spectator" for July, 1838, gives the following account
of the loss of the Gledstanes, captain, J.R. Brown:--
The vessel was wrecked July 9, 1837, at midnight. One of the
crew only was lost, he having jumped overboard in a state of
intoxication. Captain Brown remained on the island over five
months, when, with his chief mate and eight seamen, he embarked
for these islands in a schooner which had been constructed from
the fragments of the wreck. The other officers and men, who
remained on the island several months longer, endured great
suffering and were finally brought off in a vessel sent for them
by H.B.M. Consul. Captain Brown gave the following description
of the island. "The island is in latitude 28 deg. 22' North, and
longitude 178 deg. 30' West, and is about three miles in
circumference. It is composed of broken coral and shells and is
covered near the shore by low bushes. In the season it abounds
with sea birds and at times there are considerable numbers of
hair seals. The highest part of the island is not more than ten
feet above sea level and the only fresh water is what drains
through the sand after the heavy rains."
Charles Darwin[1] has the following to say concerning Ocean Island,
which he characterizes as a true "atoll," as distinguished from
"barrier" and "fringing" reefs, which are generally formed near the
shores of higher land:
I have in vain consulted the works of Cook, Vancouver, La
Peyrouse, and Lisiansky for any satisfactory account of the
small islands and reefs which lie scattered in a northwest line
prolonged from the Sandwich group and hence have left them
uncolored, with one exception, for I am indebted to Mr. F.D.
Bennett for informing me of an atoll-formed reef in latitude 28 deg.
22', longitude 178 deg. 30' West, on which the Gledstanes was
wrecked in 1837. It is apparently of large size and extends in a
northwest and southeast line; very few inlets have been formed
on it. The lagoon seems to be shallow; at least the deepest
part which was surveyed was only three fathoms.
Mr. Couthony describes this island under the name of Ocean
Island. Considerable doubts should be entertained regarding the
nature of a reef of this kind with a very shallow lagoon, and
standing far from any other atoll, on account of the possibility
of a crater or flat bank of rock lying at the proper depth
beneath the surface of the sea, thus affording a foundation for
a ring-formed coral reef.
[Illustration: VIEW OF OCEAN ISLAND, REEF, AND LAGOON, AS SEEN
FROM THE SOUTH
(The Island is at the lower edge of the circle.)]
[Illustration: OCEAN ISLAND AS VIEWED FROM THE NORTH
(The arrow shows where the Saginaw struck.)]
The evening following the departure passed quietly in our wardroom
quarters and in fact all over the ship. Officers and men were more
than usually fatigued after the preparations for sea both on shore and
on board. There was none of the general hilarity accompanying a
homeward cruise. There was also a prevailing dread of a long and
tedious journey of over three thousand miles, mostly to be made under
sail, and we all knew the tendency of the old Saginaw in a head wind
to make "eight points to leeward," or, as a landlubber would say, to
go sideways. We occupied ourselves in stowing and securing our
movables, and after the bugle sounded "Out lights" at 9 P.M. the
steady tramp of the lookouts and their half-hour hail of "All's well"
were all that disturbed the quiet of the night.
The night was dark, but a few stars were occasionally visible between
the passing clouds. The sea continued smooth and the ship on an even
keel. When I turned in at ten o'clock I had the comforting thought
that by the same time to-morrow night we should be heading for San
Francisco. We were making about three knots an hour, which would bring
Ocean Island in sight about early dawn, so that there would be plenty
of time to circumnavigate the reef and get a good offing on our course
before dark.
How sadly, alas! our intentions were frustrated and how fully our
surgeon's premonitions were fulfilled! My pen falters at the attempt
to describe the events of the next few hours. I was suddenly awakened
about three o'clock in the morning by an unusual commotion on deck;
the hurried tramping of feet and confusion of sounds. In the midst of
it I distinguished the captain's voice sounding in sharp contrast to
his usual moderate tone, ordering the taking in of the topsails and
immediately after the cutting away of the topsail halliards. Until the
latter order was given I imagined the approach of a rain squall, a
frequent occurrence formerly, but I knew now that some greater
emergency existed, and so I hastily and partly dressed myself
sufficiently to go on deck.
Just before I reached the top of the wardroom ladder I felt the ship
strike something and supposed we were in collision with another
vessel. The shock was an easy one at first, but was followed
immediately by others of increasing force, and, as my feet touched
the deck, by two severe shocks that caused the ship to tremble in
every timber. The long easy swell that had been lifting us gently
along in the open sea was now transformed into heavy breakers as it
reached and swept over the coral reef, each wave lifting and dropping
with a frightful thud the quaking ship. It seemed at each fall as
though her masts and smokestack would jump from their holdings and go
by the board. To a landsman or even a professional seaman who has
never experienced the sensation it would be impossible to convey a
realizing sense of the feelings aroused by our sudden misfortune.
