ON A RECENT visit to the present day Trenton, the writer, who served on her predecessor forty years ago, was requested to publish some of his recollections of the old Navy and of the old Trenton, and the disastrous fate that befell her.
It is hoped that these reflections may aid in preserving some of the best traditions of our Navy for the present generation in our fleet, and that they may cause other old sea dogs to tell of some of their activities.
From the Navy’s foundation until the late eighties, many material changes had been made, but the methods of handling ships in combat and many of the drills remained unchanged. The writer has frequently grabbed a boarding pike from the mast and rushed to his station at the call “Away first boarders, port bow.” He remembers well the torpedoes that were fired from the end of boat booms or spars suspended over the bows of the steam launch. The boat crews backed away as the torpedo was fired.
The advent of the ships of the white squadron changed the old evolutions and drills. From a fourth rate power in the eighties America became fourth naval power of the world in the nineties. Change in types of ships brought equally marked changes in personnel. How many can remember the old side wheelers, Monocacy, Tallapoosa and Powhatan; or the old Tennessee that was the pride of “fighting Joe Fyffe”; or the Lancaster, or a score of others.
This article will give some account of the Trenton, once the pride of the European Squadron, with her “iron men” in the forecastle, and her other “iron men” aft, graduates of Annapolis, and the peers of any seamen afloat. Their only equals were those old “down east skippers” from Maine and the men who served with them.
The enlisted personnel for the Trenton was assembled on the old Vermont* which was tied up to Cob dock in the New York Navy Yard for so many years that she must have been grounded on the many dead marines thrown overboard in those previous days. On a cold November day in 1887 the crew was assembled on the Trenton’s quarter deck to hear Captain N. H. Farquhar read his orders. The Italian band played the national air as Old Glory was unfurled. The commissioned officers in their gold lace, the marines in their uniform of red and blue, the sailors in dress blue, and all hands at salute, made a beautiful and impressive sight.
The captain then made a short speech, which was followed by “pipe down.” The officers repaired to the wardroom for that old time naval salute to “Sweethearts and wives, may they never meet," while such enlisted men as could went outside the navy yard gate for their toasts.
The Trenton, recently back from the European station, was now preparing for a cruise in the South Pacific. There was much speculation as to whether the homeward-bound pennant from the last voyage would be used on the return from the next. This pennant, still in the custody of the signal quartermaster, was five hundred feet long with a gold bladder at the end.
While fitting out, the young recruits were much impressed when a seaman, to be discharged for stealing, was taken on the dock by the master-at-arms and publicly stripped of his watchmark, etc.; the field music then escorting him out of the old York street gate to the tune of “Rogues’ March.”
On leaving the yard and approaching Brooklyn Bridge an evolution was executed which is unknown in the modern Navy. “Down light masts and yards” was the or-
* After forty years service she was turned over to the New York State Naval Militia, where she was rechristened Granite State. For many years, until destroyed by fire, she was a familiar sight at the foot of 96th Street and North River.
der, and in four minutes they were down; and five minutes after passing the bridge they were in place again. It would take many pages to tell the present generation of the size of these yards, the toggles and tripping gear used and the methods of carrying out this exercise.
On passing Sandy Hook we ran into a stiff northwester. All plain sail was loosed and sheeted home; with foresail, three topsails, and jib assisting the engines we logged eighteen knots for a time. At Cape Verde we coaled and then shaped course for Montevideo.
One evening enroute, Neptune, dripping wet, came over the bows to pay his respects to the captain and to announce that he would return the following day to renew old acquaintanceships and to initiate new arrivals into the mysteries of his dominions.
The following day he, with his retinue, was welcomed with great ceremony. After the preliminaries, policemen, pollywogs and other attendants gathered in the uninitiated to he tried, soaped and slushed, lathered and shaved, pilled and ducked. The officers were each fined two dozen bottles of beer to escape this punishment.
At Montevideo we saluted the flag of Admiral Breese on the sidewheeler Tallapoosa. During our stay Breese made the Trenton his flagship and invited many officials aboard to inspect her. lie was justly proud of her appearance—500 feet long, ship rigged, ram bow, her main yard no feet. She carried 600 men and thirty officers. The battery consisted of ten eight- inch muzzle loading rifles; four thirty- seven-mm. Hotchkiss machine guns, and four Gatlings. With canvas and screw combined she could log twenty knots. The remarkable thing at that time was the electric lights. The Trenton, I believe, was the first vessel to be so illuminated. The searchlights had been imported from France.
