In the autumn of 1888 I was on duty as executive officer of the U. S. sloop-of-war Nipsic, attached to the Pacific Station, and at this time anchored in the harbor of Callao, Peru, the seaport of the capital city Lima.
The Nipsic was a small wooden vessel of about 1,400 tons displacement, auxiliary steam power, and carried a main battery of six 9-inch guns with a crew of 16 officers and 163 enlisted men.
On September 23, 1888, after being coaled and provisioned for a long sea trip, the Nipsic steamed out of Callao Harbor under orders from the Navy Department to proceed to the Samoan Islands, and upon arrival there relieve the U.S.S. Adams and protect American interests. This meant a voyage of 6,000 miles, almost due west in the Pacific Ocean, over a lane where there was very little traffic and, as it must be made mostly under sail, it promised to be a long and uneventful one, especially as the tropical winds in the Pacific are light, and storms are not of frequent occurrence.
Sunday October 21, after being four weeks at sea, we sighted land for the first time. This proved to be the small island of Fatu Hiva, the most southern of the Marquesas group, in Latitude 10°-35' South and Longitude 138°-40' West. An anchorage was made off the principal village of the islands, which is known as Bon Repos, and it is well named, as a more delightful place for a good peaceful rest would be difficult to find. The object of stopping at Fatu Hiva was to obtain fresh provisions, and immediately after anchoring parties were sent on shore for that purpose. Some danger attended the landing of the boats, as a heavy surf was running and it was only by the help of the natives, who rushed out into the water up to their necks, grabbed the boats, and hauled them up on the beach, that no accident occurred. An abundance of chickens, eggs, and fine tropical fruits was purchased, and an opportunity afforded to see something of life in this far away home in the Pacific.
Fatu Hiva is a French possession, and the government representative was an army sergeant who gave us a cordial welcome, doing the honors in a bamboo hut. This hut was built on the hill back from the sea, in a valley, through which ran a lively stream, affording water for drinking and all domestic purposes. The island is 8 miles long by 4 wide, and has a population of about 600. The natives are attractive, being light in color with straight black hair, pleasing faces and manners. They were willing to sell anything they had for money, but did not care to trade for soap, tobacco, and other things which the sailors had. Both men and women tattoo their faces and entire bodies extensively, and some of the work is quite artistic. The women tattoo their lips in vertical lines, and have numerous representations of bracelets around their legs and arms. There is apparently no trade with this island, and the only visiting vessels are ships of war.
Our stop at Fatu Hiva was only for the day; late in the afternoon we pulled up the killick and continued our voyage to the westward.
A run of four days, with some stormy weather and rough seas, brought us to the Island of Tahiti, another French possession and quite the gem of the South Pacific Islands. Here the Nipsic remained several days, taking on coal and provisions, and giving all hands a run on shore; a much needed recreation after a month at sea.
The island is 33 miles long in a northwest and southeast direction, and is an elongated range of high land, well wooded and watered, presenting a very fertile appearance. Good anchorage is afforded in the harbor of Papeete, the largest settlement on the island. Here reside the Governor and other officers, appointed by the French government to administer the affairs of the island. At the time of the visit of the Nipsic, the Governor was a colored man, who seemed to have a goodly amount of intelligence, and his manners and address were quite up to the standard of colonial governors. I was one of the guests at a banquet given by His Excellency during the visit of the Nipsic, and was never more courteously entertained.
The population of Tahiti is about 6,000. A considerable number of Chinese have settled there of late years, taken native women for wives, made good homes for themselves, cultivated the soil, and become valuable citizens. At the time of our visit there were 1,300 Celestials living in the vicinity of Papeete, and the Governor said he would like to have as many more. The natives are a lazy, take-life-easy people who dance, sing, and carouse at night, and sleep all day. They are very Frenchy in their manners and customs, and seem perfectly happy and contented. Drunkenness is almost unknown, and discipline is well observed. The curfew rings at ten o’clock every night, when all persons must repair to their homes at once, and any people found on the streets by the police after that hour are arrested and shut up for the night. Just previous to the visit of the Nipsic to Tahiti, Robert Louis Stevenson had left there in the yacht Sunbeam, after an extended visit; and we heard much about him from the natives. One buxom, black laundress, who was soliciting my wash, showed me, with pride, a recommendation which Stevenson had given her as “a good washerwoman.” This was the nearest I ever came to meeting the charming author.