There is a something even in the air akin to the terror of an
earthquake shock--a condition unnatural and uncanny. The good ship
that for years has safely sailed the seas or anchored in ports with a
free keel, fulfilling in all respects the destiny marked out for her
at her birth, suddenly and without warning enters upon her
death-struggle with the rocks and appeals for help. There is no wonder
that brave men--men having withstood the shock of battle and endured
the hardships of the fiercest storms--should feel their nerves shaken
from their first glance at the situation.
The captain had immediately followed his orders, to take in the sails
that were forging us on towards the reef, by an order to back engines.
Alas! the steam was too low to give more than a few turns to the
wheels, and they could not overcome the momentum of the ship. In less
than an hour of the fierce pounding the jagged rock broke through the
hull and tore up the engine and fire room floor; the water rushed in
and reached the fires; the doom of our good ship was now apparent and
sealed.
I hastily returned to my stateroom, secured more clothing, together
with some of the ship's papers, then ascended to the hurricane deck to
await developments or to stand by to do rescue work as ordered. I had
participated in the past in drills that are called in Navy Regulations
"abandoned ship." In these drills every one on board is supposed to
leave the vessel and take station as assigned in one of the ship's
boats. I had only taken part in these drills during calm weather at
sea, and thought it a pretty sight to see all the boats completely
equipped and lying off in view of the deserted vessel. Here, however,
no programme could help us. Our captain's judgment and quickness of
decision must control events as they develop.
The night was clear and starlit, but we could see nothing of any land.
Perhaps we had struck on some uncharted reef, and while strenuously
employed in getting the boats over the side opposite the sea we waited
anxiously for daylight. The scene was one for a lifelong remembrance
and is beyond my power adequately and calmly to describe.
There was at first some confusion, but the stern and composed attitude
of the captain and his sharp, clear orders soon brought every one to
his senses, and order was restored.
One of the most reassuring things to me at this time was the sight of
our colored wardroom steward in double irons for some offense, sitting
on a hatch of the hurricane deck, whistling "Way down upon the Suwanee
River." He seemed to me far from realizing the gravity of the
situation, or else to possess great courage. At any rate, it diverted
my thoughts of danger into other channels. He said the key to the
irons could not be found. The irons were soon severed, however, with a
chisel and hammer, and he went below to aid the men with his knowledge
of the stowage of the officers' provender. His confinement was never
renewed, for he did good work in the rescue of food.
A few of the more frightened ones had at first, either through a
misunderstanding or otherwise, rushed to our largest boat--the
launch--hanging at the starboard quarter and partly lowered it before
the act was noticed. A large combing sea came along and tore it from
their hold, smashing it against the side of the ship and then carrying
its remnants away with its tackles and all its fittings. This was a
great loss, we felt, if we should have to take to the boats, for we
did not know at that time where we were. The same wave also carried
off one of the crew, a member of the Marine Guard, who had been on the
bulwarks; and whisking him seaward, returned him miraculously around
the stern of the ship to the reef, where his struggles and cries
attracted the notice of others. He was hauled over the lee side,
somewhat bruised and water-soaked, but, judging from his remarks,
apparently not realizing his wonderful escape from death.
[Illustration: THE SAGINAW IN THE GRIP OF THE BREAKERS]
As the night wore on, the wind increased and also the size of the
breakers. The ship, which had first struck the reef "bows on," was
gradually swung around until she was at first broadside to the reef,
and then further until the after part, to which we were clinging, was
lifted over the jagged edge of the perpendicular wall of rock. She was
finally twisted around until the bow hung directly to seaward, with
the middle of the hull at the edge. Thus the ship "seesawed" from stem
to stern with each coming wave for an hour or more and until the
forward part broke away with a loud crash and disappeared in the deep
water outside. Our anchors, that had been "let go," apparently never
touched bottom until the bow went with them.
All that was left of our good ship now heeled over towards the inner
side of the reef, the smokestack soon went by the board and the
mainmast was made to follow it by simply cutting away the starboard
or seaward shrouds. Over this mast we could pass to the reef, however,
and there was comparative quiet in the waters under our lee. This
helped us in passing across whatever we could save from the wreck, and
in this manner went three of our boats, the captain's gig, one of the
cutters, and the dinghy, without much damage to them. We also secured
in this way an iron lifeboat belonging to the contractor.