A few days after our arrival a "pampero” blew in and a man was sent over the bow to insert the jackass in the hawse holes to keep water out of the berth deck. This man fell from the bosin’s chair and the life boat that was lowered went off rapidly to leeward. A German steamer rescued the boat with a line, but unfortunately she was in quarantine and took the life boat’s crew with her to the quarantine station forty miles away. Ten days later this dirty, be draggled crew in pants and undershirts were returned to their ship.
The Trenton sailed soon afterwards to the Straits of Magellan. She ran into the usual Cape Horn storm and was obliged to reduce canvas to cross reefed topsails and jib. She finally made the Straits, however, and stood into smoother water and anchored for a bit at Sandy Point to coal ship. On this passage several albatrosses were caught on lines trailing overboard. One of these measured seventeen and one-half feet from tip to tip of wings. Some of the old shell backs cooked these for mess, while others made tobacco pouches out of the web feet. These birds were the occasion for many stories by some of the old sea dogs. Some believed that the albatross carried the souls of lost sailors, while others argued that the pelicans represented in the living those seamen who were buried in isolated places.
In passing through the Straits we held big gun practice at one point; at another we mailed our letters in a box in a small cove located there by the P.S.N. Company. The letters were picked up by one of the passing steamers of that line, to be mailed at Liverpool. The noise of our big guns attracted many of the natives from their hidden recesses among the cliffs and glaciers. From their dirty little dug-outs men, women, children and dogs came around the ship, where we bartered with them for skins. At one time they were so numerous that the officer-of-the-deck had the electric search lights turned on them, and they fled in dismay.
After three days in the Straits of Magellan we entered Smith’s Channel, which carried us a considerable distance up the Chilean coast. On leaving it we ran into the usual heavy gale, but succeeded in making considerable sea room before the hardest part of the gale struck us. For a time we were under three close reefed lower topsails, but finally were obliged to heave to under a goose winged close reefed main topsail and jib. Times such as these tried the seagoing qualities of officers and men. Men aloft were obliged to take in canvas that was covered with sleet, while they stood on a foot rope with their breasts jammed to the yard, both hands employed taking in canvas inch by inch and placing it between the yard and their breasts; then at times losing all that had been brought in and starting over again. Those were men of dogged determination and the peers of all sailors afloat, and were officered by real seamen.
In due time we made Callao Bay, and the yards were squared, all sails furled, and made ship-shape. We saluted not only the Peruvian flag but that of England and Chile as well, as we found representatives of those countries in that port. The U.S.S. Alert, a bark rigged iron built ship painted white, was also in port. The following day the latter’s boat crew tossed their oars under our bow, and the result was a boat race in which the Alert took from our crew $7,000 to cover an equal amount that had been placed on our after capstan. A month later, however, a return race was held, and the Trenton recovered $12,000. It was then the Alert’s turn to eat cracker hash for six months. In passing, it may be mentioned that at that period the American Navy was equipped with the finest race boats in the world, turned out by those master boat builders at the Norfolk Navy Yard. Our Admiral’s barge was a round stem four- teen-oared boat that had won every race when the Trenton was on the European station. In the stern sheets was the name “Olga” in gold letters, presented by the Queen of Greece.
We remained at Callao for almost a year, and from time to time heard rumors that matters in Samoa were not as they should be. In time we sailed to Payti to have practice in battle formation, gun drills and other maneuvers in preparation for future eventualities. Payti furnished few opportunities for shore leave, but drills without limit.
From Payti we sailed to Panama to await the arrival of Rear Admiral Kimberly on the Dolphin. Due to unsanitary conditions, no enlisted men were permitted ashore, although this privilege was granted to officers. The writer was coxswain of the dinghy which carried officers from the steam cutter to the Marina steps and was thus able from time to time to slip ashore. This liberty to officers unfortunately, however, resulted in the introduction of Chagres fever into the ship; After this the ship was fumigated and all communication with the shore was stopped. However, in the meantime many burial parties wound their way up the slope of Dead Man’s Island, Chaplain McAllister in his white robes leading the way and laying to eternal rest in that dismal place the remains of our shipmates.