Having spent the allotted time at Tahiti, the Nipsic steamed out of the snug little harbor of Papeete, on October 30, to make her last stretch to Samoa, about 1,200 miles. Nothing of special interest occurred during this part of the voyage and favorable weather and winds were our portion. Late in the afternoon of November 7, the Nipsic’s anchor was let go in the small elliptical harbor of Apia, Island of Upola, the most important of the Samoan group of islands. Here we found the U. S. sloop Adams: Her people extended to us a most cordial welcome, as our arrival meant that they could return to the United States and home.
The town of Apia, built around the shore of the harbor, has a population of about 2,000 natives, and 200 foreigners consisting of Americans, Germans, and English. The business is all in the hands of the foreigners who conduct all the shops and sell the products of the island, such as coconuts, bananas, breadfruit, and copra.
The Samoan Islands at this time were independent of any foreign power. The natives elected their King, were divided into tribes, each with its chief; and had their own form of government. Many Germans had settled in the islands, planted large plantations of coconuts and bananas, and the German government, through its civil and naval representatives, was making an effort at this time to get control of the islands, to which the United States objected. The legitimate King, elected by choice of the majority of the natives, was Mataafa, a fine venerable old man, and every inch a king. He was at war with Tamasasee, a pretender, whom the Germans had raised up and were aiding in every way possible by giving him arms and ammunition, and lending moral support with the three German ships in port. We found war in full progress between these two native factions. There was fighting every day except Sunday, when, by mutual consent, a day of rest was taken. There was a lot of ammunition expended in these conflicts, but few casualties, and not much advantage gained by either party. Mataafa, with his principal followers, attended the Roman Catholic Church every Sunday, observed the entire day properly, and at daylight Monday was on the firing line ready for business.
The Adams sailed for the United States shortly after the arrival of the Nipsic, leaving us to look after and protect American interests in the islands, while the Germans were represented by three ships of war, the Adler, Eber, and Olga, and the English by a small gunboat named the Lizard. Matters went from bad to worse. The Germans were very insolent and did all they could to cause trouble for the Americans and to help Tamasasee. The American Consul, Mr. Blacklock, was alert to all that was going on ashore and kept us advised. On one occasion, the bombardment of a native village by the German ships, where the natives were loyal to Mataafa, was prevented by anchoring the Adams and Nipsic between the shore and German ships, and then telling them to fire over the American ships at their peril. They promptly got up anchor and returned to Apia. At another time, the Commander of the Nipsic, hearing that a native village was to be shelled by the German ships, notified the inhabitants. When the firing began the village was deserted and little or no damage was done. Meanwhile, fighting continued between the forces of Mataafa and Tamasasee; quite a number on both sides were badly wounded and a few killed. The wounded were cared for in an improvised hospital, built by the crew of the Nipsic, with sails and awnings, at the British Consulate. The surgeons from the Nipsic and Lizard rendered good service to the wounded of both sides and saved many lives by skillful operations and careful nursing. A considerable sum of money was raised by a vaudeville entertainment, given by the crew of the Nipsic, and expended in the purchase of medicines for the use of the wounded Samoans. This entertainment afforded much amusement to the Samoans, who had never seen anything of the kind before. They laughed and howled immoderately at the antics of the men, who were dressed to represent women.
The relations between the Americans and Germans became more strained as time advanced, and a clash seeming almost inevitable, it was decided at a conference held between the Commander of the Nipsic, Mr. Blacklock, the American Consul, and the most prominent Americans at Apia, that it was time to notify the United States government the exact condition of affairs existing in Samoa, and ask for reinforcements. The nearest place from which a cable message could be sent was Auckland, New Zealand, a distance of about 1,600 miles from Apia. The Pacific Mail Steamship Company maintained a monthly line of steamers between San Francisco and Australia, touching at Hawaii, Samoa, and New Zealand. On board one of these vessels, the Mariposa, I was put late in December bound for Auckland, New Zealand, bearing dispatches for the Secretary of State and Secretary of the Navy, which I was to send by cable, immediately upon arrival in port. At the same time I boarded the Mariposa, a German naval officer followed me closely, evidently bound on a similar errand with reference to his government. The trip to Auckland occupied between 5 and 6 days, and as we approached port, I cast about to find a way to get to the cable office ahead of my German friend. Captain Haywood, the Commander of the Mariposa, a fine American skipper, was interested, and he arranged that I was to stand close to him as the steamer ranged alongside the dock, and the minute she touched he would shove a plank ashore and I could make a pierhead leap. The scheme worked perfectly, and the minute I jumped from the plank to the wharf the plank was hauled in, and the German had to wait until the steamer was properly secured to the wharf and the regular gangway put in place for landing the passengers. This took about half an hour. Meanwhile, I had jumped into a carriage and was driven to the cable office, and my dispatches were well on their way to Washington before the German officer got ashore.