As the first gray streaks of dawn showed us a small strip of terra
firma in the smooth water of the lagoon and not far from the reef,
many a sigh of relief was heard, and our efforts were redoubled to
provide some means of prolonging existence there. At any rate, we knew
now where we were and could at least imagine a possible relief and
plan measures to secure it.
Although the sea had robbed us of the larger part of our provisions,
in the forward hold there were still some of the most important
stowed within the fragment we were clinging to, which contained the
bread and clothing storerooms. With daylight our task was made easier.
A line was formed across the reef and everything rescued was passed
over the side and from hand to hand to the boats in the lagoon, for
transfer to the island. Thus we stood waist-deep in the water, feet
and ankles lacerated and bleeding, stumbling about the sharp and
uneven coral rock, until five in the afternoon, and yet our spirits,
which had been low in the dark, were so encouraged by a sight of a
small portion of dry land and at least a temporary escape from a
watery grave that now and then a jest or a laugh would pass along the
line with some article that suggested a future meal.
At five o'clock in the afternoon the order was given to abandon the
wreck (which was done while hoping that it would hold together until
to-morrow), and as the sun went down on the "lone barren isle," all
hands were "piped" by the boatswain's whistle to supper.
A half-teacup of water, half a cake of hardtack, and a small piece of
boiled pork constituted our evening meal, to which was added a piece
of boiled mutton that had been intended for the wardroom table.
After this frugal meal all hands were mustered upon the beach to
listen to a prayer of thankfulness for our deliverance and then to a
few sensible and well-timed remarks from the captain enjoining
discipline, good nature, and economy of food under our trying
circumstances. He told us that by the Navy Regulations he was
instructed, as our commanding officer, to keep up, in such sad
conditions as we were thrown into, the organization and discipline of
the Service so far as applicable; that he would in the event of our
rescue (which we should all hope for and look forward to) be held
responsible for the proper administration of law and order; that
officers and crew should fare alike on our scanty store of food, and
that with care we should probably make out, with the help of seal meat
and birds, a reduced ration for some little time. He would detail our
several duties to-morrow. Then we were dismissed to seek "tired
nature's sweet restorer" as best we could.
With fourteen hours of severe labor, tired, wet, and hungry, we were
yet glad enough to sink to rest amid the bushes with but the sky for a
canopy and a hummock of sand for a pillow. In my own case sleep was
hard to win. For a long time I lay watching the stars and speculating
upon the prospects of release from our island prison. Life seemed to
reach dimly uncertain into the future, with shadow pictures
intervening of famished men and bereaved families.
I could hear the waves within a few rods of our resting-places--there
was no music in them now--lapping the beach in their restlessness, and
now and then an angry roar from the outside reef, as though the sea
was in rage over its failure to reach us. I realized that for more
than a thousand miles the sea stretched away in every direction before
meeting inhabited shores and for treble that distance to our native
land; that our island was but a small dot in the vast Pacific--a dot
so small that few maps give it recognition. Truly it was a dismal
outlook that "tired nature" finally dispelled and that sleep
transformed into oblivion; for I went to sleep finally while recalling
old stories of family gatherings where was always placed a vacant
chair for the loved absent one should he ever return.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: _The Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs_, by
Charles Darwin. Walter Scott: 24 Warwick Lane, London, 1842. If Mr.
Darwin had known of the proximity of the Midway and Pearl and Hermes
reefs he would probably have doubts as to the true character of our
atoll.]
III
ON THE ISLAND
_Sunday, October 30._ No pretensions to the official observance of the
Sabbath were made to-day. We always had religious services on board
the ship when the weather permitted on Sunday, but to-day every effort
has been made to further the safety of our condition.
The captain, executive officer, and many of the crew went off early to
the wreck in order to make further search for supplies and equipment.
The wreck appears from the island to be about as we left it, for the
wind has been light and the sea calm during the night.
I remained on shore with a few men to assist in sorting out and making
a list of the articles rescued yesterday and to assemble them in the
best place suitable for their preservation. We spread out in the sun
the bread, bags of flour, and other dry foodstuffs, even to the
smallest fragments, and it was early apparent that unless much more
food is secured we shall be compelled to live upon a greatly reduced
ration and that our main source of food will be the seal and brown
albatross (or "goonies," as they are commonly called). Both of these
seem plentiful and are easily captured.