On the arrival of Admiral Kimberly we steamed for Samoa. Many rumors were afloat: one to the effect that the German squadron, consisting of the Adler, Olga, and Eber, had sunk the U.S.S. Nipsic. En route we stopped at Papeete for coal and provisions and at that port several Germans in the crew took French leave. While here we lay quite close to the shore, where the island beauties dressed mostly in loin cloths could be seen from the ship. Due to our visit in Panama no liberty was permitted here. Several hundred men, however, swam ashore during the night and returned before reveille, their excuses being that they went to gather oranges from trees which could be seen from the ship.
Three days after leaving this port we arrived at Apia and found there, not only the American ships Vandalia and Nipsic, but also the British Calliope and the three ships of the German squadron. The commanding officers of the United States and British ships came on board, but the Germans were conspicuous by their absence.
The American Consul came on board and advised us to leave port due to the indications of an approaching hurricane. After consultation with the officers already mentioned our admiral sent an international signal to the German admiral, suggesting that all ships leave the port due to an approaching hurricane, but the signal was not even acknowledged. Possibly he expected some Yankee trick from this suggestion. At any rate the ships of all three nations remained in port and the ship commanders prepared for the gale. We sent down our masts and yards, put out three anchors at two hundred fathoms, and lashed down everything movable and prepared for the worst.
That evening we lowered our topmast and sent below as much of the top hamper as possible, got up steam and, as the wind increased, began turning the engines over slowly to lessen the strain on ground tackle. By morning it was blowing a living gale,- and we saw that the merchant craft in the harbor had all been driven ashore and sunk. The wind came in strong blasts, accompanied by heavy rain, and. the direction changed rapidly through sixteen points. This created a bad cross sea in the narrow channel inshore of us, but in the outer roads we did not feel the effects so much as did the vessels in the inner harbor. We were, however, having a very uncomfortable time in keeping our berth deck clear of water, which came in through hawse pipes. The fact that these opened on the lower deck constituted a serious structural defect. The water found its way from the berth deck to the fire room in such great quantities that our pumps were scarcely able to handle it.
By 9:00 a.m. the barometer was down to nearly 29.00 inches, and a heavy mist enveloped the harbor. We could dimly see the German Adler and our Nipsic in difficulties. The former was apparently running amuck in the inner harbor. It was reported that a native pilot was attempting to take her to sea. A short time later the Adler almost touched the Calliope, but the latter’s commander was able to swing his ship clear. At this time the Vandalia was pulling hard at her anchor. Later in the day the Nipsic was driven ashore, but her captain succeeded in beaching her in the only sand spot in the passage. This was at the mouth of a small river. Between the storm and the contact with the Adler she had lost her smoke stack, forefoot, foremast, rudder, and her poop deck. A number of her crew had been lost before she was driven ashore. The remainder left her by means of a rope from the ship boom, and landed on dry land.
The wind, now of hurricane force, was blowing at least one hundred and ten miles per hour. Shortly afterwards a tidal wave blew the Eber on the reef and drowned all of her crew except two men who were washed from her deck and lifted on the crest of the wave far inshore above the high water mark. Later the sea carried the larger Olga bottom up on top of the reef and more than 200 yards from its edge. She, however, lost only thirteen men. The entire poop deck of the Vandalia was carried away and with it her captain, who had previously been carried from the bridge in a bleeding and dying condition. Water logged, she drifted slowly toward the shore. We could see her crew in the rigging, but at that time we were unable to render assistance.
This left afloat the Calliope, Adler and the Trenton. The Adler attempted to get to the open sea; but meantime we had drifted to the inner channel and almost
blocked the way. She came on, however, and we awaited her approach with dread. She first touched our stern galleries, carrying them away, then veered and drifted into the inner harbor, striking the Calliope as she went. She finally drifted ashore near the Nipsic.