Early in March, the flagship Trenton, carrying the flag of Rear Admiral Kimberly, and the U.S.S. Vandalia arrived at Apia, ordered in response to the cablegrams sent from New Zealand. Both were out-of-date wooden vessels, carrying muzzle-loading guns, and no match for the modern German vessels, but the United States vessels carried the moral force of seventy millions of people who were ready to back up anything Admiral Kimberly might do, a fact well known to the Germans.
The harbor of Apia is small and not suitable as an anchorage for more than two or three moderate sized vessels at a time, and the new arrivals more than filled the harbor. Besides the three United States vessels, the three German, and the English cruiser Calliope, which vessel had relieved the Lizard, there were several merchant vessels in port. In order to make it possible for so many vessels to lie in such a contracted harbor, it was necessary to moor them head and stern parallel to each other. It was difficult to keep them in place owing to the strong current which constantly swept in from the sea through the narrow entrance and around the elliptical shore. This had a tendency to pull the heads of the vessels around to the current, and as a result we were kept busy working the anchors and chains. Another element against the harbor was the poor holding ground. The anchors could not get a good grip on the coral bottom, and in a blow the ships were likely to drag. The Nipsic being the largest in port had first choice and had taken a billet well inside, opposite the American Consulate, and farthest from the entrance. Next in order, up to and opposite the entrance, were the Olga, Adler, Vandalia, Calliope, and Trenton, while the little Eber was moored nearly astern of the Nipsic. I give these details of the way in which the vessels were anchored, as it was due in a large measure to this fact that so much damage was done during the hurricane.
For two days previous to the hurricane the weather had been threatening, the barometer falling steadily, until it reached 29.08 inches; the wind was from the westward and south of west. The sky had a brassy appearance, the air seemed lifeless. The natives predicted bad weather. On the morning of Friday, March IS, the wind freshened and everything indicated that the gale was close upon us. At 1:00 p.m. signal was made from the flagship to send down yards and masts, get up steam on all boilers, and make all preparations for heavy weather. My account of this storm is from the Nipsic as a point of view. The Nipsic had an efficient and intelligent crew, and they went to work with a will to carry out the order of the Admiral. In less than two hours, the ship was stripped to lower masts, all movable things about deck secured, skylights battened down, hatches covered, steam up on all boilers and everything as snug and secure as it was possible to make it.
Meanwhile, the fury of the gale had increased, the sea was getting high, and heavy rain squalls were frequent. The rain driven by the force of the wind felt like hail as it struck our faces and hands. At the beginning of the storm, the Nipsic had out two heavy bower anchors, with 30 fathoms of chain on one and 50 fathoms on the other. The depth of water was 4 fathoms. During the afternoon of the 15th, the engines were kept turning over slowly to relieve the strain on the anchors and prevent dragging as far as possible. The German ship Eber, which was nearly astern of the Nipsic, adopted the same tactics and, in her eagerness to keep from dragging on the reef astern, kept ranging up alongside the Nipsic. It required very expert handling to keep the vessels from fouling. Several times the Eber stuck her head booms over the quarter of the Nipsic, but always managed to swing clear. Just before dark the sheet anchor was let go, and the compressor left open, so that the chain might run out freely when strain was brought on the anchor. As the night advanced the gale seemed to increase in strength, and the direction of the wind changed to the westward. This caused the Nipsic to swing around uncomfortably near to the Olga. The night was extremely dark. Managing the vessel under such circumstances was very difficult. The noise made by the wind was so great that it was next to impossible for the crew to hear the orders given, and the only way I could get anything done was to lead and show the men just what I wanted.