The seal succumb quickly to a blow upon the head, a fact we discovered
early in our first visit to the Midway Islands. One of the boat's
crew, when pushing off from the beach, carelessly and without intent
to kill, struck a near-by seal on the head with an oar, and the next
morning it was found dead, apparently not having moved from the spot.
Its mate had found it and was nosing it about, while moaning in a most
humanlike voice.
These seal are quite different from the Alaska fur seal, of such
great value for their fur. These have a short lustreless hair, and
their principal value is in the oil that is extracted by the few seal
hunters who seek them. They frequently exceed two hundred pounds in
weight, and are savage fighters if one can judge by the many scars
found upon them. We never thought, when, a few months ago, we amused
ourselves on the verandas of the Cliff House at San Francisco in
watching their disporting about Seal Rock, that we should make such a
close acquaintance with them.
The "goonies" also are easy to capture, although they are large and
strong and a blow from the wing would break a man's limb. I measured
one of them from tip to tip of wing, and it was over seven feet. They
are, however, very awkward on their feet, and, having a double-jointed
wing (that is, a joint in it like an elbow) can only rise from the
ground when the wind is in their faces. Owing to this fact one only
needs to get to the windward of them with a club and look out for the
wings. We should like to add some of their eggs to our bill of fare,
but dare not for fear of driving the birds away. I imagine it would
take but a few of the eggs, if eatable, to go around, for I saw one at
the Midways that was as large as those of the ostrich.
Fresh water will, however, apparently be our greatest cause for
anxiety; for we have secured but a small supply, considering our
number--ninety-three. A few breakers or kegs only, that were stowed in
the boats, were secured. Rain, of course, we count upon; but to
conserve our scanty supply until it comes is most necessary. To-day
several wells have been dug in various parts of the island, but the
water found in them is near the surface and is too brackish for any
use.
The old timbers of a former wreck, probably of the "Gledstanes,"--the
"bones" as sailors call them,--lie near on the beach and look as
though they would yield us fuel for a long time. Our fire, which was
started last evening by a match that Mr. Bailey, the chief diver, had
fortunately kept dry, has been constantly going for lack of more
lighting material.
_Evening._ The reef party returned at sundown, reporting a strenuous
day on the wreck. We all had a supper of "scouse" (a dish of pork,
potato, and hard tack), and before sleeping the camp site was laid
out, the sails and awnings which had come on shore temporarily set up,
to our greater comfort. Besides the sails and awnings, more food
supplies were captured from the after storeroom and a particularly
fortunate prize secured in a small portable boiler that had been
lashed to the after deck. This had been used by the contractor's party
in hoisting to the scow the blasted coral from the reef, at Midway
Islands. There were also in one of the wheelhouses of the wreck some
distilling-coils, which the engineer's force with our chief engineer
successfully rescued after hard labor, for the sea was washing through
the wheelhouse with terrible force. The boiler, suspended between two
boats, was successfully landed on the beach, and we are greatly
encouraged at the promise of fresh water to-morrow. We secured a
barrel, also, partly filled with sperm oil, and a lantern in good
condition. These two articles insure us a supply of lighting material
for the cooking-fire, which can now be put out at night and much fuel
saved. Considerable clothing was secured from the officers'
staterooms, and I was fortunate enough to find some of mine rolled up
in one of the large wet bundles; and a few soaked mattresses and
blankets were also brought in. The carpenter's chest, too, came
ashore intact, and altogether we feel our situation greatly improved.
[Illustration: THE CONDENSER--MADE FROM A SMALL BOILER AND
SPEAKING-TUBES]
[Illustration: GATHERING TIMBERS FROM THE WRECK]
Mr. Talbot tells me that they are literally "stripping" the wreck, and
nothing movable will be left on it if the weather will but hold good
long enough. No one stops to question the utility of an article found
adrift; it is seized hastily and thrown out on the reef to be
transported later to the island. Pieces of rigging, boxes of tinned
coffee, canned goods, tools, crockery, sails, awnings, etc., all come
to the beach in a promiscuous mass to be sorted out later.
_Monday, October 31._ Still at work on the wreck. Boiler set up on the
beach and connected with the distilling-coils by a piece of canvas
hose. The inner end of the coils was joined to a length of our
pilot-house speaking-tube as a return to the beach. By this
arrangement the steam passed under the cooler water of the lagoon and
was condensed as it returned to a bucket on the beach. Great joy was
expressed at the first sight of the little stream and a great fear was
lifted from our thoughts. At supper we had a cup of coffee to finish
the quarter-ration of food, which was made into a scouse as before.