The Calliope was endeavoring to make the open sea, and she too would necessarily pass close to us. Our steering wheel had been broken and the three men manning it were killed when the Adler ran into our stern over hangings, but by manning the lower rigging, the force of wind on the men’s backs helped to veer the ship as was necessary. At this time we were flooded almost to our berth deck and helpless against the onslaught of the elements. The sea was white on its entire surface with foam created by the spray from heavy seas rolling in and dashing across the low lying reefs of coral. The morale of our crew was good, although the outlook for landing on what now appeared through the gloom to be a far and distant shore was anything but bright. We still had the menace of the Calliope to contend with, as it was quite evident that her efforts to pass through the channel would endanger both of us. We admired the seamanship of her captain as he brought her on inch by inch, foot by foot. When her ram bow was within a few yards of our port quarter our navigating officer gave the order to man the port lower after rigging and the starboard lower fore rigging. The force of the wind on the backs of those aft and on the fronts of those forward was such that our stern veered closer to the reef on the starboard side. This gave the Calliope a few more feet. When she was abreast of us the men left the rigging and waited orders to cither repeat or man the opposite side. Captain Kane of the Calliope afterwards informed our admiral that this maneuver saved his ship and was one that he never dreamt could be so effective. In this passage we could see marks on the keel of the Calliope as she would ride the heavy incoming seas. As the Calliope passed her captain with a rope around his waist fastened to the bridge rail was the only man visible. He lifted his hat as we gave, or tried to give him, three cheers. (See page 954.)
We were drifting slowly toward the beach and steered as well as might be by manning the rigging, as previously described, until finally the old ship laid down her bones, so to speak, alongside the Vandalia that evening of the third day. (See page 955.) We assisted in taking the survivors of that ship from her rigging. Our good ship in being beached broke her back and sank as far as possible, our gun deck being already flooded before we struck.
The following morning we went ashore in a smooth sea and a slight breeze. The desolation ashore was a sight. Every tree was uprooted, every house wrecked, and the sea shore a mass of ship parts and fittings. We established our camp in the Moore compound and immediately commenced salvage operations. The first order issued by Admiral Kimberly was that the Nipsic crew board their ship and stay there. The following day the whole of Seumanutafa’s army assisted in pulling her into deep water. Despite the casualties that have been mentioned, we were able to make such repairs as enabled her to be taken to Honolulu under the command of Lieutenant Commander Lyons, who had been our executive officer.
The German commander requested the aid of the Calliope in pulling him off the beach, but it was feared the strain on her engines and hull would be too much, and instead certain of the natives who were opposed to the forces of Seumanutafa were secured for salvage work. Kimberly and Seumanutafa agreed to the use of these natives, who were at the time further down the coast and under arms that had been supplied them by the Germans.
Lieutenant Wilson was sent to New Zealand to notify the Navy Department of our condition and to secure transports for all hands to the United States.
The Calliope furnished us with provisions and also loaned two diving outfits which were invaluable in the salvage operations.
The efforts of Seumanutafa and his natives added materially in reducing the loss of life, as during the height of the storm they waded and swam from the beach to pick up men struggling in the water. It is said, however, that they made no efforts to rescue drowning Germans, as they felt the Germans were responsible for the death of many of their associates, because the latter had been supplying the opposing tribes with guns and ammunition. (See page 1043.)
A small cemetery was established back of the town for the burial of our dead. The burial services were attended by a large number of the natives, although none of them were present at the German funerals. The German camp was established at the other end of the town, a small river dividing the two camps.
Chaplain McAllister conducted a large memorial service for the dead and a thanksgiving service for the survivors, which was attended by the whole of Seumanutafa’s army under arms. They were visibly impressed by the ship’s music and the ceremony at colors each day. Admiral Kimberly instructed the band leader to compose a medley of Samoan music. Several of the chief’s daughters were induced to sing a few war ditties and from these the band leader composed a so called national hymn of Samoa. Thereafter it was the custom to play this hymn immediately after our own national colors. It is needless to say that the natives were delighted at this recognition.
Eventually the Rockton arrived from Australia to convey us to San Francisco. This old tub was designed to accommodate approximately 100 people, but it was necessary to put all the survivors of the two ships on board. The trip to the coast was miserable in the extreme, as there were nearly 700 survivors on board. We were only too glad to leave this desolate spot.
Upon our return to the homeland and after we had reported to the old Independence, congress voted us a full year’s pay. Soon afterwards the crew was distributed to other ships, principally the Omaha, Marion and Charleston.