Between 8:00 p.m. and midnight, both bower anchors of the Nipsic were lifted from the bottom, the ship steamed ahead and the anchors were let go again close to the reef. In doing this, we had the misfortune to run down and sink a small pilot boat which was anchored ahead of us. There were on board the pilot boat three men and, as they drifted by the Nipsic on the wreckage of their craft, I threw them a line but it fell short, and two of the poor fellows were drowned, the pilot being the only one saved. He was washed up alongside the Olga by a big wave and hauled on board of her, more dead than alive. They worked over him restoring him to consciousness, and later he rendered them a great service by piloting the Olga to a safe place, when she was beached the next day.
Between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m. of March 16, the Olga seemed to be steering wildly and came very close to the Nipsic. Between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m. she fouled us twice, the first time carrying away two boats and all the stanchions on the port quarter; the second time she came in collision with us a great amount of damage was done. She practically swept away everything on the port side from the foremast aft, steam launch, main yard, and guys of the smokestack. This caused the upper section of the stack, a piece about 60 feet long, to fall in the gangway. A large cutter was smashed, and some of the main shrouds and backstays were carried away. This was the most dangerous period for the Nipsic during this terrible experience. The main yard, a heavy spar 110 feet long, was swinging back and forth like the pendulum of a clock; the smokestack was rolling around in the starboard gangway, and the wind was just shrieking with apparent delight at our predicament.
Something had to be done at once to save the men from injury and prevent a panic. I immediately grabbed the end of a large hawser that was near at hand and attempted to pass it around the yard. This gave the men their cue, and soon there were plenty of strong, willing hands at work with that hawser, and the yard was well secured in a few minutes. Next I directed my attention to the smokestack which was charging around the gangway endangering lives at every roll, and by using chests and hammocks managed to wedge it tightly in a very short time. The loss of the smokestack interfered greatly with the draft of the furnaces; the steam ran down, and, in order to keep it up sufficiently to run the engines, we used pork and oil for fuel. Our salvation depended upon keeping the engines running to prevent dragging on the reefs astern and, as far as possible, to keep clear of the other vessels. At this time the seas were breaking over the rail of the Nipsic, which was at least 18 feet above the surface of the water, and the decks were two and three feet deep with water, which floated all of the small wreckage.
It was a great relief to have daylight come, although it revealed the terrible havoc which the storm had caused during the night. The little Eber was no more. She had parted her cables and gone under the reef astern, and all but 5 of her crew of 75 were drowned. The wreck of the Eber was complete; the only portion of her hull that landed on the beach was the fancy work around her bow.
The German flagship Adler had been thrown up on the beach by a tremendous wave and landed on her beam ends. Fifteen men were lost from the Adler in attempting to get ashore before the vessel was thrown on the reef. Those who stayed by her were rescued when the storm abated. The paymaster, who had locked himself in his cabin, was found a raving maniac. It is reported that during the day and night of the 16th, the officers and crew of the Adler drank 200 bottles of Rhine wine. They were making the best of circumstances evidently. Her Captain had his leg broken.
About seven o’clock on the morning of the 16th, the Nipsic was holding on by one anchor, the cables to the other anchors having parted, and, despite all our efforts, the ship was gradually working in towards the reef where the Eber went down. She was in a desperate condition, and something had to be done at once or we would all be lost. It was at this time that I told the Captain that, as a last resort, he must beach the ship or lose all hands. He consented, and I immediately sang out to the men in the engine-room what was to be done and to get up all the steam possible, and then sent Ensign White and some men with sharp axes into the chain locker to cut the lashings. When all was ready, and it did not take many minutes, the lashings which secured the end of the chain were cut, the chain quickly ran out and the game little Nipsic, all battered up and without smokestack, made one supreme effort. She turned her head towards the shore and steamed for all she was worth. It was an exciting moment. It was our only chance and we had to take it. A run of a few minutes, not more than 10 or 15, and we felt the keel bumping on the coral bottom. We were safe. She had been beached nearly opposite the United States Consulate with her bow in about 7 feet of water, and perhaps 350 feet from shore.