The hard tack needed in making the scouse, however, will soon be
exhausted, for, excepting a small quantity saved in tins, it is
spoiling rapidly. So to-day I opened a bag of flour to ascertain if we
were to have any breadstuff. I found to my glad surprise that, with
the exception of about an inch on the outside, it was sweet and sound.
The sea water had protected it with a crust. A barrel of beans was
also found to be in good condition; so that our pile of foodstuff
under the sentry's charge begins to loom high for our safety for some
time to come.
_Tuesday, November 1._ The crew was formed into several messes to-day,
and also into watches. Each mess was provided with a tent, that for
our mess (the wardroom) being made from the Saginaw's quarter-deck
awning. Such of our dry goods and bedding as had been rescued were
removed to them, and our little camp begins to take on the appearance
of comfort.
The duties of every member of the ship's company have been so arranged
that it is hoped and expected that no one will have much time to brood
over our situation or the future.
_Wednesday, November 2._ The bad weather we have feared has arrived.
It came on suddenly this morning from the southeast with a high wind
and a heavy rainfall, and before we had been able firmly to secure the
tents. After strenuous exertion, however, we saved them from being
blown over, but were wet to the skin when they were finally safe in
place.
Fortunately the wreck on the reef has been thoroughly explored and
there is very little material there now that could be of use to us,
unless it may be the timbers themselves, to help us in building a
seaworthy boat should it be necessary to do so in a final effort to
get away. The idea of sending a boat to the Sandwich Islands for
relief has been already revolving in our minds, and to-day was
revealed by an order from the captain to the senior officers. After a
consultation singly with us, he has directed each one to file with him
an opinion on the feasibility and necessity of doing so--each written
opinion to be without knowledge of the others.
It is probable that the hulk will be considerably broken up before the
wind and sea go down, for one can see it rise and fall with the
breakers, and occasionally a piece is detached and floated across the
reef into the lagoon. As soon as it is safe to launch the boats, the
work of securing these pieces will be started.
The boats are now resting at the highest part of the island in the
centre of the camp, for even with the protecting reef the sea in the
lagoon has been so rough that combers have reached within a few feet
of our tents. As I write my journal we are a wet and sad party of
unfortunates.
Our captain and his boat's crew must be having an experience worse
than ours, however. They left this morning in the cutter for the sand
spit near and to the west of us, to collect driftwood, and are
"marooned" there in the storm. They can be seen, with the glasses,
huddled together beneath the upturned boat. They do not, however, seem
to be in imminent danger, and have made no signals of distress; so we
expect them to return as soon as the sea abates.
_Thursday, November 3._ It has been still too rough to-day to launch
the boats for work in the lagoon. We have, however, busied ourselves
in erecting a storehouse for the better preservation of our food
supplies, and to-night have them safely under cover. Last night the
rats robbed us of a box of macaroni, and, therefore, we have put our
storehouse on posts and two feet above the ground with inverted pans
upon the posts.
We made the acquaintance of the rats last night in our tent when a
noisy fight over a piece of candle disturbed our sleep. We had seen a
few of them before, but did not suppose them to be so very
numerous--as on first thought there seemed to be so very little for
them to eat. We now found them to have good lungs and appetites,
however, and a good deal of thrashing around with boots, etc., was
necessary to expel them. We discussed them before we went to sleep
again in the light of a future food supply,--an addition to our
one-quarter ration,--and the opinion was general that should the
seal and gooney desert us the rats would become more valuable. At any
rate, they would thrive on the refuse of the food we had now.
[Illustration: THE CAPTAIN'S TENT]
[Illustration: THE STOREHOUSE, ELEVATED TO AVOID RATS]
The captain returned this morning from his expedition and gives a sad
story of their luck. They had to literally bury themselves to the neck
in the sand and lie under the boat to prevent being drenched by the
rain. During the height of the storm they had one streak of good luck.
They found some companions that the rough sea had induced to seek the
shelter of the lagoon and beach. They were large sea turtles, and he
and his crew turned them on their backs to prevent their escape.
To-day we have them added to our food-supply and they are very
welcome, notwithstanding the sad plight of their captors when they
returned.
We have also added to our fresh water a supply of about fifty gallons
caught in the rainstorm of yesterday, and doled out an extra cupful
to each person.
_Friday, November 4._ The sea is rolling in huge breakers on the reef
to-day, enveloping the wreck in spray, and we are constantly expecting
to see the last of the Saginaw as a hulk. Several pieces can be seen
adrift in the lagoon, and the hurricane deck is probably among them.
The boats were launched and the mainmast towed to the landing, where
it was anchored. It is the intention to have it set up near our camp
and to use it for a lookout station as well as a means of flying a
distress signal in case a passing vessel should be sighted. However,
we do not pin much faith to the idea of rescue from passing ships, for
the presence of these coral reefs constitutes such a menace to
navigation that they are avoided. Vessels generally pass far to the
north or south of them.
_Saturday, November 5._ The gig was carried well up on the beach
to-day and set in a cradle, to be prepared for a voyage to the
Sandwich Islands. It is the intention to raise her sides a few inches,
to construct a light deck over all, and to fit her with two masts and
sails. (Part of the sails were saved with the boat.) In the deck there
are to be four square small hatches (with covers in case of bad
weather), in which the men can sit and row when the wind is too light
or contrary for sailing. From this it may be seen that the perilous
trip has been decided upon by the captain. I have no doubt he feels
the responsibility which he assumes, and I have great faith in his
judgment. Our opinions were handed in to him yesterday, but of course
we do not know what their influence has been, but it must be evident
to him that all hands--officers and men alike--are loyally
co-operating with him in our trying situation.
We learn that Lieutenant Talbot volunteered the day after the wreck
to make the attempt and that several of the crew have also asked to go
with him. In fact, so many of the men have volunteered that it will be
necessary to take the pick of those most likely to stand the exposure,
for although we have seen that such a trip was made in the case of the
"Gledstanes," it must be remembered that they took five months to
build a seaworthy vessel, while our brave boys will go in a
practically open boat.
_Sunday, November 6._ We were mustered for divine service to-day, and
it being the first Sunday of the month the roll was called and each
man answered "Here" as his name was called. After that prayers were
read by the captain and an extra cup of water served out from the
quantity caught during the recent gale. Work was suspended so far as
possible, but the lagoon being so quiet it was thought necessary to
launch two of the boats and tow in some of the floating timbers. We
were overjoyed thus to receive and haul up free of the water a large
fragment of the old hurricane deck. We can imagine some value in
almost any piece of timber, but in this particular we are confident of
securing much material for the building of our future boat, it being
of three inch thick narrow planking. We believe we can make one and a
half inch stuff from it by rigging up a staging and converting our one
bucksaw into a jigsaw with a man above and one below. The blacksmith
believes that he can extract a good supply of nails, and in many ways
it is evident that we are not going to wait supinely for the relief we
hope for from our brave comrades' voyage.
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT JOHN G. TALBOT]
To-day we killed our first goonies and had some for supper. They were
very tough and "fishy," and Solomon Graves, once the Saginaw's cabin
cook, but now "King of the Galley" on Ocean Island, says that he
cooked them all day. Only a portion of the bird could be masticated.
However, it was voted superior to seal, the latter being so tough that
Graves has to parboil it overnight and fry it in the morning. The hard
tack is exhausted, but so much of the flour has been found good that
we are to have a tablespoonful every other day and the same quantity
of beans on the alternate days as substitutes for the hard tack. A cup
of coffee or tea every day for the morning meal. Supper we have at
five.
We had a luxury after supper. There are nine of us in the wardroom
mess who smoke, and each of us was generously supplied with a cigar by
Passed Assistant Engineer Blye, whose chest was rescued the second
day; it contained a box of five hundred Manila cigars.
_Monday, November 7._ The mainmast is ready to raise to-morrow. An
excavation has been made at the highest point of the island, near the
captain's tent, and the mast rolled up to it with the rope guys ready
to hold it upright. The carpenter's gang have been busy all day in
sorting out material for the gig's deck and for raising her sides
eight inches.
While the weather is fine, there seems to be a considerable swell at
sea from the late storm, and the wreck is gradually, as it were,
melting away. To-day a piece of the hull floated towards us and a boat
was sent after it. When it reached the beach I recognized the remains
of my stateroom, with twisted bolts protruding from the edge where it
had been wrenched away from the rest of the hull. I viewed mournfully
the remnant of my long-time home and reflected how it had once been my
protection and that now fate had turned me out of its shelter. Many of
the hopes that were bred within its wooden walls have been shattered
by its destruction, and I thought it would be appropriate to bury it
on the beach with an epitaph above it showing the simple words "Lights
out" which I had so often heard at its door when the ship's corporal
made his nightly rounds at the "turning-in" hour. However, it was
valuable even in its ruin for building and burning material. Besides,
we are not ready yet to think of anything like a funeral.