A large number of the natives had assembled on the shore opposite the ship and with them were several of the officers who had left the ship before the storm came on. Now that the Nipsic was temporarily safe, the next thing to do was to keep her in place and get the people on shore. A terrific current was sweeping around the shore and by the ship, and two men who jumped overboard as soon as we struck and tried to swim ashore were swept out to sea and drowned. A boat was lowered with seven men in it for the purpose of sending a line ashore, and as soon as it struck the water it capsized, and the seven men and boat were lost. Finally, by taking a small line and a weight, we were able to throw the end of the line to within reach of several natives, who waded out up to their necks and hauled it ashore. To this we attached a heavy hawser, which was also hauled ashore and secured to several coconut trees. Over this hawser, hanging by hands and feet, all the officers and crew reached the shore in safety. The natives waded out and picked up each one as he came within reach and carried him to dry land. They seemed to regard it as a great frolic.
According to naval etiquette on an occasion like this, the seniors are the last to leave the ship, the Captain going last. After the ship was secured, and it seemed quite unlikely that she could get away from her bed of coral, I was disposed to remain on board and look after what remained of the ship. As the Captain wanted to go ashore, and as he was my senior and must be the last to leave, I was ordered to precede him over the hawser, which I did, and as I reached the natives, holding on to the shore end of the line, two powerful fellows put me on their shoulders and carried me to dry land, shouting as they advanced as if I were a victorious football player being carried off the field. This all happened about half-past seven in the morning of the 16th of March.
With the rising of the sun, the clouds cleared away and the rain ceased, but the wind blew as hard as ever and the sea was very high. The Olga was beached soon after the Nipsic, finding a good soft place opposite the mouth of the Viasigana River, thanks to the pilot whom they had saved from a watery grave. The Trenton, Vandalia, and Calliope were the only vessels remaining afloat, and they seemed to be unmanageable. About half-past ten the Vandalia, with fires out and engines useless, drifted down on a reef where she began to fill and settle, and in a short time her rail was awash and seas 15 feet high were washing over her. The crew had to take to the rigging to save their lives. Some men attempted to swim ashore and were drowned, others tried to reach the Nipsic and suffered the same fate. Captain Schoonmaker was badly injured by being thrown against a gun by the sea, and before he could be rescued was washed overboard and drowned. Paymaster Arms, Lieutenant of Marines Sutton, and Pay Clerk John Roche were also lost and 39 of the crew of the Vandalia. Many of these people tried to swim ashore but the current was too much for them and, in most instances, they were swept out to sea and their bodies never found.
About noon the British cruiser Calliope, having lost all but one anchor, was drifting in slowly and surely to destruction on the dangerous reef astern. She slipped her cable and, under a full pressure of bottled up steam, slowly crawled out of the harbor into the open and free water where there was no danger from collision or reefs, and she weathered the remainder of the gale without accident. As the Calliope passed close by the Trenton, so close that collision seemed imminent, Admiral Kimberly standing on his quarter-deck took off his hat to the Britisher and sang out “Well done, Kane.” At once the crew of the Trenton jumped into the rigging and gave three rousing cheers for their more fortunate cousins, who had a modern ship with powerful engines that was able to make headway against such a gale. The report that the band of the Trenton was on deck when the Calliope passed the Trenton, and played the Star Spangled Banner, makes a pretty story but there is not a word of truth in it. As a matter of fact, the members of the band were with the rest of the crew trying to save their ship while their instruments were locked up in the storeroom and not thought of during that terrible time. Captain Kane told me, upon his return to Apia after the storm, that he sang out down the hatchway that the Yankees were cheering them and that it put new life and hope into his men and they worked harder than ever.
Efforts were made by the people on shore to reach the Vandalia after she was stranded, with boats and lines, but they were futile. Good boatmen and swimmers as are the Samoans, they were afraid to venture out far from shore in that awful sea and wind, and although $1,000 in gold were offered to any one who would take a line to the Vandalia there was no one who would undertake it. Meanwhile, bodies were being washed up on the beach of those unfortunates from the Vandalia who attempted to swim ashore, and as efforts made to bring them to life in no instance were successful, they were tenderly laid in the Protestant Chapel by the willing natives.
Towards night it was seen by those on shore that the Trenton, in a helpless condition, was drifting down towards the Vandalia. It seemed as if all of those poor fellows clinging to the rigging of the Vandalia were doomed to destruction as a result of the collision which now seemed inevitable; but the contrary occurred. The Trenton came towards the Vandalia very slowly and when within a few feet of her brought up on the reef, remaining fast as if at a dock.
Immediately measures were taken by the crew of the Trenton to save the poor fellows still clinging to the rigging and masts of the Vandalia, where they had been since early in the forenoon. Lines were shot over by rockets to the men in the rigging of the V and alia which they caught, and with these hauled over heavier ropes which were secured to the masts and over these ropes they made their way to the Trenton and safety. Very soon after the rescue of these men, the two vessels came together violently and the masts, which had been their refuge all day, went by the board and lay across the upper deck with the great seas breaking over them.
During that frightful Friday night, when it seemed as if the Nipsic would be sunk by collision with the Olga, one of the chief petty officers came to me very much excited and, in all seriousness, asked me to let him load one of the big guns and fire a shot through the Olga, as he believed they were purposely ramming the Nipsic. I must admit that it did look a little that way, as the Olga was badly handled and, being a steel vessel, she had much the advantage over a wooden vessel in a collision.
We had one or two bad men who were being punished for abusing their shipmates, and they went around asking forgiveness for their offenses. A good many of the men stripped off most of their clothing and prepared to swim if it came to the worst. Two men dropped the life buoys from the stern and went ashore safely on them. A man named Moore came to me several days after the storm and said: “Mr. Hawley, I want to thank you for saving my life the other night.” I said: “How is that, Moore, I don’t remember anything about it?” “Why,” he said, “I was washed overboard by one of the heavy seas and as I came to the surface you reached out one of the gun ports and hauled me on board.” Then I recalled the circumstances, but it had made so little impression upon my mind that I had entirely forgotten it.
In the early part of the forenoon of Saturday when the bodies of the Vandalia’s men were washed ashore, there was some looting by a few of the natives. As soon as I learned of this, I complained to Seumanu, the Chief of Apia, a big splendid specimen of a man, and he said he would stop it. Soon afterwards, finding one of his people robbing a dead body, he brained him on the spot with his war club and declared that he would serve others in the same manner who disturbed the dead. There was no more trouble on that score. The natives, as a rule, were very friendly and rendered all the assistance they could.
Sunday morning the weather was beautiful, the gale had disappeared, the sea gone down, the sun was out bright and cheerful, and everything on shore was as fresh and green as after a spring rain. At early daylight, the sea had quieted down so that small boats could be used, and the people were landed from the Trenton. The ship was full of water above the gun deck, making her practically uninhabitable, so all hands were put on shore, and a big camp established, tents being built of sails and awnings taken from the Trenton.
The loss of life was large. The Trenton was the most fortunate, losing only one man. He was killed by a port shutter which was burst in by a great sea and struck the man in the head. The Nipsic lost 9 men; the Vandalia, 43; the Adler, 15; the Eber, 70; and the pilot boat 2; making a total of 139. I believe some fives were lost from the merchant vessels destroyed, bringing up the entire loss to about 150.
After spending one night on shore, the crew returned to the Nipsic and took full possession again. The ship was certainly a sad wreck on deck. Seas had swept through the cabin and smashed all the furniture. My room, which was on the spar deck adjoining the Captain’s quarters, had been half full of water and most of my clothes were soaked with salt water and mud. The only things that escaped were in boxes, secured overhead between the carlings. The spar deck was one mass of wreckage. All hands went to work at once clearing up. The galley fires were lighted, and at noon dinner was served. An examination of the ship was made, and it was found that there was water in the hold up to the fireroom plates and about 4 inches in the magazines. The rudder was gone, propeller blades badly bent, the false keel entirely tom off, and several bad bruises in the planking, but no holes through the bottom. Steam was raised in the boilers, and the ship pumped out dry. By night the ship was in a fairly comfortable condition, and the men were able to get a much needed rest.
Monday, the 17th, Admiral Kimberly sent for me, and said that he was very anxious to save one vessel of his fleet, and asked if I could get the Nipsic afloat. I replied that I thought I could, when the Admiral said in rather an impatient tone of voice: “Don’t you know you can?” In the same tone of voice, I at once answered: “Yes, I know I can if it is possible for anybody to do it.” The Admiral told me I could have the use of all the men from the other ships, with any material that had been saved from them that would be of service, and ordered that I proceed at once with my task.
The position of the Nipsic was with her head southeast by east, which pointed her straight for the beach, and her stem towards the anchorage in the harbor. The Vandalia was directly astern of the Nipsic, a distance of 200 feet, and her head booms had to be cleared in hauling off. At high water there were 12 feet under each quarter of the Nipsic and 11 feet at the bow. The draft of the ship under normal conditions was 15 feet 8 inches aft, and 12 feet forward. At high water the ship worked some, which showed that there was good prospect of getting her afloat. Heavy hawsers were carried out and secured to chains on the bottom, some to the Vandalia, one to the Olga, and one secured on shore. The heavy guns were moved aft, and all heavy spars put overboard. When everything was ready, 50 natives were employed to pull and with the help of the crew at high tide in the evening of March 20, about eight o’clock, the ship was hauled astern as far as the bowsprit of the Vandalia, where she hung that night owing to the wreckage and falling of the tide. The stern of the Nipsic was then in 18 feet of water. Early on the morning of the 21st, all the lines were again manned and at the proper moment, when the tide was highest, the Nipsic was quickly hauled out into deep water and securely held by one of the anchors that belonged to the unfortunate Eber. In getting the ship afloat, the greatest difficulty with which we had to contend was passing the bow of the Vandalia, but this was accomplished by the line to the Olga, which gave the necessary cant to the Nipsic at the proper time. As soon as the Nipsic was afloat, the flag was hoisted, and the Calliope returning to harbor just at this time, ran up the Stars and Stripes and fired a salute of 21 guns, a pretty and much appreciated compliment. We all felt happy that our ship was afloat once more, and we knew that our British friends rejoiced with us.
The Nipsic leaked some, the severe strain having opened many of her seams, but all the water that accumulated in 24 hours could be taken out with the steam pumps in 15 minutes, so the leaking caused no anxiety. All the mechanics, machinists, and other artisans in the fleet were put to work to get the Nipsic in condition for sea. The engines were overhauled and put in good condition, a yard was taken from the Trenton to replace the main yard carried away by the Olga. The smokestack was taken from the Vandalia and utilized in place of the one knocked over during the gale. A jury rudder was built on shore out of spars taken from the other ships, and on May 9 the Nipsic steamed out of Apia bound for Auckland, New Zealand, having as convoy the U.S.S. Alert. She steered well with her improvised rudder and made fairly good speed considering the condition of her propeller. Two of the blades were bent back upon themselves, and the other two were much out of shape. The second day out the rudder broke down and had to be hoisted on board and repaired. While the repairs were being made, which took about 24 hours, we tried other methods to steer the ship. The Alert was taken in tow thinking she might answer for a rudder, but it did not work. Then we tried a hawser run out astern and that failed. Working the sails, another method, also failed, due probably to the fact that the false keel was gone, and the underwater body being much like the inside of a bowl, had no hold upon the water. The Nipsic’s rudder, having been repaired and some things done to make it stronger, was hoisted into place, and we proceeded on our voyage, not to Auckland but this time to Pango Pango, one of the other islands of the Samoan group, where coal and provisions were to be taken on board from the Monongahela, United States storeship, before proceeding to Auckland. It was so late in the season before the Nipsic was again ready for a long voyage, and the time of year for heavy gales in the vicinity of New Zealand being at hand, the Admiral changed his mind in regard to the destination and sent the Nipsic to Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands, under convoy of the Alert, where she arrived safely the early part of August, 1889. She was thoroughly repaired and finished her cruise in those waters, returning to the United States a year later and going out of commission at Mare Island.
The Samoan hurricane of March, 1889, settled two very important questions in which the United States was greatly interested: the government of the Samoan Islands and the building of a modern Navy. There was no more fighting between forces representing Mataafa and Tamasasee. A commission was appointed of representatives from the United States, England, and Germany who decided that the islands should be governed by three commissioners, one from each country represented; that the United States should take possession of Pango Pango, and the Germans have control in Apia. Congress had under consideration a measure authorizing the construction of four modern ships of war, and when they saw how well an up-to-date ship like the Calliope could take care of herself in such a storm, they promptly enacted into law the measure, and the Navy Department contracted with a firm for building the Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, and Dolphin. This was the beginning of the new Navy.
A strong will is the keystone of military character. It is the great bulwark against the detrimental effects of emotion. No great leader has been without one, and the amount of determination permeating the personnel of an army or a fleet is one principal measure of their capacity for sustained confidence, and consequently one of the greatest factors in morale and victory. We are prone to regard strength of will as an inherent quality, acquired only through heredity and incapable of material change by training. In so far as the effect of training is concerned, quite the contrary is the case.—Knox, On Morale.